Seeking Single Male (23 page)

She stopped crying and hiccuped, then blew her nose heartily into his handkerchief. She was considering his question—

knowing her, spinning through the ramifications, looking for an ulterior motive.

"Annette is already there," he cajoled. "And you can meet Yvonne and her brother."

She dabbed at her eyes and sniffed mightily.

"And besides," he added. "I'd like it very much if you'd come."

At the widening of her tear-streaked eyes, he thought he'd gone too far, almost admitted something he didn't even want to

admit to himself—that he had grown attached to her violet eyes and her quick wit and her funky clothes.

"Otherwise, I'm going to feel like a fifth wheel at the table," he continued with a little laugh.

"Oh," she croaked, then blew her nose again. "Well, it's nice of you to include me, but—" she gestured vaguely toward the

kitchen "—I have so much food here, and I don't think I'd be very good company."

"No one should be alone on Christmas Eve."

She laughed, a strained, high-pitched sound. "I don't suppose you'd consider staying and having dinner with me? Overcooked

turkey and asparagus flambé?"

He blinked. Dining together
alone
on Christmas Eve smacked of…intimacy. "Well, I'm expected back at home. Will and

Annette—"

"I forgot," she cut in with a little wave. "You're chaperoning."

He smirked at her teasing tone, but was glad beyond comprehension that her mood had lightened. "I'm not chaperoning. I'm

just…keeping an eye on them."

She leaned toward him, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Do you know how much sex they could be having right now?"

His body leapt to rapt attention at her words and her proximity. Every muscle strained toward her, pulled by some invisible

force that baffled him. "How much?" he murmured, no longer able to resist touching her.

He opened his arms, and she came into them with a little groan. Greg wrapped his arms around her, closed his eyes and

inhaled the scent of her—fruit and…smoke? The burned food, of course. He smiled into her hair while his chest swelled with a

firestorm of emotion, including sympathy for her. How could a mother not appreciate having this beautiful, intelligent creature

for a daughter? Overcome with the urge to protect her, he kissed her hard and kneaded her back. The fuzzy nap of her jumpsuit

felt luxurious under his fingers, smooth and sexy and inviting. His sex hardened and ached for release.

Days of pent-up desire and near misses hurried their movements. He didn't know how they made it to her bedroom, but he

knew he would forever remember the way they'd tumbled onto her bed, tugging at clothes, wordless in their need and urgency

to have each other. Within seconds, they were stripped to their underwear—Lana hadn't been wearing a bra.

He pulled away long enough to take in the sight of her, lying on her side, the curve of her hip rising above the dip of her

waist, the fullness of her breasts rising and falling in her breathlessness. Black bikini panties were a perfect contrast to the

pale, flat plane of her stomach. Her legs extended long and lean and limber. Greg's erection, already straining painfully, surged

anew, prompting him to shed his boxers. Speechless with need, he turned his mind and body over to automatic, kissing and

massaging her exposed skin. He acknowledged on a subconscious level that one of the emotions driving him to please her was

regret—regret that he would be the next person who would disappoint her. He poured all his energy into lavishing on her body

the attention she deserved. An advance apology, of sorts. With a groan, he slipped his hand inside the scrap of black fabric

between her legs.

Already near the point of sensory overload, Lana cried out in response to his gentle probing and opened her legs to

accommodate one, then two long fingers. Moving with his slow rhythm, she felt an intense orgasm flowering, blooming deep in

her womb. Part of her wanted him to prolong the deft exploration, but part of her wanted him to take her quickly to end the

sensual torture. Then without warning, her muscles contracted around his muscular fingers, unleashing a tide of pleasure so

fierce, she dug her fingernails into his shoulders. "Greg…Greg…oh, Greg." Bright spots of light swirled behind her eyes, and

her body convulsed as the orgasm claimed her, wave by wave.

When the world righted itself, she was primed for his remarkable body to join hers. He was the personification of Adam—

tall, broad, lean and equipped. Every movement displaced toned muscle. Lana watched, fascinated, engrossed, thrilled.

While he rolled a condom onto his raging erection, she lifted her hips and shimmied out of the panties, her inhibitions long

gone. She reached for him, pulling at his shoulders, levering her hips beneath his.

His back was moist with perspiration, as was his brow. His breath escaped in staccato bursts as he gathered her beneath

him, vying for the best angle. His erection, hard and thick with want, prodded her folds. She waited for his sensual invasion,

her breath caught in her thudding chest. Then he entered her with one deliberate thrust.

She sucked in a sharp breath at the incredible fullness his body added to hers. Strange, but in those few seconds of intense

physical union, Lana was struck by her participation in this ritual that had made the world go around since the dawn of

mankind. Never had she felt such a connection with nature and with her base emotions. She kneaded his back, adopting his

slow, thorough rhythm, meeting his hip thrusts with her own.

"Amazing," he whispered, his breathing compromised. "So…good."

Age-old female satisfaction curled in her chest. "Love me, Greg…
harder.
"

He slid his hands under her hips, cradling her bottom with his large hands, and obliged, plunging in and out like a piston,

faster and harder, until his body went rigid and a sharp guttural moan tore from his mouth. Triumph flooded her limbs as the

ragged sighs of his release filled her ears. At last he quieted, sagging against her, raining exhausted kisses on her throat before

he rolled away to lie beside her on the rumpled comforter.

Amazing,
she seconded silently, sinking deeper into the softness at her back. Her body hummed with fulfillment and

discovery, and other sensations too complicated to delve into. Their lovemaking was a result of unrealized chemistry and

loneliness—no need to overanalyze the obvious.
Keep it casual,
she told herself. He was probably already regretting what had

happened.

"Are you hungry?" she whispered to the ceiling, then braced for his excuse to leave as soon as possible.

"Starved."

