by Rita Herron
The next thing he noticed was that she was wearing his shirt. And she had been sleeping in it.
Heaven help him. Early-morning sunlight painted a golden halo across her ivory skin, while shadows from the doorway framed her face. He swallowed to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth while the rest of his body exploded in heat. She looked a whole sight better in his clothes than he did. She was so petite, the shirt nearly engulfed her. The top two buttons had come unfastened, exposing the creamy white curves of her breasts, and below the hem, sexy bare legs stretched down to toes painted in bright red polish. His breath caught.
Then she moved and sunlight played through the threadbare fabric.
Holy hell, she was naked beneath his shirt.
"I..." She flicked her fingers through her hair, spiking it even more and making his body thrum with desire. Suddenly realizing that he had noticed she was wearing his shirt, she drew the top together defensively, her face scalding. "Lance, what are you doing here so early?"
"I couldn't sleep." Damn, he hadn't meant to reveal that. "I mean, I wanted to get started early."
She backed away, looking wary. "I was getting ready to shower. I... I just grabbed this off the floor when I heard the doorbell."
Right. Now images of her naked and covered in hot, steamy water and soap bubbles would haunt him all day.
He reached out to pluck a feather from her hair. "From your pillow?"
She nodded, biting down on her lip. "I... they're the softest."
Now he would imagine her lying naked on those feather pillows.... "We... uh, need to discuss a few things around here," Lance said, struggling to sound coherent as he lowered his hand. The damn thing betrayed him, though, and slid along her cheek, brushing skin so soft it felt like silk.
"I made a list," Sophie said in a strained voice. "And I'm planning to meet Maddie to pick out colors. The material I ordered for the new kitchen countertops should arrive this morning...."
A heartbeat of silence stretched between them. She leaned into his hand and a groan built in his throat.
"Why don't we have dinner tonight?" Lance suggested. "To review your plans."
"I can't." Sophie wet her lips, drawing him to the delicate pink skin. Her mouth tasted like sweetness and spice. He wanted to taste it again. And one flick and the third button on his shirt would pop open; then the cotton would glide down her slender arms and puddle at her feet.
"Soph." Lucy's voice cut into his consciousness with the force of a machete breaking glass.
Sophie stepped away from his touch. He dropped his hands to his sides.
Either oblivious to what she'd interrupted or choosing to ignore the tension hanging in the air, Lucy bobbed into the room. "What time are we going to the station?"
"A half hour." Sophie wrapped her arms around her waist. "We'll grab a bagel and coffee from around the corner so Lance can get to work."
"Great."
"About tonight?" Lance asked when he sensed Sophie was on the verge of running.
"She can't," Lucy interjected.
So she had been listening to their conversation?
"You have a date, don't you, Soph?" Lucy said.
Sophie's eyes widened like those of a deer caught in headlights. "Uh, right, I'm sorry, Lance. Maybe we can talk after work, before I go out."
Lance's jaw snapped tight. "Sure."
Sophie disappeared into her bedroom, and Lucy beamed him a smile. He forced a reciprocal one, although his gut had begun to churn. Who was Sophie seeing this time? Dalton again, or another man?
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. What difference did it make? Hadn't he decided to check out that singles service this evening?
And he would, as soon as he finished here. Then he'd finally be able to put Sophie Lane and her date out of his mind forever.
* * *
"Why did you have to say that?" Sophie asked Lucy as they rushed into Starbucks for coffee.
Lucy's innocent expression had to be fake. "Why did I have to say what?"
"That I had a date," Sophie said in a hiss, joining the mile-long line in front of the coffee counter.
"Because making a guy jealous is the best way to get his attention. Isn't that one of Maddie's seven rules for trapping a man?"
"No." Sophie strained her brain to remember them. "Well, maybe, sort of."
"It definitely should be."
Sophie released an exasperated sigh.
Lucy rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Soph, sometimes I don't think you understand men at all."
"And you're an expert?"
"No, but everyone knows that a man only gets jealous if he really cares."
