To the Studs

by Roxanne Smith

  “The maid eats it?”

  “What? No.”

  He shrugged.

  “It goes stale, Duke. I’m fresh, delectable bread in my prime and I’m going stale.”

  “Right.” He led the way once the bus came to a stop at the corner, guiding her to the back where they sat opposite one another. He stared straight ahead like refusing eye contact would stop her from tagging along.

  He had his long, gorgeous hair tied back into a demure, work-appropriate ponytail. Which was nice—he cleaned up good—but she itched to tug it free and run her hands through the satiny ebony strands.

  She moved to the seat beside him, snuggling into his side for the sake of irritating him as much as possible. “Consider this payback for how often you crash my place to complain about my favorite shows and attempt to puppy-snatch Darcy the Pit.”

  He didn’t look at her. “I never invited myself to one of your renovation sites, though. All may be fair in love and war, but the workplace is sacred.”

  She shouldered him playfully.

  Look at me, begging for attention. Not having people to yell at is making me crazy.

  “You work in a big, busy office. No one will notice me.” Well, they might. She didn’t have much cleavage to show off, but style counted for everything. The lacy edge of her lemon-yellow bra peeked over the low top of her black silk tunic. A hint, a tease, a shock of color to draw the eye. “If they do, tell them I’m an intern assigned to learn your job.” She paused and tapped her chin. “What exactly is your job, by the way?”

  Duke swiveled to face her.

  Deep blue eyes like a starless night glared at her. If he ditched the beard, which he still wore in a thin braid reaching near to the open collar of his navy blue dress shirt, those eyes of his would dominate his face. How long would it take him to forgive her if she shaved him bald from head to chin while he slept?

  “Two years.” Disbelief colored the words. “We’ve been neighbors for two years, and you don’t know what I do for a living?”

  She waved him off. “Calm down, Pocahontas. You carry a briefcase. Your job is obviously boring and tedious.” She eyed his chest, making sure to adopt the right amount of predatory interest. “At least you don’t wear a tie. I’d draw the line at a tie. Because yuck.”

  He pressed his lips together in consideration. “This is probably how you got fired. And since when does Pocahontas have a beard?”

  “She doesn’t, but I didn’t exactly study up on good nicknames before following you out the door this morning.”

  Neve gave her attention to the city scenery as they passed. The bus made for a nice change. Much slower than her Rebel, affording time to appreciate the lovely streets of midtown Little Rock as they meandered toward the city’s center. Though, the constant stop-and-go as they unloaded passengers and picked up new ones was maddening.

  “And you’re wrong. I didn’t get fired because of my penchant for awesome nicknames. I got canned because Mr. Dyer’s precious niece can’t hack it. She’s taken my team and probably my design ideas, but her victory won’t last long. She’ll get eaten alive in this business. As for me, I’ll try to squeak out a tear at her funeral.”

  “What are you going to do about your guys?” Duke swapped his put-upon veneer for genuine concern.

  Damn him for being nice when she needed an excuse to be mean. And damn her traitorous, mutinous team. “I’m going to replace them. I might have a reputation for being a hard-ass, but I’m still the best in Little Rock. Tomorrow I’ll do something constructive like put ads in the paper. Today, humor me.”

  Duke rested against the hard plastic seat with his hands dangling limp between his long legs.

  Long hair, long beard, long legs. So promising, yet so forbidden. Like all the best fruit.

  “I’m a data analyst,” he finally said. “I specialize in recognizing and analyzing market trends for the company. We manufacture bras.”

  “Get out.” She shoved his shoulder. “Irony aside, I thought you wrestled bears. No, I’m serious. Look at those biceps.” She gave one a good squeeze.

  “If anyone asks, you’re an analyst on loan from the university.”

  “Oh, I like role-playing. Tell me more. Do I have a haunting past that keeps me from being able to trust a man? Or a dastardly ex-husband who stalks me and watches me undress from the tree outside my loft?”

  Duke stared straight ahead, poker face fixed in place. “There is no tree outside your loft.”

