Seeking Single Male

“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 resistance, and found it against her thigh. He—

—was suddenly spun around and his arm yanked up between his shoulder blades. Greg grunted at the pain exploding in his rotator cuff. Before he could form a question, a knee in his back propelled him into the hall between the rooms. The wall stopped him. With his head smarting and his mind reeling, Greg straightened and turned around, but at the sight of the fuming blonde advancing on him, he backed into the living room. “Wh-what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” she shouted. “What was that, that, that…kiss all about?”

“I thought you brought me here to…” He gestured helplessly toward the bedroom. “You know, for a good time.”

Her eyes bugged. “What? How dare you!” She reached into the purse she’d set on the floor and withdrew a bottle of hair spray. “Get out before I call the police!”

Incredulous, Greg shook his head. “But your ad—arrgghhh!” He clawed at his eyes, which were suddenly filled with burning, clotting hair spray. “You’re insane!” he gasped, blinded and feeling for the door. He found it, with the help of her foot on his backside. Greg tumbled through the opening and landed facedown on musty, smelly carpet. The door slammed shut behind him.

Greg lay there a few seconds before groaning and rolling to his back. Cursing under his breath, he rubbed his burning, watery eyes and tried to sort out what had just happened. The woman was obviously an unstable individual who set up men, teased them unmercifully, and then…what? Blackmailed them? Deciding he didn’t want to wait to find out, Greg pushed himself to his feet, fished his handkerchief from his back pocket, and escaped the building while mopping his stricken eyes.

This was the reason he was single, and the reason Will would be better off as a bachelor, too. Women were like pet snakes—damn unpredictable. If he never saw the statuesque blonde again, it would be too soon.

4

LANA OPENED HER DOOR and peeked out into the empty hallway, hair spray poised. It looked as if Greg Healey—assuming that was his real name—was long gone, the baboon. He obviously hadn’t expected her to object to his pilfered kiss.

And in truth, the kiss had been quite remarkable, but it was where the kiss was leading that she had a problem with. Lana pressed her fingers to her mouth, dizzy and a little perplexed as to why a guy who looked that good and kissed that well would resort to answering a lousy roommate ad on the remote chance of getting lucky. Strange. Very strange.

Heavy footsteps sounded in the opposite direction, and for a second she thought he’d come back, or had lost his way since his eyes were full of Aqua-Net. But instead, Jack Stillman loped around the corner, barefoot and wearing only jeans, his wet hair and torso evidence that he’d just stepped out of the shower. Holy he-man—Alex was one lucky woman.

“What’s all the commotion?” he asked, his eyebrows drawn together. “Are you all right, Lana?”

She nodded, then waved in the direction of the exit. “Some guy answered my ad for a roommate, told me he was gay, and agreed to see the place.” A wry frown pulled one side of her mouth back. “Then he tried to cop a feel in the bedroom.”

Jack was trying not to smile. “Are you converting gay men now?”

“You’re such a comedian, Jack.”

“Seriously, did the guy hurt you?”

“No.”

“Then what was that loud thump?”

“I threw him out, and he sort of, um, bounced off the wall.”

He shook his head. “Alex assures me you can take care of yourself, but why would you invite a stranger to your apartment?”

“He looked trustworthy. And like I said, he said he was gay.” Then she frowned. “Or rather, he let me think he was gay.”

Jack scratched his temple. “Couldn’t you tell?”

“What a completely homophobic thing to say.”

He sighed. “Forget it. Should I go after the guy?”

Lana thought about it, then shook her head. “Nah. I don’t think he’s dangerous.”

“You also thought he was gay.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think he meant to harm me. In fact, I had the strangest feeling he was…scared of me when I resisted.”

“I’m scared of you,” Jack said. “So, did you hurt him?”

“He has a few bruises, I suppose. And I sprayed him in the face with this—” She held up the pump spray bottle. “Extra hold.”

Jack winced. “Do you know his name, just in case he shows up again?”

“He said his name was Greg Healey.”

Her neighbor’s eyes widened. “Greg Healey?”

She nodded. “He said he was an attorney. Do you know him?”

A laugh exploded from Jack’s mouth. “I used to know a Greg Healey. But it can’t be the same guy.”

“Mid-thirties, dark hair, stuffed shirt.”

