Книга - The Man Upstairs

The Man Upstairs
Pamela Bauer


Dena Bailey is a woman with goals. And they're all about work. Dena Bailey knows what she wants. And that's to be left alone. Dena Bailey, meet Quinn Sterling. He's about to turn your world upside down.When Dena moves to a new city, she is looking forward to the anonymity it offers. After all, that fits into her plan to concentrate on her career. Then she's introduced to the man upstairs.Dena finds Quinn Sterling hard to resist. So much so that she almost changes her plans. But that's before Quinn suddenly becomes guardian to two children. Making room in her life for a handsome man is one thing. For a woman who never expected to be a mother, making room for a handsome man, a sad little boy and his rebellious older sister is quite another….









“You are not a woman a man forgets.”


Quinn’s words echoed in Dena’s mind long after she’d returned to bed. Even in her half-asleep state she hadn’t missed the gleam of interest in his eye, although she wasn’t sure why it had been there. Not many men would find bed head and flannel pajamas a turn-on.

She could definitely see why some women found him attractive. With his physical attributes he could probably make any woman a little weak-kneed. Not that it mattered. If she was looking for romance—and she wasn’t—it wouldn’t be with him.

Someone like Quinn would be more work than the average guy. And she’d discovered a long time ago that that was what men were—work.

She closed her eyes and forced her thoughts to the advertising campaign she’d been assigned the day before. If she was going to lie awake in the middle of the night, she might as well think about something that would be of use to her. Quinn Sterling was not in her future. Soy nuts were. If she could think of a clever package for the honey-roasted product, she’d be one step closer to her goal.

As for the man who lived upstairs…it was unlikely she’d run into him again. She’d lived here for close to a month and had seen him only once. He was the kind of neighbor she wanted—out of sight and out of mind.


Dear Reader,

When I created the boardinghouse at 14 Valentine Place, I made a rule. No guys allowed. It was to be a residence of women, each with her own room, but with a shared kitchen where late-night conversations would always include food—preferably chocolate.

Leonie Donovan, the landlady I created in the first book of this series, agreed with me, which is why I put her in charge. When it came time to write the second book, however, I discovered that Leonie, like many fictional characters, has a mind of her own. In between stories she had gone ahead and remodeled the third floor of the boardinghouse, creating an apartment that—to my surprise—she leased to a man. I no longer had my house of women. A man had pushed his way in. I sensed trouble.

As it turns out, it was a good kind of trouble. You’ll see what I mean as you read Quinn and Dena’s story. If it weren’t for Leonie renovating the third floor, they wouldn’t have met.

If this is your first visit to 14 Valentine Place, I hope you’ll come back again. For those of you who’ve read the first book in this series and have written to ask about future stories, I’m pleased to report that my next book will be Krystal’s story.

I love hearing from readers. Feel free to write to me at Pamela Bauer, c/o MFW, P.O. Box 24107, Minneapolis, MN 55424, or you can visit me via the Internet at www.pamelabauer.com.

Sincerely,

Pamela Bauer




The Man Upstairs

Pamela Bauer





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


In loving memory of a very dear aunt,

Mabel Hayes




CONTENTS


PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN




PROLOGUE


WHILE THE BAND TOOK a break, a man in a tuxedo grabbed the microphone on the ballroom stage and asked, “Is everybody having fun?”

A roar from the guests indicated everyone, indeed, was having a good time.

Everyone except Dena Bailey, that is. Weddings were never fun for Dena. They were more like punishment. If the bride hadn’t been her college roommate, she wouldn’t even be at the wedding reception.

“Hey, we got a great crowd here tonight to help Maddie and Dylan celebrate their first day as Mr. and Mrs. Donovan,” the best man continued. “At this time we need Maddie to come forward so we can find out which one of you single ladies is going to be the next one to take that walk down the aisle.”

The announcement was Dena’s cue to leave. Not even for Maddie would she try to catch the bridal bouquet. She grabbed her purse and headed for the exit.

The lighting in the hallway was bright compared to the dimness of the ballroom, causing Dena to squint as she made her escape. When she glanced across the corridor she saw a line of elegantly dressed women waiting to enter the ladies’ room. She turned and walked in the opposite direction in search of another rest room.

A few minutes later, in a deserted corridor near the rear entrance, she found one. With relief she pushed open the door, the echo of her heels on the tiled floor the only sound as she stepped into the washroom.

She automatically glanced in the mirror hanging above the trio of sinks lining the wall. She looked tired, and for good reason. As usual, she’d been working too many hours.

Grateful for the absence of women’s chatter, she crossed the washroom only to stop abruptly. Urinals lined one of the walls.

Dena stared at the porcelain fixtures in disbelief. Instinctively her eyes flew to the stalls. She bent slightly, hoping she wouldn’t see any feet. There weren’t any, and she let out a gasp of relief.

Wasting no time, she hurried back to the door, but before she could reach for the handle, it swung toward her, startling her as much as the sight of the urinals had. Standing in front of her was a man—a very attractive man in a dark suit—who took one look at her and grinned.

“A little crowded in the ladies’, is it?” Amusement laced his words.

“I…” she began, then stopped herself. Any explanation would only prolong her embarrassment.

“Are you the only lady in here or do I need to give a holler?” he asked with a flirtatious gleam in his eye.

Dena shook her head. “It’s just me.”

He gave her a thorough appraisal. “Just you, huh?” The look on his face said he definitely appreciated what he saw. “Are you here for Maddie and Dylan’s wedding?”

There was no point in denying it. “Yes, I’m a friend of Maddie’s.”

“Good. You can show me where the party is. I just got here.” His grin was as bold as his body was big. He was definitely handsome, a small scar on his chin adding to the rugged good looks.

“The ballroom’s just down the hall and to your left. I’m sure you’ll be able to find it,” she said stiffly.

“You’re not going to wait for me?”

With a dull ache throbbing in her forehead, she really was in no mood for flirting. “I think you’re a big enough boy to find your own way, don’t you?”

He stepped to the side and, in a gallant gesture, held the door open for her, motioning with his other arm that she should pass. “See you at the dance.”

She almost said, Not if I have my way, but held her tongue. As she walked by him, she couldn’t help but notice how broad he was. Or how good he smelled. Like a campground early in the morning with the scent of pines lingering in the air. She wondered who he was, then realized it didn’t matter. She’d already decided to leave the party. She’d done her duty.

As soon as she was back in the ballroom, she looked for Maddie.

“There you are,” the bride said, extending her hands in a warm welcome that matched her smile. “I’m sorry we haven’t had time to talk.”

“It’s all right,” Dena assured her. “You have so many people here who want to see you. We can catch up another time. Everything’s been just lovely. Thank you so much for inviting me.”

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Her face fell slightly.

“I really would like to stay, but I have an awful headache, and I have to get up early to catch my flight. You don’t mind, do you?” Dena gave her an apologetic look.

Maddie squeezed her hand. “Of course not. Did you have a good time?”

Dena Bailey looked at the beaming bride and knew what she had to say. “Yes. It’s been fun seeing everyone again.” Although “everyone” was actually a couple of women who’d lived on the same dorm floor as she and Maddie during their college years.

“It means so much to me that you came. I’ve missed you. I wish we could get together more often.”

It was exactly what Dena had been thinking all weekend, and she’d been waiting for the opportunity to tell Maddie her news. “We might just get to do that. I may be moving to St. Paul. I interviewed for a job while I was here.”

“You did! That’s great…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes held a look of disappointment. “Only I’m not going to be here. Dylan’s taken an assignment in the south of France. Of course, we’ll come home to visit.”

Dena could only smile weakly and wish them good luck.

“If you haven’t found a place to live, you should talk to my mother-in-law,” Maddie suggested. “She’s looking for someone to rent my room. It would be perfect for you. It’s on the bus line, close to Grand Avenue and all those wonderful little shops and restaurants. The rent is reasonable, too.”

“It’s really kind of you to offer, but—” Dena began.

“But nothing,” Maddie finished for her, pulling her by the hand. “Come. We’ll go talk to Leonie right now. Trust me. You’re going to love 14 Valentine Place.”




CHAPTER ONE


“ARE THOSE GORILLAS on your socks, Bailey?”

Dena had been sitting with her feet propped up on her desk, but she dropped them to the floor when she saw the art director in the doorway of her cubicle. With his slicked-back hair and his dark framed glasses, Greg Watkins reminded her of a smaller version of Clark Kent. She half expected that if he ripped open his shirt she’d see an S on his chest. Although he couldn’t leap from tall buildings or bend steel with his bare hands, he did flaunt his power over her on occasion. She hoped this wasn’t one of those times.

“The world’s a jungle out there,” she answered.

“Don’t I know it,” he said with a knowing lift of his brows.

“So what can I do for you?”

“You can tell me whether or not you’re going to make a donation to the Aaron Jorgenson auction. He’s the high school kid who was injured in the skiing accident. Kramer’s taken a special interest in this event because the kid goes to his church.” Greg had a habit of referring to people by their last names, even the creative director who was the head of the advertising agency.

“They’re having a benefit dinner to raise money to help pay the medical bills, right?”

“You got it. I don’t see your name on the list.” He waved a clipboard in midair.

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to attend,” she said apologetically, then reached for her purse. “But I’d be happy to make a cash donation.”

“It would be better if you donated an item for the auction…preferably something that will bring in big bucks.”

“Like what?”

He shrugged. “Anything. I’m donating a tour of the Channel 8 studio and lunch with a news anchor. You probably heard that my sister’s their newscaster?”

Dena nodded. “I suppose I could ask my brother to help me out, but I don’t think lunch with a mechanic would have quite the same appeal, do you?” She gave him a wry smile.

“Probably not,” he answered with his own understanding grin. “But there are any number of items you could donate. Seriously, Bailey, this could be an opportunity for you to catch Kramer’s eye.”

“You mean if I bring in something unique he’ll remember my name?”

“You keep doing work like that and he’ll notice you,” he said, looking over her shoulder to the mockups lining her shelves.

“I’m good at packages,” she admitted in a tone that was not the least bit pretentious, just honest.

“So I’ve noticed…as have a lot of other people. So what do you say? Are you going to donate an item?”

She hesitated a second, then said, “All right, put me down. For what, I don’t know, but I’ll come up with something.”

