Seeking Single Male (4 page)

this building and the one next door were critical to their plans. Coffee Girl would be out of a job—but those were the breaks.

"Listen," she said. "I can step out for a moment. Why don't we go over to my apartment right now?"

Her words obliterated all real-estate-related thoughts. "Right now?"

She shrugged. "Sure. You seem like a nice guy."

He wasn't a nice guy—everyone said so. But his neglected sex stirred. He could be a nice guy for an hour or so.

"That is, if
you
like
me,
" she added.

So…while he was cooped up in his corner office, this kind of stuff was going on all over the city. Men and women hooking

up through singles ads for hot rendezvouses. Greg tingled with naiveté. No wonder he felt as if life were passing him by. He

swallowed hard. "Wh-what's not to like?"

Her smile lit up the room. "Great. Give me a sec to grab my coat and purse."

The mention of her purse rang a bell. He needed to know if this was a
business
transaction. "Um, speaking of money…"

She dismissed his worry with a flip of her wrist. "If you like it, we'll talk about money later."

Greg's stomach and mind churned with indecision as she walked away. She removed her red apron, revealing a stunning

silhouette.
Seeking single male for good times.
His collar felt moist. He ran his hand over his mouth. He'd never done anything

remotely like this in his thirty-five years.

But when Lana turned her smile in his direction, Greg discarded rational thought. Why not? Why the hell not? He'd spent his

life looking after his brother, his family's business—satisfying external obligations. Because he had no desire for a messy

emotional relationship, his physical needs had gone unfulfilled. And here was Lady Luck, standing before him in a snug

Christmas sweater. He was going for it, damn it.
Merry Christmas to me.

She rejoined him, now hatless and pulling on a black-and-white spotted, fake fur coat more befitting of a ten-year-old. But he

supposed most women with her, er,
hobby
were a tad on the flamboyant side.

"Are you ready?" she asked, hooking her arm through his in a familiar way that both startled and pleased him.

Greg's thoughts turned to the pocket in his wallet where he kept protection. If memory served, he had two condoms stashed

there. Male satisfaction swelled in his chest. "I'm ready."

LANA SLID HER GAZE
sideways at the handsome man walking next to her. The day was definitely looking up. The first

person to respond to her ad seemed like a pretty cool guy, even if he was a little stiff. Greg Healey was certainly one of the

most masculine gay men she'd ever met. She was a tall woman, and he was a full head taller. His profile was strong, his

shoulders wide, his stride assertive. A bizarre thrill raced through her at his proximity, causing Lana to chastise herself. She

wasn't the type of woman who would try to "convert" a gay man, but if she found out that he was intelligent on top of looking

good, she was going to be supremely irritated.

Meanwhile, she liked him. There was something…undiscovered about him. In fact, she'd bet her tea bag that he was very

recently out of the closet.

"So, Greg, what do you do for a living?" she asked, a few steps down the block.

"I'm an attorney," he said. From the tone of his voice, he wasn't in love with his job. Little wonder, if he didn't make enough

money to afford his own apartment. When he glanced at his watch, she said, "Don't worry—this shouldn't take long, so you can

get right back to work."

He coughed, and Lana hoped he didn't have any kind of weird allergies, such as to rubber. Choosing between this guy and

Harry, her blow-up doll, would be tough. "Any hobbies?"

"Hmm?" He looked as if she'd spoken in a foreign language.

"Hobbies?" she repeated with a laugh. "If we're going to be spending so much time together, I'd just like to know if you have

any strange pastimes."

"I have a telescope," he said, then his cheeks reddened. "I mean, I used to enjoy astronomy."

Ah, a Science Club guy—how sweet. "Used to?"

"My job is rather demanding. I don't have a lot of free time."

"I can relate. What else should I know about you?"

He shrugged. "What do you want to know?"

Lana laughed. "Well, do you sleepwalk?"

