Run the Risk

Now more amused, he admitted, “I know.”

“Beg pardon?”

“You manage the building, so I already saw your name on my rental agreement.” He tweaked her chin again. “But I wanted to hear you say it anyway.”

Her huff of affront did nothing to get him out of her doorway.

“So.” He looked up and down the hallway. “You’re a woman alone, and this isn’t the best apartment building, or the best neighborhood.”

Now he was a master of understatement? “You’re insulting my management skills?” Did he think that’d win her over?

“You’re only responsible for notifying the owner if rent is late or repairs are needed, right?” Without letting her reply to that, he said, “Let me leave you my number. Anything comes up, or if anyone bothers you—”

“You’re bothering me.”

His gaze zeroed in on her mouth. “That’s why you’re flushed?”

Oh, God. More heat rushed to her skin’s surface. “Really, Mr. Stark—”

“Logan,” he corrected softly. “Say it for me. Just once. Then I’ll go.”

He wanted to…seduce her?

So it appeared. And worse, he succeeded just by presence alone. “Logan,” she agreed through stiff lips. “I need to go.” Before I do something stupid—like invite you in.

Or kiss you.

Or drag you down to the floor and—

He pulled a card from his pocket. “My number. Seriously. Any problem at all—or if you just want to visit—give me a call, okay?”

“All right.” Not on your life. “Thank you.”

As if he knew her thoughts, he gave a warm laugh and stepped out of the doorway. “See you later, Sue.”

Not if I see you first. “Goodbye, Logan.” She started to close the door.

And he said, “Now that wasn’t so painful, was it?”

She clicked the door shut in his face, then dropped against it.

Painful? Not exactly.

Stirring? She felt like a blender on high speed, all her emotions, all her dormant desires, churning together in a frenzy.

It had been too long—like forever—and she was too deprived to be around a specimen like him without imagining the impossible. She needed to find a way to avoid him, but she’d have to do it without causing suspicion. And there was the rub.

Avoiding him was suspicious.

Pepper turned so that it was her shoulders against her door. Head down, eyes closed, she struggled to come up with a plan.

Maybe, she reasoned to herself, she was going about this all wrong. Any woman would be flattered by Mr. Stark’s attention.

A woman like her, especially so.

Slowly, she lifted her head. Did she have a good reason to engage him in conversation? To get to know him better?

She pressed her hands to her cheeks and fought off a smile.

Yes, that’s what she would do. She would stop deflecting him, and instead—she’d shyly reciprocate. If that didn’t scare him off once and for all, she didn’t know what would.

* * *

LOGAN RISKE SAUNTERED back to his temporary digs with a feeling of encouragement.

So he’d had to be pushy. Again.

So he’d had to practically force a conversation on her. At least this time, he’d been successful.

More than successful.

The lady could deny it till doomsday, but he felt her awareness. If her damned brother didn’t have her so cowed, she’d probably be knocking on his door right now.

Thinking of her brother, Rowdy Yates, always soured his mood. No doubt Rowdy had run roughshod over her for years, so Logan had to proceed cautiously.

He ran a hand over his chest, considering all the twists and turns of her ruse. It was a ruse—he couldn’t be wrong about that. Yes, she looked different from the photos he had, but there was something in the eyes, in the way she looked at him.

Pepper Yates.

After two years of searching, the end drew near.

She was the one woman he needed, the link that’d get him everything he’d worked for.

He thought about the small grainy photos online, the newspaper reports. Her wide-eyed innocence had shown through. She looked a little worse now than she had two years ago, but he supposed running, and hiding, and putting up with her brother could do that to a woman.

His hands curled into fists.

Most everything he’d uncovered had been on Rowdy Yates, but bits and pieces of Pepper had surfaced, as well. He knew she was younger than thirty, and he knew she was shy.

He hadn’t known she would be so tall. At around five-ten, she stood only three inches shorter than him. And while no one would accuse her of being pretty, he hadn’t known that her light brown eyes would be so expressive. When she looked directly at him, he felt it.

All over.

Her hair was so dark a blond, it was nearly brown. Long, but lank. Dull. Untidy, with frizzy ends, despite her habit of securing it in a ponytail.

And still he wanted to see it loose. He wanted to feel it in his hands.

And speaking of untidy… His quick glimpse of her living room had been a shocker. He’d just naturally assumed that a plain Jane like her would be ultraneat, like the stereotypical mousy woman who lived like a maiden aunt.