He pulled a pen from behind his ear and wrote her name on the clipboard. “I’m sure you will. You’re clever. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

She knew it was true. To land a job at an advertising agency like Delaney Design, one needed to be better than good. Getting hired had been a boost to her ego and an affirmation that she’d made the right decision in leaving her job in marketing to pursue a career in graphic design. Unfortunately, with the new job came the pressure to perform. Everyone at Delaney was talented. It wasn’t enough to simply be good.

Greg Watkins straightened. “You’ll need to let me know by next Friday what you’re donating to the auction. The benefit is February 10. I have to tell you, Bailey, Kramer’s going to be pleased to see your name on the list.” He gave her a mock salute and slipped out of her cubicle.

Dena didn’t want to simply please the creative director. She wanted to impress him, to prove to him that she belonged at the prestigious agency.

It wasn’t anything new—proving herself. She’d been doing it most of her life and she’d do it now. She reached for the phone to call the one person who might be able to help her—her brother.



AS CHILDREN, Dena and Ryan had been as close as any brother and sister, but when they were teenagers, their parents had divorced and the fragile bonds that had held their family together were broken. After graduation, Ryan Bailey saw no reason to stay in the small town in Iowa where they’d been raised. He moved away with his high school sweetheart, eager to make a new start in life.

Left alone with her father, Dena envied her brother his freedom. No matter how hard she tried to get her father’s attention, there was only one thing in life that mattered to him now that his wife was gone—his work. His idea of being a good parent was to send Dena to boarding school, where she felt just as isolated as she had living with her father. After graduation, she didn’t return home. Like her brother, she left Iowa, but she made her exodus alone.

It was how she’d lived most of her life—alone. She may have had a mother for thirteen years, but she’d learned at an early age not to expect much from her. As a small child she’d never understood why her mother wasn’t like other kids’ mothers. She never played with her children and rarely laughed with them. It wasn’t until Dena was thirteen that she understood the reason why. She hadn’t wanted to be a mother in the first place.

It was a fact of life Dena couldn’t change no matter how hard she tried. So she learned to take care of herself, to rely on her own tenacity and resourcefulness rather than depend on anyone else. She was self-sufficient and proud of it, only now that she’d moved to Minnesota, she was beginning to realize how lonely her life had been and how much she’d missed Ryan.

That’s why she didn’t hesitate to turn to him for advice about the auction donation. As usual, she’d worked late that evening and stopped at his house on her way home.

“Dena, it’s good to see you,” her sister-in-law, Lisa, said as she opened the door to her. “Come in. Ryan took Luke sledding at the park, but they should be home shortly. I was just about to make some hot chocolate…or would you rather have a cup of tea?”

“Hot chocolate sounds good.” Dena removed her jacket and slung it over the back of one of the wooden kitchen chairs before taking a seat. “Where’s Bethany and Jeremy?”

“Jeremy’s at hockey practice and Bethany’s at a birthday party for one of her friends from school. It’s her first pajama party so I’m a little anxious about it,” Lisa admitted as she poured milk into a pan on the stove. “I didn’t want her to go. I think eight’s a little young for slumber parties, don’t you?”

Dena shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. When it comes to raising kids, I don’t have a clue.” It was the truth. With no younger siblings and having spent a good portion of her teenage years at boarding school, she’d missed out on the typical baby-sitting experience. The only time she’d been around kids had been during the holidays that she’d spent with her brother and his family.

“Ryan and I have days when we feel the same way,” Lisa said with a grin.

“You must be doing something right. You have good kids,” she said sincerely.

Lisa sat down across from Dena. “You’ve only seen them on their best behavior. Just wait until you’ve been here awhile,” she said with a crooked smile.

Dena glanced around the room—at the drawings on the refrigerator door, the toy trucks lined up next to the wall, the bulletin board covered with heart-shaped reminders of appointments and school activities. The picture on the shelf over the sink caught her eye. It was a photograph of her brother with his three children. Three-year-old Luke was on his shoulders, his pudgy arms wrapped around his father’s neck. Bethany clung to one arm, twelve-year-old Jeremy was on the other.

“Ryan is so different from my father. He never played with us kids.”

“He probably didn’t have the time—he worked so many hours,” Lisa said.

Dena nodded and didn’t follow up on the comments, not wanting to discuss her father’s shortcomings. Not that she would be telling her sister-in-law anything she wasn’t aware of. Having known Ryan since they’d been in the seventh grade, Lisa was privy to all the family secrets. She’d been his steady girlfriend when Dena’s mother had abandoned her family, leaving two teenaged kids in the care of a father whose response to losing his wife had been to bury himself even deeper in his work.

Even though she was the one to inadvertently mention her father, she was grateful when Lisa changed the subject. “So tell me how everything is with you. Are you happy with your new job?”

“So far, so good,” she said with caution. “It’s going to be a lot of pressure, but that’s to be expected. It’s the nature of the work. I’m going to have to put in some long hours, but it’ll all be worth it.”

“Ryan said you were stopping over because you need a donation for a charity auction?” Lisa remarked with a lift of one eyebrow.

“Yes.” She started to explain, but before she could finish, the back door opened and in trudged her brother and nephew, both of them dusted with snow. As they exchanged greetings, Dena thought Ryan looked like a lumberjack, with his red plaid jacket, knit stocking hat and full beard. He pulled the hat from his head to reveal wavy blond hair the same shade as Dena’s.

“Perfect timing,” Lisa said, getting up from the table. “Dena just got here.”

Ryan kicked off his boots, then took a seat at the table next to his sister. “So what kind of auction item are you looking for, again?”

“That’s what I was hoping you could tell me,” she answered. “You’ve lived in this area for quite some time. What type of item do people purchase at a charity auction?”

“It depends on the kind of crowd it is,” her sister-in-law told her as she helped Luke out of his snow-suit. “When they had a silent auction at Bethany’s school to raise money for the new gymnasium, the hot item was a basketball signed by one of the Timberwolves. I would think that memorabilia signed by professional athletes would always be popular.”

“I suppose I could go to one of the sports stores and get an autographed baseball,” Dena pondered aloud.

“If you do that it’ll cost you a few bucks,” her brother pointed out.

“Why don’t you just ask that guy upstairs from you to donate something?” Lisa suggested. “Didn’t you say he’s a professional hockey player?”

“That’s what I’ve been told, but I haven’t even seen the man, let alone talked to him. If it wasn’t for the fact that I heard some noise up there one night last week, I wouldn’t even know anyone lives upstairs.”

“You’d think you would have run into him by now.”

“I’m relieved I haven’t. I don’t have time to get chummy with any of my neighbors.”

“You don’t have to get chummy with him,” Lisa said. “Just ask him to autograph something and donate it to the auction. I bet people would pay good money for one of his hockey sticks.”

“If he has a name people recognize.”

“What is his name?” Ryan asked.

“Quinn Sterling,” Dena replied.

Ryan’s jaw dropped open. “He’s the hockey player who lives on the third floor of your building? You didn’t tell me he was in the NHL.”

“I didn’t know,” she said in her own defense.

“Quinn Sterling,” her brother repeated in amazement. “Who would have expected him to be living in a boardinghouse with a bunch of women.”

“It isn’t a bunch. There are only three of us and we each have our own apartment,” Dena reminded him.

Ryan shrugged. “I guess the guy has to live somewhere…and it probably helps him keep a low profile.”

“So what’s he like? Is he nice?” Lisa asked, turning her attention to the stove.

Ryan chuckled sarcastically. “Defensemen usually aren’t described as ‘nice.’”

Dena wrinkled her face. “He isn’t one of those guys who’s always fighting, is he?”

“I’m sure he’s spent his share of time in the penalty box. He has a reputation for being bad…which is one of the reasons the fans love him.”

“Then he’s popular?”

“In Minnesota he is. He’s a good hockey player,” her brother stated matter-of-factly. Luke was at his side, arms outstretched, waiting for his father to lift him onto his lap. Ryan scooped him up and propped him on one knee.

“Would you say he’s like the Michael Jordan of hockey?” Dena wanted to know.

Ryan gave her an indulgent look. “Basketball and hockey are two different sports, and no one’s like Michael Jordan. Quinn’s made a name for himself, although I don’t think he’s ever made the All-Star team.”

“But would a hockey stick signed by him bring in big bucks at a charity auction?”

“Probably anything signed by Quinn would do that.” Lisa had set three mugs of hot chocolate and one small cup for Luke on the table. Ryan reached for the small cup and helped his son take a sip.

Dena thought again of how different he was from their father. So patient, so protective. So interested in his son.

“Quinn Sterling was born and raised in St. Paul,” her brother continued. “That’s one of the reasons he’s so popular in this area. Hockey fans around here were very happy when the Cougars got him on a trade.”

“Sounds like the right guy to ask for a donation, Dena,” Lisa stated.

“Yes, but how am I ever going to get it?” Dena pondered aloud. “I can’t just walk up the stairs, knock on his door and say, ‘Hi, I’m your new neighbor, give me a stick.’”

“Why not?” Lisa asked, taking the chair next to Ryan’s.

Dena’s eyes met Ryan’s and he chuckled. “Lisa would do it.” His eyes were full of affection as he smiled at his wife.

It was obvious to Dena from the glances they exchanged they were just as much in love now as they’d been as teenagers. Ryan had proved his father wrong. How many times had he warned Ryan that if he were to marry Lisa, he’d end up in the same predicament his father was in? Dena was relieved to see her brother and his wife so happy.

She pushed a loose strand of hair back from her face and sighed. “I wish I didn’t have to do this. This is so not me.”

“Even if you work up the courage to ask for the stick, you might have a problem getting to the guy,” Ryan warned her. “Professional athletes know how to avoid the public.”

“She’s not the public, she’s his neighbor,” Lisa pointed out.

“A neighbor he’s never met,” Dena reminded her sister-in-law.

“And I think he’s one of the hockey players who keeps a low profile,” Ryan added.

That didn’t come as a surprise to Dena. She hadn’t seen anyone going in or out of his place, but then she hadn’t had any guests since she’d moved in, either. The day Leonie had shown her the vacant room on the second floor she’d explained the rules of the house. Guests were welcome as long as they didn’t impose on anyone’s privacy.

So far the only resident who took advantage of that rule was Krystal Graham, the hairstylist who occupied the other half of the second floor. She had a steady stream of visitors, and Dena could understand why. Krystal was a people person. From what her brother was saying, the man upstairs probably wasn’t.

