Seeking Single Male

by Stephanie Bond

  But as they drove through the Hyde Parkland area, Lana saw every empty building, every overgrown lot, every graffitied bus stop, as if she were seeing it all for the first time. What had a week ago seemed like vintage charm, now smacked of urban neglect. Maybe Greg was right. Maybe the area needed renovation and a parking garage more than it needed a coffee shop.

  She studied Greg's profile with grudging respect. She'd been little more than a thorn in his side since they met, yet he had taken the step to repair the lines of communication last Sunday when he and Will had come into the shop. A curious little quiver of revelation bloomed in her breast, stealing her breath. She was overwhelmed with the urge to touch him, to spend time with him, even if they were arguing. As crazy as her life had been the past couple of weeks, she'd never felt more alive. Was it possible to be in love with someone she barely knew?

  Kissing noises sounded from the back seat. Maybe so, she conceded wryly. With Will and Annette, it had been love at first sight—ironic since it was Greg who had answered Annette's ad. Considering the way things had turned out, though, she was planning to keep that tidbit to herself.

  Lana shook her head. Falling in love with Greg Healey—how dumb could she be? Not only was he one of the most unavailable men in the city, but their goals were so different. Even if the man were looking for a significant other—which he wasn't—a relationship between them would never work. Had she inherited her mother's knack for gravitating to men who were wrong for her? Lana chanced a glance sideways, wondering how hard Greg Healey would laugh if he could read her mind right now.

  GREG WOULD HAVE GIVEN anything to be able to read Lana's mind. She'd been uncharacteristically quiet during their ride, forcing Greg to turn up the stereo to drown out the enthusiastic kissing in the back seat. And while his concern for Will remained uppermost in his mind, another concern had been gaining momentum over the past few days: his overwhelming attraction to Lana Martina. He didn't know what to make of this woman who had walked away from a lucrative field to become a struggling entrepreneur. Who sold coffee but drank tea, and played chess like a genius. Who volunteered time, space and resources to causes he merely read about in the Sunday paper. He glanced at her profile with new respect. Despite her quirks, Lana seemed to be a person of principle.

  Greg pulled at his too-tight collar. Between their near miss at her apartment, and Will making out in the back seat like a teenager, Greg was no longer in the mood to go to the Christmas party.

  Two weeks ago Art had called with what had seemed like the best news of his life. How had things deteriorated so rapidly?

  When they walked into the small ballroom of the hotel, every person in the room craned for a look at Lana. Unreasonable pride swelled in Greg's chest. She was magnificent in that long, clingy black dress, and tonight she was on his arm. He'd always felt out of place at the company get-togethers because he'd always felt out of place at the helm of his father's company. But while he retrieved a glass of wine for each of them, he watched as Lana made the rounds, shaking hands and charming his employees, and was struck by the difference one person could make in a roomful of people…or in an organization.

  Art Payton walked up to him, holding a hefty drink. "Who's the filly?"

  Greg frowned. "Her name is Lana Martina. She owns a coffee shop in the building we have designated as a parking garage in the Hyde Parkland parcel."

  Art nodded. "Best Cuppa Joe."

  "You know the place?"

  "Used to hang out there when I was single, about a hundred years ago."

  He sighed. "Art, I've been thinking that maybe we should try to save some of the buildings down there, after all—you know, in the spirit of preservation."

  Art's eyes narrowed. "You're not serious."

  "Just thinking about it. Can you run some numbers for me?"

  "I don't have to. If you start changing that parcel now, you're liable to spook all the developers, which means a big goose egg." Art elbowed him in the ribs and nodded to Lana. "And the spirit that's moving you, son, has nothing to do with preservation."

  Greg frowned. "Just run the numbers."

  He carried their wineglasses across the room and stopped where Lana was chatting with a knot of employees that included Peg. "They were out of cranberry juice. Is chardonnay okay?"

  She gave him a heart-stalling smile. "Sure. Thank you."

