Seeking Single Male

by Stephanie Bond

  "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, b
ut 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 don't have time for a man."

  "Uh-oh."

  "Uh-oh, what?"

  "Uh-oh, that's when love always knocks you down—when it's least convenient."

  She scoffed. "I'm firmly on my feet." Okay, Greg had had her on her back for a few seconds last night, but everyone was allowed one mistake. "So, Rich, what's your story?"

  He shook his head. "It's not a bestseller."

  "Try me."

  After a gulp of tea, he shrugged. "Lots of failed relationships with women. I admitted about a year ago that I'm gay."

  "And how's that going?" she asked mildly.

  "Admitting I'm gay is one thing, but entering into a relationship is something else. I'm not ready."

  But she recognized the longing in his voice. Loneliness had the same address regardless of a person's reasons for being there. She sighed. Was that why she'd clicked on a primal level with Greg Healey—was he also lonely?

  Rich stood and walked to the window, then turned back with a broad smile. "But I have a good feeling about Lexington, Lana, like something significant is going to happen for me here."

  She returned his smile. "Then it will." The man truly was handsome, she acknowledged. Handsome and…comfortable. She sighed. Why couldn't all relationships be like this? Sexual tension ruined everything by tying tongues, quickening tempers, sensitizing erogenous zones.

  Lana sipped her tea. She wasn't looking forward to seeing Greg Healey again today. Really, she wasn't.

  "What's his name?"

  "Greg," she blurted, then realized her gaffe. "I mean, who?"

  "The man you're not thinking about."

  She frowned miserably. "Greg Healey."

  "Nice name."

  "Not a nice guy."

  "So why bother?"

  She could have said she'd been forced to work with him on the rezoning project, but councilwoman Wheeler had given her a choice. There was something about the man…She shook her head, at a loss. "I honestly don't know."

  "Can I hazard a guess?"

  Lana shrugged.

  "You think that, deep down, everyone is good, and you like trying to tap into that goodness."

  "What makes you think that?"

  "From talking to you, from looking around your shop and seeing the causes you care about. It's refreshing," he added quickly. "But it also sets you up for disappointment when people turn out to be…themselves. What does this guy do for a living?"

  Her frown deepened. "He's an attorney."

  Rich gasped and covered his mouth. "How dare he?"

  She laughed. "I don't have anything against attorneys in general. It's just that this attorney seems to only want to use his power and money to get more power and more money."

  "Sounds personal. You're not the least bit attracted to this guy?"

  In the short time she'd known him, she'd observed Rich Enderling display uncanny insight into the people around him. The man missed nothing. The creamed tea curdled in her throat as it went down. "I think what I feel for Greg Healey is the morbid fascination one has with a person who can destroy one's life as one knows it. And for the record, I do take my livelihood personally."

  "Maybe he truly believes the rezoning plan will be good for the city."

  "Whose side are you on?"

  He grinned. "Yours—because if you lose your job, you might lose this great apartment, and then where would I be?"

  "At the Y."

  "So all I'm saying is that I think you're right—that there's good in everybody. For some people, though, it takes a special person or the right circumstances to bring that goodness to the surface." He shrugged. "Who knows? You might be the person who brings out the best in Greg Healey."

  She winced. "I haven't told you how he and I really met."

  "Now I'm intrigued."

  She glanced at her watch. "It's a long story, and I have to open the shop. How about lunch on me?"

  "I never pass up a free meal or a good story. But then I have to drop off the U-Haul trailer."

  "Okay. Just one more thing."

  "Yeah?"

  "Um, Greg Healey is working in the shop today."

  He lifted an eyebrow.

  "Only because I challenged him to get to know the business owners better before he rezones us all out of a job. So if he drops by while you're there, ip zay your ip lay."

  Rich walked over to Harry and put his arm around the doll's shoulder. "Harry, man, it's been nice knowing you. But don't worry, the food's great in Chicago."

  GREG DROVE AROUND the coffee shop three times looking for a parking place. Regret for his hasty response to Lana's challenge last night had built in his stomach since the minute he awoke this morning from a fitful sleep. He chewed on the inside of his cheek—he'd simply go in, dispense a few cups of coffee, and get out. Quick and painless; one hour, tops. And no way was he going to wear an apron.

  The worst part had been trying to explain to Will why he was going to "work for Lana" today. He'd been tempted to lie, but lying to Will was difficult any day of the week, and impossible on Sunday while hanging outside Christmas lights. Watching his brother's childlike reaction to the twinkling decorations when they'd finished had reminded him that it was a good thing
he'd fielded Lana's ad for his brother, or else Will would have fallen head over heels for the woman.

  Greg pulled into a cramped parking spot and squeezed out the door. Blaming his accelerated heartbeat on the extra cup of coffee he'd needed to get going this morning, Greg pushed open the door to the shop.

  His gaze went first to Lana, who looked long and lush in a straight, blue velvet jumper that fell to her ankles, and a white turtleneck. Nearly every inch of her was covered, but the image of her naked to the waist overrode the present. With much effort, his gaze next went to the man seated on a stool in front of her. Kissing Man.

  Greg set his jaw. What the devil was he doing here?

  They both turned in his direction, and Lana didn't even have the good grace to look sheepish. Instead, she offered up a guileless smile. "Hello there. I figured you'd changed your mind."

  "No. Although I can't stay more than an hour or so."

  She glanced at the clock, one of those bird clocks that were annoying as hell. "It'll get busy soon. Come on around, and I'll show you how things work."

  He walked behind the bar, supremely self-conscious. Kissing Man watched him carefully.

  "Rich Enderling," the guy said, thrusting his hand over the bar.

  "Greg Healey," he said, returning a firm handshake.

  "Rich is a friend of mine," Lana interjected, but she was talking fast and her voice was artificially high. "He was just leaving, weren't you, Rich?"

  Rich seemed amused when he looked back to her. "Yeah. I'll see you tonight?"

  She seemed exasperated. "Yes. Goodbye."

  "Thanks for lunch." He glanced back to Greg. "Nice to meet you."

  Greg gave him a curt nod.

  Lana's gaze followed the man until he left, her movements suspended until the door closed behind him. Then her body relaxed, as if she'd just escaped some near miss. A chime sounded—the same noise that had interrupted them last night, seconds shy of making love. His body warmed, and from the color that bloomed in her cheeks, he assumed she was remembering, as well. "Excuse me," she said. "That'll be Andy from the soup kitchen."