“You might want to think of another item for the charity auction,” Ryan said, reaching for a napkin to dab at hot chocolate that had dribbled down Luke’s chin. “We don’t know this guy. For all we know, his persona off ice could be the same as it is on ice.”

“He’s not going to be mean to his neighbor,” Lisa insisted. “Stop trying to discourage her.”

“You don’t think I can get the stick, do you?” Dena said to her brother.

“It’s going to be difficult,” he warned her.

“Yeah, so what else is new?” she retorted.

“So you’re going to go for it?” Lisa wanted to know.

“Yes. I want my donation to the auction to stand out from the others. I just have to figure out a way to get the stick.”

“The Cougars have a game at the Excel Center tomorrow, which means Quinn Sterling is in town,” Ryan announced.

“Now’s your chance,” Lisa encouraged her. “If you don’t want to knock on his door, you could always bump into him on the stairs.”

An equally unsettling thought for Dena, who knew that she was right. It was now or never. The auction was only a little over a week away. If she didn’t get to him this weekend, there was a good chance he’d be on the road and she wouldn’t have another opportunity.

“You’re right. I’m going to do it. Wish me luck.”



BEFORE DENA COULD DO SOMETHING so bold as to introduce herself to a professional hockey player and ask for an autographed stick, she needed to be prepared. That’s why she made sure to leave her brother’s house early enough so that she had time to stop at the library on her way home.

Later, armed with a stack of periodicals and a couple of videotapes, she climbed the stairs to the second floor at 14 Valentine Place. Once she was in her room, she slipped a tape cassette into the VCR and pressed Play.

As scenes of hockey players flashed across the screen, a voice announced the featured segments of the weekly sports program. If she watched the entire thirty minutes she could get an analysis of the games played the previous week, hear an interview with the head coach of the Minnesota Cougars hockey team and watch a demonstration of stickhandling at its best. Since she’d checked out the tape for one reason only—to see the player profile feature—she pressed the fast-forward button until she found that particular segment.

Images of bodies being pushed into the boards and sliding across the ice as skaters battled for the small black puck flashed on the screen. “Every team has one…a big, mean skater who patrols the blue line using his physical presence as a weapon,” the narrator said as a player rammed another against the boards. “He’s as tough as nails, adding muscle and strength to a defense that is out there for one purpose—to keep the puck away from the guys who want to stuff it in the net.”

Dena grimaced as two men collided with a thud that could be heard above the noise of the crowd. “Around the league he’s established a reputation for being a leader on and off the ice, and with good reason,” the narrator continued. “With a solid work ethic and an attitude that conveys he’s going to get the job done, he’s what every head coach wants a defenseman to be—rough, tough and ready to do battle. This week we profile number thirty-two…”

The hockey player who’d been banging bodies into the boards stopped in the center of the rink, the camera catching the action of his blade on the ice at the same moment the narrator said, “Quinn Sterling.” It was then that Dena saw for the first time the face of the man who lived upstairs.

The first word that came to mind was gladiator. Maybe it was the helmet he wore. Or it could have been the rugged features that seemed to be all angles. Dena frowned as she realized that it was also a familiar face. Where would she have seen him before? Maybe as a professional athlete he’d done a commercial she’d seen. He certainly had the kind of look that could sell products.

As the profile continued, Dena listened to stats and figures that had little significance to someone who didn’t follow hockey. Then the question was raised. “Is Quinn Sterling one of the meanest guys on the ice?”

The camera moved to one of Quinn’s teammates, who grinned and said, “All hockey players have a mean streak. It’s just that Quinn wears his on his jersey.”

The next shot was of Quinn. He stood with his helmet off, his dark hair damp from exertion, defending the accusation. “It’s my job to make sure my teammates are safe and protected on the ice. If that means I’ve got to get rough to do it, then I’m gonna do it. No one’s going to run up on one of my guys.”

Footage of him getting rough followed. Dena winced as a sequence of collisions was shown, all of them resulting in bodies being knocked to the ice. When a brawl erupted, gloves dropped and fists were raised. Dena decided she’d seen enough and stopped the tape. She didn’t need to watch grown men who were supposed to be professionals behave like little boys on the playground.

She looked at the stack of sports magazines and wondered if she should even bother to read any of the articles on Quinn Sterling. Curiosity had her flipping one open and reading a brief bio. He was born and raised in St. Paul and played his first hockey game at the age of five. He’d left college early to enter the NHL draft. Now he made his living fighting on the ice.

She heaved a long sigh and tossed the magazine aside. The task of having to ask him for the donation seemed to be an even more unpleasant one than it had earlier in the day. She wondered if it wouldn’t be easier to simply go buy an autographed stick or jersey from a sports shop. Of course it would be easier, but it would also be costlier.

Lisa could be right. Quinn Sterling might be happy to donate the stick simply because she was his neighbor. She just had to work up her courage and ask him for it.

As she scooped up the periodicals scattered across the floor, she noticed one was a woman’s magazine. Whoever had pulled the magazines for her from the library stacks must have accidentally included it. She looked again at her request slip and saw that it wasn’t a mistake.

According to the guide to periodicals, Quinn Sterling was in the magazine. Dena flipped through the glossy pages until she came to the article called, “Why We Love Those Bad Boys.” It didn’t take long to find his name in boldface type.

“What could be more tantalizing than a professional hockey player who plays rough?” the writer asked. “He’s cold and cruel on the ice, but what we want to know is what he’s like when he’s not slamming bodies up against the boards. This thirty-one-year-old bachelor may look like every girl’s dream with those baby-blue eyes, but don’t expect him to behave like the boy next door. Taming this bad boy is definitely going to be a challenge. He’s been quoted as saying that the woman hasn’t been born yet who can tempt him to hang up his blades.”

Dena rolled her eyes and groaned. “And this is the guy I have to ask for a donation for a charity event?” As she turned the page a photograph of Quinn Sterling stared back at her. Without his helmet he still looked rugged. And tough. And handsome.

He also looked familiar. Again she asked herself why. Her answer came as she noticed the small scar along his jaw—a scar that hadn’t been noticeable on the videotape.

She had seen him before. The night of Maddie’s wedding. In the men’s rest room. Dressed in a suit, he’d looked very different from the man in the hockey uniform. He’d flirted with her, and she smiled as she remembered their encounter.

The question was, would he remember her? She doubted it, not with the number of women who probably came and went in his life. If she was lucky, she wouldn’t even be a blip on his memory radar.

All weekend she watched for a sign that he was home, but not once did she see him or his silver SUV parked out back. His absence made her do something she hadn’t done on previous Monday mornings. She went into the kitchen on the main floor.

“This is a nice surprise,” Leonie Donovan greeted her. “I was beginning to think you didn’t eat breakfast.”

Dena didn’t want to admit that she often skipped breakfast and simply said, “I usually grab something on the way to work.”

Leonie nodded in understanding. “You put in long hours, don’t you?” She didn’t expect an answer to her question and continued, “Krystal’s the same way. I haven’t seen much of her lately, either.”

“What about Mr. Sterling? Does he use the kitchen much?” she asked as she busied herself getting a cup of tea.

“Quinn? No.” There was a hint of regret in her voice. “When I had the third floor remodeled, I put in an efficiency kitchen up there, but I doubt he does much cooking. He’s seldom home.”

Dena filled the kettle and set it on the stove. “I noticed. Actually, I’ve been trying to connect with him.”

Leonie raised her eyebrows. “You have?”

She nodded. “I have a favor to ask him. Maybe you can tell me if you think he’d be interested in this.” She sat down across from Leonie and told her about the charity event being held at the high school, including what items had already been donated to the auction. “I was hoping he’d be willing to autograph a stick or some other hockey memorabilia for the event.”

“I don’t see any reason why he wouldn’t do it, especially since he went to the same high school as Aaron Jorgenson,” she said over her cup of coffee.

“He did? I knew he was from St. Paul, but I didn’t realize that.”

She nodded, then set her cup back in its saucer. “His family used to live right around the corner. He was always over here with my boys, slapping pucks around on the small skating rink my husband would make in the backyard every winter.”

Which would explain why he was at Dylan and Maddie’s wedding, Dena concluded silently. “Did you ever think he’d get to the NHL?”

“I knew he loved the game,” she admitted, then smiled. “Lots of young boys dream of becoming professional athletes. I think mine did at one time, too. It’s nice to see that dream come true for Quinn. If anybody deserves it, he does. He’s worked hard to get where he is.” There was admiration and respect in her voice, which had Dena wondering if Leonie realized the kind of player Quinn was.

“You sound very fond of him,” she commented.

Leonie smiled. “I am, and with good reason. He’s a good guy. I’m going to have to introduce you two.”

An alarm rang in Dena’s head. One of her reservations about moving into 14 Valentine Place had concerned her landlady’s occupation. Maddie had told her Leonie was a romance coach, but she had also assured her that her mother-in-law wasn’t the kind to try to do any matchmaking with her tenants. Now Dena wasn’t so sure Maddie had been right about that.

As if Leonie could read her mind, she said, “Don’t look so frightened. I’m not going to throw you two together with a couple of candles and some Barry Manilow music. I just meant you should know each other because you’re neighbors. I like to think that my tenants look out for one another.”

Dena gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to that conclusion.”

“It’s all right. I should have explained to you when you moved in just what it is a romance coach does. I help people put romance in their lives. Have you seen my column in the paper…Dear Leonie?”

Dena nodded.

“Then you know what kind of questions people bring to me about romance. I also teach a class on making relationships last. And I’m thinking about adding one on flirting.”

Dena thought, judging by the way Quinn Sterling had flirted with her, he’d be a good resource, but she didn’t tell Leonie that.

“I also do one-on-one counseling. When it comes to romance, some people really don’t have a clue, and sometimes all they need is a little push in the right direction. My goal has always been for people to discover the joy romance can bring. There’s nothing more wonderful than the right somebody to love.”

Dena didn’t want to tell her that so far that particular pleasure had evaded her. Not that she was looking for it. The romantic relationships she’d had thus far had suited her just fine. Not exactly romantic, but they hadn’t left her brokenhearted, either.

“So you see, Dena, I’m really not a matchmaker,” Leonie concluded.

She smiled in relief. “That’s good to hear. I’m really not looking for the right somebody to love.”

She held up one hand. “I understand. I told you when you moved in that I regard all of my tenants as just that—tenants. Their personal lives are their own, as is mine. When we’re in this house, we’re simply friends. Fair enough?”

