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master
bedroom.
    All in all, the apartment was one surprise
after another. The larger bedroom was dark and subdued, almost as
though it knew that its own view of the building across the street
was rather pitiful. But the decadently huge walk-in closet and
dressing room which most New Yorkers might have comfortably used as
another bedroom, held clothing for a man and a woman. And the man,
judging by the length of the raincoat hanging behind one door, had
to be taller than the shorter-than-average Mr. Parker.
    And the dresses are just not
his style ,
Robin added mentally. She followed that disrespectful thought with
a slight nudge of shame, but hung the garment bag up without any
more immediate speculation. And on her way out, she did notice that
there was what seemed to be a single-sized futon folded neatly on a
rack in one corner of the room. There was no corresponding futon
frame, but neither was there a chest or anything to take up space
near the foot of the bed.
    The other bedroom door was
locked. With visions of pirates and secret rooms dancing through
her brain, she went to investigate the kitchen, where, to her
delight, she found a fancy Italian cappuccino machine on the
counter. Oh
good, I’ve always wanted to use one of these
things , she
thought, examining it. It doesn’t look that hard. Mmmm, café latté for
breakfast. Espresso after dinner. Looks like life as a slave won’t
be too terrible.
    Her musings were interrupted by the sound of
keys in the front door, and for a moment she panicked. He was right
on time, but she had no idea what to do! Should she go out into the
hall and greet him? Stay where she was? Kneel? Be relaxed and
casual? She heard the click of his boot crossing the threshold and
a jingling sound of keys, or maybe that was his jacket; it had two
chains looped around one shoulder....
    His jacket! I should go take his jacket!
    She dashed out of the kitchen, bumping into
the swinging door with one elbow and rounded the corner, trying not
to look rushed. Chris was in fact standing with his back to her,
and already starting to shrug the jacket off his shoulders. She
came up behind him and caught it, drawing it down his arms.
    “ You should have been here a little
earlier,” he said, pointing to a rack affixed to the wall. She hung
the leather jacket up and blushed.
    “ Yes, sir, I’m sorry.”
    “ Not nearly as sorry as you will be in
the future if you fail to meet me at the door. Make some coffee.
Have you eaten dinner?”
    “ No sir, I haven’t. Would that be
regular coffee?”
    “ Yes, leave that monstrosity alone and
use the Krups. There are beans in the freezer. Have some ready for
me in the living room as soon as possible. Milk, no
sugar.”
    Damn, another bad guess. I
would have thought he took it black. But Robin inclined her head in an
acknowledgment bow and went back to the kitchen to do as she was
told. He looked interesting tonight, a cross between the two looks
she had seen on him so far. His polished engineer boots looked very
correct with the black jeans, and the motorcycle jacket was the
only correct outerwear to accompany them. But again, he wore a
fresh-looking tailored business shirt and a tie. Yuppie from
hell , she
thought without warning . Ivy-league Angels, their motto is, Think
Yiddish, Look British, and Ride American . Good thing she had to grind the
beans and figure out where the gold filter was and find the coffee
cups, or else she might have actually giggled in front of
him.
    Soon, she was sitting on the floor,
cross-legged on one of those wool throw rugs, while Parker sipped
his coffee and watched the lights across the river. She did not
pour a cup for herself, and was not invited to, and she was
embarrassed to the core of her being when her stomach complained
about the lack of dinner. She would have been fine if Chris hadn’t
asked!
    “ I’ve sent for some food,” the man
commented, stretching his legs out. “It will arrive soon. In the
meantime, let’s hear