Sleepless in Savannah (13 page)

Sophie stared at the silver case full of goodies and grimaced. What in the world did Lucy have in mind?

Chapter 8

You don't see me as the domestic type?

Hell, no, he didn't, Lance thought as he let himself inside his duplex. But he could imagine her in nothing except that damned apron and those clunky heels. And he had envisioned dotting sauce on her body and licking it off.

Frustrated, he strode to the refrigerator and scrounged through the measly contents. A half-wilted head of lettuce. Six-day-old pizza that had turned into a moldy brick. A soured carton of milk. An empty container of orange juice. Two beers.

Ahh, another night of a liquid diet or takeout. That is, unless he wanted to dress up and go out. Meet women. Flirt. Maybe bring one home.

Bachelorhood. The life he'd always wanted. The life he'd once loved.

Dirty clothes on the floor. His favorite sports magazines roosting on his scarred coffee table in the den. His bed unmade. His bathroom free of women's stuff.

Like the flimsy black teddy that had been draped over the shower rod in Sophie's bathroom.

His body thrumming with desire again, he phoned the new Philly cheesesteak delivery joint around the corner, jumped in the shower to chill his libido, then dressed in a pair of running shorts. Tired from lack of sleep but rejuvenated, he scrubbed a towel through his wet hair and tossed it to the floor. Another perk of singlehood—he didn't have to worry about a wife nagging him to keep things neat.

Grabbing a beer and the remote, he settled into his favorite rust-colored recliner. He'd watch TV while he waited on his food, then consider going out. He needed something or
someone
to distract him from Sophie Lane.

Or maybe he'd simply veg out and sleep. God knew he needed to catch some z's. With Sophie's door firmly back in place, she and her loony sister were safe. McDaniels had the bids for the contract. Maddie was content at home with Chase. And Reid... well, his brother would probably be on the prowl, but at least he wouldn't be out with Lucy.

Because she was entertaining a group of women to sell her sex toys.

Why would women want that stuff anyway, when they could have their choice of any red-blooded male instead? He didn't understand it. Then again, women had always been the world's biggest mystery.

He flipped the channels, grunting at the choices. Reruns of several sitcoms. A cooking show. Fishing tips. Mating patterns of some beetle. The best bathrooms in Vegas. Hmm, Chase and Maddie should be viewing it for ideas.

Right, the newlyweds would certainly be glued to a show on bathrooms.

He flipped again. A hundred and ten channels and nothing on worth watching. The doorbell rang and he dropped the remote, his mind conjuring images of Sophie's homemade spaghetti sauce instead of fast food. Sophie feeding him...

The doorbell dinged again, and he hurled himself forward. A few minutes later he banned Sophie from his mind while he chowed down on his cardboard cheesesteak, his gaze cutting toward the shopping bag from the mall. Afraid he wouldn't sleep again, he'd stopped by the mall and bought some ridiculous relaxation tapes the salesclerk suggested and had sprung for one of those rock garden waterfall thingies that were also supposed to be therapeutic.

Surfing the channels one more time, he sighed in relief when he discovered a sports channel. "Tonight we have an interview with Rory Dalton, one of the greatest football players to ever grace the field. We'll be hearing all about Dalton's favorite plays and his plans for the future now he's retired."

Lance frowned at the picture of Dalton that flashed on the screen, photographs of his past seasons filling the footage. Had Dalton used his favorite plays on Sophie?

Had they worked?

The phone trilled, cutting into his disturbing thoughts. He checked the caller ID—Tanya Whitson—he didn't recognize the name. Assuming it was a sales pitch, he let the machine pick it up.

"Hello, I'm calling for Lance Summers. My name is Tanya. I saw your name and number at the singles club." She hesitated, then lowered her voice to a breathy level. "I'd like to meet for a drink. If you're interested, call me at 555-2545. 'Bye."

Lance dropped his half-eaten sandwich onto his plate. The woman had a nice voice. She sounded pleasant. And he had nothing better to do.