Dena nodded. She could see why Maddie had come to regard Leonie as a mother long before she’d married Dylan. Dena knew it would be tempting to let this woman mother her, especially since her own mother had never really filled that role.

“Now, back to Quinn. With all the Cougar road trips, it’s no surprise the two of you haven’t met,” Leonie said thoughtfully.

“We both have busy schedules, I’m sure.”

Leonie nodded. “And he keeps to himself. I know Krystal talks with him occasionally, but then Krystal can get anyone to talk. Quinn values his privacy. It’s one of the reasons he lives here. With the success he’s had, he could afford a fancy penthouse apartment anywhere, yet he chose to rent the third floor of my house.”

“This is a lovely place,” Dena told her. “It has a charm you don’t find in newer housing.”

“Why, thank you, Dena. I’m glad you like it here.”

“I do.” It was the truth. She’d had her reservations about sharing a bath and the kitchen with the other tenants, but she’d discovered that Maddie had been right. There was something about the big old Victorian house that made her feel comfortable.

“I figured if you were a good friend of Maddie’s that you’d fit in with us,” Leonie said with a twinkle in her eye.

Dena was beginning to think she would, too. At least with Krystal and Leonie. As for the man upstairs…she guessed it really didn’t matter whether they liked each other. He was never around, and once she got the hockey stick she could forget about him, which reminded her she still had to get the auction item.

“If Dylan’s a private person, I probably shouldn’t bother him about the stick,” Dena commented.

“I don’t think he’ll see it as a bother, but if you’d like, I could ask him for you.”

Dena said a prayer of thanks right then and there. “You wouldn’t mind?”

Leonie took a sip of her coffee, then said, “No, not at all. I’ll see what I can do.”



TRUE TO HER WORD, Leonie talked to Quinn. The very next day when Dena arrived home from work, she found a hockey stick propped against her door. Attached to it was a note that said, “Leonie told me about the auction for the Jorgensons. If there’s anything else I can do, let me know.” It was simply signed with a capital Q.

Leonie knew she needed to thank the man. Taking a deep breath, she took the stick and climbed the stairs to the third floor. To her relief, there was no answer to her knock on his door, and she went back to her apartment, where she studied the signature on the hockey stick.

The writing was bold and confident, the Q a big flamboyant circle compared to the rest of the letters, which weren’t much more than a series of upward strokes and wavy humps. His entire name was underscored.

She propped the stick against the wall, then sat down at her desk. She pulled a note card from the drawer and began to write.

“Mr. Sterling, Thank you so much for the auction donation for the Aaron Jorgenson benefit. It was very kind of you and your generosity is appreciated. Sincerely, your neighbor, Dena Bailey.”

She went back upstairs and slipped the note beneath his door.

The next day, when she brought the stick with her to work, it raised more than a few eyebrows of admiration. As the auction drew nearer and other donations arrived, Dena was confident that hers would bring the highest bid. Unfortunately, she was disappointed. As much as the fans in St. Paul loved Quinn Sterling, they were willing to pay more for lunch with the lovely Channel 8 news anchor than for an authentic, autographed hockey stick by their hometown hero.

Dena had hoped that her donation to the auction would get the creative director’s attention, but other than a personal thank-you note, it didn’t. What it did do, however, was give her a small amount of fame. Male co-workers made a habit of stopping by her cubicle to inquire about her neighbor.

Her popularity, however, was short-lived, and within a few days, it was business as usual. She forgot about the man who lived upstairs from her, and she put all of her energy into her fast-approaching deadline.




CHAPTER TWO


IT HAD BEEN A GRUELING ROAD TRIP. Quinn was tired and his body ached. He’d been tripped, elbowed, punched and banged into the boards during the past three games, and he could feel it in his muscles and bones. In addition to a black eye, he had a bandage on his cheek and a contusion on his right quadriceps. Hazards of the trade, he told himself as he dragged his weary body up the stairs to his apartment.

Judging by the way his body felt, he would have thought there were only a couple of weeks of the regular season left, not two months. Maybe it was age catching up with him. He was, after all, on the wrong side of thirty—at least for a hockey player. But he wouldn’t think about that now. He’d just had one of the best games of his career. There was no reason to think about that.

Aware that it was close to three in the morning, he moved as quietly as he could, not wanting to disturb the other residents of the house. He grimaced as the stairs creaked with his weight.

It was at times like this that he wondered if he’d made a mistake moving into 14 Valentine Place. Although it afforded him plenty of privacy, he’d been reluctant to accept Leonie Donovan’s offer to rent the third floor of the house, because he worried that his irregular hours might disturb her other tenants.

She’d had no such reservations. Not that she would have expressed them if she had. Leonie had been like a second mother to him most of his life. As a teen he’d eaten just as many meals at her house as he had at his own. That’s why, when he’d been traded to the Minnesota team, she’d been one of the first people he’d contacted.

“Shane is going to be so happy you’re coming home,” she’d gushed when he’d announced his return, hugging him as if he were one of her own children.

So far he’d only seen Shane once—the day he’d moved into the house. They’d been the best of buddies as kids, but now it was evident that their lives had gone in very different directions. Shane’s life centered around his wife and son. Quinn’s life was hockey. Not that Shane wasn’t still interested in talking about the sport, but Quinn could see that the passion they’d once shared as kids was now a thing of the past.

He didn’t understand it. Nothing had ever come close to replacing the love he had for the game of hockey. There was nothing like the sound of cold, hard steel cutting through ice, the clash of sticks sending the puck gliding across the rink, and the cheers of the crowd urging him on.

Now the sound he heard was a loud thud, thud, thud. A thick glass mug that had been tucked in the side pouch of his duffel bag tumbled onto the floor, falling down the stairs like an errant hockey puck. It was a souvenir molded into the shape of a western boot. The mug had been given to him by Smitty, the young goalie who’d bet him that he couldn’t shut down the shooters on the opposing team. Quinn had won the bet and the goalie had refilled the heavy glass half a dozen times as they’d sat in the bar celebrating the team’s victory.

That had been on day one of their road trip. Today was day five and Quinn still had the mug. It had been dropped numerous times and knocked off several hotel tables, but nothing had caused it to break. As solid as a rock was how Smitty had described it, which was why he’d insisted Quinn take it home with him. It was how the goalie viewed Quinn—able to take a heck of a beating and not break.

Now the glass boot was once again tumbling along the floor. Any hope that its clumping wouldn’t awaken his neighbors vanished when a light appeared beneath a door. Quinn knew he’d disturbed someone on the second floor.

Within seconds a door opened. Staring at him with a startled look on her face was a woman. She wore a long-sleeved white T-shirt and a pair of red pajama bottoms that had tiny penguins all over them. Her blond hair hung in total disarray around her shoulders. Looking as if she’d just been awakened from a deep sleep, she stood in the doorway, her feet bare.

Leonie had told him a new tenant had moved into Maddie’s old apartment. What his landlady hadn’t told him about the woman was that she was a sight for sore eyes. Not that she was beautiful in a Hollywood sort of way, because she wasn’t. What she had was a refreshingly natural look. His mother used to use the term “plain pretty,” and he’d never understood how someone could be plain and pretty, but now he knew what she meant.

“What are you doing?” she asked in a voice still husky with sleepiness, but also carrying a note of alarm.

“I’m sorry. I was on my way upstairs and I dropped something.”

“What?”

“A mug. It’s at the bottom of the stairs,” Quinn answered, trying to figure out why it was that when she spoke he had the feeling they’d already met.

She eyed the duffel bag over his shoulder suspiciously, then she focused on his face and grimaced. “Ooh. Your eye!”

He knew his skin had darkened to a motley black and blue. “It looks worse than it feels.” He moved closer to her. “I know we haven’t met before, but you look familiar.”

Self-consciously, she pushed her hair out of her eyes, then offered him her hand. “I’m Dena Bailey.”

“Quinn Sterling.” He took the soft hand in his. It was warm.

“Oh, of course.” As if it suddenly registered who he was, she said, “Quinn Sterling, my neighbor.” A tiny smile of embarrassment made her cheeks dimple. “You donated the hockey stick.”

“I did.”

“Thank you.” She shuffled her feet either in nervousness or because the floor was cold.

“You’re welcome,” he said with a smile meant to put her at ease.

“That stick was a very popular item.”

“I’m glad.” He watched her, trying to gauge her reaction to learning his identity. He’d been a professional hockey player long enough to know that being Quinn Sterling could bring out the phoniness in a woman. So far, this woman didn’t appear to have a fake bone in her body. “How long have you lived here?”

“Not quite a month. Why?”

“I’m surprised we haven’t run into each other before now.”

“I’m not here much,” she told him, then quickly added, “because of my work—I’m a graphic designer.”

Leonie may have told him that but he didn’t remember. Come to think of it, he hadn’t paid much attention when she’d talked about the new tenant and her request for an autographed hockey stick. Now he wished he had.

Dena stifled a yawn, then said, “I’m sorry. You’re really going to have to excuse me. I have to be at work at seven tomorrow and it is late.”

So much for his concern that she might be a groupie eager to get to know him. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“It’s all right.” She dismissed his apology with a flap of her hand, then started across the hall.

“Isn’t your apartment behind you?”

She paused. “Yes, but the bathroom isn’t,” she answered. “Krystal and I share.”

Bathroom. That was it. Now he knew where he’d seen her. The night of Maddie and Dylan’s wedding, she was the woman he’d seen in the men’s room at the hotel. “Were you at Dylan’s wedding?”

Briefly her eyes widened, then she narrowed them again in a slumberous pose. “Yes, I was. Were you?”

“You don’t remember seeing me there?”

She gave him a blank look. “Do you remember seeing me?”

“Oh, yeah,” he drawled, unable to keep the smile from spreading across his face. “You are not a woman a man forgets, Dena Bailey.”

He could see the compliment made her uncomfortable. She didn’t say another word but padded across the carpeted hallway into the washroom. He was tempted to wait for her, but judging by the way she’d looked at him, he didn’t think she’d appreciate finding him still there.

So instead he went downstairs, picked up the mug and headed up to his own room, knowing there would be more opportunities to talk to her. She did, after all, live right below him. It was an intriguing thought.



YOU ARE NOT a woman a man forgets. Quinn Sterling’s words echoed in Dena’s head long after she’d returned to bed. Had he spoken them because he meant he wouldn’t forget her being in the men’s room at Dylan and Maddie’s wedding? Or had he been coming on to her?