Jack pursed his mouth. “Sounds right, but the Greg Healey I knew was a wealthy SOB—he wouldn’t have been looking for a roommate. Damn unlikable. And for that matter, he wouldn’t have been looking for a woman.”

“Let me guess—he’s gay?” she asked with an arched brow.

“No. But he was a seriously confirmed bachelor.”

“Like you?” she teased, nodding toward the gleaming wedding band on his finger.

“More so,” he assured her.

“Must be a different guy,” she said with a shrug, wanting to erase the disturbing incident from her mind. “I guess I should chalk it up to experience and get back to the coffee shop.”

Jack shook his finger. “Don’t invite strange men back to your apartment until you know what you’re dealing with.”

She stood erect and saluted. “Sir, yes, sir.” Lana pretended to click her tennis shoe heels together, then returned to her apartment for her purse and coat. But she was immensely troubled by the fact that equal to the relief for her safety, she felt a curious sense of loss. She had sensed a connection between herself and Greg Healey, darn it, and had been looking forward to a new friendship. Before he’d gone and ruined it all with that kiss of his.

Lana slipped her coat off Harry’s shoulder, then angled her head at him. “I think we should make a pact, Harry old boy. If I haven’t found a decent man by the time I’m ninety-five, and you still have air left in you, what say we tie the knot?”

He stared at her with a big permanent grin.

“Oh, good grief, don’t tell me you’re gay.” She sighed, tracing her finger around the lock of brown hair printed on his wide forehead. “I don’t blame you—the man was rather extraordinary looking, wasn’t he?”

Harry’s big vacant eyes looked at her pityingly.

“I know, I’m getting desperate.” She laughed ruefully. “It must be the holidays. Just don’t tell anyone, okay?” Lana planted a kiss on his plastic cheek and walked out the door, trying to salvage her attitude. She wasn’t about to give Greg Healey the satisfaction of ruining her day—not when so many other things were vying for that special honor.

GREG’S LINGERING INCREDULITY over his encounter with Lana Martina weighted his foot on the accelerator. The black Porsche coupe responded well to his frustration, gripping the curves of the winding driveway leading to the three-story house where he’d spent the majority of his life. His father had ordered that the sprawling structure on Versailles Road be constructed from genuine limestone mined from fertile Kentucky ground. The Healey homestead was a virtual fortress, and would be standing long after the family name died out.

And that would, quite possibly, happen fairly soon, since perpetuating the Healey name depended on his or Will’s producing offspring. His parents had intended that the rooms be filled with grandchildren and great-grandchildren, but they hadn’t counted on Greg’s opposition to marriage, or on Will’s special problems.

Flanked by towering hardwoods standing leafless but proud, the house never failed to lift his spirits. Until now. Now all he wanted was to take a shower, rinse his stinging eyes, and change his clothing that reeked of musty carpet.

The woman could certainly defend herself, he conceded. Almost as well as she could kiss. Not that it mattered, since she was a tease and a nut. He couldn’t imagine how much that woman would have messed with Will’s mind.

Spotting a large package by the front door, he parked in front of the four-car garage and made his way around the sweeping sidewalk to the main entrance. He caught a glimpse of his disheveled self in the glass of the doors and was glad their housekeeper, Yvonne, was away visiting her brother for a couple of days, or else she’d give him the third degree about his appearance and his impromptu trip home in the middle of the day.

But when he realized that the carton contained the saddle he’d ordered for Will for Christmas, he was almost glad for the incident; otherwise Will might have seen the box. Almost being the operative word, considering the bruises Coffee Girl had inflicted upon his person and his pride. Still, Greg admitted with a wry smile as he wrestled the box inside the door, it would be nice to surprise his brother for once.

“Whatcha got, Gregory?”

His brother’s voice startled him so badly he nearly dropped the carton in the foyer. “Jesus, Will, I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

Will held up a thick sandwich. “I forgot to pack my lunch this morning. Want some help?”

“No, that’s okay—”

With his free arm, Will took the box from him as if it were a bale of goose down. “Is it a new telescope?”

Greg blinked. He hadn’t thought of his broken telescope in months, and it had come up twice today, once with Miss Looney Tunes, and now with Will. “Er, yeah, it is,” he lied, glad the return address label of Cloak’s Saddlery had gone unnoticed.

“Good. I’ll take it upstairs for you,” Will said, hoisting the box to his shoulder while nonchalantly taking a bite out of the sandwich.