At last he cracked a smile, an extraordinary smile that transformed his grave features. "No, I don't sleepwalk."

"Good, because I live on the third floor."

He suddenly looked uncertain, and his step slowed.

She winked. "You're not afraid of heights, are you?"

He ran his hand over his dark hair. The movement revealed the barest glints of silver. Suddenly he stopped, and a bemused

expression came over his face. "Listen, um, Lana, this is pretty new to me."

Poor guy, he
was
still wrestling with coming out. "Don't worry," she said, laying a comforting hand on his arm. "I'll help you

as much as I can. I want us to be friends, you know."

In fact, until this moment, she hadn't realized how much she missed having someone with whom she could share little things.

Oh sure, Alex lived just down the hall—but Jack was there now, too, and they were building a home on Versailles Road ,

where the rich of Lexington migrated to live among endangered horse farms. She sensed an uncommon connection with Greg

and hoped he would feel comfortable with her, too.

He shook his head. "But the money—"

"Hey, I'm fairly flexible. My rent is due on the first of the month, so as long as you pay me the day before, we're square."

He pursed his mouth. "Exactly how much money are we talking about?"

Ah—he was broke. A man who lived above his means, by the looks of his suit, and who probably hated the thought of having

to share an apartment. Well, at least the man had good taste in clothing, even if he erred a bit on the Republican side. She

smiled. "Four hundred a month."

He studied her, as if sizing up what kind of a roommate she'd make. "In return for?"

She gestured ahead of them to an ivy-covered brick structure. "There's my building up ahead. Why don't I just show you?"

More studying—Greg Healey was a studier. Suddenly, she very much wanted the chance to get to know him better.
Say yes,

she urged him silently.

His chest rose as he inhaled deeply, then he lifted his hands in a gesture of submission. "Okay, let's go."

GREG'S HEART POUNDED
as he climbed the stairs behind Lana. He suspected, however, that his elevated pulse had more

to do with the side-to-side motion of Lana's curvy behind than the exertion of ascending two flights of stairs.

"The elevator works most of the time," she offered over her shoulder. "But to be honest, it's so slow, I always take the stairs,

anyway."

She talked as if he'd be spending a lot of time in the building, Greg noted. He had to admit he admired the woman's chutzpah.

He followed her mutely through the door at the top of the stairs, into a corridor, then wound around two corners before

stopping behind her in front of number thirty-six.

"This is it," she said, swinging open the wooden door.

As Greg stood rooted at the threshold, a tiny voice he recognized as his conscience whispered,
Don't do it. This woman is

complicated.
Greg's nerve endings danced with indecision. He could still turn back. He
should
turn back.

But when she beamed a glorious smile his way, her eyes flashing an invitation, anticipation waxed over caution. A powerful

surge of attraction hardened his sex. At this moment, he would have followed this beauty into a pit of tar. His feet must have

moved, because suddenly he was standing in an eccentric, if slightly bare, loft. He barely took his eyes off Lana, whose sexual

appeal now bordered on hazardous. His body strained for fulfillment. Greg wet his lips, feeling like a teenager in his haste to

touch her.

"This is the living room," she said, practically bouncing on the heels of her thick-soled pink tennis shoes.

The "living room" was defined by a large red area rug in the shape of an apple. In contrast, the couch facing them was

yellow; the chair, an oversize beanbag chair in University-of-Kentucky-blue. An enormous live Christmas tree stood against

the wall, its branches bowed from the dozens of ornaments and dangling crystals. The scent of fresh evergreen stirred his

senses even more. Sitting on a wooden stool was a small antique television sporting a rabbit-ear antenna contraption that

extended into the air at least four feet.

"You're welcome to bring a bigger set if you want," she offered.

Did she plan on them watching that much TV? Scratching his head, Greg turned to the left and came up short, his heart

skipping a beat at sight of the man standing mere inches in front of him. He felt foolish when he realized the "man" was a blow-

up doll dressed in striped pajamas.