She guessed it was a little of both. That sly grin had said, “We share a secret and I wouldn’t mind making a few more discoveries about you.” Even in her half-asleep state she hadn’t missed the gleam of interest in his eyes, although she wasn’t sure why he’d be curious about her.

Not many men would find bed head and flannel pajamas a turn-on. And she certainly had sent no vibes his way. There was no reason to, especially not after watching the videotape of him in action on the ice.

Big and bad. How many times had she seen that written about him? That black eye tonight certainly made him look bad. For all she knew he could have gotten it in a bar fight. And no one could say that it was his hockey gear that made him look big. Even out of uniform he was as wide as a football player and taller than most men.

Yes, she could definitely see why some women would find him attractive. With his physical attributes he could probably make any woman a little weak-kneed—especially one who’d been awakened from a deep sleep in the middle of the night.

Not that it mattered. If she were looking for romance—and she wasn’t—it wouldn’t be with a professional athlete. She could only imagine what it would be like to date someone who was constantly in the public eye and the object of groupies.

No, someone like Quinn Sterling would be more work than the average guy. And she’d discovered a long time ago that that was what men were—work. They demanded her attention and they wanted her passion. All she wanted to be passionate about was her job. It consumed her energy, her emotions, and that’s the way she wanted it, because the payoff was an indescribable feeling of accomplishment. There was no greater satisfaction than having something she had created on display in the marketplace for the world to see. Guys would come and go in her life, but her designs had staying power.

She looked again at the clock. In less than three hours she would have to get up and go into the office. She needed to stop thinking about her encounter with Quinn Sterling and go back to sleep, even if he was one of the most attractive men who’d ever flirted with her.

The woman hasn’t been born yet who can tempt him to hang up his blades. The quote from the women’s magazine echoed in her mind. As if she’d try to get him to do anything. She bunched up her pillow and rolled over.

She closed her eyes and forced her thoughts to the advertising campaign she’d been assigned to only yesterday. If she was going to lie awake in the middle of the night, she might as well think about something that would be of use to her for her work. Quinn Sterling was not in her future. Soy nuts were. If she could think of a clever package for the honey-roasted product, she’d be one step closer to reaching her goal of making art director.

As for the man who lived upstairs…it was unlikely that she’d run into him again. She’d lived at 14 Valentine Place for close to a month and had only seen him once. He was the kind of neighbor she wanted—out of sight and out of mind.



WHEN DENA ARRIVED at work later that morning, Greg Watkins told her that Jack Kramer wanted to see her. Her heart beat faster in anticipation of the reason she’d been summoned to the creative director’s office. Always the optimist, she expected it to be good news.

“Dena, come in and sit down,” he said when he saw her, gesturing to the Scandinavian-style chair next to his desk. “I wanted to tell you how pleased I am with your work so far. You’re doing a fine job here at Delaney.”

She relaxed and smiled. “Thank you. That’s good to hear.”

“I think you’re going to be a good fit for Delaney, and what I really like is that you’re a team player. That’s exactly what we need here. It’s the reason the Aaron Jorgenson benefit was a success.”

“I’m happy I was able to do my part.”

“As were so many generous people,” he said, obviously pleased. “That’s why we’ve decided to do another fund-raiser. Has Greg told you about our next project?”

She shook her head and he continued. “We’re going to put together a calendar featuring distinguished alumni from the state’s high schools…a sort of look at the stars of Minnesota. Each month will feature a different celebrity.” He went on to name several prominent public figures who’d already agreed to be featured on the calendar. Included were a senator, a comedienne and two film stars.

“It sounds like a wonderful idea for a fund-raiser,” Dena said. “Calendars are always popular.”

He nodded in agreement. “Delaney Design will be donating the graphic designs, and we have several vendors, including a printer, who have offered to donate their services and supplies at either a reduced fee or for no charge at all. That means we should be able to put the calendar together at a very low cost.”

She nodded. “If there’s anything I can do, please let me know. I’d be willing to volunteer my evenings.”

He held up his hand. “No need for you to do that. I’ve already had a couple of designers offer to do the layout. But I do have another way you can help me.”

Disappointment welled in her throat. So she hadn’t been called into his office because of her performance on the job.

He leaned forward, his arms on his desk. “Here’s the deal. We have most of the people we’ll be featuring on the calendar, but everyone agrees that it’s important to have the person who represents January be someone special. That’s why we’d like to have Quinn Sterling. Not only would he make a great winter picture with the hockey uniform and the skates and the whole bit, but he also attended the same high school as Aaron Jorgenson. He’s the perfect choice for the first month on the calendar, don’t you agree?” He looked at her with a grin that said he was very pleased with himself.

By now the lump that had started to fall in Dena’s stomach the minute she had heard Quinn Sterling’s name had settled like a brick in a pond. “You want me to ask Quinn Sterling if he’ll pose for the calendar?”

“He is a friend of yours, isn’t he?”

“I wouldn’t exactly say he’s my friend…” She trailed off uneasily. “We live in the same building, but to be honest, I hardly ever see him. Apparently, during the hockey season, players are on the road a lot. Is it even going to be possible to arrange a shoot with the kind of schedule he has?”

His smile faded. “Are you saying you don’t want to help with the project?” The warmth that had oozed out of him only minutes ago was replaced by a coolness that caused Dena to shift uneasily. “You don’t have to be a part of this project. This isn’t officially a Delaney Design endeavor. It’s strictly volunteer.”

Her palms grew damp. She wanted to say, I think I’ll pass on this one, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. Not when two other designers had already committed to the project.

“Oh, no, I want to help,” she quickly reassured him. “I’m just trying to put this together in my mind. One of the concerns I have would be the use of his photo. I assume the professional athletic leagues like the NHL have contracts with their players that might make it impossible for us to photograph him in his uniform and put it on a product we want to sell.” It was her only hope and it was quickly dashed.

“Legal’s already checked into it. All the appropriate forms that need to be signed are in here.” He slid a manila folder across the desk in her direction. “We’ve worked with athletic organizations before. In fact, one of our accounts is for the Cougar bobblehead dolls.”

“We’re doing hockey player bobbleheads?”

“A limited number. That’s why I’m not concerned about this calendar licensing. Basically all you need to do is get Quinn Sterling to agree to the photo shoot, and then you can consider your job done. Greg Watkins will take it from there. So what do you say? Can I count on you?”

As much as Dena wanted to say no, she answered, “Yes, you can.”

His face softened into a grin. “Thanks, Dena. This project is very important to me. I won’t forget that you are one of the reasons it’s going to be a success.”

She smiled weakly and mumbled an appropriate response, hoping she hadn’t made a promise she couldn’t deliver. She reached for the folder. “What’s the time frame on this?”

“We’re hoping to get the calendar to the printer by the end of May, but we also know that scheduling the photo shoots is going to be tricky, especially when we’re dealing with celebrities. It’s all in there,” he said, nodding to the folder in her hands.

She didn’t open it, but said, “So, then, you’d like me to talk to Quinn Sterling when?”

“As soon as possible. You should be able to reach him at the Cougar main office if not at your apartment building.” He picked up the newspaper that had been on the side of his desk and said, “According to the sports page, the Cougars are in town this week.”

Dena could have said, Oh, Quinn Sterling’s in town all right. He has a black eye and a dangerously attractive smile. She simply nodded and said, “I’ll do my best.”



THAT EVENING a letter from Maddie was waiting for her when she arrived home from work. As she read the newlywed’s note about her honeymoon and subsequent move to France, Dena was filled with a longing for her college days when she and Maddie had been the best of friends.

They’d been as different as night and day—Maddie being a social butterfly and Dena a studious bookworm. Maddie wore her emotions on her sleeve, but Dena guarded hers carefully. She did such a thorough job of keeping them close that many people thought she lacked feelings. Maddie knew better. They’d stay up until the wee hours of the morning sharing confidences.

It was at college that Dena had discovered what it was like to have a best friend. Throughout adolescence there had been girls who were friendly to her, but none who’d ever truly understood her the way Maddie did. Now, as Dena sat in Maddie’s old apartment, holding her words in her hand, she wished that her friend was beside her, giving her moral support. She’d always managed to make life a little easier for Dena, which was exactly what she needed when it came to her assignment involving Quinn Sterling.

But Maddie wasn’t there, and this was one job Dena was going to have to tackle by herself. She went over to her desk and pulled out a sheet of stationery to write another note. If he wasn’t home when she knocked on his door, she’d leave him a note.

“Could you please call me when you have a few minutes? I’d like to talk to you. Your neighbor, Dena Bailey.” She spoke the words as she penned them. Then she put her phone number at Delaney Design under her name, thinking it was better to keep things on a business level.

As much as she wanted to get things settled, she was a bit relieved when he wasn’t at home and she could shove the note beneath his door. She was on her way back down to her apartment when she saw Krystal Graham coming up the stairs. They met at the second-floor landing.

The redhead looked up toward the third floor and asked, “Were you looking for Quinn?”

“Yes, but he’s not in.” Dena saw no point in pretending.

“Now, why am I not surprised?” Krystal drawled. “I don’t know why he just doesn’t move a bed over to the ice rink.” She shoved one hand to her hip. “You know, as cute as he is, sometimes I think it would have been better if Leonie had rented that third floor apartment to another woman.”

It certainly would have eliminated the predicament Dena found herself in at the moment. She wasn’t sure what kind of a response the younger woman expected from her and was relieved when Krystal continued.

“Hey…have you eaten dinner?”

“Not yet, but—”

“Great. You can have some of my pizza. I haven’t eaten since noon today and I’m starving. If you haven’t tried that little place around the corner, it’s really good and they deliver.” Before Dena could utter a single word of protest, the stylist had pulled her cell phone from her purse and speed-dialed the pizzeria. “What do you like on yours?”

Dena wanted to say she didn’t have time for pizza, that she’d brought work home and she needed to get it done, but the look on Krystal’s face had her saying, “Mushrooms and onions?”

“Great! Me, too,” she said with a gamin grin. “What about some Italian sausage?”

Dena nodded. “And some green olives.”

“Green olives on half,” she repeated into the phone. “And extra cheese.” When she’d finished placing the order, she snapped the phone shut and said, “This is so cool! I was hoping I’d run into you so we could have some time for girl talk. I’m sure Maddie’s told you that 14 Valentine Place is absolutely the best place for women our age to live?”

