Hot to the Touch

by Isabel Sharpe

  Darcy covered her face with her hands and leaned on her desk. Would she never learn? Ballast…emotional constancy…

  She’d immediately gone back to thinking about him.

  TROY HAULED HIMSELF OUT OF THE Milwaukee Athletic Club’s pool, breathing hard. Seventy laps had been all he could handle today. He’d done a sloppy, unfocused job, his concentration shot. Didn’t do much better at work that day, either. Half-assed, in fact—luckily it wasn’t a crunch week. And thank God he wasn’t still designing interactive webpages for the book with Justin on top of his day job. That would have gotten exactly nowhere.

  He stood, dashing water out of his hair, and headed for his towel.

  “Hi there.”

  Troy turned at the familiar voice. Oh, man. He’d forgotten about Missy. More proof of how far he’d fallen from sanity. “Hey, how’s it going?”

  “Great.” She dimpled a sweet smile. “You looked sharp out there.”

  “Actually, it felt bad today. Just didn’t have it.”

  Missy nodded sympathetically, water darkening the blond strands of her short hair, droplets glinting on her cheeks. She didn’t bother to hide that she was doing her usual thorough check of his body. “Those days suck. You heading to the weight room now?”

  “Uh…” Did she have his routine memorized? He’d noticed Missy over a month ago—her stunningly toned body and pretty features were hard to ignore. Since then he’d intersected with her here at the pool or on the machines a few times a week, more often recently. They’d struck up a casual friendship, talking mostly about their workouts. Troy had been flattered by the attention, and before the night at Esmee, he’d been planning to ask Missy out, to see if his initial interest could grow into anything more.

  Now, faced with the same person he’d been fantasizing about less than a week ago, he hadn’t the slightest idea what had seemed special about her. Well…maybe the slightest idea. Her body was in great shape. But today, instead of flawless, it looked overmuscled. She was very attractive, yes, but she didn’t have the kind of beauty that hollowed him out with a glance.

  In short, Missy wasn’t her. She who still had him hollowed out, in spite of the fact that she hadn’t been interested in anything but screwing him and getting the hell away.

  “I’m meeting friends for a beer later. Going to skip the weights today.” He hadn’t been planning to meet friends or skip the weights, but he wasn’t in the mood to listen to Missy’s cheerful chatter. He could still lift at home.

  “Oh, too bad.” She sidled closer, tipped her head to look up at him coyly. “Listen, I was wondering…”

  His body tensed. Back a few days, he would have been eager to hear whatever she was about to say. Now every instinct was telling him to make his escape.

  “If you’d like to have a drink together sometime?”

  There it was. The invitation he’d been planning to extend. He should go out with her. He had no reason to think The Woman wanted to see him again, or that she’d be able to find him even if she did. Troy wasn’t quite pathetic enough to sit hopefully at Esmee every night until she happened in again, though he was so taken with her it had crossed his mind.

  Going out with Missy was a good idea. An excellent way to loosen the unfortunate vise grip this unnamed lover had his brain and balls in.

  He opened his mouth to accept, but at the last millisecond his brain did an about-face without his permission. “Thanks, Missy, but I’ve just started dating someone and want to see where that goes.”

  What the hell had he just said?

  “Ah. Okay. I completely understand.” She pasted a smile back on her disappointed face and nudged him with her hard shoulder. “Let me know if it doesn’t work out, though, okay?”

  He grinned, feeling like a lying piece of dirt. “Absolutely. Thanks again for the invite.”

  “Sure.” She gave a sexy little wave and walked toward the women’s locker room, her virtually fat-free ass swinging invitingly.

  What kind of idiot was he? She was a nice woman, seemed levelheaded and even-tempered, far from making the scenes Debby loved or playing his recent lover’s frustrating mind games. At very least they could have had a pleasant evening. By clinging to his fantasy of wild, lifelong passion, he risked setting himself up for a lifetime of hurt and alone, and a lifetime of hurt and alone didn’t appeal to him.

  Except…how could he force himself to be eager giving someone routinely attractive to him a chance now that he knew it was possible to catch fire from a first glance?

