Love Found Me (A City Love Novel, Book 1) Read online

  He was panting when he repeated, "Miss?"

  Danielle's thick dark hair rolled away from her face as she watched his polished loafers shift closer. By that point, she'd had no choice but to crane her head to face him.

  "Huh?" She murmured, as she shook off a lingering shiver--undoubtedly a shameless craving to taste every morsel of sex appeal riding the ripples in his cashmere.

  As she looked up and met the eye of a man peering through rain swept glass, her gut instantly clenched. His hazel smoldered fervent intensity as their eyes locked for an endless moment. She opened her mouth to answer him, but the words fell silent. Fortunately, she could finally get a closer look at him, as his pecks bulged and ruffled supple leather.

  "Miss, are you hurt?"

  He called loudly enough to be heard above the roar of the duct fans as he leaned in closer to the glass, breathing smoky halos in midair. His heavy panting had yet to trail off as he spoke, only pulsing her heart in unison. Once her brain finally clicked on and her eyes rose into focus, she pulled forward.

  In obvious concern, he stared back at her. She didn't know what to think. Everything seemed to be happening so fast.

  Danielle pushed the wet bangs from her eyes and swallowed.

  "I...ahhh..." she managed to mumble, before squirming in the leather cushion. His eyes smoldered skin so hot, a bucket of ice would've melted right off of her. Danielle writhed in her seat again as she peered up beneath her lashes in a soft voice, "I'mmm fine," she said, just before her words fell silent again.

  As the vapor melted, her window framed a lanky profile laced in a perfect bronze in the heart of winter. His fashionably ripped distressed jeans finessed a stylish silvery chain belt tapering black leather and soft camel-like cashmere.

  Sexy and party boy--only a fool would combine the two. Roman Jules, ultimately debonair, charming and what any woman would naturally be attracted to. Yet, here he stood gazing into a window at a half-limp and over struck woman on the verge of losing it and indulging in a manner of lustful thoughts.

  Justifiably, the man was tall, dark-haired and mastered tan perfection. He was a man who turned women's heads, and made men take an instinctive step back when he walked by. He was so ripped and sexy. Muscular and toned with a curvaceous figure that rivaled any Rodin sculpture.

  His stare devoured her attention to the point of salivating. This is crazy. What was I thinking? What am I doing? Get a grip Danielle. She swallowed slowly and scanned over him, denying every word she'd told herself. Handsome only brushed the surface. He was a vision in suave urban casual, and impeccably polished Italian loafers.

  She let herself glance over him again for five intense seconds and then forced herself to look away. Those dark eyes focused so intensely on her, tamed her impulse to groan. As she looked up at him, his bronze radiated an infinite glow against the maze of skyscrapers.

  "I rushed right over...the SUV was already halfway down the ramp when I--" His words came out almost as a wail, arousing a sensuality she hadn't craved in years. She was breathing hard, but nowhere as hard as he was.

  As she motored the window, wet vaporous beads trickled the glass and shellacked the asphalt like a slippery veil of ice.

  This is awkward. She swallowed. "So, you're the new guy?"

  "Yeah. I'm pretty much settled in. I got a great deal on this place. Although I'd had my heart set on the penthouse, some money-grubbing ass offered a fortune...just whipped it right out from under me."

  His eyebrows rose as she stammered, "I--I'm in the penthouse."

  "God. I'm sorry. I didn't mean t---"

  She watched him try to tame his silence.

  His biceps flexed and revealed long, strong muscles coursing his slick leather jacket. And, not surprisingly, lust tugged at Danielle's gut, and she glared at Roman who jumped and shifted his eyes to his loafers. He wasn't blushing, but that meant nothing. And then, in the next minute, his eyes met hers again.

  He clarified, "How 'bout we start over. I'm Roman. Roman Jules. A man lucky to have met such a beautiful woman." His husky voice was a gentle entreaty of aroused calm as he held out a hand. "Lovely to meet you--" he said, pausing for her name.

  His grasp was strong and his skin was smooth as velvet. His grip had practically magnetized her hand in his when she stuttered, "I--I'm Danielle," at the very moment she'd just about melted in front of him.

