Zach’s pulse kicked up. “A man? Did he touch her?”
“I don’t think so, but it looked like she didn’t want to talk to him. And he followed her inside.”
“And you didn’t go after them?”
“She didn’t call for help. I would have heard that. So I didn’t do anything. I waited for a while, but he didn’t come back out.”
Fuck! Zach clenched his jaw. Who was this guy? What did he want from Rochelle? What if he’d been armed and had forced Rochelle to let him into her apartment by threatening her with a knife? Then she most likely wouldn’t have dared scream for help. Attacks like that were common in the city.
“Give me her address, Henderson,” he demanded.
“Should I pick you up and drive you there, sir?”
“No, I’ll take the sports car. It’s faster.”
A minute later Zach ran into the parking garage below his building and jumped into his black McLaren 650S. The engine of the sports car revved up and he raced out onto the street. There was still lots of traffic on the streets of Manhattan despite the late hour, because New York truly never slept.
His hands clamped around the steering wheel, he paved his way through the traffic. Even taking shortcuts, the drive seemed to take an eternity, although only twenty minutes had passed since he’d left his condo on Park Avenue.
Zach pulled up next to the address Henderson had given him and killed the engine. He jumped out and ran to the front door, perusing the names on the doorbells. He bent closer to be able to read them better and his elbow hit against the door. It creaked and opened inward. Either somebody had left it open or the door didn’t close properly.
Zach pushed it open wider and stalked inside. His gaze fell onto the mailboxes on the left side of the wall. On it, the names and apartment numbers of the residents were written. He found Rochelle’s immediately: Wright - 1C, it said.
Taking two steps at the same time, he ran up the stairs. Rochelle’s door was the third he reached. With his fist he hammered on the door.
“Rochelle! Rochelle!”
No sound. Was he too late already?
Christ! What had this guy done to her?
Once again he slammed his fist against the door. “Rochelle! Open up! It’s me, Zach.”
Finally he heard something. Did a door open somewhere inside the apartment? Did he hear somebody shuffle to the front door?
“Rochelle,” he called out again, this time not quite as loud, because he was suddenly aware of the silence in the stairway. The neighbors had probably already heard him, but he was surprised that nobody had yet asked him to be quiet.
“Zach?” he heard Rochelle’s voice come from behind the door. Then a bolt was unlatched and the door opened a crack.
Immediately he noticed that Rochelle’s chestnut hair was sleep-rumpled. Had she been asleep? When his gaze dropped lower, every sane thought fled his brain.
Rochelle was wearing the most seductive baby doll night dress he’d ever seen. Below the thin pink cotton her full breasts could be seen. And the way the light from the hallway now shone onto her, it was immediately evident that she was wearing nothing beneath it, not a bra, nor panties. The sight robbed him of his breath and switched off his brain altogether.
Without knowing what he was doing, he pushed the door open wider and entered the apartment.
“Are you crazy, opening the door dressed like that?” he ground out. “What if there’d been some thug out in the hallway?” Even if it had been only a burglar without any intention of touching her, how could any man resist that kind of temptation, seeing Rochelle like this?
“But you announced yourself. I knew it was you,” she huffed and braced her hands at her hips, which caused her already short nightgown to ride up even higher on her thighs, revealing more of her tempting skin.
Didn’t this woman know what was good for her? How was a man supposed to keep his cool at the sight of such female perfection?
Grunting, Zach slammed the door shut behind him. “Bad enough that the door to the building is open. Every criminal in this city can just walk in here.”
“Well, we can’t all live in a doorman building.” Rochelle glared at him, her eyes sparkling with aggression. “Besides, what are you doing here? I’ve already told you that there can’t be anything between us. Can’t you get that into your thick skull?”
He grabbed her bicep, and she jerked back, closer to the wall of the tiny foyer. “Then why did you open the door?” He pointed to her clothing. “Dressed like that.”