  He trudged to the locker room, showered, dressed and drove slowly home to Whitefish Bay, dragged himself inside his house, dragged into the kitchen to feed Dylan, who followed him around, tail wagging sympathetically. Dragged himself into a chair to stuff food down his throat. Dragged himself to the living room to find nothing he wanted to watch on TV. Dragged himself into his bedroom to be completely uninterested in a vastly complicated murder mystery novel.

  C’mon, man. Troy was acting like a lovesick teenager. So he couldn’t have That Woman. There were others. Single ones, desirable ones. He was paying to be part of the Milwaukeedates site so he could find those women easily. Sitting here moping was bull crap.

  He fired up his computer, logged on to Milwaukeedates.com. Man, twenty-six, seeking woman, twenty-three to thirty-three, within fifty miles of Whitefish Bay, Wisconsin. No smoking. Pictures only. Go.

  The list came up, thumbnail photos with member-chosen nicknames and a few bits of basic information next to each. He’d already seen most of the profiles on the first page, so he clicked an icon to re-sort the list so the latest subscribers would show first.

  The machine did its work; the list reappeared.

  At the first picture, a woman who called herself Foodie101, Troy did a double take, then stared, mouth hanging open in a cliché of astonishment.

  Her. What the hell?

  Emotion punched him in the solar plexus, and it wasn’t pretty. He’d been trying to console himself with reasons she might have run, telling himself she was a free agent, not out for any kind of entanglement, uninterested in more than one night with a man. That it wasn’t him, it was her.

  When that didn’t do much to quell his obsession, he’d told himself what they had was special, and maybe even though she’d panicked initially, eventually she’d move heaven and earth to find him again, because there was no way anyone could squander the chance to explore a connection so instantaneous and so powerful.

  All of that sounded good, and he’d clung to it. Until now. Because here she was, the woman who’d wanted to avoid even exchanging names, right there in a public forum trying to find the love of her life.

  So it wasn’t a matter of her not wanting a man, not wanting a relationship, not wanting more than one night.

  It was a matter of her not wanting him.

  DARCY FLIPPED ON THE LIGHT AND stood for a moment, surveying her neat entranceway and small living room beyond. It was later than she usually got home. She’d been reluctant to leave Gladiolas, kept making excuses to stay, until the staff was ready to throw her out. Usually, her cozy matchbox of a ranch house in the working-class Milwaukee neighborhood of Washington Heights represented peaceful sanctuary, a place to relax, do a yoga or another of her workout tapes, let her mind wander over a cup of coffee, thinking of ingredients, flavors and techniques she could combine into a new recipe and a new page for her Chef Bible file.

  Tonight, in the bone-chilliness of early June, restlessness had followed her home.

  Shivering, she kicked off the black flats she kept in her office at Gladiolas to change into, since the shoes she wore in the restaurant kitchen were unspeakably dirty by the end of the evening. Down the hall to her bathroom, she stripped and immersed herself in the brisk, efficient shower she’d gotten down to a water-conserving, three-minute science, emerging refreshed and relieved of the overload of kitchen odors.

  After such a crappy start to the day with her sous chef late and the delivery mix-up, the a
fternoon and evening had gone fine. Ken had shown up apologetically—at the last possible second—with enough celeriac to satisfy her and the diners who’d ordered it. The special—Fishing for Compliments—trout with roasted artichokes and pecans had been a hit. Right now she was supposed to be working out more summer specials, thinking sunshine, hot weather and long, lazy days on the beach.

  Dressed in her favorite nightgown—full-length soft cream flannel trimmed with blue—and its matching blue fleece robe, which she’d generally put away by this time of year, she started the coffee and visited her chocolate stash for three Hershey’s Special Dark miniatures. Less than three wasn’t enough. More than three and she risked inviting a binge like the ones she used to have after a night of excessive partying, when her sugar-craving body would demand a whole bag.