  Her viscous palm had her clamoring to his, not that she wanted to let go. She knew his body had to fuse her temperature rising. Probing the heat pulsing his veins from her fingertips. But as their hands unglued, all he uttered hence was merely trite conversation.

  "So you're the lucky lady with that awesome apartment and those amazing views of--"

  Her gaze darted out to the chiseled burst of canary electrifying a gloomy niche on the opposite side of the garage. Could it be...it couldn't, she said to herself. The little hairs got all tingly thinking about it. She'd just remembered it was Sunday, and there shouldn't have been a canary Lamborghini in number twenty-three--at least not this early--but there was.

  She interjected, "Your car?" Danielle nodded a gesture at the Italian masterpiece sprawling six-figure torque --glittering like a rich man's masterfully prized plaything.

  Super-tech armor illuminated vapid calm. Two pair of hexagonal windows framed the finest Bolognese leather, smoldering a drive train that redefined any man toy. Pure and simple dominant power had to be the man behind this machine.

  "Yeah, that's my baby alright." Her eyes were doting as he spoke. "I was just getting ready to take her for a spin, before I heard all the raucous."

  He had one of his hands tucked into a pocket of his jeans, and the other sprawled against the rim of her window. She tried desperately not to zone in on his denim jut to the point of expansion. It was driving her crazy.

  "The stench of burnt rubber oozed across the entire floor. It sounded crazy. Good thing you weren't hurt, cause it was like a speedway in here." He pushed a hand through his dark hair, and blew a long breath. "Oh my god!" He shook his head. "That must have been frightening for you."

  "You're sure you're okay?" he affirmed as he moved closer to her. He tucked his hands in the pockets of his soft leather jacket, creasing a concerned smile.

  Refusing to acknowledge the shattering ordeal, she shrugged and then nodded, "Yes," just before she loosened her glittery pashmina and turned off the heated seat.

  Danielle hadn't once thought about the peril moments earlier as his earthy redolence infused the leather cabin. She groped the steering wheel and sucked in his scent so fast that she'd almost choked on spiced cedar and lavender.

  His eyes were understanding as he asked, "Y'know who that guy was?"

  "I have no idea. But believe me, I'm gonna find out," she replied.

  Suddenly she couldn't begin to imagine how Roman conveniently streamed into the vapid calm that laced the garage. Danielle's frantic caution was beginning to probe a vain curiosity. Was there a mystery behind the man? Were those surreptitious glances? Was he a man guarding secrets?

  She'd been plagued with a lurking suspicion that it all seemed too surreal--Too convenient. But she had to be clever and maintain a mutual familiarity no matter how dangerous, to trap the target, whomever and wherever they might be.

  "What are you some P.I. or something?" he asked.

  "Accountant," she said loosely. "Tying up loose ends is only part of the job." She writhed her sweater knit skirt against the leather seat. "I'm used to snuffing out the trail of greedy scum all the time."

  She squirmed again in the cushion straightening the pleat in her pearl white pea coat.

  Danielle reached out to scoop her alligator handbag off the passenger side floor that hit the mat amidst all the terror. Her hands were still trembling when she released a sharp quiver, sending her compact mirror, lipsticks, mascara and phone to the carpet. She was still dangling the shoulder strap when she flung the purse onto the seat beside her. Sifting girly odds and ends, she ladled them one by
one back into the bright fuchsia pit of her purse.

  "Let me at least walk you to your apartment... can't be too careful," he gestured, offering a relieved smile.

  "Thanks but--" she obliged.

  "Before you say no, just let me mention that I'm a nice guy. A really nice guy." He gave a wide-eyed smile continuing, "Don't be fooled by the car. I'm a perfect gentleman."

  "And I'm supposed to believe that?"

  "Why not?"

  She raised her eyebrows, "You could be some crazed lunatic for all I know." She paused for a moment, "I...ah--"

  Danielle studied his face, chiseling earnest hazel eyes narrowed, dark hair neatly trimmed and beguiling expression, as he lazed against the passenger door, waiting for her answer.

  Considering the circumstances she knew he was a perfect stranger, and nice girls don't go wondering off with strange men they met in a dark garage, even if it was Sunday morning--even if he was deliciously gorgeous. But there was some mind-blowing reasoning behind the backbone and audacity to follow her gut, despite her biased suspicion.

