Seeking Single Male (15 page)

He lifted his head, but maintained his hold on her. "Then let's go somewhere. To your place."

She opened her mouth to say yes, then remembered that Rich Enderling was still moving his things in and shook her head.

"No. It's…complicated."

"Lana, I want you." And he upped the ante by brushing his thumbs over the stiff peaks of her breasts.

Her shoulders rolled involuntarily as pleasure coursed through her chest and arms. She was powerless to speak. In one

movement, he lifted her and spun on the stool, setting her on the cool wooden bar. His eyes were level with her tingling

breasts, his arms encircling her and his hands cupping her bottom as if he were afraid she would try to pull away.

She didn't. The blinds were pulled and the lights were low. Anyone nosy enough to peek inside deserved the eyeful they got.

His eyes were glazed with passion—passion for her. The knowledge that she was able to move this staid man filled her with

an incredible surge of feminine power. Was there anything more sexy than pure enthusiasm?

"I want you, too," she whispered, and pulled his face to her breasts. He nipped at the aching tips, suckling through the gauzy

cloth, wetting the pink fabric. She strained into him, luxuriating in the feel of his warm tongue against her sensitive zones.

Kneading his shoulders through his starched shirt, she hungered to feel his bare skin.

Lana tugged at his loosened tie, then rapidly undid as many buttons as she could reach. Springy black hair met her fingers

above a white ribbed undershirt that clung to smooth chest muscles. She fumbled with the buttons on his cuffs and helped him

shrug out of the shirt, while he feasted on her breasts. When his dress shirt, undershirt and tie hit the floor, he stood and lifted

her blouse over her head.

Perched on the edge of the bar and bare to the waist, she allowed him to look at her, and she looked back, wetting her lips at

the sight of superbly defined shoulders, biceps, pectorals. When she'd had her fill, she lifted her gaze to his hooded one, and

trembled at the promise she saw there. Intensity. Endurance. Satisfaction.

"You are exquisite," he murmured, his eyes shining.

Lana wrapped her legs around his waist and looped her arms around his neck before lowering her mouth to his. Something

pulled at the back of her mind, a vague uneasiness that she shouldn't be doing what she was doing—but at the moment she

couldn't fathom why. His body had been speaking to hers all evening.

With a groan, he pulled her off the bar and carried her across the darkened room. Her Santa hat fell off somewhere along the

way. She wasn't certain of his destination until his lips left hers and she felt velour upholstery at her back. She smiled up at him

and sank into the soft worn cushions of one of the vintage couches, anticipating the weight of him, the breadth of him, the length

of him. Everything was perfect at the moment. Tomorrow would take care of itself.

A loud chiming sounded, startling her because she had to pull herself so far out of her real-life fantasy to decipher its source.

Greg's brow lowered. "What is it?"

She sat up and crossed her arms over her breasts. "The bell on the back door. I'm supposed to meet someone." She suddenly

remembered.

"They'll leave," Greg said, reaching for her.

"No. He'll come around the front and see my moped. And he's liable to call the police if I don't answer the door."

"He?" Greg asked, his voice suspicious. "A boyfriend?"

Shame enveloped her as she stared at him.
A
boyfriend, as in one of many? Is that what he thought of her—that she had many

men? Lana stood and brushed by him to scoop up her blouse. And why wouldn't he think the worst? Hadn't she allowed him to

believe she'd placed that singles ad? Hadn't she planned to lead him on, to cajole him into seeing her side of the rezoning

matter? Of course, she'd never meant for things to go so far. A kiss, maybe two…

Lana jerked the blouse over her head to the tune of more insistent chiming from the back door. "He's a friend," she said

through clenched teeth. "An artist who comes by every week to pick up colored glass I save."

He scoffed. "You've got to be kidding."

At the condescending look on his face, she swallowed the lump of disappointment that formed in her throat. She bent to

retrieve his clothes so he wouldn't notice that what had almost happened had almost meant something to her, or that his opinion

of her mattered. "Get dressed," she said.

GREG PULLED HIS UNDERSHIRT
over his head and watched her walk away, feeling more empty and powerless than in

recent memory. The interruption had frustrated him beyond logic. And reminded him that Lana dated lots of men. Plus, the

woman had so damn many projects. He dragged his hand down over his face and exhaled noisily. Cripes, the woman was so…

complicated.

Muttering to himself, he yanked on his dress shirt, then hastily buttoned the front and rolled up the cuffs. He looked for his

jacket, then remembered she'd absconded with it to have it repaired, and sighed noisily. He hadn't planned for things to go so

far, but he'd given in to the incredible attraction to her that ratcheted higher every time they were together. Now he was in

worse shape than before. Greg unzipped his pants, adjusted his still rigid erection and tucked in his shirt. God, he'd never

wanted a woman so much. The image of her sitting on the counter, bare-breasted, would forever be burned in his brain. They

were both grown, consenting adults—what was the harm?

He sighed, massaging his neck. The rezoning plan was the harm. The rezoning plan that was supposed to breeze through the

council and save downtown Lexington and set him free, all in one fell swoop. And now one little woman stood in his way.

Lana Martina tripped his conscience not because she was right, but because she
thought
she was right. God save him from a

hot-blooded do-gooder.

The murmur of voices floated to him from the back; then he heard a terrific clattering of glass as several boxes must have

changed hands. He shook his head, then his gaze drifted to the Christmas tree with tags bearing the names of the children Lana

had talked about earlier. Idly, he turned over one of the tags.

Joey, age 5, would like tennis shoes, size eleven.

Greg frowned. Shoes? Kids were supposed to get trucks and dolls and bikes for Christmas, not shoes. He turned over

another tag.
Warm coat.
And another.
Books.

