Who did he think he was to insult her like this?
Kate had an Irish temper to match her auburn hair and green eyes, and it blazed into life in a sudden rage. A veil of red shimmered before her gaze as she snatched up the camisole and marched up the outside stairs.
She was banging on the door of Apartment A in no time, ready to explode. She could hardly stand still; phrases she would say to him bubbled madly in her boiling anger.
The door opened.
Before Occupant A could say a word, Kate threw the silk camisole in his face.
It snagged on his glasses, hanging like a tassel on a life-size loser lamp.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” she shouted.
His eyes widened.
“How dare you…” she spluttered, looking at the badly dressed, slouching, bespectacled figure in front of her.
“How dare you—you suggest I don’t have taste. When I need tips on how to dress from a surfer boy comic strip I’ll ask you!”
He opened his mouth to speak but she kept on shouting.
“I happen to work in a beauty salon. It contains the word beauty, which is something you don’t know the first thing about. I have plenty of taste and not…not…computer chips for brains.”
“I—”
Kate drew a shuddering breath and raised her hand to shake her forefinger in his face. “Furthermore, I hate your attitude and your rude behavior and your stupid notes and I think you owe me an apology because—”
“You’re right.” The words were quiet and calm.
She’d expected a shouting match and the quiet words caught her off guard.
Occupant A had taken off his glasses in order to unsnag the camisole, which seemed to be caught in the hinge. He looked down, fiddling.
“What?” she shrieked.
A pair of clear gray eyes met hers ruefully. “I said, ‘You’re right.’ I was out of line.” He sighed, his face wrinkling as though in pain. “I apologize.”
All Kate could think was what a shame it was that such beautiful eyes were wasted on a jerk who covered them up with glasses and stared at a computer monitor all day.
With a nod that sent her dangling earrings swinging, she said, “Well, okay. No more nasty notes.”
“It was a stupid thing to do,” he agreed.
His voice was a surprise. Deep and rich, with an upper-crust East Coast accent.
Kate drew a long breath. She’d expected a battle. Adrenaline pumped through her body. She’d been ready to rant and rave and throw things.
His unexpected apology took the wind out of her sails, leaving her stalled on his doorstep, with no anger to push her on. Her rages were always over as suddenly as they began, and in the calm aftermath she felt a little foolish. She backed up a couple of steps and, taking another shaky breath, suddenly smiled.
“I’m sorry, too, if my temper led me to say anything I shouldn’t have.”
When she smiled at him she noticed his eyes widen in shock and he shoved the now-freed glasses back on his face.
She turned to leave.
“Wait.”
She glanced back.
He was holding out the camisole. “Please keep this.”
“Oh, I couldn’t. It’s much too expensive.” It occurred to her that this man didn’t know you could buy inexpensive camisoles at any department store, as she had. He must think you had to go to a lingerie store, or one of those fancy catalogs. “You could return it.”
He straightened from his careless slouch and looked down at her. He was surprisingly tall when he stood upright, over six feet. “I’m not going to take it back. If you accept it I’ll know you’re not still mad at me.”
Something in his voice, a trace of command, made her reach out to take the wisp of silk from him. “All right,” she agreed softly. “It’s beautiful. Thanks.”
Feeling even more foolish, she turned once again to leave.
“Maybe we should set up a schedule?”
Puzzled, she turned back. “A schedule?”
“For the laundry. If each of us has assigned laundry days, we won’t have a problem in future.”
Kate thought of Annie and her in the laundry room together chatting, throwing their jeans and socks together to make up a load. It used to be so much fun. She sighed. “Sure.”
“I’ll put something together on my computer. Do you have a preference?”
“I don’t know anything about computers.”
He grinned. She was amazed to see he could grin. “I meant days of the week.”
“Oh, of course. Well, I work different shifts. I’m busiest on the weekends and usually not so busy midweek.”
“I can work with that.” He cleared his throat. “Um.” He seemed to be struggling. Finally he held out his hand. “My name’s Dean Edgar.”
“Kate Monahan.” She grasped the outstretched hand, which clasped hers with warm strength. She glanced up in surprise.
He pulled his hand back as though she’d given him an electric shock. Then suddenly he was gone, back into his apartment like a gopher diving down into its burrow.
She shook her head as she walked slowly down the steps. He was a strange one, all right. But she didn’t think she’d have any more trouble with him, now she’d let him know she was not to be messed with.
He was even kind of cute when you got past the hair and the wardrobe.
And there was that odd tug of familiarity. It was surprising, but she worked on a lot of men in the salon. He probably looked like one of her clients.
Not that any of her clients would ever leave her chair with their hair like that.
4
DARREN KNEW he’d been a fool the minute he opened the door and his sexy new neighbor started yelling at him.
He’d played his part so well, careful to make sure she wouldn’t want anything to do with him—and doing it with notes had been a master stroke—because then she never got close enough to see him clearly.
He had to act like a jerk. He needed to keep his distance from everyone in his new life. Especially hot, sexy redheads who lived at the same address. Why couldn’t he have had the luck to land in a building where his fellow tenant was another guy, or a married couple with kids? Anyone but a woman who made him remember how much he liked women.
When he’d received her sassy note and a pair of bikinis, he’d been furious. The part of him that was still Darren Edgar Kaiser Jr. had taken over his actions. The women Darren Kaiser knew didn’t treat him like this. So he’d bought the most elegant camisole he could find and penned a note as insulting as hers had been.
The minute she’d launched the camisole at him, he knew he’d gone too far.
It was the look of angry hurt in her eyes that made him apologize. In wanting to be certain she left him alone he had never intended to hurt her feelings. Make her think he was a jerk? Yes. Make her question her own attractiveness? No.
He’d glimpsed her through the window a few times. The way she strutted in her flamboyant clothing, she certainly didn’t look like a woman who was insecure about her