  “Semantics.” She took the opportunity to study his profile and withheld a sigh of longing. Why were the good ones married, gay, or desperate? “You’re right about Pocahontas. There’s the hair thing, but you’re so white, I feel I’m doing her spirit an injustice.”

  He closed his eyes briefly before turning to impale her with them. A zing went through her. What did it say about her that his ire turned her on?

  “You can’t act like this at the office. I’m an authority figure. I won’t have you wipe out years of hard-earned respect with one stupid nickname.”

  “If you cut it to your shoulders, I can probably get away with Antonio Banderas.”

  His shoulders slumped. “Neve, please.”

  “Okay, okay. I can be reasonable. Perm it, and Slash is all you, baby.”

  Duke leaned forward and smothered his face in his hands. “God, deliver me.”

  “Not a Slash fan, huh? Fine. If you shave the beard and dye your hair blond, I’ll call you Thor.”

  His expression when he lifted his head held every sign of true agitation. “You’re being an asshole because you got fired and dumped in the space of three minutes last week, and that sucks for you. I’m sorry, but the bully train stops here.” His gaze stayed steady on hers, a glint of steel where there was usually amusement. “I don’t make a good victim.”

  Well, there goes my fun. She groaned and slumped in her seat. Her arms crossed defensively. “I’m not doing it on purpose. I don’t mean to be mean, not always. Crap just spews out, kinda like my personality has the runs. Weird, right?”

  Not totally true. On some level, she’d been seeking a target. And that was just like her. She used her crew and her interns for target-practice, because what else had she ever been? That was how the game was played and dues were paid.

  Duke patted her thigh. “If anyone’s personality has diarrhea, I’m not surprised it’s yours. Try to make sure it doesn’t come out again on my time. I’ll let you tag along, but how about a little break in the ’tude, huh?”

  “Fine, Gandhi, but you’re mine until we get there.”

  His jaw clenched beneath a slow intake of breath. Neve expected another dire warning.

  Instead, his face relaxed into a deadpan delivery. “I tried a perm once. Curls don’t flatter my face shape.”

  A wide grin split her face. So much more fun when he played along. “How can you tell your face shape with it covered in so much hair? I’ve always wondered if it’s weird for you to see yourself naked. I assume the hair on the upper half of your body overwhelms the lower half. Unless, of course, there’s more hair on the lower half, in which case I’m at least ten percent less attracted to you than I was thirty seconds ago.”

  He let go a tiny sigh. “You’re beyond tiresome.”

  “Hey, I’m not judging. Me, I’m a natural kind of girl. I let my bush grow like our maker intended, wild and untamed. Man needs a scythe to find his way down there, but the good ones don’t mind.”

  “You didn’t have to share that.”

  “Of course I did. We’re bonding, Duke. See there? I even used your real name instead of one I made up for you.”

  Duke groaned and shut his eyes, once more leaning back. “Our stop is Dixon Street. Wake me when we arrive.”

  * * * *

  “Wow. Snazzy digs.”

  Beautifully designed, the windowless, albeit spacious, office had been updated with tasteful Victorian flair. Understated crown molding, pal
e golden paint, recessed spot lighting, brushed-metal fixtures, and antique furniture completed the design with remarkable fluidity and cohesion.

  Neve much preferred it to the ultramodern style that was all the rage. Sleek lines and understated finishes were fine, but the whole point was to put character and life into a space. Any contractor with thumbs could throw up a stark white wall and retro chandelier. A true artist brought out soul, though.

  And Duke’s office had soul.

  She commandeered the cushy chair behind Duke’s fine antiquated desk and spun in a circle. The chocolatey brown leather blended seamlessly with the décor, while offering both contrast and a definitive masculine element. Someone around here had serious style.

  “Okay, Mr. Boss Man. Shit, sorry. No fun names. Will Mr. Kennicot or Mr. Duke do? Or plain old Duke? Oh, I got it. Duke of Bras.” She didn’t wait for an answer. She stopped spinning and squinted at him. “Do you want to know what Austin said to me last night? He said I need to find someone like me. What do you think he meant?”