“She did brag about it a bit,” Dena admitted.

“She must have told you about watching movies in Leonie’s great room?”

Dena knew that the large living area off the kitchen was what everyone referred to as the house’s great room. Leonie had told her that it was a communal area for the tenants to use. So far Dena hadn’t taken her up on her invitation, preferring to watch television in her own apartment.

“One thing about Leonie is that she likes having people in the house,” Krystal told her. “That’s why she converted this place into apartments. You don’t need to worry that you’re imposing on her privacy if you go downstairs. She loves having us girls around.”

“I’m afraid I work most evenings,” Dena told her in an apologetic tone.

“Then I’m glad I caught you tonight. How about if I meet you in the kitchen in say…twenty minutes or so? I need to shower and change. I’ve been working in these clothes.” She gestured to the short leather skirt and sweater sticking out from beneath her jacket.

“That’s fine.”

“Great. If you get down there before me, help yourself to any of the beverages in the fridge. There’s beer and soda or bottled water…you’re welcome to whatever you can find,” she said over her shoulder as she headed toward her door.

Dena nodded and forced a weak smile, wondering if she’d made a mistake accepting Krystal’s invitation. If she was going to keep her neighbors at arm’s length, it probably wasn’t wise to be sharing a pizza with one of them, especially one who was looking for “girl talk.”

When Krystal came into the kitchen, she was wearing tight black pants and a yellow sweatshirt. She arrived at the same time as the delivery boy. Dena watched her talk to him as if he were a good friend instead of a complete stranger, envying the ease with which the younger woman carried on a conversation.

As soon as he’d gone, Krystal said, “Wasn’t he just the cutest thing? A little too young for my taste, but cute.” She set the pizza in the middle of the table, then grabbed a Corona from the refrigerator.

“I noticed you asked if he had an older brother,” Dena remarked, taking the chair directly across from her.

“Of course. A girl has to explore every possibility,” she said as she helped herself to a slice of pizza.

Judging by the number of different guys that Dena had seen outside Krystal’s door, she assumed her housemate was definitely looking at her options.

“Have you heard from Maddie?” Krystal didn’t wait for an answer but continued on. “I got a letter the other day. She said that she and Dylan had a fabulous time on their honeymoon, but I guess that should come as no surprise, right? What woman wouldn’t be in seventh heaven with a guy like Dylan, right?”

“He seemed very nice,” Dena said between bites of pizza.

Krystal sighed dreamily. “He is. The world could use a whole lot more of his kind.”

“He has brothers, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, but Shane’s married and Jason’s only twenty.”

“And the other one?”

“Oh…you mean Garret.” She looked startled that she’d forgotten to mention him. “He’s so quiet I sometimes forget that he’s a Donovan.”

“Isn’t he a doctor?”

She nodded. “He’s just finishing up his residency. He’s a sweetie, but so different from Dylan. Dylan’s big and brawny and an adventurer. He’s lived all over the world.”

“And Garret?” she prodded.

“He doesn’t have Dylan’s muscular build, but he’s not bad looking. You just never know what he’s thinking because he doesn’t talk very much.”

“He’s probably a good listener. That’s what you want in a doctor, isn’t it?”

“Oh, definitely. And you’re right. He is a very good listener.” She uncapped the Corona and took a long sip. “He’s over here a lot. He doesn’t have a washer and dryer in his place so he uses the laundry room here.”

“I haven’t seen him around, but then I haven’t met many people since I moved here,” Dena told her.

“Then you should come with me on Saturday night. A bunch of us girls are going out. We can show you which places rock and which ones don’t.”

“Thanks, but I better say no.”

Krystal shrugged. “Okay, but if you change your mind, let me know. You don’t have a steady guy, do you?”

“No.”

“Me, neither. What about an unsteady one?” she asked with a crooked grin.

Dena couldn’t help but smile back. “No, not that kind, either.”

“Would you like one…or maybe two?” Her eyes sparkled mischievously.

Dena chuckled. “Why? Do you have a couple to spare?”

Krystal grinned. “As a matter of fact, I do. And they’re not bad guys to have around if you just want to have some fun.” She took another sip of beer, then said, “I meet a lot of men through work.”

“Leonie said you work at the day spa and salon over on Grand.”

She nodded. “You have great hair. It’s natural, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I can tell. If you haven’t found a stylist yet, you might want to check out the salon. I mean, don’t feel like you have to come to me, but you can—if you want.”

There was something especially charming about Krystal that made Dena feel as if she needed to watch out for her. Curious, she asked, “How old are you, Krystal?”

“Twenty-seven.”

She was only a couple of years younger than Dena, yet Dena felt almost maternal toward her. It was an unfamiliar feeling and caught her off guard.

She almost said, You don’t act twenty-seven, but stopped herself. “You don’t look twenty-seven.”

Krystal frowned. “Oh, shoot, not you, too. I’m always hearing that. Do you know how many times I’ve been ID’d to get served a glass of wine?” She didn’t wait for an answer but changed the subject. “It’s not always easy to meet people when you’re new to the city, so I want you to feel free to call me anytime you’re looking to go out and have some fun. And we don’t have to go looking for guys.”

“I’m really not looking for guys.” She emphasized the word not.

“What about Quinn? You were coming down from his place earlier this evening,” she reminded her, obviously wanting to know why.

“I need to talk to him,” she said.

“Yeah, you and about ten thousand other women,” Krystal said on a chuckle. “Take a number and get in line.”

“This is for professional reasons, not personal,” Dena was quick to point out.

“If you say so.”

“It is,” Dena insisted, not liking the dubious look on Krystal’s face.

She held up her hands. “Hey—you don’t need to explain to me. I’ve got eyes. I mean, even if he didn’t have a gorgeous face, that body alone could make a girl shiver. Those wide, thick shoulders, those big strong hands, and just that rough, tough look he has about him…” She sighed and trailed off dreamily. “Well, you wouldn’t be the first girl who wanted to get to know him better.”

“I don’t want to get to know him better,” Dena said with a bit of impatience, although she knew it was probably a waste of time to try to convince Krystal she wasn’t interested in Quinn. Women like Krystal didn’t understand how any woman could look at him and not see a hottie.

“It’s probably just as well,” Krystal stated pragmatically. “I mean, being a hockey player and all, he probably has women chasing him all over town.”

“Have you seen any?” As soon as Dena had uttered the words she knew it sounded as if she were interested in his love life. “I mean, women don’t stalk him to this house, do they?”

She giggled. “No. I don’t think hockey players are quite as popular as rock stars or Hollywood celebrities.”

“Personally, I don’t see the attraction.”

Again curiosity flickered in Krystal’s eyes. “I suppose you want to thank Quinn for donating that hockey stick to the benefit the other night.” She explained, “I heard Leonie ask him for it.”

Dena saw no reason not to let her assume it was her motivation for seeing him. “Yes, I do. It was very kind of him.”

Just then Krystal’s cell phone rang. She flipped open the cover, then quickly shut it again. “Telemarketer.” She sighed. “I was hoping it was one of my guys.”

One of my guys. “You’re seeing more than one?”

She held up two fingers. “Or maybe I should say one and a half. There’s this guy at my health club and then there’s Roy…he sort of drifts in and out of my life, so he doesn’t count as a full one, although if I could get him to be a full-timer, I’d end my days of juggling.”

“Juggling?”

She laughed. “It’s not what you think.” She took another sip of beer. “Believe me, I’d rather have one serious relationship with one good guy, but until that happens, I’m doing what most men do—sampling what’s out there.”

Again her phone rang and again she opened and shut it with a sigh. “Not Roy.”

The sound of feet on the stairs alerted Dena to the fact that Quinn had returned. Krystal knew it, too, and looked at Dena and said, “You might get your chance to talk to him, after all.”

When more footsteps sounded a short while later, Dena knew Krystal was right. Within a few minutes, Quinn appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. “Anyone seen Leonie?”

“She’s at her class, but you can come in and talk to us,” Krystal said with the same flirtatious banter she’d used on the delivery boy. When he came closer, she said, “Ooh—what did you do to your eye?”

He smiled, as if proud of his wound. “I got popped a good one during a game.”

“You are one mean dude, Quinn Sterling,” she said with a teasing smile and a playful punch on his arm. The ease with which Krystal talked to him contradicted the impression she’d given that she’d hardly had a chance to get to know him. But then Dena realized that for people like Krystal, it only took a few minutes to become comfortable talking to someone. Quinn was no exception, even if he was a pro athlete.

Then, to Dena’s horror, she pulled Quinn by the arm and urged him to take a seat at the table. “Here. Have some pizza. It’s great for black eyes,” she said with another grin. “And you can talk to Dena.” Then she excused herself, saying, “I have to make a call. I’ll see you later.” Before Dena or Quinn could utter a word, she had flitted out of the room.

Dena looked at the man sitting across from her and wanted to get up and run after Krystal. He wore a pair of faded jeans and a dark blue sweater that clung to his broad, muscular chest.

Suddenly all the adjectives Krystal had used to describe him glared back at Dena. Wide, thick, strong, rough, tough. Her heartbeat quickened and she wished it wouldn’t.

Quinn reached over to take a slice of the pizza. “Hi, Dena.”

The smile that accompanied his greeting kept her reply simple. “Hi.” He smelled good. Another reason for her pulse to behave erratically. “Your eye still does look pretty bad.”

“It’ll take a few days for the color to disappear,” he said, his gaze never flinching from her face. “Leonie gave me some cream to put on it. Something with aloe in it, I think.” He took a bite of the pizza, and said, “This is good.”

She agreed.

Then he said, “I wasn’t really looking for Leonie.” He pulled her pink stationery from his pocket and waved it in the air.

To her chagrin, she could feel her face warm. “You were supposed to call me at work,” she said primly.

“I’d rather talk to you here in person.”

That sent another rush of heat through her.

“What is it you need to talk to me about? Do you want another stick?” He held her gaze.

“Actually, it’s a little bit bigger favor than that,” she confessed.

“Bigger, huh. A jersey?” The same teasing glint that had been in his eyes last night was there this evening, too. “Or do you need tickets?”

“No, no tickets. What I need is…” she began, wanting to steer the conversation from a flirtatious tone to a more businesslike one, but he wasn’t about to let her.

He held up his hand. “No, don’t tell me now. Have lunch with me tomorrow and we’ll discuss it.”

