Page 19 of Velvet Vaughn

Chapter Four

Leo had ten minutes before Anja walked through his door, and he wasted the first eight of them pretending he hadn’t spent the previous four hours desperately trying not to come apart.

He started a fresh pot of coffee. Pushed his sleeves down, then back up, then gave up on them entirely. He glanced at his reflection in the microwave door and winced. His hair was standing up and his polo shirt looked as if he’d slept in it. He hadn’t, but hey, the night was young.

He didn’t bother fixing either one. There was something vaguely absurd about grooming for a woman who had spent an amazing night naked in his arms and then let him walk away without so much as a goodbye.

The coffee finished brewing. He grabbed two mugs, remembered she took hers with a splash of cream, and felt a stupid rush of relief that he’d bought half-and-half the week before on some instinct he hadn’t examined at the time.

His phone buzzed on the counter.

On my way up.

Two minutes later, a firm, unmistakable knock landed on his door.

He crossed the entryway in four strides, unlocked the deadbolt, and yanked it open.

Anja Johansen stood on his threshold with a bag slung over her shoulder, her light-blue eyes staring at him, and her hair coming loose from a braid. Every sensible thought in Leo’s head walked out the back exit and didn’t leave a forwarding address.

He’d forgotten.

That was the thing that hit first, and it punched hard. He’d spent five months deliberately not calling her and even more consciously avoiding thoughts of her. Somewhere in the silence of those months, his memory had softened her into something he could manage. A general impression of hair the color of moonlight on water and blue-gray eyes. A voice that could deliver a one-liner without moving her lips very much. The shape of her in a black dress at a wedding reception, watching him without pretending she wasn’t.

The real Anja, framed in the golden hallway light with a faint flush across her cheekbones, was more beautiful than he remembered.

Standing five-eight, give or take an inch in her boots, her pale-blonde, almost white hair lay over one shoulder of a dark zip-front jacket cut for movement, with a black tee underneath and black yoga pants. Her eyes were the same pale blue color he remembered, but he’d forgotten what they did up close.

She took in his entryway, his face, and the coffee mug in his hand in three methodical sweeps that finished before most people would’ve managed a “hello.”

Anja wasn’t dressed for him, but for whatever waited on the other side of his door. The fact that she was here because a dead man had told him she was the only person he could trust was somehow both the least and the most romantic thing that had ever happened to him.

His gaze lingered, and he didn’t say anything for a full ten seconds. Maybe twenty. Time stood still when he looked at her.

Nope. Not doing this twice in one lifetime.

But apparently he was.

Her mouth pulled into the amused, almost fond line he remembered, and she beat him to it before he could embarrass himself.

“Try to pace yourself, De Luca.”

A laugh escaped his throat, surprised out of him by the sheer mercy of being handed the joke before he had to reach for it. He stepped aside.

“Come in.”

She crossed the threshold, her shoulder brushing his as she passed. Leo caught a hint of something clean and fresh as he shut the door behind her and threw the deadbolt. The definitive click of the lock was the most comforting sound he’d heard all day.

Anja set her bag on the hardwood and turned in a slow half-circle, taking in his place. Leo watched her for one full second before dragging his attention back to the thing that had brought her here.

After four hours of panic, this had just become an operation with two people on it.

He’d take it.

#

Anja scanned Leo’s condo in one slow sweep. It was bigger than she’d expected, and cleaner than any bachelor’s place had a right to be. With an open floor plan, high ceilings, dark walnut cabinets, and black stone countertops, it was totally masculine. Totally Leo. An east wall of tall windows showcased the St. Louis skyline in the distance. The furniture gave off a polished, perfectly coordinated air that announced, “My sister hired a decorator.”

The scent of freshly brewed coffee hung in the air. Leo stood in the middle of his own kitchen, appearing unsure what to do with his hands. His white polo was wrinkled at the elbows from being pushed up, and a muscle worked in his cheek that hadn’t been there the last time she’d seen him.