Free The Perfect Neighbor by Nora Roberts Page B

impulse and gone along with her. Shouldn’t have compounded the mistake by enjoying himself.
    Or by kissing her.
    Which he wouldn’t have done, his mind circled back, if she hadn’t asked him to.
    When she pulled open the door, he was ready with an apology. “Look, I’m sorry,” he began, delivering it with an impatient edge of annoyance. “But it was none of your business anyway. Let’s just straighten this out.”
    He started to step in, coming up short when she slapped a hand on his chest.
    “I don’t want you in here.”
    “For God’s sake. You started it. Maybe I let it get out of hand, but—”
    “Started what?”
    “This,” he snapped, furious at the sudden lack of words, hating the kicked-puppy look in her eyes.
    “All right, I started it. I should never have brought you cookies. That was devious of me. I shouldn’t have worried that you didn’t have a job, shouldn’t have bought you a decent meal because I thought you couldn’t afford it on your own.”
    “Damn it, Cybil.”
    “You let me think that. You let me believe you were some poor, out-of-work musician, and I’m sure you had a few private laughs over it. The brilliant, award-winning playwright Preston McQuinn, author of the stunning, emotionally wrenching
A Tangle of Souls.
But I bet you’re surprised I even know your work. A bubblehead like me.”
    She shoved him back a step. “What would a fluffy comic-strip writer know about real art, after all? About serious theater, about
literature
? Why shouldn’t you have a few laughs at my expense? You narrow-minded, arrogant creep.” Her voice broke when she’d promised herself she wouldn’t let it. “I was only trying to help you.”
    “I didn’t ask for your help. I didn’t want it.” He could see she was close to tears. The closer she got, the more furious he became. He knew how women used tears to destroy a man. He wouldn’t let it happen. “My work’s my own business.”
    “Your work’s produced on Broadway. That makes it public business,” she shot back. “And that has nothing to do with pretending to be a sax player.”
    “I play the damn sax because I like to play the damn sax. I didn’t pretend to be anything. You assumed.”
    “You let me assume.”
    “What if I did? I moved in here for a little peace and quiet. To be left alone. The next thing I know you’re bringing me cookies, then you’re following me and I’m spending half the night in the police station. Then you’re asking me to go out so you can slip by a seventy-year-old woman because you don’t have the guts to tell her to butt out of your personal life. And you top it off by offering me fifty dollars to kiss you.”
    Humiliation had the first tear spilling over, trailing slowly down her cheek and making his stomach clench. “Don’t.” The order whipped out of him. “Don’t start that.”
    “Don’t cry when you humiliate me? When you make me feel stupid and ridiculous and ashamed?” She didn’t bother to dash the tears away but simply looked at him out of unapologetically drenched eyes. “Sorry, I don’t work that way. I cry when someone hurts me.”
    “You brought it on yourself.” He had to say it, was desperate to believe it. And escaped by stalking to his own door.
    “You have the facts, Preston,” she said quietly. “You have them all in an accurate row. But you’ve missed the feelings behind them. I brought you cookies because I thought you could use a friend. I’ve already apologized for following you, but I’ll apologize again.”
    “I don’t want—”
    “I’m not finished,” she said with such quiet dignity he felt one more wave of guilt. “I took you to dinner because I didn’t want to hurt a very nice woman, and I thought you might be hungry. I enjoyed being with you, and I felt something when you kissed me. I thought you did, too. So you’re right.” Shenodded coolly, even as another tear slid down her cheek. “I did bring it all on myself. I suppose you