Lunch with him? Not a good idea, a little voice inside her head warned. “It would be easier if we could just discuss this now. I work downtown and—”

“That’s all right. So do I.”

The last thing she wanted was to be seen in a public place with a well-known hockey player. She could only imagine the attention he’d draw. He was so big…and so good-looking. “It’s really hard for me to get away for more than a quick bite during the lunch hour.”

“I have a reputation for being quick.” Again his tone was provocative, and to her dismay, it sent a tiny shiver through her.

He was one good-looking man and he knew it. It annoyed her that she wasn’t immune to his charm. She didn’t want to be attracted to any man at this time in her life, and especially not a celebrity.

Then he said, “I prefer to discuss business over food, Ms. Bailey. This is about business, isn’t it?”

She almost blushed. Almost. “Yes. Of course.”

“Then should we meet tomorrow for lunch?” Those baby-blue eyes demanded an answer.

“All right. Lunch it is.” When a gleam of satisfaction lit his eyes, she added, “My treat.”

“It’s a date,” he said, rising to his feet.

Which was exactly what Dena didn’t want it to be.




CHAPTER THREE


DENA DRESSED FOR WORK the next morning as she did most days—in comfortable jeans, a T-shirt and a jacket. As usual, she chose to make her fashion statement with her socks, selecting a pair that had the Paris skyline on them. She added her artist palette pin on the lapel of the blazer and felt ready to tackle the day…and Quinn Sterling.

They had agreed to meet at a coffee shop just around the corner from Delaney Design. It was also close to the Excel Center and a good place to have a professional lunch—for that was what it was going to be. It didn’t matter what she’d seen in his eyes last night. Today was business.

It was a typical winter day in Minnesota, with a strong wind making the air feel a lot colder than the temperature indicated. Dena expected Quinn to be waiting inside the lobby of the building where the coffee shop was located. He wasn’t. He stood outside in the cold, wearing a leather jacket, but no gloves and no hat—as if there wasn’t a subzero windchill factor. He was tough. It seemed that adjective popped in her mind frequently when she was around him.

When he saw her he smiled and said, “Hi, neighbor.” It was a sexy kind of grin that said he was happy to see her—and not because she lived downstairs from him.

“Hello.” She tried to make her smile one of a business nature. Under her arm she carried a portfolio, which she switched to the other arm in order to shake his hand.

He held the door for her so she could enter first the office building, then the coffee shop. She felt his hand at her back as he ushered her toward the small sign that read: Please wait to be seated.

“It’s cold out there.” She felt the need to make small talk as they waited for the hostess to seat them.

“It’s not bad for the middle of February,” he commented, then turned his attention to the young woman who greeted him by name.

“Two?” the hostess asked, eyeing Dena curiously.

“You got it,” he said with a broad smile, his hand still at Dena’s back.

“Right this way.” The young woman picked up two menus and motioned for them to follow her. Dena could feel eyes glancing in their direction as they walked the length of the coffee shop. When Quinn nodded and said hello to a couple of men seated at the counter, she knew it was because they’d recognized him as a hockey player.

He removed his jacket and she saw again just how massive he was. He looked too wide to be sitting on a bench seat made for one, and she thought he should have asked for a regular booth that seated four.

She looked around and wondered how many of the curious glances had come their way because he’d been recognized.

As if he knew what she was thinking, he said, “If heads turned when we came in, it’s because I’m usually in here with a couple of banged-up hockey players, not a beautiful woman.”

As much as she didn’t want the compliment to affect her, she couldn’t prevent the tiny rush of pleasure his words created. She gave him a look she’d perfected years ago—the one that said, Give me a break. That line’s as old as the hills, and dismissed the comment with a question.

“Do you get recognized often?” she asked.

He shrugged. “It depends on where I am. If I’m at an ice arena, yes. If I’m at an art museum, no. Be honest. Until we met, would you have recognized me if you’d been sitting here in this coffee shop having lunch?”

“No. I’ve never seen a Minnesota Cougars game.” As soon as she’d said the words, she wished she could retract them. It wasn’t what she should have said, considering the favor she needed to ask. “But then I just moved here from Rhode Island,” she explained.

Again that wonderful smile of his made an appearance as he said, “It’s all right. You’re not a hockey fan. You don’t need to pretend that you are. Actually, I like the fact that you aren’t.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “It makes it easier.”

She wanted to ask, Easier for what? but decided to let it go.

If she’d hoped that discussion of menu selections and the appearance of their server would put the tone of their conversation back on a less personal track, she was wrong. The first thing he asked her when they resumed talking was, “Why did you leave Maddie and Dylan’s wedding early?”

“What makes you think I left early?”

“Because I searched the entire ballroom for you. If you had been there, I would have found you.”

If she’d had any doubt as to his interest in her, it was certainly put to rest by the way he was looking at her. His words caught her by surprise and at the same time sent another tremor of excitement through her.

“I left early because I had to catch a plane the next morning. I was still living in Rhode Island at the time,” she told him.

“That’s a shame. That was one terrific wedding celebration. I’m only sorry that I came late to the party.” She could hear the sincerity in his voice and see the regret in his eyes.

“It was a nice day for them,” she said simply.

“Tell me what you were doing in Rhode Island,” he urged, leaning forward so that he was closer to her.

“Working, which is what I’m supposed to be doing now.” She reached for the portfolio that contained the legal documents he needed to sign.

“Oh, that’s right. You want something from me.”

She thought she detected a hint of disappointment in his voice. “Not for myself. For Aaron Jorgenson.”

“There’s another charity event?”

“Not an event exactly, but it is a fund-raiser to help with his medical bills.” She told him about the plans for the calendar featuring celebrity graduates of Minnesota high schools, ending with, “Each month will have a different celebrity in front of their alma maters.”

He leaned back. “Ah, I get it. You want me to be one of the so-called Minnesota stars, right?”

She nodded. “Mr. January. You’re perfect for the spot. Hockey is a winter sport, and you did go to the same high school as Aaron Jorgenson.”

“What kind of a photo would this be?”

“Probably one of you in your uniform on the ice rink behind your old school but you can work out the details when you meet with the art director. And as for scheduling the photo shoot—it would be at your convenience, of course. Here.” She pulled out the letter of introduction she’d been given and passed it to him. “This should answer any questions you have.”

He gave it a quick glance, then set it down. “I’d have to have my agent look this over to make sure there’s not a problem with my contract.”

She nodded in understanding. “Of course. And if he says there are no problems?”

He shrugged. “Then I’ll do it.”

Relief washed over her. She couldn’t believe it was so easy to get him to agree.

Then he said, “On one condition.”

Apprehension crept through her. “And that is?”

“That you return the favor.”

“And do what?” She chuckled. “I’m not a celebrity.”

“You don’t need to be a celebrity to do charity work,” he reminded her.

“No, you’re right.” She took a drink of water to wet her dry mouth. “What is it you want me to do?”

“Help out one of the nonprofit organizations the Cougars sponsor,” he told her.

She knew the local professional sports teams took active roles in the community because she’d seen them on the nightly news. “If you get me a list, I’d be happy to make a donation to one of them,” she suggested.

“I’m not talking about giving cash, Dena. These programs need volunteers who will give their time.” His eyes didn’t waver from hers.

“All right. I’ll volunteer my time. As I said, send me a list and I’ll be happy to help out.”

“I trust you’re a woman of your word?” he asked with a lift of his water glass.

“Of course. You have a deal, Mr. Sterling.” She stretched out her hand and he took it in a grip that said he didn’t want to let it go again.

Fortunately their food arrived and he was forced to drop her hand. Dena ate her soup and sandwich as fast as possible, wanting to get back to her office. She made the appropriate small talk but was grateful when the waitress dropped the check on the table.

She snatched it up and glanced pointedly at her watch. “I’m sorry, but I’m on a really tight schedule.”

“No problem,” he said, getting to his feet so he could help her with her coat but she slipped it on before he had a chance.

“If you’ll just look at the information that’s in that envelope…” She trailed off, buttoning the front. “I think it’s all pretty self-explanatory.”

“If I have any questions, I suppose I could always tap three times on the floor,” he said with a crooked smile.

“It would probably be better for you to call Greg Watkins. He’s the person in charge of the project.”

“I’d rather call you.”

The look he gave her said it wasn’t because he’d have questions about the calendar. He was definitely interested in her. She could see it in his eyes.

“I’ve got to get back to work,” she said, tugging on her gloves.

He escorted her out of the coffee shop, his hand at her back. When she walked beside him she felt small and fragile, a rare experience for someone as tall as she was. She discovered she rather liked the feeling and wished that it had been other circumstances that had brought them together. She imagined a guy like Quinn Sterling could make a woman feel special in a lot of ways.

As she said goodbye to him outside, she realized there was no place for those kind of thoughts in her mind. He was an assignment and one she’d completed. There would be no reason for her to have any contact with him again other than the occasional hello that neighbors give one another. She’d experienced the power of celebrity charisma and had come through without any scars. Now she could go back to the real world. Her work.



DENA THOUGHT that once she delivered the news that Quinn Sterling had agreed to be Mr. January, her part in the calendar project would be finished. She never expected Greg Watkins would ask her to go with him to the photo shoot.

“I hope this guy shows up,” the art director said as they sat in the Delaney van with the engine running, waiting for Quinn to arrive. The camera crew had already set up their equipment on the skating rink. “If we have to reschedule, this snow and ice could be gone.”

“He’ll show up,” Dena said as she stared out the window, hoping that she was right. The outdoor conditions were ideal, especially for the first week in March. She knew that an early spring could turn the solid ice into slush and force them indoors for the shoot. Besides, if Quinn didn’t show up, she was going to feel responsible, which was ridiculous. All she’d done was get him to agree to do the calendar. She hadn’t even recommended him for the job.

“Well, I hope he’s on time. The professional athletes I’ve worked with have acted like the world should wait for them,” Greg said with disdain.

Dena didn’t comment but pushed back her cuff to see her watch. “He has seven more minutes to get here before you can call him late.”

“This Sterling character must have had his picture taken often enough that this should be a piece of cake. I hope it goes bing-bing and we’re done,” he said, snapping his fingers. “I don’t fancy having to stand out in the cold for hours on end.”

“I thought that was why you brought me. So I could stand out in the cold,” she quipped.

“I brought you because you were a part of the deal.” He tapped his gloved fingers on the steering wheel. “Besides, if you want to be an art director someday, this is good practice.”

