"Why are you so anxious to sell?"
Tracy Williams looked away from her Realtor to the
apartment building that had been her life for the last
eight years. She'd overhauled the plumbing, fixed the
electrical, even wired for Wi-Fi. But it wasn't her future,
not by a long shot. "I took over the building when my
parents died," she said. "But now my brother's about to go
to college and I've got to pay for tuition. Besides, it's
time for me to move on. You know, find my life."
Mr. Curtis blinked, then continued to make notes on his pad
of paper. Apparently, he wasn't one for chitchat. That was
fine with her, she thought as she glanced at her watch. Ten
minutes. 4C was due back from class in ten minutes, and she
didn't want to be standing here with a man old enough to be
her father when he returned. She wanted to be casual, open
to conversation, even a little flirty—as she had been for
the last month on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 3:15.
"When do you think you can find a buyer?" she asked while
her gaze drifted to the front door. She loved that first
moment when 4C rounded the corner. The afternoon sun would
glint in his gorgeous dark eyes, and he was often frowning
in concentration. The wind played with his silky black hair
just like in a movie, and she would get light-headed from
the absolute potential of the moment. Anything could
happen. She could be light and funny, or mysteriously
sensual. She could say something brilliant that would lead
to more. Maybe one day she'd have the kind of night she
fantasized about but never acted on because she was acting
as a single mom to her teenage brother.
Or she could stand here like an idiot while her Realtor
made notes. "Do you think it will be enough to pay for two
sets of college tuition? For me and my brother?"
"Hard to say," he answered, his nose still in his
notebook. "You know the basics—keep the place clean, the
plumbing flowing, the tenants happy." He looked up, his
gaze unwaveringly cold. "The little things matter, Miss
Williams. A little dirt can cost in the overall impression
and that affects the price." He narrowed his eyes at
her. "Do you think you can do that?"
She lifted her chin. Eight years ago, she'd known nothing
about apartment buildings or about raising her preteen
brother. Being a landlord had been her father's dream, not
hers. One awful car accident later, and this building was
her and her brother's only means of support. Thankfully, it
had been enough. Now, Joey was a solid B student with a
bright future, the building had been renovated within an
inch of its life, and she had already downloaded her
applications to the best business schools in the nation. "I
can do it," she said firmly.
"See that you do." Then he snapped his leather folder shut,
spun on his heel and left, nearly running over 4C at the
front door and ruining her favorite moment of the day.
Tracy barely managed a gulp before she stood face-to-face
with her fantasy man: Mr. Nathan Gao of Hong Kong,
currently an MBA student at the prestigious University of
Illinois, and walking Chinese sex god. He wore a summer
suit too cold for October and carried a battered leather
attaché case gripped in elegantly long fingers whitened
with cold. His hair was cut conservatively—black silk that
tended to fall raggedly about his eyes. His skin's golden
color seemed rugged with his hint of a beard. And his
eyebrows were like dark strokes of a fine ink brush. How
pathetic was that? She thought his eyebrows were sexy. His
shoulders were hunched against the wind, but that only gave
him a sweet rumpled appearance, especially since they were
broad enough to appear strong even curled against the cold.
With no apparent effort at all, he swerved to avoid Mr.
Curtis then hauled the doors open despite the wind. Then he
looked up and smiled.
That smile had lived in her dreams. His mouth was pale but
still sensuous, full in ways she hadn't expected from a
Chinese man. It was sexy enough when he was serious, but
his smile sent shivers down her spine, especially when it
was aimed straight at her. God, what things he had done to
her with those lips! Fantasy lovers were the best.
She slammed her mouth shut and tried not to look like a
lovesick teen. Just because she'd lived as a monk for the
last eight years didn't mean she had to act like an
adolescent. She was an adult, a suave woman. One who had
just sucked in her stomach when her fantasy man turned and
smiled at not one, not two, but four giggling college
girls. Crop tops and blond ponytails bobbed in the wind as
they entered the building. They were chattering a mile a
minute, giggling and flirting for all they were worth—which
from the looks of their jewelry was quite a lot. And even
worse, Nathan Gao was flirting back. His head was dipped in
shy modesty while a blush stained his cheeks. Then he
gestured up the staircase.
"My studio is on the fourth floor, ladies."
"Why don't you lead the way?" chirped the one brunette. Mr.