He swore softly under his breath, stole a glance toward the back door, then yanked off the remaining tags and stuffed them

into his pants pockets. Straightening self-consciously, he strode to the phone to call a taxi—a return trip on the moped would

probably be somewhat less enjoyable than the one here. Besides, he didn't want Lana to ride back from the restaurant alone

since it was getting late. He was just returning the receiver when he heard her call goodbye and the back door close.

She barely glanced at him when she returned, walking straight to a pan of dirty ceramic mugs sitting on one of the tables.

"Give me a couple of minutes to clean up, then I'll take you back to your car."

"I called a taxi."

"Suit yourself." Her movements were rapid and jerky. "Tomorrow I'll call Ms. Wheeler and let her know that you and I can't

work together on this plan, after all. Didn't you say you had a manager who would be more—"

"Lana." He walked up behind her, catching a whiff of her womanly scent, itching to touch her again. He knew instantly that

despite the danger of becoming involved with her, he didn't want to turn the project over to someone else. "What just

happened…it won't happen again."

She stopped working, but she didn't turn around. "Greg, 'what just happened' aside, you don't really care about me or any of

the other business owners down here. You've lost touch with the community you're supposed to be helping. This situation is

going nowhere."

He hated the droop of her shoulders, and the muted tone of her voice. He longed for the good-natured banter they'd shared

earlier in the evening. "What would it take to convince you that I do care about…the business owners?"

Lana turned to face him and crossed her arms. "I don't know. Spend some time with them, talk to them. Maybe you'll come to

realize how important they are to the downtown economy." Then she dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Forget it, you

won't get that close to real people."

"
Real
people? What's that supposed to mean?"

Her laugh mocked him. "You figure it out."

Greg straightened, irritated by her words. "I'm not afraid of getting close to…any kind of people."

She bent down to scoop up the Santa hat that had fallen off when he carried her to the couch, then she tossed it into the pan of

dirty dishes. "Prove it."

He stared at the hat. Had she so casually dismissed what had almost happened? "How?"

"Tomorrow afternoon. Come down, tie on an apron, and walk a day in my shoes. Then we'll go around and meet the other

shop owners."

An emphatic "no" hovered in the back of his throat, but he swallowed it when he looked into her violet eyes. After all,

subsequent to that embarrassing display of physical weakness, he needed to initiate damage control. He still needed to win her

over—if she told councilwoman Wheeler
why
they couldn't work together, who knew what kind of obstacles Wheeler could

put in his way?

"I'll be here," he said.

15

"DID YOU SLEEP WELL
?" Lana asked Rich, when he emerged from his bedroom looking scrubbed and spiffy in slacks and

a turtleneck. She lay on her back beneath the Christmas tree, adjusting the tree stand to compensate for the substantial lean that

had developed overnight. She knew exactly how the tree felt. Her world had certainly been knocked off-kilter these past few

days.

"As a matter of fact, I did sleep well," her new roommate said, crouching near her. "Need some help?"

"Nope. I've got it." She gave the pliers one last turn, then wriggled out. "There."

Rich appraised the tree by tilting his head. "Is it supposed to be straight?"

"You mean it isn't?"

"My mistake—the tree's perfect." He stood. "And huge."

She smiled from her sitting position on the floor, gesturing to the mound of packages. "My mom is coming up from Florida

Christmas Eve, and I want everything to be nice." Her bank account was precariously low, but she'd found so many things she

knew her mother would like.

"How long is your mom staying?"

Lana bit her lip and studied the bent pliers. "I'm not sure. Mom is sort of…flexible. A couple of days, I'm guessing." Unless

she was in a hurry to get back to Gary or Larry or whatever his name was…this week.

"She's welcome to my room. I'll be in Houston visiting my sister and her family for a few days."

She stood and dusted her backside. "Thanks, but she'll probably stay in my room, and I'll take the pullout."

"Well, at least I won't be underfoot." He smiled sheepishly and splayed his hands. "I don't normally sleep this late, but I

guess I was exhausted from unpacking yesterday."

She gestured to the new furniture, stylishly situated amongst her own. "I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to help you."

"You're a lifesaver just to take me in on such short notice."

"That goes both ways."

"So—" he wagged his eyebrows "—how was your date last night? Or am I being too nosy?"

"You're not being too nosy," she said, her voice high and innocent. "But it wasn't a date. It was a business meeting." At the

end of which, she and Greg had gotten half-naked on the bar. Business meetings at Ladd-Markham had been somewhat less…

revealing. "Would you like some tea?"

He nodded and sat on one of the two red stools she'd dragged out of a Dumpster and repainted years ago. She poured them

both a cup of tea with cream, then joined him at the counter.

"So, Lana, what's your story?"

She blew on the surface of her tea. "What do you mean?"

"You're a great-looking gal who owns her own business and, from what I can see, is pretty darn smart. Why hasn't some

Kentucky stud tied you to his hitching post?"

She laughed. "Because this filly rather likes her freedom."

"You're not lonely?"

"No," she lied breezily.

"Says the woman who lives with a blow-up doll," he teased.

Lana glanced over at her plastic, grinning sidekick. "Harry's a gem, isn't he?"

"Where on earth did you find him?"

Her memories rewound, sliding past her. "I met Harry at a bachelorette party in college. The bride-to-be brought him and

passed him off to a single friend, and the tradition continued. One day I got this box in the mail, and Harry was inside. Now

he's mine."

"Until you're married?"

She grinned. "Well, that's the idea. But I think I've had him longer than anyone. Going on three years now."

"Is there anyone else left in the group who's single?"

Lana pursed her mouth and nodded. "A few, I think. There were these two sisters from Chicago. Seems like they're still

single." She brightened. "But no matter—I plan to keep him around for quite a while. The shop requires so much attention, I