  Those days were behind her, stopped by her beloved late boss and mentor, Chef Paul, at the restaurant Gold Bistro where she got her start. He’d casually let drop one evening that if she wanted to stay a dishwasher, coming in to work drunk would be fine, but if she wanted to become a chef, she better cut out that behavior immediately. Since Darcy had only given fantasy time to that dream in her most secret heart of hearts, she’d been shocked into silence. And sobriety. Good thing, because with the alcoholic gene in her family, she could easily have landed herself in serious trouble like her sister, Brit, now nearly a decade into recovery.

  Shortly after that conversation, Chef Paul had given her a thrilling tryout on the kitchen line, then followed that test with a promise that if she kept her grades up in high school, he could see about recommending her for a scholarship to the hospitality program at the University of Wisconsin. From then on, her life had direction and meaning, and she’d blossomed so far beyond where she thought she’d end up that she still had to pinch herself sometimes.

  Before Chef Paul, no one had ever treated her as if she had the potential to be anything but a pain in the ass, a reputation that she’d done her very best to live up to. When he died, she’d grieved more for him than the loss of anyone or anything else, before or since.

  Decaf brewed, she poured herself a cup and took it over to her laptop, set by the kitchen window with a view of her minuscule backyard—fifteen minutes to rake or mow. One by one her friends had paired off and moved farther out to bigger yards and houses that would hold their growing families. That life wasn’t for her. She loved living in the city, loved her private rhythms and space, loved to feel the beat of humanity right outside her walls.

  Her email program opened and loaded new messages; she scanned the list. The first was the forwarded profile from Marie, which she deleted unopened as she promised herself, though admittedly she did have a twinge of curiosity. One from Brit, one from a guy she used to work with, one from…who was this? Hunterman@Milwaukeedates.com. Hunterman? Below that, another. From TallGuy@Milwaukeedates.com.

  Spam? These weren’t from Marie, but had someone hacked Marie’s site and generated crap mail using a stolen address book?

  Darcy opened the first email. The picture of a guy leaped out at her, model-handsome, caught by the camera in a ridiculous top-of-the-mountain, look-how-rugged-I-am pose.

  Hi there. Thanks for the ‘hello,’ I’m glad you found me. I’m interested right back atcha. You are very good-looking and obviously articulate and intelligent. I’m a wine salesman, and would love to tell you more about what I do over a glass of fine Merlot. Or if you’d rather keep it to email for now, tell me about yourself. I’d love to know more.

  Look forward to hearing from you.

  Chaz.

  Chaz? Chaz as in, Ew, his grandfather probably founded the Milwaukee Yacht Club? The guy Marie was trying to shove down Darcy’s throat? What the hell was he talking about? Thanks for what, “hello”? What made him think she was articulate and/or intelligent?

  How did he get her email address?

  Marie? No, no way. Marie liked to meddle, but even she wouldn’t stoop to something that invasive and obnoxious.

  But then…who was this other person?

  She opened the second email from TallGuy; her heart started pounding violently at the same time the rest of her froze solid.

  Him. The picture was unmistakable, and even looking into a digital replica of his eyes Darcy felt that crazy burst of energy.

  I want to see you again.

  Thrills. An amusement park ride of them roller coastering all over her body.

  I want to see you again. That was it. Short and sweet. Not asking permission, not begging, not apologizing, not negotiating. Stating a want. Leaving it at that. Hers to do with as she chose.

  Oh, my lord.

  Her in-box notifier chimed, startling her back to the real world and this bizarre email intrusion. She gasped and put a hand to her temple. What was this? Another three emails from Milwaukeedates. Three introductory “hellos” from three more guys. It was almost as if she were signed up on the site, and men were able to find her and—

  No. No way.

  She shoved her chair back from the table, pounced on her phone and dialed, not caring what time Marie went to bed or what might be a decent or polite hour to call.

  “Hey, Darcy, what’s—”

  “Why the hell am I getting emails from Milwaukeedates.com guys? Specifically from Chaz, who you were just trying to fix me up with, but also this other person, TallGuy.”

  “Troy?” Marie gasped. “Troy wrote to you?”

  Something turned ice-cold in Darcy’s chest. “Troy?”