  Duke’s cheeks puffed out in a tired exhale. She was wearing the guy out and they hadn’t had coffee yet. He set his briefcase on the floor next to his desk. “Why are you doing this to me? Go find a counselor, a therapist, something. I can’t help you.”

  She flattened her palms on the desk’s surface. “You’re a man, Duke. A gay man, yes, but a man nonetheless. You’ve got to have some insight for me. We’re friends, neighbors. Hell, you know me as well as Austin ever did. Tell me what’s wrong with me.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “Not that I’m looking for a permanent relationship or anything. Merely curious, which is apparently what happens when I’m not allowed to be mean.” She gave him a pointed look. “Being bitchy keeps me from thinking too hard about stuff. So, I blame you.”

  Yep, just curious. Not lonely, disappointed, or tired of the young college idiots she purposely courted because they posed no threat to her actual feelings. Nothing like that—that or creeping into her mid-thirties with an anvil around her neck that kept her from pursuing meaningful relationships because they never ended well. The same instinct that would make her run from a mountain lion made her turn heel every time she ran into an eligible man she actually liked. She couldn’t stop. Ever since…well, since her last “meaningful” relationship. Instead, she trolled the clueless kids from the university, which were easy enough to come by. It was like fishing. Sit at a bar alone and wait. Why? Because those boys were looking for two things—a mom or a woman with some experience in bed. Neve could offer one of those things in spades. But God forbid a friendly architect offer to buy her a drink or take her out for dinner more than once. Suddenly, she just didn’t have the time. Or an imaginary boyfriend popped up to prevent things from going further.

  Gently, Duke gripped her elbow and forced her to vacate his chair. He took her place, opened a sleek white laptop, and proceeded to answer her question without meeting her expectant gaze. “Most people, myself included, appreciate when those around us take care with their words. Perhaps Austin meant to suggest you ought to look for a man as careless with his words as you are. Also, I’ll point out it’s not a good thing I know you better than the men you date.”

  She crossed her arms and nodded. “Pretty good for a guy who appreciates tact.”

  One shoulder lifted as he typed. “You asked.”

  She leaned against the desk and examined him. He studiously ignored her while tapping away. Poor Duke. He didn’t deserve her hounding neediness, but she had one tiny, little problem. She didn’t have any friends. And this thing with Austin got under her skin worse than she expected it would. Sure, the end had been nigh, but he’d dumped her less than an hour after peeling his sweaty, spent body from hers. A new record for the books.

  And forget females. Women were impossibly sensitive and catty. With no siblings and aging parents she’d never been tight with, she only had Duke’s tenuous friendship to call upon in her time of need.

  I’m pathetic. My only friend is circumstantial and a gay data analyst to boot.

  If he were straight…

  She abandoned the idea. Say Duke was straight and they became involved. How long could a nice guy like him stand up to her hurricane-force personality? Like cheap linoleum, he’d be warped and chipped after a few months. Duke deserved someone nice and easygoing like himself.

  While Neve needed a real tough guy, not one who merely looked the part with a grizzly beard, rock-star hair, and penchant for leather biker jackets. It wasn’t like you had to be a club member to get one. Macy’s sold those suckers year-round.

  She gave up trying to learn anything from staring at Duke’s hair and turned her back to him, to observe the rest of the offices. The place had glass walls, which struck her as completely pointless and counterintuitive considering the purpose of a wall was privacy. As far as a design element, they were a cheap answer to the question of sophisticated space management.

  A glance to her left stopped her short. She came away from the desk to press her face against the glass wall and stare. “Who is that?”

  In a corner office on the east side of the building, a handsome blond man sputtered with rage at…was that a kid? Blood-red face, finger pointing threateningly at the young boy, no older than fifteen. She had to give the kid credit. He stood his ground, hands balled into fists at his side while the blond guy purpled with rage.

  “He’s on fire,” Neve breathed. “He’s a maniac. He’s yelling at a child.”

  He’s perfect.