Gao nodded, then started climbing while everyone in the
hall—Tracy included—ogled his perfect behind.
Tracy's shoulders tightened with irritation as the blondes
nearly ran her over. They hadn't even realized she was
standing there! By the time the brunette came close, Tracy
had a plan. All four girls carried flyers on bright red
paper. An ad of some sort and obviously related to their
presence here.
"May I?" she asked as she slid the flyer out of the
brunette's hand.
The girl blinked and dimpled prettily. "Sorry, ma'am, but
I'll be late for class." Then she sprang up the stairs like
a cheerleader.
Tracy felt a gut punch from being called ma'am. Sure, her
navy blue business suit made her look older, but not that
much older. Unable to deal with the thought, she read the
flyer.
TANTRIC SEX CLASSES Learn the secrets of SEXUAL IMMORTALITY
Experienced Dragon Master Group, couple or individual
Privacy Guaranteed $10 a class
Contact Nathan Gao
Tracy read and reread the flyer. Sex classes? In her
building? Sex classes! She frowned, trying to sort through
the possibilities. This was a college campus with all sorts
of unusual classes. His could be nothing more than what it
proclaimed—classes in an exotic religion.
She snorted. She didn't have that kind of luck. Besides, it
didn't matter. The cops and the university were on an
aggressive clean-up-campus campaign. They liked splashy,
front-page arrests even if the charges were dismissed
later. "Sex Classes" would be prime targets for their
arrest-first, ask-questions-later tactics.
She looked out the door to where Mr. Curtis was just now
pulling out of the parking lot. If a little mud in the
hallway made a bad impression, what would a vice bust do?
Whether or not 4C was actually doing something illegal
wouldn't matter. It would still be front-page news at
exactly the wrong time. And if she lost her status
as "University Approved Housing" because of a splashy vice
bust, then Tracy's entire future was sunk. Without approved
status, the value of the building tanked. Once the value
tanked, no way would its sale cover two sets of college
tuition. 4C's Tantric class could derail her entire future.
She crumpled the flyer in her fist as she mounted the
stairs, her footfalls growing heavier and harder with each
step. She hit the landing at full speed then fumbled trying
to get out her master key. Normally it was in her back
pocket, but today she wore the damn suit that apparently
made her look like Grandma Moses. She had to search for it
in the bottom of her blue plastic binder while listening to
giggles that carried easily through the door.
Got it! Pulling out the key, she slipped it silently in the
lock. She'd already developed a plan. She would gasp in
horrified shock at whatever they were doing—the giggles
were getting even louder—then calmly demand that Mr. Nathan
Gao vacate immediately. That was the best solution. She'd
refund his money, even help him move. "No harm, no foul,"
she'd say. "Just go teach your 'classes'on someone else's
property." It was a blow to her fantasy life, of course.
She'd have to wait even longer to open the door to her
sexuality, but when had anything ever gone how she'd
planned?
She pushed open the door, her gasp already begun. Only to
have her breath choked off in real shock. Mr. Gao was
almost naked. Gone was his shirt, jacket and shoes. He was
kneeling on the floor, his chest totally bare, as he
addressed the equally topless coeds. Mr. Gao looked up, his
sculpted black eyebrows raising in a silent question. But
Tracy couldn't form any words—righteously indignant or not.
Her mind—and her eyes—were completely trained on Mr. Better-
Than-Jet-Li. She'd been dreaming of having that chest over
her, beneath her, beside her, but she'd never guessed how
really ripped he was. His skin was light gold in the
afternoon sun, his shoulders pulled back in perfect posture
that absolutely accented his six pack—no, twelve-pack—abs.
No fat softened the lean beauty of his torso and when he
slowly stood, Tracy could do no more than stare open-
mouthed at him.
"Mrs. Williams, what is the meaning of this intrusion?" His
voice quivered down her spine and she had to forcibly drag
her gaze up from the bare flesh just below his belly
button. How often had she fantasized about tugging off his
loose pants? How hideous was it that she finally got to see
his fabulous body but in this context? She swallowed, but
still couldn't pull her eyes off his sculpted abs.
"Ms. Williams," she murmured. "I'm not married." And what
the hell did that have to do with anything? "So sorry," he
returned, his tone softening into that low bedroom voice
she'd been imagining for months. "Are you here to join the
class?"