"Oh, meet Harry," Lana said with a grin. "He's my sidekick."

"Okay," Greg murmured. Even with the pajamas, it was clear that the doll was anatomically correct. A prop of Lana's?

She hung her coat on Harry's shoulder, then pivoted and swept an arm toward a galley-style kitchen decorated with…cows.

Everywhere. Black-and-white, pink-nosed Jersey cows with fat udders. "Not much counter space," she said cheerfully. "But

I'm willing to make room for your omelette pan."

Greg stared across the arm's length of space between them, and something…
unfamiliar
happened. Her gaze locked with his,

and the static electricity in the air stung his skin. A weird humming noise sounded in his ears, like a frequency interrupted. God,

she was lovely—her violet eyes, her pink mouth, her creamy skin. And with her leaning back against the gray-speckled counter,

all he could think was how perfect the height would be for…good times.

She glanced away, and the moment was gone, perhaps a figment of his imagination to ease his guilt, a delusion that he shared

some sort of connection with this stranger he was about to bed.

"And here—" she said, brushing by him to stand in a vacant area in front of two tall windows, "is where the table and chairs

used to sit. I don't suppose you could fill up the space with something interesting?"

He swallowed at the picture she presented, her lush, willowy figure silhouetted by the midday sun slanting in through the

windows, her hair a white halo. A piano. He'd buy her a baby grand piano if she'd only stand there a few moments longer.

Her eyes went wide. "Did you say a piano?"

Damn, had he spoken? A thermometer on his neck at this moment would have registered at least one hundred degrees

Fahrenheit.

She clasped her hands together, her face lit up like a child's. "You're right, this would be the perfect spot for a piano! I

haven't played in years, but it would be so fun!" Then her white teeth appeared on her lower lip, and she looked almost

embarrassed. She grabbed both his hands in hers. "Greg, I don't mean to get all girly on you, but I just have a very good feeling

about this situation."

He had the same feeling, and it made his pants tighter.

"I have this strange vibe that we were supposed to meet. Weird, huh?"

Her smile revealed a dimple in her chin. Greg might have thought it adorable, but he wasn't the kind of man who used the

word
adorable.

"Well—" she blushed "—I'm sure you'd like to see the bedroom."

If they didn't get down to it soon, he thought, limping slightly as he followed her, he might embarrass himself. On the far side

of the loft, opposite the door they'd entered, a narrow hallway ran between two rooms partitioned off with permanent walls,

but open to the vaulted ceiling. The bathroom is at the end of the hall," she said, pointing. "And this is the bedroom."

She pushed open the door to the room on the right and walked in a few steps ahead of him. He had the vague impression of a

bed with white linens in the otherwise empty and modest room. The room where she…entertained?

Lana was talking, but he only caught a few words. "…great lighting…comfy mattress." Frankly, he couldn't concentrate on

anything she was saying for watching her move. She was fine-boned, her arms long and lithe, her wrists small, her neck and

collarbone well defined.

"So," she said, stopping in front of him and spreading her arms, "what do you think?"

Overcome with longing, Greg swallowed hard. The woman, his need, the circumstances—the combination overwhelmed

him. His control was slipping, badly. "I think," he murmured, "that you are the most desirable woman I've ever met."

She stared at him and her lips parted. She blinked, but she couldn't hide the desire that flared in her eyes. Before he could

change his mind, he reached up, curled his fingers around the back of her neck, and pulled her lips against his.

Their meeting was electric. Her mouth moved under his. Her sweet fragrance swirled in his nostrils, her tongue was as

smooth as cream. She opened her lips, inviting him inside, where he foraged like a starved man. It was the perfect kiss, fueled

by the tide of raw passion pulsing through his body. He'd never felt so in tune with a woman—they both wanted it. Wrapping

his arms around her, he pulled her against him, reveling in the way her slim figure melded to him. His erection sought warm