"Lance doesn't care." Miserable and confused, Sophie moved up in the line, eyeing a double-chocolate muffin. To heck with staying slim. She needed comfort food in a bad way.
"Then you've lost nothing by going out with another man."
"But that's just it, Lucy—I don't have another date." Although when Rory got back from his trip, she could call and give him another chance.
Lucy planted her hands on her hips. Several men in line straightened their ties, coughed, and gave her the eye. "Aren't you interviewing several singles services on the show today?"
Sophie winced. "I hate to resort to those. They're for desperate women."
Lucy arched a brow.
"I'm not desperate." Although the clock was counting down until the big three-oh.
"Two beautiful women should go first." A handsome blond man wearing Ralph Lauren gestured for Lucy to step in front of him, and she batted her long eyelashes at him like a vixen.
"Thanks so much." Lucy winked at Sophie, then whispered, "See, Soph, go with the flow. Men are everywhere. We could get you a date right here if we wanted."
Sophie glanced around the crowd in horror. "You wouldn't."
Mischief gleamed in Lucy's eyes as she pivoted toward the man. "Hi, my name's Lucy."
Sophie hissed a warning, but she was too late.
Lucy swung an arm around Sophie's shoulders. "This is my sister, Sophie. She needs a date tonight; are you busy?"
* * *
Lance worked all morning tearing out the faded and cracked countertops, cabinets, and the old stovetop. By lunchtime he'd started installing the new painted cabinetry, which was enhanced with decorative millwork, open glass fronts, and vertical plate racks. Later he'd add a kitchen island in the center, as Sophie had requested. She had ordered granite countertops in a Wedgwood blue with pewter hardware and a backsplash in a fruit motif. Even the Victoria faucet, dubbed the English Teakettle faucet, gave the feel of the rustic Victorian era. The combination of all the elements she'd chosen fit the time period, added color and charm, and, while giving the home an air of sophistication with the upgraded materials, still felt homey.
Reid had brought a crew to replace the rotten flooring on the back porch, which Sophie planned to enclose into a sunroom. Lance had to admit he admired her intentions. Realizing it was time for Sophie's show he flipped on the small TV in the corner, telling himself it would keep him awake while he worked. He really wasn't interested.
Reid strode in, wiping his forehead, and poured himself a glass of sweet iced tea Sophie had left for them. The music zinged for the lead-in, and Sophie pranced onstage wearing a dark blue suit that hugged her curves and showcased her dynamite knees.
He had it bad if he was noticing knees.
"Welcome to the Sophie Knows show," she said, smiling at the audience. "Today we're continuing our singles series by talking with two different matchmaking services in Savannah. Welcome our guests...."
Lance hauled the broken countertop pieces outside, surprised when he returned and discovered Reid glued to the set. "Hey, man, isn't that the same service you won a membership to?"
Lance nodded.
"Have you filled out your resume and checked to find your match?"
"No, but apparently Sophie put my name in, and I've already gotten some calls. I can't believe the women didn'
t wait until I'd filled out my profile or sent in a picture."
"Must be desperate or hungry for a man." Reid pulled out the chair to Sophie's computer and booted it up, then brought up the Web site. "Let's do it now, maybe narrow down the field and weed out any losers." Reid grunted as he studied the site. "Okay, answer these questions."
Lance pushed his hair from his face. "I don't have time—"
"It only takes five minutes."
"I'm not in the mood, Reid."
Okay, I'll fill in what I know. "Description. Likes, dislikes. Job. Salary?" Reid cut his eyes toward Lance. "Can you believe they ask about money?"
"Women want rich men."
Reid grunted. "What kind of woman are you looking for?"
Lance hesitated. One who looked like Sophie but didn't want commitment. "Dark hair, petite. Good looking."
"Stacked. That's a given." Reid filled in the information. "Job preferences? Or do you want Suzy Homemaker, bro?"
Lance laughed. "I don't know. You answer for me."