  He was vaguely aware that his employees were staring at him—especially his secretary. "Is something wrong, Peg?"

  "Um, no, sir. The time off you took last week agrees with you, sir. You look…different."

  Her words registered, but Greg couldn't take his eyes off Lana. She was a good conversationalist, and a natural people person. She was telling a humorous story that had everyone riveted, him included. When she finished, she launched into another topic of conversation. She held court for nearly an hour. Greg watched her unobtrusively while he walked the perimeter of the ballroom, shaking hands. His mood was buoyant tonight and he felt pretty certain it was because of Lana.

  "I thought you weren't bringing a date, sir," Peg whispered at one point in the evening.

  "She isn't a date," he murmured back. "We're working together on a project—you know that."

  "Ms. Martina is beautiful, sir."

  He looked at the owlish woman, noticing for the first time that she was wearing makeup. And did she always wear her hair like that? "Peg, why do you punctuate almost every sentence with 'sir'?"

  She blinked. "Because, sir—I mean, because, um…it just seems right."

  "But you called my father by his first name."

  She fidgeted with her purse. "But your father, sir—I mean, your father, well, he was…friendly."

  "Friendly?"

  "You know, a nice man. Sir."

  Her words knifed through him. "Nice?"

  "Yes, sir. Nice."

  Greg glanced around the room at the faces of the people who worked for him. He knew very few of them by their first names, and he knew nothing about their families, their hobbies, their concerns. They stood more than an arm's length from him when they spoke, and looked downright uncomfortable when he approached. The truth of Peg's comparison hit him hard. He wasn't a nice guy. Not like his father, not like Will.

  Will.

  His immediate concerns were put on hold when he realized he hadn't seen Will and his date for some time. "Peg, have you seen Will?"

  "He left, sir."

  Greg swallowed hard. "What?"

  "I heard him tell Ms. Martina that he was taking a taxi home, sir."

  To have sex, he thought instantly. Right now, Will and that Annette person were having sex in Will's bed. She'd be pregnant, and Will would insist on marrying her. Greg strode to Lana's side and pulled her away from the crowd. "We have to go."

  "What's wrong?"

  "Why didn't you tell me that Will and Annette left?"

  She shrugged. "They were bored, so they went to your house."

  "To do what?"

  She frowned. "Probably to be alone."

  He took her empty wineglass and handed it to a passing waiter. "Let's go."

  "Where?"

  "To my house. Yvonne is away visiting, and they can't be alone."

  "Greg, they're consenting adults. Besides, I don't think they're going to do anything."

  "You saw them in the car!"

  "They were kissing, for heaven's sake."

  "I'm going home to check on them. Are you coming with me or not?"

  She sighed. "Only to keep you from doing something you'll regret."

  19

  "IT'S BEAUTIFUL," Lana murmured, as they made their way up a lighted stone walkway. Actually, "beautiful" was an understated adjective for the limestone mansion. Holy hotel. "Did you grow up here?"

  He nodded absently, scanning the lighted windows, oblivious to her awe. "They've definitely been here." He unlocked the door and swung it open, then gestured for her to precede him.

  "Just for the record, I don't think this is a good i
dea," she said as she walked into a foyer large enough to host a dinner party.

  He closed the door, his head cocked for sound—but only silence greeted them. Thank goodness. She had visions of him crashing in on Will and Annette in an intimate embrace.

  "Will?" he called, but there was no answer. He dropped his keys on a table in the hall and walked straight ahead, past a sweeping staircase and toward a lighted room. Lana followed, ogling the gray-and-pink marble tile laid down in a checkerboard pattern. She glimpsed a monstrous living room on one side, a gigantic dining room on the other. She felt like Alice in Wonderland, shrunk to miniature.

  Their footsteps clicked against the smooth tile as they entered a gargantuan kitchen with two refrigerators, commercial grade. Enough storage for a couple of hundred cartons of Betty Crocker cake icing, at least.

  "He left a note," he said, his voice tense as he snatched the piece of paper propped up on a cherry sideboard.