  "Perfect gentleman, huh?" she contemplated, as she flung the pearly pashmina over her camel hair overcoat against the ensuing chill of February. It wouldn't take much convincing with his thick lashes sweeping across his brown eyes and the subtle dimple his right cheek swooned to the surface that won her over completely.

  After the horrific tailspin, Danielle was still quite naturally overwhelmed with a looming nightmare on her hands. She was still vulnerable. But this vulnerability would be shattered by her gutsy audacity to fall short of victim.

  "Ready?" he asked.

  She nodded, fighting back a smile.

  Roman keyed the elevator for the twentieth-floor penthouse as she stood in awe of his towering six-foot four physique, which dwindled hers to a life-sized Barbie.

  Her voluminous curls sprung to life and flowed the bosom of her opalescence, as Roman stood with one hand in his pocket with the other sprawled against the wall scrolling her from head to toe. In the slotted burst of sunlight, her hair looked like silken chestnut in his eyes.

  Doing his best not to stare at the valley of her low-cut sweater knit, he could've sworn she'd rival any supermodel. Not the kind that starve themselves to be a size zero.

  "So, ah...I guess you have the guys standing in line to go out with you." He paused, his gaze shadowing his brazen attempt to make conversation.

  He watched intensely as her moist lips painted a delicious shade of honey raspberry and were slightly parted when she mouthed, "Umm."

  She was a vision in pearled ivory--a graceful snow queen--a sumptuous whipped cream vanilla sundae. Beautifully mesmerizing in her glittery pashmina, infusing her luscious locks the intoxicating fragrance of rose violet.

  Danielle combed her fingers through her hair, and she didn't seem at all disconcerted to discover him looking back at her. Instinctively, she creased a weak smile at him, and her expression shifted from furtive to serious.

  She swallowed, trying not to be defensive as she ran her hands through her hair, "Well, not really." Clearing her throat, she said, "Ah, well you could say I'm...ah--" The elevator arrived in the knick of time before she stuttered something she couldn't take back.

  "Okay. Thanks for--" Danielle said, as she straightened.

  He laid a hand on her arm. "Wait. It doesn't have to be over. We just met, don't you want to invite me in for drinks or something?"

  "I'm sorry, but I'm still a little rattled from earlier. I'm not in the mood--" She drooped her head and peered up from beneath her lashes. "I just don't think I'd be great company right now. Maybe tomorrow or another time."

  Her suddenly nerveless hand lost its grip on the keys she'd scooped from the pit of her black alligator handbag. Her keys clanged the marble and flew to the tip of her matching stiletto boots.

  As Roman knelt down, she glanced over him for several intense seconds at his lush thick hair. She could almost imagine running her hands all through it. Now's not the time. Snap out of it. She mumbled under her breath as he rose to hand her the keys.

  "Oh. My. God." She blared syllabically.

  Three words couldn't describe the chaos that up heaved the episode from earlier. The elevator staggered open into the apartment. She'd almost tripped coming in, as the Persian rug caught her five-inch heel. Danielle cupped her hand over her mouth as her eyes quickly widened. Her boots crunched a zigzagged pace through the mess of rubble as she drew a long sigh.

  Lampshades tousled. Drawers of papers led a flurried trail like miniature snowflakes dwarfed in a fourteen-foot haven of luxury. Jaguar-green lacquer, bamboo, and textured glass fragmented the floor-to-ceiling palladium windows edge, and trickled marble floors toward the second tier terrace balcony with chards of daggered glass.

  Broken china and teeny mosaic antique remnants highlighted the broken glass and tea sets. Chippendale laid awash Brazilian rosewood in the library niche, and brocade linens tethered the fireplace yielding nineteenth-century bricks imported from France.

  Her eyes tearing up, "Not the eighteenth century." She puzzled together two porcelain fragments. "This had been in my family for years." Danielle knelt to the chintz pillow at the edge of the sofa, clutching a handful of pieces from an ornamental statue.

  She scowled, "Those bastards! Whoever did this--" Her eyes roved the onslaught of devastation that swept the living room and whisked past the kitchen toward the hall and bedrooms.