She rolled over on her side to study his profile—strong brow, jutting nose, square jaw. How easy it would be to fall for this

man.

"Greg, do you have plans for New Year's Eve?" she asked.

He turned his head, and for a few seconds she was afraid she'd pushed too far, assumed too much.

"Lana," he said, his voice raspy. "I…"

Her heart withdrew, preparing for rejection. He wasn't looking for a relationship, he would remind her. He had more

important obligations—his business, his brother. He stared at her, and she tried to banish the thought that he was the most

handsome man she'd ever known. And their chemistry—holy high voltage! She could barely keep from touching him. But

common sense told her that their raging passion would soon burn itself out.

Now that the conquest was over, had his interest in her already been extinguished?

"What?" she asked, then closed her eyes. The sooner he put his feelings—or lack thereof—on the table, the sooner she could

dispel the fairy tales that had infiltrated her holiday-weakened mind.

"I, um…" He cleared his throat. "No, as a matter of fact, I don't have plans for New Year's Eve."

Her heart lurched crazily. "How about Christmas morning?" she murmured, braver now. She slid her hand over his rock-hard

stomach.

The flash of his white teeth coincided with his surrendering groan. "This is going to be hard to explain to Will."

She laughed, a little afraid of how much his words buoyed her. "You'll think of something."

23

EVEN IN THE CROWDED
great room of the Stillmans' new home, Greg knew the precise moment that Lana arrived at the

New Year's Eve party. The energy in the air increased markedly, ratcheting up the temperature. Her voice reached him before

he saw her—a lyrical, uplifting sound that elicited involuntary responses from his nether regions.

They'd decided after spending Christmas Eve together that it would be prudent to put their relationship on hold until after the

conflict of interest passed. No good would come of the shop owners finding out she was sleeping with the enemy. But Lana had

asked Greg to attend the New Year's Eve party, anyway, promising to flirt with him from across the room.

The week since he'd left her bed had seemed like an eternity. The past few days he'd been plagued by the potentially life-

changing decisions he had to make that would have been straightforward just a few weeks ago. If he remained firm on the

rezoning plan, he'd pocket a small fortune. The money would allow him to accept a low-paying entry-level position in the DA's

office. And a neglected area of downtown Lexington would receive an economic boost.

So why couldn't he find the nerve to tell Lana? And why did the faces of the Hyde Parkland shop owners haunt him—the

dubious smirk on Marshall Ballou's face, the wrinkled concern on Vic the Barber's ugly mug, the nervous twitch on Maxie

Dodd's flour-covered features.

Lana came into view, stealing his breath. He couldn't fail to notice the trusting optimism on her sweet face.

What should be a slam-dunk decision was being blocked by a pair of violet-colored eyes. She smiled at him from across the

room, a private I-know-what-you-look-like-naked smile that made breathing more difficult. Greg swallowed hard and tried to

ignore the stab of disappointment when she turned to greet someone else.

"Greg Healey?" a man's voice asked behind him.

Greg turned to see his host, Alex's husband, striding up.

"Jack Stillman."

Dressed in jeans and an untucked shirt, the big man looked more like the UK football icon he'd been in college than a partner

in a successful advertising firm. Greg extended his hand. "I remember you from the university."

"I remember you, too," Jack said with a lifted eyebrow. "We've both changed a little, eh?"

Greg nodded, wondering if Jack, like everyone else, had thought he was a jerk in college, and if the man knew about his

disastrous first meeting with Lana.

"Lana explained the mix-up about the classified ads," Jack said, as if he'd read Greg's mind.

Heat suffused his face. "Damn embarrassing."

Jack laughed heartily. "Reminds me of when I met Alex. I thought she was an IRS agent coming to audit the advertising

agency, so I laid it on pretty thick about how we were barely able to pay the light bill, etcetera. Then I found out that she was

from Tremont's and she'd come by early to scout me and the agency before I pitched the account."

Greg grinned and pulled on his chin. "Ouch."

"Yeah. And she's been a thorn in my side ever since," he said good-naturedly, then indicated his striking wife with a nod.

"But it's worth every minute of the pain."

Greg's gaze involuntarily strayed to Lana. She was stunning in snug pink jeans and an oversize white shirt cinched with a

silver belt.

"Lana's a great gal, man. Tread lightly, if you know what's good for you."

He frowned. "I'm not going to do anything to hurt Lana."

Jack laughed. "Lana can take care of herself. I was talking about saving yourself." He clapped Greg on the back. "Enjoy the

party, man."

Greg didn't have time to ponder Jack's words, because a redhead with harsh makeup slinked up to him, smiling wide. Her

lipstick was drawn outside of her mouth, making her look as if she were all gums. "Hello," she said silkily, batting tarantula-

like eyelashes.

"Hello," he said with a tight smile, his mind so…elsewhere.

"THIS IS DEREK STILLMAN
, Jack's brother," Alex said, making introductions. "And his wife, Janine."

A very
pregnant
Janine, Lana noted with a smile. "It's nice to meet you." They made a fabulous-looking couple—she the

blond flower-child, he the brawny businessman. Newlyweds, she remembered Alex saying. Something about Derek standing in

for his brother Jack as best man at a wedding and falling in love with the bride.

"And this is my friend Manny Oliver from Atlanta," Janine said, gesturing to a tall blond man, impeccably dressed.

Lana shook hands all around, immediately liking Manny's friendly demeanor. He worked in the hospitality industry, he said.

Hotel management. He seemed impressed that she owned her own business—for how long, though, was another story.

"Everyone, this is my friend and roommate, Rich Enderling," she said, repeating the introductions.

Rich and Derek exchanged a few humorous observations about Rich's employer, Phillips Foods, which was also a client of

Jack and Derek's advertising agency. Then Rich extended his hand to Manny.