Class? She blinked. Oh, that class! The possibly illegal
sex class that was jeopardizing her entire future. She
straightened, forcibly cooled her expression, and even
managed a disdainful lift to her eyebrow. "I'm sorry, Mr.
Gao, but I am not interested in your class. In fact, I am
afraid I am going to have to evict you for illegal
activity." She winced at the lie. He certainly wasn't doing
anything illegal at the moment. But she wanted to come on
overly strong so that she had room to compromise. "Please
vacate the premises by tomorrow morning."
He reared back in shock, his chest muscles rippling in a
truly stunning display. "Sorry? Illegal activity? It must
be my English—I don't understand."
Yeah, right. His English was flawless. "Please. You can't
think I'm that stupid." She canted her gaze—reluctantly—at
the gaggle of girls who had miraculously pulled their
cropped T-shirts back on. "I can't afford even the
appearance of something unwholesome." Another wince. She
sounded like a stuck-up prude. Time to offer up the
compromise. "Please, just move out and I won't call the
cops."
His entire body went rigid with indignation. "Unwholesome?
Who's unwholesome?" He stared accusingly at the girls. As
one, they gasped, then grabbed their designer purses and
embroidered book bags. Three of the four made it out the
door in a split second, but the fourth lingered.
"We didn't hire him for that," the petite blonde number one
murmured. "This was just a class."
"Don't be naive," Tracy returned as the girl slipped past.
"Don't be a close-minded bigot!" Mr. Gao snapped. Tracy
felt her shoulders tighten. Fantasy lovers should never,
ever become real. They were always a disappointment. "Just
go, Mr. Gao. I can't take the risk of having you here," she
said with real regret. "I just can't risk it. I'm sorry."
She turned to leave, but he moved faster than she thought
possible. Before she completed her pivot, he slipped in
front of the door, blocking it with all that rippling
muscle. He never touched her, but Lord, the sight alone was
enough to stop her cold.
"I was teaching a class!" He spoke with barely repressed
rage. He grabbed his flyer—the very same one she had still
clenched in her fist—and pushed it toward her. "Tantric
class. It's a religion."
She tilted her head back, startled—and a little intimidated—
by his height. They'd never been this close before, and the
heat off his body made her head spin. "It's a cover," she
managed to say. "A convenient lie, and we both know it."
His eyes were flat and cold. "I know nothing of the kind,
Miss Williams. I will not leave my apartment. You may call
the police if you wish. I have done nothing wrong." Then
his lips tightened in apparent disappointment. It was a
small movement, but she was so close that she saw every
nuance. "Come to a class," he urged. "Tantrism is just a
belief system." He paused a moment, his eyes going flinty
dark. "Unusual but completely legal."
"I can have you evicted," she bluffed.
"No, you can't. Imagine the problems, especially if I call
the Chinese embassy."
She swallowed. A messy international argument involving
religion would screw up the sale of the building almost as
much as a vice bust. "You can't sell sex in the United
States. It's illegal."
"Selling sex is one-hundred-percent legal as long as it is
attached to a product. Having sex for money is illegal, and
no one here was having sex."
"You're almost naked! They were topless." Her emotions were
spiraling out of control, but she couldn't seem to stop
herself. She had dreamed of this man for almost two months
now, the last thing she wanted was to kick him out. But she
couldn't risk her or her brother's future on anything that
appeared immoral. "I'll refund your security deposit. I'll
help you move. We can use my truck, but you've got to go.
I'm sorry."
"I am not leaving." His voice was hard and flat—so
different from the warm, flirty exchanges they'd been
having since the beginning of school. Then he grabbed her
by the waist and lifted her out of his apartment. She
barely had time to squeak in alarm before her sedate black
pumps touched gently down on the hallway carpet.
"Excuse me while I call my lawyer," he said. Then he
flashed his cell phone at her just before shutting the door
firmly in her face.
Tracy glared at the thin door. She could force her way in
there, but no way was she going to win against him in a
physical fight. Not that it wouldn't be fun trying, but…
She pulled her thoughts back from the gutter and turned
away, making sure she was noisy as she stomped down the
hallway. Let the gorgeous hunk think he'd defeated her. As
soon as she was out of earshot, she whipped out her cell
phone and dialed, punching in the extension when
prompted. "Detective McKay."
She smiled. Thank God for old friends with helpful
professions. "Hey, Mike. It's Tracy. Can you run a check
for me on a tenant?"