Reid grinned. "All right." He typed in some information, then began to recite Lance's qualifications. "Attractive, professional, likes outdoor activities, enjoys dining out, wants to have fun..."
A few minutes later, the printer spit out several pages of potential matches.
Reid waved him over. "Take a look at these."
Single female seeking sexy male who makes $100,000 plus.
Lance tossed the printout in the trash.
Single female seeking single or married man who makes $100,000 plus.
Another toss.
Single female, forty-seven, seeking younger man who makes $100,000 plus.
Trash. "Geez, what is it with these women?" Lance asked.
"Hey, this one sounds great." Reid skimmed it. "Sexy, female, 40DD, professionally employed, athletic, likes all sports, especially sailing, looking for fun relationship—"
"Sounds good so far."
Reid read on. "Will meet anywhere, anytime, do anything." He choked, then handed it to Lance. "You have to read all the way to the last line."
Lance finished, "Recovering from recent sex change operation." Lance wadded it into a ball. "This is a waste of time."
"No, wait." Reid offered him another one. "This one sounds perfect. Single female, twenty-nine, dark hair, green eyes, employed, likes water sports—"
"She doesn't mention salary requirements?"
"Nope."
"And she's not a transvestite or a cross-dresser or a female serial killer?"
"Nope."
Lance accepted the listing. Maybe he would give her a try. At least she had the physical attributes right: dark hair, green eyes....
* * *
"The show was great," Lucy said as she and Sophie drove back to Sophie's.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it." Sophie maneuvered through traffic, a twinge pulling at her stomach when she spotted Lance's truck still in the drive. "Uh-oh, I was hoping he was gone."
"All the more reason for you to check out the singles services you interviewed today," Lucy said. "You were right to agree to a few dates."
"I only did that because of the show." Sophie sighed. More cameras. More pretending. It seemed she'd been pretending all her life. Putting on a show...
"Right. But you'll meet a lot of men that way, get yourself out there, take a chance. The karma's completely off between you and Lance."
Lucy logic again. She'd gotten into all that New Age stuff in the past year. Once Sophie thought she'd seen her sister singing to the moon. "I'm taking a chance tonight, Lucy." Sophie jammed her cell phone into her purse, parked in her drive, and opened the door. "I still can't believe you asked that guy in Starbucks to date me. For God's sake, you almost propositioned him. For a minute you sounded like..."
"Like Deseree?" Lucy's lower lip wilted.
A pang of guilt assaulted Sophie. "No, I... I didn't mean it like that." She squeezed her sister's hand. "I know you would never resort to some of the things Deseree did."
"Maybe Deseree was desperate," Lucy said in her typical naive mode. "She probably didn't know any other way to survive, and she certainly never had any help or support."
"Maybe," Sophie conceded. "But there are other ways, and we're not Deseree."
"You've been serious way too long, Soph. Don't worry; we'll both have fun." Lucy launched into a spiel about sneaking along a few products from her silver case to entertain the Hispanic man she'd met at the coffee shop, but Sophie shushed her when Lance appeared, dragging a box of trash toward his truck.
Sophie hopped out, stuffed her briefcase under her arm, and strutted up the sidewalk, pretending nonchalance as Lance watched her out of the corner of his eye.
"You'd better hurry to get dressed for your evening out," Lucy said a little too loudly. "Your date will be here soon."
Sophie wanted to throttle and hug her sister at the same time. Still, she took the opportunity to dash into the house to refresh herself before her date appeared.
What was his name, anyway?
A half hour later Sophie had half her closet spread on her bed, undecided what to wear. The mess in the house was driving her crazy. Her kitchen was torn apart, a small portion of the cabinets installed while Lance lay shirtless on the floor installing the rest. She'd wanted to ask him why he was half-naked, then realized that her air conditioner was on the fritz, which meant another repair—and endless nights of being haunted by the image of Lance without a shirt.
Lucy knocked, then vaulted into the room wearing a black leather miniskirt, a silver spandex tube top, a see-through black jacket/blouse over it, and sparkly eye shadow shimmering above her eyes. "Are you almost ready?"