  Duke joined her by her side and slid his hands into his slacks pockets. He cleaned up real nice, but she still preferred his dark, faded denim and black T-shirts. “My boss, Gavin Chambers. Head of Sales for the Little Rock division. That’s his nephew, they’re—”

  “Really going at it. Man, he’s pissed.”

  “Actually—”

  She thrust her hands out and grasped Duke’s arms, leaning into his confused gaze with determination. “Introduce me.”

  Black eyebrows snapped together. “What? No way.”

  Neve turned pleading. She hated to beg, but Duke would love it. Maybe enough to do what she wanted. “This is what Austin meant, don’t you get it? He said to find someone like me—someone angry and unafraid to unleash his inner psychopath on poor fools like that gangly kid in there getting shredded apart by your boss. I bet we hit off. Go on.” She released him and tried to push him toward the door. “Introduce me.”

  Duke wasn’t the huge, muscled type. He had more of an athletic thing going on, like a super-toned cyclist or mountain climber. Solid as granite and completely immovable. And looking totally annoyed.

  Time to switch tactics. She ran a slow, lingering finger across his chest. “You’re clearly composed of spare grizzly bear parts, so I’ll have to bludgeon you with reason.”

  He took her by the wrists and held her hands away from his body. His gaze slipped down to where her decorative bra peeked over the fabric of her tunic. Another tickle of warmth brushed her.

  He let go of her wrists. “Hands off. You’re making me look unprofessional. You want reason? I’ve got plenty for you. First, you’re mistaken about Gavin. He’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. He also happens to be shy with women. He’d need to know you for several weeks before it would cross his mind to ask you out.”

  “Fine.” She planted her hands on her hips. “I’ll ask him out. As for you, stop gawking at my breasts. I realize they’re wonderfully perky, but it’s uncouth. Shame on you.” She chanced a peek back at Gavin. Still chewing out the kid. Such endurance.

  Duke stepped past her, blocking the view. “It’ll put him off if you ask him out, and yellow is a distracting color. Get a new bra. Or a shirt that fits. And anyway, you’re missing the point. He’s nice.”

  She gave him a pitying smile and smoothed her hand over his shoulder, brushing away invisible lint. “Oh, Duke. I understand, sweetie, I do. What’s more terrible than your boss dating your next-d
oor neighbor? Imagine, coming by to visit Darcy the Pit and having to make small talk when he answers the door. Or worse, he bumps into to you at the mailboxes and wants to talk shop. Ew, and those awkward elevator rides. Five stories of heavy breathing and eyeballs with nowhere to go. I would hate it, too. But you can’t stand in the way of fate, Duke. Love conquers all, even an unhelpful gay neighbor intent on making sure his lonely straight neighbor doesn’t get any.” She batted her eyelashes. “Love, that is.”

  He ogled her. “You’re insane. You can’t be in love with a total stranger.”

  “Why not?” She snapped her fingers as an idea came to her. “I’ve got it. Let’s get professional with it, huh? Perhaps Gavin’s office could do with a little updating. I do more than renovate, I’m a top-notch interior designer.” At Duke’s doubtful stare, she squared her shoulders. “All I’m asking is you get me in the door. I can take it from there.”

  To her great surprise, Duke seemed to consider. His beard moved in little jerky motions as he chewed his lip.

  She resisted the urge to tug the little black braid down until she had his lips right where she wanted them, but he’d probably complain about appearing unprofessional again. “You’re wearing your thinking face. I like it. Talk to me, baby.”

  His navy blue eyes searched her face for what seemed like an eternity. “You are remarkably stubborn. Perhaps I’ll mention my designer pal in passing. If he seems interested, I’ll bring you in tomorrow, but give me a day, will you? I have to work at some point.”

  “Nope.” She shook her head. “No way. I’m not below compromise, however. Tell you what, I’ll head to the coffeehouse we passed on the way this morning and get us something to replace the disgusting sludge your secretary brews, and you go talk up Boss.” She scanned Gavin’s office, but he and his guest had moved out of sight. A critical eye took in his office on a professional level. “We have to come up with something besides my trade. His office is impeccable.”