Seeking Single Male (20 page)

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."

"Well, you'd be wasting your time, since I rarely go out on the balcony," she chirped, then bent back to the lens. "So, what

can
I
look for? In the sky, that is."

He ignored her barb and tore his gaze from her to take in the dark wintry sky, so black it was nearly purple. He searched for

a simple sky mark. "There's the Milky Way galaxy," he said, pointing to the west.

She swung the telescope and looked again. "I see it! It's like a blanket of glitter."

Not an analogy he would have used, but he couldn't help smiling at her childlike enthusiasm. "At the mouth of the Milky Way

is the constellation Aquila, then it becomes most dense at Cygnus, then begins to peter out at the Charioteer."

Lana swung the scope slowly, following the galaxy that was millions of miles long. And he studied her, the lines of her lithe

arms, the slope of her shoulder, the curve of her hip. Her hair and skin glowed luminous in the low light. Mere inches

separated their bodies, and the distance shrank as he succumbed to the pull emanating from her—

"Greg?"

He started. "What?"

"I asked if you wanted to be an astronaut when you were little."

A tiny laugh escaped him. "For about a month. The summer I was ten my career aspirations ran the gamut from professional

baseball pitcher to race car driver."

"When did you become interested in astronomy?"

"It was my mother's passion," he admitted.

She straightened and turned to look at him. "Your mother must have been a fascinating woman."

He nodded, the memories still bittersweet. "She was. We all miss her, especially Will."

"I can imagine," she murmured, her voice wistful. "I miss my mother, and she lives only a day's drive away."

"Do you see her often?"

"Well, Janet sells real estate, so it's hard for her to take time off, and now I have the shop…"

Her voice trailed off, and he had the strangest feeling she was making excuses for her mother, not for herself.

"Anyway, I can't wait until Christmas Eve. We're going to make a gingerbread house and—I'm sorry, I'm rambling."

His ego swelled a tiny bit at the idea that her nervousness stemmed from being in his bedroom.

"Greg," she said, turning toward him. "I don't think coming up here was such a good idea."

He hadn't realized how much he wanted her in his bed until faced with the prospect of her walking out. A murmur of protest

emerged from his tight throat. "Why don't we double-check?" he asked, then pulled her against him for a long, breathless kiss.

Two seconds into the kiss, it was clear that despite her misgivings about the wisdom of their actions, she was where she

wanted to be. Their mouths and bodies melded perfectly. Greg planted his feet on either side of her, creating an intimate cradle

for her to lean into. Adrenaline and desire pumped through his body at the knowledge that they would soon be intimately

entwined.

He broke their kiss long enough to lean over and scoop her into his arms. Romantic gesture aside, carrying her to the bed

simply seemed…expeditious. He carried her down the two steps, then crossed to the massive bed in two strides. His control

already precarious, stretching out next to her on the cool comforter sent a wave of longing barbing through his body. Her soft

moan of acquiescence had him setting his jaw in restraint.

His eyes had adjusted to the dark. Moonlight streamed in through the open window, casting a sheen upon the floor and the

bed. She lay slightly diagonally, her chin tipped up expectantly, her chest rising and falling rapidly. So lovely. So beguiling.

Greg feasted upon the sight of her, overcome by the enormous swell of passion that surged through him. "Have I told you that

you're the most desirable woman I've ever met?" he murmured, then lowered a kiss to her jawline.

"Yes, but I bet you say that to all the women." Her voice was the sexy rasp of a woman who knew she had a man by the

hormones.