But was he interested?

* * *

"Thanks for coming, Maddie. At least there's one sane person at this party." Not only had Lucy hung lucky charms around her place, but now a group of tittering women had gathered to examine Lucy's sexy products. And Sophie still hadn't told Lucy that she had actually had Lance arrested the night before....

"Wow, look at all this stuff!" Maddie screeched.

Erotic massage oils and liqueurs, edible underwear, feathers, boas, Venus Butterflies, videos, pictures, artificial body parts, vibrators, posters, penis-shaped pasta... she had never seen so many types of romantic notions, as Lucy called them, in one place at one time.

"Are you kidding? I wouldn't have missed it." Maddie plucked a tube of grape lipstick in the shape of a male sex organ (the theme, it seemed) off the display and tested the color on her lips. "I may be married, but I'm far from dead, Soph. In fact, sex has never been better."

Tiffany, one of the guests, stole Maddie's penis-shaped drink charm from her martini with a grin. "Caught you."

"Drat, drat, double drat," Maddie said. "I just can't seem to hold on to my male organs tonight."

"It's because you can't stop saying the S-word." The object of the game, Sophie thought wryly, was not to say the S-word or you lost your stick. Difficult when every item on display conjured images of just that—sex.

Something Sophie had done without lately.

"Okay," Lucy said as she lit a boob-shaped candle. "Time for another party game."

"Oh, heavens," Sophie said. "What next?" They'd already played Finish the Picture—essentially a picture of a man missing one important vital body part. Of course, Maddie had won with her sketch of Chase, which had every woman there anxious to meet Maddie's husband.

"All right." Lucy waved a glittery stick that resembled a magic wand—women were supposed to use it to make their partners deliver their fantasy. "This game is to stimulate your imagination. Everyone has to take the name of their first pet and combine it with the name of the street where they grew up. That will be your porn star name."

Several of the women squealed with delight. Sophie grimaced.

Maddie clapped her hands. "Okay, I've got mine. My cat's name was Too Cute, and the street I grew up on was Eaton Drive."

"Too Cute Eaton," Lucy said with a squeal.

Lucy passed the magic wand to the next girl in the circle. "I had a German shepherd named Tootsie and I lived on Poplin Avenue." Olivia twirled her olive in her glass. "Tootsie Pop."

The next girl snatched the wand with a mischievous grin. "Honey Lipton."

"Honey Lips," Lucy amended, bringing a round of laughter.

A stunning brunette lawyer joined in the fun. "Pepper Sprayberry—no, Pepper Spray."

"That sounds dangerous," Lucy said. "But exciting."

The magic wand continued, the game picking up speed. "Fluffy Main."

"Sticky Waters."

"Angel Ashton."

"Satin Butts."

"Furry Hornsby."

"Hotshot Sister."

"Blackie Humphrey—Blackie Humps."

Sophie rolled her eyes, quickly downing the rest of her martini as the spotlight turned to her. "My cat is Jazzy."

Lucy's eyes twinkled. "And your street was...?"

She could not believe she was saying this; it was everything she had fought so hard not to be. "Bell."

"Jezzy Bell. You're our winner tonight." Lucy stood and handed over the prize, a pair of red fur-covered handcuffs and a black feather boa. Lucy gestured toward the refreshment table. "While we snack, ladies, look over your brochures and place your orders."

Sophie headed to refresh her drink while Lucy unveiled the treats—a seafood dip in bowls shaped like male body parts and a booty-shaped cake with chocolate icing. Several of the women congregated around the table, cracking jokes about their prospective orders while Maddie cornered Sophie. "Okay, what's up between you and Lance?"

"Nothing," Sophie said. "Absolutely nothing."

"Aren't you playing by the rules?"

"What rules?" Lucy asked, jumping into the conversation.

"The seven sacred rules for trapping a man," Maddie said. "Sophie's supposed to be using them on my brother."

"I am not," Sophie said.

"She is, too," Maddie argued. "He's a stubborn man. He doesn't know what's good for him."