  She turned in place, taking in the elegant glass-fronted cabinets, the solid-surface counters. Not a beanbag chair or a refurbished stool from the Dumpster in sight. "What does the note say?"

  "They went to the stables where he works, to see the horses." Relief threaded his voice, and he sagged against the counter.

  "This late?"

  "It's like a resort over there," he said, wadding up the note. "The horses are treated like pampered guests—lighted stalls, music, the works."

  She crossed her arms. "So Will and Annette didn't come back to do what you thought they came back to do."

  His expression turned wry. "But that doesn't mean they won't."

  "He's a grown man. You can't keep tabs on him all the time."

  Greg rubbed his eyes. "I can try."

  "Annette is a little immature, but she's a great girl."

  "I'd like to believe you."

  Lana looked around at the opulence Greg obviously took for granted, and a slow burn of disappointment gnawed at her stomach. He dated women from the classifieds, but he looked down on her friend? What must he think of her? She pressed her lips together, biting down painfully. She and Greg were worlds apart—the chances of them becoming involved were nil. In hindsight, her reason for keeping the truth from him about the ad seemed laughable.

  "Annette is Coffee Girl," she blurted.

  He squinted. "What?"

  "Annette is Coffee Girl. I only placed the ad for a roommate. She placed the ad that you answered, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk about her—"

  "Wait a minute." He put his hand to his forehead. "You're telling me that I was supposed to meet Annette that day instead of you?"

  She nodded.

  "And you didn't place a singles ad?"

  "Uh-uh. No offense, but it's not my bag. I didn't tell you because I was afraid you'd try to meet her again, and after what happened at my apartment…"

  "You were trying to protect your friend from me?"

  "Sort of."

  He started laughing, a tired I-don't-believe-this laugh.

  Lana straightened. "I don't think it's so funny."

  He laughed harder, a long half moan.

  "Are you going to let me in on the punch line?"

  "Lana, I was answering the singles ad for Will."

  She blinked. "For Will?"

  He gestured wildly. "He brought me an ad he found in a magazine and was fixated on meeting this Coffee Girl. I didn't want him to meet a stranger, so I told him I would check her out first, and if she was nice, I would introduce the two of them."

  It was her turn to think. "So you don't answer singles ads?"

  He shook his head. "It's, um, not my bag, either."

  Lana narrowed her eyes. "Since you never mentioned Will's name to me that day, should I assume you didn't think I was nice?"

  His expression changed, the light in his eye shifting from humor to something more primitive. Her pulse quickened. He leaned forward to capture her wrist and gently pulled her toward him.

  "That was the problem," he said softly. "Once I saw you, my thoughts turned purely selfish."

  She scoffed. "You thought I was a hooker." Then she angled her head. "Of course, I thought you were gay."

  His eyebrows dove. "What?"

  "My ad for a roommate specified females or gay males."

  Realization dawned. "So when you asked me if I met all the requirements, you meant…?"

  She nodded.

  "Does that mean that your roommate is gay?"

  She nodded.

  He looked dubious. "But I saw you kiss him that day in the shop."

  She reached up to trace the outline of his mouth. "Because you spooked me so badly, I had to be sure before I took him back to my apartment."

  "And?"

  "And," she said, moistening her lips slowly, "I'd rather kiss you."

  He lowered his head, his eyes hooded with desire. Their mouths met in a slow, needy kiss that drained her. He moved from her mouth to her jaw, then to her neck, then he slid the spaghetti strap off her shoulder and kissed the pale bare slope. "You are so gorgeous tonight," he murmured against her skin.

  "Mmm. Hadn't we better get back to the party?" she whispered, trying to control the waves of shudders his mouth triggered. "I still have some shmoozing to do."

  "Relax," he whispered, then slid the other strap from its home. "I already asked my general manager to rerun the project numbers to reflect some of the buildings being preserved."

  Lana's heart swelled with relief and happiness. "You did?"