  Living on the top floor of the building, a colossal wall of windows flanked the entire penthouse--with one hundred eighty degrees of sun suckling terraced living space. The heady skyline enfolded a lucent solarium of delicate silky brocades, gorgeous mosaic inlays, and feathery pillows glittering against the luster of opal leather.

  It was a cozy haven suited for a woman of finessed urbane charm. It was immense, for a single woman living alone. A ceaseless silence dwelled many solo nights by virtue, not by choice.

  Danielle sobbed softly as Roman said, "The important thing is that you're okay."

  "You're right," she said, sounding reposed. "I'm fine...I'll be fine," she added.

  He scooped her up in his arms insisting, "You shouldn't stay here tonight. Whoever these guys are, they're serious."

  "But, I shouldn't be run away from my own home," she contested.

  "Yeah. I know, but who's gonna protect you if--"

  "Don't say it. Okay you win. Let me just grab a few things."

  "No, first let me check out the place to make sure it's safe. You stay here."

  Danielle was beginning to like the dominant type. She was beginning to see the torque measuring him like his sports car that was heating her engine inside.

  After inspecting the penthouse, Roman stepped out onto the terrace balcony huddling inside his jacket as he looked around. Trees and shrubs were leafless. Silvery jades and bronzes thrived in the rooftop garden. Conditions were bleak and chilly, moderated in full force for a winter in New York City.

  "So why is someone after you?" he gently asked, as he stepped from the terrace.

  She simply shrugged, "I don't know." Her cheeks smoldered a modest scarlet when she affirmed, "They're gonna pay." Danielle shaded her eyes from the burst of light as she murmured in echo. "They're gonna pay for this."

  The one person who might have been a clue was just a silhouette behind tinted glass. She hadn't time to get the license plates when it had all happened so fast. The episode she experienced had rendered her frantic but not hopeless.

  The emptiness was overwhelming. She drew a small breath, as she flung her hands to her hips and drooped her head, reminding herself that this was only the beginning. Seconds later, she feathered her hand through her hair, sounding quite serious.

  Danielle asked with a long sigh, "Now what?"

  Roman paused, as he looked straight at her and said, "We’ll go to my apartment."

  Chapter Two

  The last time Danielle could remember being so enraged was when her ex called off their engagem
ent. Even recalling that moment made Danielle clench her stomach. But, knowing she was about to walk into what could quite possibly become what she nor her unsteady heart was prepared for, was that same tenacity that had her overcome a strangling fear to rise the ladder in New York City.

  There was that uneasy sense that this guy was no greater man than the men she knew before. And Danielle's heart had suffered more than enough pain that she couldn't bare to succumb the sacrifice to love again. But even so, she wanted to hear, "I love you." She craved three little words that meant the world to a woman that had brushed loneliness face-to-face.

  Danielle's eyes widened in sync with the long span of silence when Roman said, Make yourself at home. She'd stopped short of moving any closer beyond the foyer. Roman repeated the sentiment, his warmth breath ruffling every hair at the nape of her neck with his deep husky voice as he rolled her coat off her shoulders.

  The sun was already blaring from one far corner of the apartment, making a chilly Sunday in February feel more like late April.

  "Just relax," he insisted, as he ladled her valise on the sofa edge. He grabbed her hand, gently lifting her arm as he guided her toward the leather sofa.

  How could she relax when it felt like all of New York could see her backbone shifting into some other woman-- a woman other than the one who'd shunned men that broke her heart.

  "Comfortable? Can I get you anything? Juice, wine..." he asked softly.

  Danielle fell back onto the tufted leather, aiming to let loose every tense muscle wiggling its way out of her when she whispered, "Merlot?"

  Danielle's soft words hinted as if she hadn't known a man this charming would have been prepared for the occasion. Wine aside; all she could think about was some relief to her tender toes after the day's events led her around the Upper East Side in stilettos.

  Danielle drew a long breath as she loosened her anklet straps and kicked her alligator boots to the foot of the side table. She was startled to discover more of the man behind the sexy mystique, when she sprawled her arm on the armrest, and mashed deeper into the plush leather. It was warm when she rolled against it, like smooth and succulent melted caramel from the rays of sunset flooding back toward the open expanse of walled windows.