Page 9 of Beautiful Beast

A glance through the peephole reveals that my persistent new neighbor is back at the front door with her dog in tow. This time, she’s carrying a small box with her.

Whatever another unannounced visit means, it can’t be good.

Enrique either needs a new job, or else she’s found some kind of workaround that doesn’t involve my private elevator.

After a sleepless night, terrorized by visions of dismembered bodies and the stench of blood, I’m not interested in anything she came here to say. But I do want to know how she’s able to gain access to my place.

I open the door a crack, keeping the chain fastened and ensuring that I stay off to the side and out of her view. “What do you want?”

“Are you always so pleasant?” she asks with a bright smile.

I have the advantage because I can see her, but she can’t see me.

“How did you get up here?” I demand gruffly.

“We walked up the emergency fire stairs,” she admits. “The door wasn’t locked, and the alarm didn’t go off.”

“What if it did? You would have evacuated the building just to come up here and bother me again.”

“It was a risk that I was willing to take.”

“What do you want?” I repeat.

Her sunny smile is still in place, but it’s starting to drop. I don’t feel good about being the reason for taking the light out of her eyes, but I don’t know how much clearer I can be that visitors aren’t welcome.

Especially beautiful, tempting women who are exactly my type and that I can’t have.

There’s no room in my life for intimate relationships anymore, and I already have more than enough friends.

“Look, we got off on the wrong foot when we met,” Belle says. “We’re neighbors now, well at least for a little while, and I thought it would be nice if we got along. You know? So, I brought you something.”

I’m hearing her words, but I’m busy staring at her outfit through the distorted fisheye of the peephole. She’s dressed casually in tight jeans and a white tank top, but it’s still outrageously sexy with her absolutely smoking curves.

As much as I don’t want to think about it, my brain won’t stop analyzing whether or not she’s wearing a bra.

I’m leaning toward no and want to watch her walk to check for the distinctive and sexy no-bra sway.

“This isn’t the suburbs, Belle,” I start.

“You remembered my name,” she interrupts cheerfully. “I wasn’t sure if you caught it because you were so busy berating me.”

“We aren’t neighbors sharing a fence,” I continue. “It’s irrelevant whether or not we get along or even know each other. We aren’t ever going to come into contact.”

Especially because I don’t intend to leave my apartment, but I don’t disclose that part. Given this girl’s apparent wildly curious personality, it would only invite more unwelcome questions.

“Well, we live in very different worlds then, Adam,” she returns.

Something about the way she says my name stirs something inside me in a place I thought was dead, and my fists clench against the flutters.

“It isn’t irrelevant whether or not you get along with people in your community,” Belle insists. “It’s actually kind of pivotal.”

“You do realize this is New York City, right? And that you’re not in New Jersey?”

“Not all New Yorkers are assholes,” she replies. “I mean, look at the two of us. It seems you have a 50/50 chance of meeting a jerk if we’re the sample population.”

Despite myself, a smile pulls at my mouth, which is a painful reminder of the tight, aching numbness in my left cheek.

“That isn’t statistically significant,” I tell her. “And you’re so chipper because you’re young and naïve. You haven’t had time to become jaded yet.”

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