The Perfect Neighbor

The Perfect Neighbor Read Free Page A

Book: The Perfect Neighbor Read Free
Author: Nora Roberts
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own door.
    Now she knew the mysterious Mr. Mysterious was insanely attractive, built like a god and as rude as a cranky two-year-old who needed a swat on the butt and a nap. Well, that was fine, just fine. She could stay out of his way.
    She didn’t slam her door—figuring he’d hear it and smirk with that go-to-hell mouth of his. But when she was safely inside, she turned to the door and indulged in a juvenile exhibition of making faces, sticking out her tongue and wagging her fingers from her ears.
    It made her feel marginally better.
    But the bottom line was the man had her cookies, her favorite dessert plate and her very rare animosity. And she still didn’t know his name.
    * * *
    Preston didn’t regret his actions. Not for a minute. He calculated his studied rudeness would keep his terminally pert neighbor with the turned-up nose and sexy pink toenails out of his hair during his stay across the hall. The last thing he needed was the local welcoming committee rolling up at his door, especially when it was led by a bubbly motormouth brunette with eyes like a fairy.
    Damn it, in New York, people were supposed to ignore their neighbors. He was pretty sure it was a city ordinance, and if not, it should be.
    Just his luck, he thought, that she was single—he had no doubt that if she’d had a husband she’d have poured out all his virtues and delights. That she worked at home and would therefore be easy to trip over whenever he headed out was just another black mark.
    And that she made, hands down, the best chocolate-chip cookies in the known universe was close to unforgivable.
    He’d managed to ignore them while he worked. Preston McQuinn could ignore a nuclear holocaust if the words were pumping. But when he surfaced, he started to think about them lying in his kitchen on their chirpy yellow plate.
    He thought about them while he showered, while he dressed, while he eased out the kinks brought on by hours sitting in one spot with posture his third-grade teacher, Sister Mary Joseph, had termed deplorable.
    So when he went down for what he considered a well-earned beer, he eyed the plate on the counter. He’d popped the top, took a thoughtful drink. So what if he had a couple? he mused. Tossing them in the trash wasn’t necessary—he’d given perky Cybil the heave-ho.
    She was going to want her party plate back, he imagined. He might as well sample the wares before he dumped the plate outside her door.
    So he ate one. Grunted in approval. Ate a second and blew out a breath of pure appreciation.
    And when he’d consumed nearly two dozen, he cursed.
    Like a damn drug, he thought, feeling slightly ill and definitely sluggish. He stared at the near-empty plate with a combination of self-disgust and greed. With what scraps of willpower he had left, he dumped the remaining cookies in a plastic bowl, then crossed the room to get his sax.
    He was going to walk around the block a few times before he headed to the club.
    When he opened the door he heard her stomping up the stairs. Wincing, he drew back, leaving his door open only a crack. He could hear that mile-a-minute voice of hers going, which had him lifting a brow when he saw she was alone.
    “Never again,” she muttered. “I don’t care if she sticks bamboo shoots under my nails, holds a hot poker to my eye. I will never, ever, go through that torture again in this lifetime. That’s it. Over, done.”
    She’d changed her clothes, Preston noted, and was wearing snug black pants with a tailored black blazer, offsetting them with a shirt the color of ripe strawberries and long dangles at her ears.
    She kept talking to herself as she opened a purse the size of a postage stamp. “Life’s too short to be bored witless for two precious hours of it. She will not do this to me again. I know how to say no. I just have to practice, that’s all. Where the bloody hell are my keys?”
    The sound of the door opening behind her made her jump, spin around. Preston noted that

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