I didn't want to admit it, but Penn attracted me with a magnetism I had never felt before. I should have been repelled, but instead, I had been drawn into his arms more times than I could count. I buried my blushing face in the soft pillow and remembered throwing myself at him.
He'd been nothing but polite, and I had misread the entire situation—except for when he lied and let his employer think we'd been dating for a while.
My eyes popped open. Why would Penn do that unless he actually felt something for me?
I felt a wave of dizziness crash over me as I sat up. I hadn't dreamt up the views or the mansion.
What I hadn't seen last night and now blinked at in shock was the garage apartment. It was a simple A-frame loft with a wall of windows dedicated to the bay views. The master bedroom shared a section of that window. The ceiling sloped down to a clever built-in closet. Everything was custom-framed redwood. The apartment exuded elegant simplicity. It must have cost a fortune.
This was where Penn lived?
I scrambled out of bed and realized the simple but high-quality furnishings all spoke to Penn's rugged, outdoors style. Every book on the custom-made shelves, every photograph on the wood-paneled walls, and every treasure displayed spoke of adventure, minimalism, and rebellion against the opulent luxury that resided directly across the driveway.
Standing in Penn's apartment, I felt an affinity for the man I hardly knew. I knew I had expensive taste, but I wanted to earn everything for myself. The only problem was the sudden stone wall that stood between me and the job I had so carefully planned to have.
There was definitely an uncompromising way about Penn and I wished I could be the same. I wanted to sing and settle for nothing less than the joy it brought me, but I had a dwindling bank account to consider.
Just a quick cup of coffee, I'll leave, and I'll send that resume over for Joshua to edit, I promised myself.
Last night hadn't been a dream, but I had to treat it like one. Now that it was morning, it was time to get back to real life. With my shoulders squared, I dragged on my little black dress, smoothed it down as best I could, and wandered into the main room.
I half-expected Penn to be gone to an early morning meeting with his employer, so when I spotted him still sprawled out on the couch, I froze. My heart thumped hard in my chest, and I pressed a hand against it, worried that my galloping pulse would wake him. How was it possible for him to look better in the bright sunlight?
I had been certain that by the sober light of day, I would be horrified. The magnetic attraction had to be a heady mix of alcohol and rebellion. The night before, in a fit of childish refusal, I had ignored my ex-boyfriend's practical suggestions and purposefully made a bad choice. Just for fun; just to get it out of my system. Except the effect had not worn off; it had grown stronger.
Penn's long, strong legs dangled over the end of the couch. The blanket was tangled around his waist and revealed the hard contours of his washboard stomach and wide chest. One muscled arm was thrown carelessly over his head, and I could not help but study the intricate tattoos that covered his tan skin. They continued up his arm to encase his shoulder and reach heavily designed tendrils over his chest. Where the tattoos ended, a mat of dark hair began.
The thought of running my hands over his chest hair and feeling the taut strength of him sent a bolt of heat straight through me.
Shock knocked me back a step, and I hit the light switch on the wall. Penn blinked under the sudden glare and sat up. His dark, wavy hair was more rumpled than last night, but it didn't detract from the chiseled features of his face. Not even the beard could hide his wide, sensuous lips or the square, masculine line of his jaw. I remembered those lips whispering against my neck, asking me to save him, and my whole body shivered with pleasure.
Then his dark eyes caught on me, and I lost my breath completely.
"Good morning," Penn said. "I thought maybe I had dreamed you up."
My laugh started as a nervous squeak. "Sorry to wake you up. I'll get out of your way."
"No, no, the least I can do is make you coffee." He stood up, oblivious to his near-naked state. "You saved me from a one-on-one conversation with my, ah, my employer. Now that I think about it, you deserve breakfast, too."
I tore my gaze from him and turned sharply towards the kitchen. "I make a killer omelet," I stammered.
Penn nodded and gave his belly a sleepy scratch. Then, he blinked and changed directions. "That sounds good. I'll be right back. Could you put the kettle on?"
I nodded and couldn't clear my throat until he was behind the closed door of the bathroom. I hadn't even turned on the stove and my body was already flooded with heat. I had to pull myself together.
I opened the refrigerator and was surprised to find it well stocked. I grabbed the eggs and refused to think about the tan width of Penn's naked shoulders.
"What's that you're singing?" Penn asked. He had pulled on a clean T-shirt, but was still barefoot.
"I was singing? Oh, um, just something I made up, I guess."
His dark eyes locked on mine, and I saw the golden flecks in the morning light. "Must be nice to have talent. You know, I could really see you making it as a singer. You've got the talent and the looks. Now you just need the passion."
I'm drowning in passion, I thought and gave my head a rueful shake. "I can't," I said. "I have to work."
Penn smiled. "I bet becoming a singer is work. Hard work. Is that what you're afraid of?"
"I love hard work," I snapped. He still saw me as a feckless girl who would choose easy, instant gratification. "I plan to work for everything I want."
"Good." He brushed by me to plug in an expensive coffee grinder. "I bet you could start at a few open mic nights, get a little buzz going, and then try out for a few bands. In San Francisco, it can't be hard to find a jazz trio that's looking for a frontwoman like you. You'll join up with the right combo and be the toast of the town, everyone falling at your feet while you carry on a steamy, music-inspired affair with the bassist."
His speculation trailed off as he punched the grind button harder than needed.
When he was done, I laughed. "I didn't know it was all so easy."
He shrugged. "It's not, but you find a way. You're already a step ahead of everyone else because you know what your talent is. You don't have to hope for it or search for it."
"Did you?"
He tugged at his beard. "I was raised to do one thing and when I broke away from that, it took me a long time to find the right direction. I was like you, thinking I needed to do what was practical first."
"That seems like the right decision if it got you here," I said.
Penn's eyes hardened into unfathomable agates. "This isn't what I want."
I shook my head. "Easy to say when you have it."
He tossed tablespoons of fresh coffee grounds into a French press and poured the hot water. Even though the process took a delicate touch, I could see the restrained anger in his movements. He wrenched open a kitchen cabinet, pulled out two fancy coffee mugs, and clattered them onto the counter.
I glanced towards the door. "Your omelet's ready. Thanks for the coffee, but I'm going to have to run."
"No, sorry, I'm just annoyed with myself," Penn said.