She could have pointed out that she’d done her part of the deal—getting Quinn Sterling to agree to be in the calendar. Instead she focused on the fact that he’d brought her along because he wanted her to get experience. That meant he thought she had the potential to serve as one of the eight art directors at the agency, that she was talented enough to work at the same level as he.

“Yes, it is, and I thank you for such an opportunity,” she said sincerely. She knew that he could have chosen any one of the graphic designers working under him to accompany him on the shoot, yet he’d chosen her.

“Don’t thank me. I would have left you behind except Quinn Sterling said the only way he’d do the shoot was if you were there.”

“You’re kidding, right?” When he didn’t answer, she said, “Oh my gosh, you’re not.” Disappointment replaced the thrill of pleasure his earlier words had produced.

“Do you have something going with this guy?” he asked, giving her a slanted glance.

“No!” she denied vigorously. “Good grief, he’s my neighbor. That’s all.”

“I don’t care what he is as long as he’s on time.” His attention was captured by the silver SUV approaching. “And it looks like he is.”

Dena recognized the vehicle and knew it was Quinn.

“Okay, let’s get this over with,” Greg said when the SUV had parked on the other side of the photographer’s van.

Dena pulled on her gloves and went out into the cold. They walked over to Quinn’s SUV, where he stood with the back open.

Other than shaking his hand and saying hello, Dena remained quiet, content to let Greg do the talking. Determined to keep everything on a professional level, she followed the art director’s instructions and paid close attention to the technical aspects as the photographer did his job.

To her surprise, Quinn treated her as impersonally as he did the others at the shoot. He said little, cooperating in a manner with which Dena knew Greg could find no fault. There were no flirtatious glances, no sexy smiles tossed her way. By the time it was over, she was wondering why he had even insisted that she be there and decided she’d misread his interest in her earlier.

When the last of the shots had been taken, he skated over to the wooden bench from where Dena had watched the shoot. He sat down beside her so he could slip a pair of skate guards over his blades.

“So how do you think it went?” he asked.

“Good. Richard Davis does beautiful work. I think you’re going to be pleased with the results,” she said, nodding toward the photographer. “Greg has already shown me the proofs for several of the calendar models, and they’re incredible.” It had started to snow, and huge white flakes fell around them. She caught some in her gloved hand and said, “Looks like we finished just in time.”

When she glanced at him, he was staring at her. The look of interest was back on his face. There was no mistaking it and his words confirmed it. “I’m glad you came today.”

“Greg told me you requested I be here.”

“Yeah, I did,” he said, taking off his gloves.

“Why?”

“Because I like being around you.”

She thought the warmth of his words could have melted the snow settling on her coat. “I didn’t think you even noticed I was here,” she said softly.

He gazed into her eyes and said, “Believe me, I noticed.”

“Dena!” Greg called out from a few feet away, causing her to look away from those penetrating eyes. “You can head back to the van if you want. I’m going to talk to Richard.”

“I will. It’s cold out here,” she called back to him, then rose to her feet.

Quinn got up, too. “I have something for you. Come with me,” he said, nodding toward the parking lot.

The cars were only a few steps from the ice rink. As soon as Quinn reached his, he stashed his sticks, gloves and helmet in the back, then went around to the side to open the passenger door. He reached into the glove compartment, pulled out a slip of paper and handed to her.

On it was a date and an address. “What’s this?” she asked.

“Your end of our agreement,” he answered.

“It’s only a time and a place. What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Do you like to read?”

“I love to read.”

“Good. That’s an elementary school in St. Paul. The kids there love reading. The Cougars have set up a program that encourages them to read as many books as they can. Once a month we visit the school, read a few stories to them and then talk about books they’ve read—you know, what they liked and didn’t like, that sort of thing.”

“And where do I fit into this picture?”

“You’re going to be a part of the program. They love having adults read to them.”

“I’m sure they love having famous hockey players read to them,” she corrected.

“Listen, some of these kids don’t even have a clue what I do for a living,” he pointed out, then added with a wry grin, “so you won’t feel out of place.”

Oh, yes, she would. Just being around him was enough to make her feel as if she were way out of her league.

“It’s a great program and not a bad way to spend a morning,” he went on. “And you’re lucky because the next visit isn’t until the twenty-fifth so you have a couple of weeks to prepare.”

“Prepare?”

“To see me again,” he said with a sexy grin.

Yes, it was getting to the point that she did need an advance warning as to when that grin was going to be flashed her way. She only wished she were immune to its power. It was sheer craziness to fall for that kind of charm, especially since he was a man whose life was in the public spotlight. She already had a list of bad choices she’d made when it came to men. There was no point in adding another name to it. And she wasn’t naive enough to think that he was asking her to do the reading program because they were short on volunteers.

“I’d love to help the kids, but I really haven’t been at my job long enough to be asking for time off,” she suggested, knowing it would be wise to keep their relationship on a professional level.

“You want me to ask Greg for the green light on this one?” He nodded toward the art director, who was still on the ice.

She shook her head. “No, please don’t. Maybe I could donate some books.”

“I’m not asking for books, Dena. I’m asking for your time. We made a deal, remember?” There was a challenge in his eyes, and she had a feeling it had nothing to do with books and reading.

Just then her boss called out to her.

“Can I count on you to be there?” Quinn wanted to know.

She looked at the date and address of the school one more time, then shoved the slip of paper into her coat pocket. “All right, I’ll be there. I’d better go. We’ll be in touch,” she told him, then hurried back to the Delaney van.



ALTHOUGH DENA KNEW she could be quite happy without a man in her life, she had to admit there were times when having one around did come in handy. Bringing a new computer home was one of those times. At the electronics store, she’d had help loading the boxes into her car. Now, parked behind 14 Valentine Place, she knew it was going to be a challenge to get them into her second-floor apartment.

Her only option was to take them one at a time. She bent to get the largest box, wrapping her arms around its width. With a grunt she straightened, only to find Quinn at her side. He’d left his jacket indoors and had come outside wearing a gray University of Minnesota sweatshirt and a pair of jeans.

“Let me help you with that,” he said, relieving her of the burden.

Grateful for the offer, she mumbled a thank-you, then bent to pick up a smaller carton.

“I can take another one,” he said, nodding toward the remaining box in the car.

Of course he could. He was a big guy. She set a slightly smaller box on top of the one already in his hands, which left only a small bag of accessories for her to pick up. She reached for it, then closed the trunk.

He followed her up the stairs to the second floor where she unlocked the door and let him in. Most men would have been breathing heavily if they’d carried such a load. He looked as if he’d carried a loaf of bread.

“Any particular place I should set these?” he asked, making a quick survey of the room.

“The floor is fine,” she said, gesturing with her arm.

“Anything else I can do for you?” His look intimated that his offer wasn’t limited to hauling boxes up the stairs.

“No, that should do it. Thanks for your help,” she said, noticing the way he took in the contents of her room.

“You’re welcome. It’s important for neighbors to help one another out, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I’d offer you something to drink but I only have mineral water.”

“Mineral water is fine,” he told her, stepping farther into the room.

She had a small portable refrigerator in which she stored just enough things so that she didn’t have to use the main kitchen on the first floor. She pulled a plastic bottle from it and handed it to him.

“Thanks.” He unscrewed the cap and took a drink, then said, “This place sure has changed since the last time I was here. I suppose you know that before Leonie remodeled the house, this floor had boys’ bedrooms on it.”

“I did hear something about that,” she said, aware of his scrutiny of her things.

“I can tell you one thing, it was never this neat.”

Dena was glad she’d straightened the place before she’d left for the mall.

He moved over to her desk and leaned closer to peer at the models on her shelf. “These are cool. Did you do them?”

She nodded. “I’m working on packaging for soy nuts.”

He wrinkled his nose slightly. “Soy nuts?”

She reached for a small covered dish and removed the lid. “Try some.”

He held up his hand and shook his head. “No, thanks. I tried soy milk once and that was enough of an introduction to soy for me.”

She shrugged. “These are actually pretty good. They come in flavors like honey roasted, barbecue…”

Her words didn’t convince him to give them a try. “You do most of your work on a computer?”

Again she nodded. “Most of it.”

“Is that why you bought the new system? So you could bring work home?”

“Yes. Plus I also freelance. Brochures, business cards…that sort of thing.” When it became apparent he wasn’t in any hurry to leave, she said, “You probably have stuff you want to do. Please don’t let me keep you from it.”

“Not tonight. It’s why I was in Leonie’s kitchen when you pulled into the driveway.” Again there was no mistaking the interest in his eyes. She’d seen it the afternoon they’d had lunch and again at the photo shoot.

“Lucky for me. I’m not sure how I would have gotten that box up those stairs without help.” She nodded toward the computer cartons.

“It wasn’t luck. I was waiting for you to come home. I’d already tried knocking on your door so I went downstairs to see if Leonie knew where you were.” He moved closer to her and she caught the fresh scent of soap.

“Why were you looking for me?”

“To find out if you’re having as much trouble trying not to think about me as I’m having trying not to think about you.” His voice was seductively soft.

She wanted to roll her eyes and tell him she’d heard better lines from high school boys, but there was no sly twinkle in his eyes, no cocky tilt to his head. Just a sincerity that made her totally aware of him as a man.

If she had wanted to be coy, she could have tossed back her hair and asked why he imagined she’d been thinking about him at all. It was probably what a lot of women would have done. Not many women would pass up an opportunity to flirt with a guy like Quinn Sterling. And she could only imagine what hockey groupies would have done if they had been in her shoes.

Only Dena had never been any good at flirting. Nor was she of the groupie mentality. She didn’t even like hockey. Yet if she were honest with herself, this man standing next to her had preoccupied her thoughts lately…and not only because of his connection with the charity projects.

She didn’t want him to know that, however, and said, “I’m sorry. I’m sure you get a lot of people asking you to give of your time for various charity functions. I promise I won’t bug you anymore.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

She tried to give him a blank stare of puzzlement, but there was no mistaking the look in his eye. He was attracted to her.

“Have you had dinner yet?” he asked.

She was about to tell him she had, but then her stomach growled and he smiled and said, “You haven’t. Good. I haven’t, either. Come over to Dixie’s with me. We’ll have a little wine, eat some ribs and we can get to know each other a little better. If we’re going to be neighbors asking each other for favors, we should at least do that, don’t you think?”





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