  “Justin and Candy’s friend. He signed up months ago, in February. I guess he found your profile. I was only going to leave it up a while longer, to make sure Chaz—”

  “That guy, TallGuy, is Justin and Candy’s friend Troy?”

  “Yes.” She sounded surprised, undoubtedly by Darcy’s incredulous and slightly hysterical reaction. “That’s him. Isn’t he gorgeous? Get now why Candy always fans herself when she talks about him?”

  “Yeah. Um, I guess.” She could barely think, barely get her mouth to form coherent words. In some sickening coincidence, she’d unwittingly slept with someone her friends all knew. If they found out, the matchmaking would be relentless.

  So. They wouldn’t find out. She wouldn’t see him again, and that would be that. As long as he didn’t find out who she was…

  “Why?” Marie’s voice sharpened into curiosity. “Do you know him?”

  “Of course not. Of course I don’t.” Darcy sank back into her chair. Troy’s eyes were still smiling at her from her laptop; she couldn’t stand looking at them, and couldn’t stand looking away. “Marie? Why do I have a profile up on Milwaukeedates?”

  “Gloves are off. I’m playing dirty now,” Marie said cheerfully. “I want you to stop shutting your life off from possibilities. Meet men like Chaz and Troy, fall in love and live happily ever after as people are meant to do.”

  “Not all people.” Darcy jumped out of her chair. “My parents? Not happily and didn’t last ever after. Neither did my—”

  “You don’t have to have your parents’ relationship. In fact, you have every reason not to.”

  “It’s not just them. I have my career to think of now, and Gladiolas. What guy is going to put up with the hours I keep?”

  “You can have a career and love, too, Darcy. Millions of women do it, and millions of men support them.”

  “Good for them.” She clutched her head, trying to control a scream rising up through her body. “But I guarantee those women are still doing the lion’s share of the work at home. I’m hardly ever home to begin with. You should have seen my father when he got laid off and Mom had to work and couldn’t cater to him anymore. You should have seen my boyfriends when—”

  “Not all men are like that.”

  “All the ones I fall for are. It’s a cycle and I can’t break it.”

  “Maybe a therapist…”

  “I don’t have time for that, either.”

  Marie gave a long-suffering sigh, which made Darcy want to
pinch her. “Candy, Kim and I can all see how much you want this.”

  “They’re in on this, too?” She wanted to cry at the betrayal.

  “We understand that you’re scared, that you have every reason to think you can’t be happy. Candy and Kim just went through similar journeys and look how happy they are now. All we’re doing is nudging you in the direction you deep down already want to go.”

  “I want to go?” Anger upgraded to rage, which Darcy was uncomfortably aware contained some of the exact fear Marie was talking about, plus panic that once again people she thought she could trust weren’t worthy of that gift. “So the three of you have ganged up and decided you know more about me than I do.”

  “We’re with you, not against you.”

  “And the three of you think Mr. Big-Chin-on-a-Mountain is going to make me a real woman?”

  “You’re already a real woman. We want you to be a real happy woman. If not Chaz, then someone else. Maybe Troy? He’s obviously interested in you if he wrote. All of us who have met him can vouch for what a great guy he is. Candy’s brother has been friends with him for a long time. And Justin—”

  “I cannot do that again.” Her voice broke.

  “Again? Troy?” Marie’s voice grew softer. “Does this have anything to do with that ‘male complication’ you were talking about the other day, Darcy?”

  “No.” Her voice showed the strain. “Not ‘again’ with Troy, I meant I can’t do that again with men in general.”

  “How did you like Esmee the other night?”

  Darcy stiffened. She couldn’t know. “You three have me under surveillance?”

  Marie chuckled. “Candy was pretty sure she saw you heading inside when she was there picking up Justin, who’d just left Troy at the bar. Maybe you saw him there without realizing who he was?”

  Darcy closed her eyes. She could lie, but Candy would ask Justin, and Justin would ask Troy and who knew what he’d say?

  “I had a drink with a guy. That was it.” Her voice had risen and thinned. She sounded exactly like the liar she was. “I didn’t know who he was. We didn’t exchange names.”