Seeking Single Male

by Stephanie Bond

  "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 sens
es 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 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."