"Your other brother is eye candy," Lucy said.

"He is, isn't he?" Mischief danced in Maddie's eyes.

"Yes, but I'm not looking for a husband," Lucy said, "so don't worry."

Maddie thumped her fingers on her hips, disappointment sliding across her features. "Hmm. Well, Soph, I know Lance saw the video of your date in Cancun."

"How do you know?" Sophie asked, suddenly suspicious.

"Because I made sure he did. Now it's time to turn to rule number three: Give him a nibble, then yank the line." Maddie tilted her head toward Lucy. "Translation: A little kissing is allowed, even a little tongue, but no heavy petting."

Sophie chewed her lip. "Well..."

Maddie narrowed her eyes, realization dawning. "You already did that?"

Sophie nodded, grabbed a cherry from the table, and popped it into her mouth.

"And how did Lance respond?"

Did she mean how was the kiss? Incredible. Hot. Tormenting. "He ran like hell afterward."

Lucy's eyes went buggy. "Typical male."

"I know," Sophie said in misery. "And this one doesn't want to be caught, so there's no use wasting my time."
Or putting my heart through the ringer any more.

"Then it's time for rule number four."

"No more games," Sophie said. "I can't take it, Maddie."

Maddie ignored her. "Lance is still working on your house, right?"

"Yes."

"What's rule number four?" Lucy asked.

Sophie frowned at her baby sister. Lucy was probably mentally memorizing them.

"Make him swim in circles to catch the bait. Translation: Wiggle your butt and strut your stuff but don't let him touch... yet."

"Let your boobs hang out," Lucy added.

"She's right; show off the goodies," Maddie said.

Lucy snapped her fingers. "And I have the perfect thing for you to wear. Lance won't be able to resist."

Maddie threw an arm around Lucy's shoulder. "Hey, Soph, I like your sister."

"You two are trouble together," Sophie said. "Trouble, trouble, trouble."

Lucy flipped through the pamphlet and pointed to item number sixty-nine. "There, Jezzy Bell. If that doesn't entice Lance Summers, then I'll give up my business."

Sophie winced. Both Maddie and Lucy were wrong, but maybe if she proved it to Lucy, she'd follow up on her promise and give up the business. Then at least one good thing would come out of her infatuation with Lance.

Lucy pushed the pamphlet in her face and Sophie examined the picture. No, there was no way she'd ever wear
that....

* * *

"Come on, Chase. We have to get Lance out of the house and back into circulation."

Chase followed Reid next door to Lance's side of the duplex. "But what if he doesn't want to go?"

"Then we drag him. He's letting this thing with Sophie distract him so much he's not thinking straight." Reid raised his fist and pounded on Lance's door. "I had to bail him out of the slammer the other morning."

"What happened?"

Reid kicked dirt from his boot as he explained, then rang the doorbell. "And he missed the meeting with McDaniels. You know how important that account is to the company."

Chase nodded. "Why doesn't he go out with the woman? Get her out of his system?"

"I don't know. He even warned me to stay away from her sister."

"Her sister?"

"Yeah, her name's Lucy. A hot strawberry blonde with a body to die for."

Chase laughed. "And you're going to listen to him?"

"Hell, no. She's too much fun."

"Uh-oh, that sounds serious."

Reid roared with laughter. "Me, serious about a woman? That'll be the day."

Finally the door swung open. Lance had the phone in his hand and seemed surprised to see them. "What are you doing here, guys?"

"We're kidnapping you." Reid snatched his brother's arm. "It's time you had some fun."

* * *

Lance had danced with so many women he felt light-headed from their mingled perfumes and names. What had his little brother told them, anyway? That he was desperate for female companionship? Had Reid and Chase paid the women to be solicitous to Lance while they shot pool in the back?

He'd already been propositioned twice, his crotch grabbed and squeezed, and one woman had offered to give him sex in the men's room. Of course, she was already married, so she definitely wasn't looking for a commitment.

Every man's dream.

Or was it?