Greg followed, shaking his head. He himself was a big man, but Will’s stocky frame was solid muscle from his strenuous job on Kelty’s stud farm that bordered their property. The gentle giant carried the carton to Greg’s suite and deposited it in a closet, none the wiser that he’d just stowed his own gift.

Greg envied his brother sometimes—working outdoors, doing what he loved—and today was one of those times. Tugging on his tie, he suddenly dreaded returning to that damnable corner office. As far as he was concerned, the Hyde Parkland rezoning proposal couldn’t be approved soon enough. He entertained a moment of vindictive pleasure at the knowledge that Lana Martina would be out of a job—she’d regret she hadn’t earned that four hundred dollars when she’d had the chance.

“Gregory, your eye is bruised. Did someone hit you?” Will leaned close for a better look.

He sighed and ran a hand over his eye, wishing he could think of a good lie. But Will had to know how risky the singles scene could be. “I met Coffee Girl this morning.”

His brother’s eyes lit up. “You did?”

He hadn’t told Will for this very reason—he hadn’t wanted to give him false hope.

“Yes,” Greg said, unbuttoning his sleeves. “She attacked me and sprayed hair spray in my eyes.”

Will’s head jutted forward. “Why?”

“Because she’s—” At the wide-eyed innocence on his brother’s face, he stopped and nodded toward a leather club chair. “Have a seat while I wash up, huh, buddy?”

“Okay.”

Greg walked into the adjoining bathroom, stripped his shirt and flushed his eyes with handfuls of cool, soothing water. Sure enough, he’d gotten a shiner when he’d hit a wall—which wall, he wasn’t sure. Pressing a towel against his tender eyelids, he nearly groaned in blessed relief. Meanwhile his mind raced as he tried to decide how many details about the encounter he should divulge to Will. Guilt churned in his stomach when he realized that his promise to help Will meet a girl had fled his mind as soon as he set eyes on Lana Martina. In hindsight, he’d gotten exactly what he deserved for being so pettily distracted from his goal.

“Are you okay, Gregory?”

He walked back into the bedroom, drying his face with the towel. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“So why did Coffee Girl attack you?” Will sat on the edge of his seat, wringing his big hands.

Greg dropped onto the side of his bed and slipped off his shoes. “Will, Coffee Girl isn’t the woman for you.”

His face fell. “Why not?”

“She’s a…” A lovely, bubbly, bright light whose medication wore off mid-kiss. “She’s a…um…” The only woman who’d ever managed to kick up his libido and kick his ass. He sighed, fidgeting.

His brother stood abruptly. “You told her I was s-slow, and she doesn’t want to meet me.”

Feeling morose, Greg stood and held out his hand. “No, Will, that’s not it. In fact, I didn’t even get to the point of mentioning your name.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

“Trust me, buddy, this woman is…weird.”

“Most people think I’m weird, Gregory.”

Greg smiled. “No, I mean this lady is…” He floundered for words that would nip this whole singles ad business in the bud. “She’s mentally unstable.”

Will’s expression was one of near fright. “Coffee Girl is crazy?”

“As a bat.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Yeah, but I’m afraid that’s the kind of desperate person who places those ads.”

Will bit into his lip. “But I’m desperate, too.”

“You’re not desperate,” Greg said, putting his arm around Will. “You’re just impatient. Relax, okay?”

“Okay, Gregory. I know you’ll help me find the right girl.”

Greg pasted on a smile and bit his tongue to keep from saying such a girl didn’t exist—for either one of them.

Will jerked his thumb toward the door. “I have to go back to the farm. They’re bringing in Miner’s Nephew today.”

At last, something to really smile about. His brother loved his job, and the Keltys were good people to have given him the chance to prove himself.

“Can I look through your new telescope tonight, Gregory?”

He nodded, thinking now he had no choice but to buy a new telescope. And he gave quiet thanks that Will hadn’t dwelled on Coffee Girl. After Will left, Greg showered quickly and changed into more casual clothes. He only wished he were able to dismiss Lana Martina so easily. The bizarre encounter plagued him as he jogged downstairs, and as he drove toward the science museum gift shop.

One minute she’d been enjoying the kiss as much as he, then she’d gone completely berserk. Maybe he’d simply been too assertive, or maybe—oh, hell, he’d probably never know what had caused the woman to snap.