  He nodded while he nuzzled her neck. "Mmm-hmm."

  "Thank you!" She showered his face with kisses. "Oh, thank you, Greg."

  He pulled her face to his, so they were forehead to forehead. "You're welcome. Let's go upstairs."

  Her heart thudded in her chest, and she felt herself wavering. God help her, she wanted to experience this man. "What's upstairs?" she asked with a little smile, stalling.

  A wicked grin crinkled the corners of his eyes. "My telescope."

  She liked him like this. Teasing. Sexy. Science Club guy. Was it possible that here was the real Greg Healey, and the blustery corporate image was just that—an image? A girl could hope. But trust? Lana swallowed hard and studied his chocolate-brown eyes at close range. Could she trust Greg Healey not to break her heart?

  Take a chance, her heart whispered. Maybe he's worth it.

  Reluctant to speak because she wasn't sure what would come out of her mouth, she simply smiled.

  WHEN GREG CLOSED his bedroom door and watched Lana pivot slowly, taking in the masculine furnishings, her gaze lingering on the king-size bed, he realized with a start that she was the only woman he'd ever invited to his bedroom. When he'd moved back home seven years ago, he'd been supremely conscious of sharing living space with Will and Yvonne. Frankly, none of the few passable dates he'd been on had warranted an awkward breakfast table scene. Sex had taken place at the home of his dates, and once or twice at a nice hotel. So why now, and why Lana?

  As he scrutinized the length of her shapely figure wrapped in the simple black gown, longing stabbed deep in his loins. He'd invited her because she was irresistibly gorgeous, and his desire for her was blurring the edges of his judgment. He had the pressing feeling that if he could only get her out of his system, he could get back to business, back to his life.

  She dropped her evening bag and her wrap on the foot of his bed, then walked away from him, climbing two steps to the raised landing. A wall of windows surrounded his telescope where it sat on a tripod. "Nice setup," she murmured, then leaned over to peer into the lens. The unobstructed view of her derriere sent the blood pulsing through his body.

  Greg set his jaw, then reached to the wall and extinguished the room's light with the flip of a switch. In the moon-glow streaming through the window, she straightened slightly. "You can see the constellations better in the dark," he explained.

  "Oh." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  Greg walked up behind her, his heart thrashing in his ears. He
cursed himself for feeling like a jumpy teenager. They were adults, and she knew he'd invited her upstairs to do more than gaze at the stars.

  "You have a lovely view of downtown," she said, gesturing to the lights that were even more numerous in celebration of the holidays.

  "Sometimes I take the telescope up on the roof," he said. "But the sky is so clear this time of year, I can usually get a good view from here." He swung open the window in front of the telescope, ushering in creaky night sounds and a rush of brisk air. She shivered, and he shrugged out of his jacket, then settled it across her slender shoulders. The fruity scent of her shampoo filled his lungs, and he was struck by an unfamiliar urge to protect her from more than the cold. A ludicrous thought, because Lana Martina could certainly take care of herself. Hadn't he learned that the first day they met?

  "What should I be looking for?" she asked, her blond head bent to the lens. "Oh, wow, I can see…wait a minute."

  When Greg realized where the telescope was directed, the bottom seemed to fall out of his stomach. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound emerged.

  "You've been looking at my apartment building?" Her voice was incredulous and suspicious as she stared at him in the dark.

  He swallowed hard. "I've been reviewing your notes and looking over the Hyde Parkland area for traffic patterns. You make it sound as if I've been spying."

  Her silence wasn't a comforting reply.

  He sighed, exasperated. "You can see for yourself that the scope isn't powerful enough to look into windows or anything."

  "I can see my balcony," she said, her voice partly accusing, partly amused.

  "I don't even know which balcony is yours." Technically true—he wasn't certain which one was hers, and when he'd realized he could see her building fairly clearly, guilt had kept him from trying to figure it out.

  "It's the one with the big wreath on the sliding glass door."

  He'd figured as much. "I wasn't spying."