“Dana,” he said, as if actually pleased to see her. “What do you think?” He motioned to the large moving van. “We’re going to be neighbors.”
She’d already suspected as much, but it was one thing to think it and another to hear him say the words. “Really?”
Walter nodded. “You always said such nice things about your complex that when Trevor asked me about a place to rent while he had his house built, I instantly thought of here. Fortunately, one of the units was available.”
“Talk about luck,” Dana muttered, shoving her hands into her back jeans pockets. This couldn’t be happening. Trevor couldn’t move in next door. It wasn’t just that she would have to see him from time to time; she would have to hear him. Their units shared two common walls. One was the living room, which wouldn’t be a problem, but the other was the bedroom. She resisted the urge to groan. She didn’t want to spend her evenings listening to him play Don Juan to whichever woman he might have up there.
“We’re ready, sir,” one of the movers called.
“Sure.” Trevor walked to the man and spoke with him briefly, then headed for the front door. He was gone for a few seconds, then the garage opened and he reappeared. “I know where I want all the furniture,” he told the men. “The boxes are marked by room.”
The movers began unloading the van. Trevor helped, giving directions when necessary and carrying in boxes. His red polo shirt hugged powerful muscles in his shoulders, back and chest. Worn jeans—obviously designed to drive women insane—had faded to white at the hips seams, the knees and the crotch.
Walter looked at Dana. “Is this going to be a problem for you?”
She had to forcibly withdraw her attention from his son. She probably looked like a hungry wolf eyeing a rabbit as a potential meal.
His hazel eyes were shrewd and saw far too much. Did he expect her to tell him the truth? She smiled broadly. “Not at all. In fact, I came outside to offer my help.”
The older man raised his eyebrows. “That was before you knew the identity of your new neighbor. I can tell what you’re thinking, Dana, but you don’t have to worry about Trevor. He won’t be making noise and keeping you up late. Rumors of his exploits are exaggerated.”
“Thank you,” she said, wondering if there was a parent alive who didn’t think the best of his offspring.
The three men continued to carry furniture into the town house. Dana trailed after them and found Trevor in the master bedroom. He told them where to set the large dresser.
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected as far as decor, but the simple wooden pieces in the bedroom looked faintly conservative. Maybe he saved flashy for the sheets. Black satin or possibly silk.
“I’m here to help/’ Dana said. “What would you like me to do?”
Trevor glanced at her. “I appreciate that, although I’m a little surprised.”
“That I would be neighborly?”
He nodded. “I don’t think I’m who you would have chosen to live next door.”
He had that right. Still, he was her boss’s son and she could make the best of a bad, albeit temporary, situation. “Not a problem. I hope you’re not worried about me. Cramping your style and all.”
“You’d be surprised how little that concerns me. There isn’t as much style as you think.”
“Good looks and modesty. Gee, Trevor, it’s amazing some woman hasn’t snapped you up before now.” She’d intended the comment to come out sarcastically, but oddly, as she spoke the words she found that she meant them. She knew from personal experience that he could be as charming as the devil himself. If he ever combined that with sincerity, he would be irresistible.
He ignored her statement and led the way down the hall. “I have a lot of books, so if you really do want to help, you can start there.” He motioned to the neatly stacked boxes in the center of the room. Two of the walls contained floor-to-ceiling built-in bookcases.
“Dr. MacAllister, could you let us know where you want the sofa?” one of the movers called.
“Be right there.” Trevor walked to the door. “Thanks, Dana. I appreciate your help.”
When he was gone, she moved to the pile of boxes and opened the first one. Inside were medical texts. No surprise there. She took an armful and placed them on the bookshelves. So much for escaping from what was on her mind, she thought with a grin. She’d gone from the frying pan into the fire. Now she wasn’t just thinking about Trevor— she was actually in his house. Oh joy. And they were going to be neighbors. Could it get worse?
She mentally withdrew the question, not wanting to tempt fate any more than she had. The only good thing about the situation was that she would see him with an assortment of women. That should take care of her wayward hormones. Even they would eventually figure out he wasn’t worth lusting after. Not when he was more interested in quantity than quality.
Time passed quickly. She worked efficiently, flattening the boxes as she emptied them. There were tons of books. Not just the medical texts, but a collection of mysteries and bestsellers, three boxes of biographies and some books on travel. Surprisingly, all looked well read. She fingered the spine of a battered techno-thriller about a Russian submarine escaping to the West. He couldn’t have read all these himself. When would he have had the time? He worked long hours in his office and in surgery, and he was out every night. But she didn’t think Trevor had bought the books used.
“You’re looking serious about something,” he said, walking into the room and carrying two canned soft drinks. He handed her one. “I thought you might be thirsty.”
“Thanks.” She took the drink and popped the top. “I was just admiring your collection.” He eyed the full shelves. “I like to read. It’s how I relax after surgery.”
“I’m surprised you have the time.”
“When something’s important to me, I make the time.”
She sensed a double meaning there, one that made her uncomfortable. “Are the movers finished?” she asked.
“Yeah, they left about twenty minutes ago. So did my dad. You want the nickel tour?”
“Sure.” Easier to trail after him than to keep looking at him, she thought as her body once again betrayed her.
He led her through the three-bedroom town house that was a mirror image of hers. In the three years she’d lived in the complex, this unit had always been a rental. The walls were cream, the carpet a neutral beige. Cream vertical blinds allowed in light.
They started in the living room. Like the furniture she’d seen in his bedroom, the pieces were conservative and tasteful. A dark-blue leather sofa with a matching recliner stretched across the back wall. A television and other complex-looking electronic equipment filled an entertainment unit opposite. The end and coffee tables were oak, oversized but simple. A few paintings leaned against the wall—a couple of oil seascapes, and three watercolor scenes of a bay—along with a collection of photographs that looked to be blowups from several different trips. Knowing what she did about him, she would have pictured something flashier.
The room she used as an office he’d filled with exercise equipment. She didn’t dare picture him in shorts, and a cropped T-shirt, covered with sweat—her pulse was already rapid. In the master suite, several boxes stood open. She saw piles of linens—not silk or satin, but plain colors in cotton. Even the comforter was a sensible