Finally, the idea of buying a new telescope pushed troubling thoughts of Lana Martina from his mind. He called Peg to let her know he’d be late returning from lunch. “Any messages?”

“Just two, sir. The closing on the Toler building has been moved to the twenty-third. And Art Payton called about the Friday rezoning meeting for the Hyde Parkland area. He can’t attend because of a family emergency, and his key managers are committed elsewhere. Wanted you to know so you could send someone else, perhaps Ms. Hughs or Mr. Weber, sir?”

He hadn’t been to a rezoning meeting in ages—usually they were routine and uncontested. But his future and Will’s rested on the outcome of this particular meeting, so he wanted to ensure their interests were represented. Vigorously.

“Add the meeting to my schedule, Peg. I’ll go.” He hung up the phone and tried on a smile. Finally, something to look forward to.

5

“THE DOCTOR WHO WRAPPED my ankle was dreamy,” Annette said as she slid the tray of cranberry Danishes into place. “But he was married, darn it, with four kids.”

Lana rolled her eyes at yet another chapter in Annette’s manhunt. The woman was a grown-up version of Little Orphan Annie, her petite figure overwhelmed by a helmet of wild red curls. Lana typically endured the woman’s nonstop chatter good-naturedly, but her own usual good mood had been compromised by an unexplainable preoccupation with the man who’d called himself Greg Healey. All last evening she’d been restless, fidgety and irritated. Even a formidable amount of cake icing eaten straight from the carton hadn’t helped.

Annette sighed dramatically. “I’ll never get to wear my wedding gown.”

Lana bit her tongue. Everyone who knew Annette had seen the wedding gown she’d been working on for going on ten years, because she carried it around in the back of her van on a mannequin.

“Mr. Right is out there somewhere, Lana, I just know it,” Annette continued. “And he’s looking for me, too.”

“Well, if he’s looking for you, I hope he likes coffee.”

“From your mouth to God’s ear. Hey, speaking of looking, have you found a roommate?”

Lana’s laugh was as dry as yesterday’s biscotti. “No, but I found a certified weirdo.”

The pastry chef’s eyes lit up curiously. “What happened?”

“A guy came in yesterday and said he was here about the ad. I asked him if he met all the requirements, meaning was he gay, and he said yes. He seemed all right, maybe a little stuffy, but definitely good-looking. But when I took him to see the apartment, he made a pass at me, right in the bedroom!”

Annette’s face had gone totally white.

Lana laughed. “Oh, don’t worry—I shot his eyes full of hair spray. But it was all very bizarre.”

“Was his name Greg something-or-other?”

A tiny alarm went off in Lana’s brain. “Do you know him?”

Annette touched a hand to her forehead. “Lana…oh my goodness, I completely forgot. A guy called about the singles ad I put in the paper, and I told him to meet me here yesterday at eleven a.m.”

Lana’s throat tightened—the timing was right. “You’re running singles ads now?”

Annette nodded, her face red.

She gripped the counter. “What did your ad say, exactly?”

While Annette scrambled to find the magazine, Lana’s mind swirled with the implication of a missed connection.

“Here it is,” Annette said, smoothing the page on the counter. “‘Lexington, Kentucky: Single female in mid-twenties seeking single male for good times. Horse lover a plus. I’m a good cook. Coffee Girl.’”

“Coffee Girl?” Lana murmured, remembering the man’s puzzling enquiry.

“I thought it fit,” Annette said with a sheepish shrug. “And I thought meeting in a public place was a good idea.”

She had to sit down to sort through it all—while ignoring the tiny thrill that he’d mistaken her for someone in her mid-twenties. “You mean this guy I thought was answering my roommate ad was actually answering your singles ad?”

“I’m sorry, Lana. With going to the doctor and all, I forgot that I asked him to meet me here.” She leaned in close. “But you said he was cute?”

Lana barely heard Annette as snatches of her conversation with Greg Healy came back to her and she realized how incriminating her words had been. She closed her eyes and managed a small hysterical laugh. He must have thought she was propositioning him. And being a red-blooded male, he’d accepted.

Then Lana froze as his other comments floated back to her. She swallowed a lump of mortification that lodged in her throat. Holy hooker! The man thought she was propositioning him, all right—for money.

“Lana,” Annette said loudly, yanking her back to the present.

“Huh?”

The redhead’s eyes glowed with hope. “You said he was cute?”

“I…guess so. But he made a pass at me, remember?”