Sophie eyed her wardrobe choices dubiously. "Not quite."
Lucy glanced at the bed and grimaced. "Oh, come on, Soph, you're not really considering that yucky green dress?"
"It's a designer knockoff. I want to downplay my role on Sophie Knows."
"It's hideous. You're not going to a Baptist revival."
"It's conservative."
"It's dowdy. Now get serious."
Sophie made a frustrated sound, then revisited her closet. A few minutes later, with Lucy's guidance, she emerged dressed in a slinky scoop-necked black cocktail dress that she'd bought for a party the station had hosted for local celebrities.
Lucy stepped back and whistled. "Fabulous."
Sophie scrutinized her reflection. "My boobs are hanging out."
Lucy pushed her own goods upward into her bra. "Perfect for Maddie's rules. Strut your stuff but don't let him touch."
"Don't worry about that; I don't intend to hop in the sack with this guy tonight." The doorbell rang and they both dashed from her room. "What was his name, anyway?"
"Jeremy—now be nice." Lucy teetered away for the door while Sophie paused to catch her breath.
Trouble was, Lance filled the hallway with a cabinet he was carting outside. They both paused and waited; then she rushed forward, wondering about could-have-beens. They met in the middle of the corridor, their bodies brushing against each other as they passed. Sophie felt the hard planes of his body and a thousand sensations slivered through her. Lance's intake of breath and the way he drew his shoulders away from her indicated he'd been affected as well. Feeling suddenly wicked, she drew in a deep breath, letting her chest expand and her taut nipples brush his naked, sweaty chest.
His gaze dropped to hers and he stilled, his lower body pulsing against the small of her stomach. Heat speared through Sophie. Hunger darkened the irises of his eyes. Her own breath quickened. His gaze dropped to her lips. She wet them with her tongue. He followed the movement.
"Yoo-hoo, Sophie, Jeremy's here."
Sophie released the breath she'd been holding. Disappointment mingled with desire. "My, er, date."
He shoved the cabinet out of the way and stepped aside. "By all means, have fun. I've got to get going, too—finally decided to try out that singles service you connected me with."
She pas
ted on a fake smile and headed toward the man waiting at the door, wondering who exactly Lance would be seeing tonight. Remembering Maddie's advice, though, she added an extra little sway to her hips.
She might be through with Lance, but she definitely wanted him to suffer. A tear threatened but she squashed it.
And she definitely wanted him to think of her while he was out with that other bimbo.
* * *
Lance didn't know if he could suffer through the remainder of the evening with this woman. Jamie James smoked like a fiend, ate like a horse, and so far had inhaled three shots of bourbon straight up without batting a false eyelash. And they were false, along with her nails, the nose job, and her boobs, which she had informed him cost thirty-five hundred dollars each, a gift from her third ex-husband in the divorce settlement. In return, she'd given him the Porsche, the second home in Denver, and the live-in-maid whom he was sleeping with.
Her only redeeming quality as far as he was concerned was the fact that she didn't have a police record. She'd told him that right up front, along with her personal and medical history, and a gynecological report that offered way too much information.
He tried to focus on his beer and ignore her inquisition.
"Now, Lance, do you have any serious medical problems?"
Was this first-date conversation these days? If so, he'd been out of touch a long damn time. "No."
"Any venereal diseases?"
Weren't women supposed to be into all that getting-to-know-you chit-chat shit like, Do you like football or romantic music?
"Uh-oh, what—syphilis? Gonorrhea? AIDS?"
He coughed. "No."
"To all three?"
He yanked at his collar, sweat beading on his forehead. "Yes, to all three."
Horror streaked her face. "Yes, you have all three diseases?"
"No, geesh, I don't have any diseases."
"Thank goodness." She blew a breath between even white teeth, then waved for the bartender. "Prior children?"
His gaze shot to hers. "Definitely not."
"All right, then, I think this might work."
"Excuse me?" He cradled his beer and downed the rest of it. "What might work? You've just given me twenty questions."