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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 senses 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.”
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?”
