Stranger. Megan Hart

got up, towering over me even after I put on my heels. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

      I shook my head. “No. You don’t have to. I’m fine.”

      “But I really should.”

      I looked up at him. “Sam, it’s okay.”

      We smiled at each other. He walked me to the door, where he bent to kiss me far more awkwardly than he had before.

      “Good night,” I said on the other side of the door. “Thank you.”

      He blinked and didn’t smile. “You’re…welcome?”

      So cute.

      I reached up to pat his cheek. “It was great.”

      Sam blinked again, those dark brows knitting. “Okay.”

      I waved and moved toward the elevator. He closed the door behind me, and I heard the blare of the television almost at once.

      At my car I remembered to check my voice mail. Sitting behind the wheel, buckling my belt, I punched in my password and listened, expecting to hear my sister’s voice. Maybe my best friend Mo’s.

      “Yeah, hi,” said a voice I didn’t recognize. “This is Jack. I’m calling for, um…Miss Underfire. We were supposed to meet tonight?”

      He sounded uncertain; I felt suddenly sick. Miss Underfire was the name I used with the agency, the name I used to keep everything discreet.

      “But I’m here at the Fishtank, and…well…you’re not. Um…call me back if you want to reschedule.”

      I listened to a very long pause while I waited for the call to disconnect, but it didn’t.

      “Anyway, I’m sorry,” said Jack. “Something got messed up, I guess.”

      A click, and he was gone, and the pseudofeminine robotic voice-mail message was instructing me how to delete the message.

      I closed my phone and put it carefully into my purse. I gripped the steering wheel tight, with both hands. I waited to scream, or laugh, or cry, but in the end I only turned the key in the ignition and drove home.

      I’d wanted to sleep with a stranger, and that’s exactly what I’d done.

       Chapter 02

      “Earth to Grace.” Jared snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Gloves?”

      I blinked and shook my head a little, laughing off my lack of concentration. Jared Shanholtz, my intern, held up the box of latex gloves that had seen better days. “Sorry. They’re in the laundry room, I think. On the rack of shelves by the wall.”

      He tossed the battered cardboard box into the trash. He nodded toward the body on the table in front of us. “Need me to bring anything else?”

      I looked over Mr. Dennison’s still form. “No. I think he’s just about done.”

      I leaned forward to brush the hair back from his forehead. His skin, cool under my fingers, had a faint dusting of powder. It didn’t quite match his natural skin tone. “On second thought, grab me the box of foundation, okay? I want to redo this.”

      Jared nodded and said nothing, though I’d already spent an hour on Mr. Dennison. I stared down at him. He couldn’t care if he looked like he was wearing makeup, but I did. Even if his family didn’t care, I still did.

      Pride didn’t do diddly for my fingers, though, that kept fumbling with the small pots and brushes I used on the corpses. I’d nearly made a mess of the embalming, too, but turned it around by giving Jared the “opportunity” to do most of it himself while I supervised. Jared was the first intern I’d ever hired and though it was hard for me to give up control of what went on in my business to give him the chance to learn, I was glad he was there then. Thank God he was good. If he’d been a bumbling disaster, we’d have been screwed.

      Screwed.

      I turned away from Mr. Dennison’s placid face. I had to take small sips of air to keep from bursting into a flurry of giggles I would’ve been hard-pressed to explain to Jared. The stifled laughter twisted in my gut and made it hurt. Coffee would help. Maybe.

      Shit, nothing would help. I’d fucked a stranger the night before, but the wrong one. Not the stranger I’d paid to play with. Dammit, not only had I taken a huge personal risk, I’d wasted a hefty chunk of change, too.

      “Grace?”

      I turned, again caught up in my own thoughts. I took the box of miscellaneous pots and jars from Jared, and set them on the table. “Sorry. My mind’s wandering.”

      “If you wanted me to take over,” Jared offered with a gesture at Mr. Dennison, “I could. Give you a break.”

      I looked at the man on the table, and at Jared. “No, thanks.”

      “Want to talk about it?”

      I looked up. Jared gave me a look that told me I hadn’t been as nonchalant as I’d thought. But…huh? Talk? To Jared? “About what?”

      “Whatever it is that’s bothering you.”

      “Who says anything is?” I stroked my cosmetic sponge down Mr. Dennison’s cheek.

      Jared didn’t say anything until I looked up at him. “I’ve been here for six months, Grace. I can tell.”

      I stopped what I was doing to give him my full attention. “Do you want to take over with this? I mean, if you really want me to give you something to do, Jared, I can tell you the hearse needs to be washed, and I’m sure Shelly could use a hand with vacuuming the chapel.”

      Jared liked washing the hearse. I hated it. It worked out perfectly, and if he thought I was being nice by letting him do that instead of the hundred other tasks of running the funeral home, I was happy to let him think so.

      He grinned, taking a bit of the wind out of my sails. “Sure, boss. If that’s what you want. I just thought I’d offer.”

      He tipped me a salute. I smiled. “You could make sure there’s some fresh coffee, too. You know Shelly doesn’t have a clue how to brew it.”

      He nodded. “Late night, huh?”

      “The usual.” I shrugged.

      “You know, Grace, I’d be happy to take more call time.”

      I concentrated on putting away my pots and jars and washing my hands as I answered. “I know. I appreciate it.”

      “Just thought I’d offer,” Jared repeated, and left.

      Quick and eager to learn, Jared was excellent with the clients and unafraid to take on new tasks. I was seriously considering offering him a position after he graduated. The problem was, though Frawley and Sons had grown every year since I’d taken over from my dad three years before, I still couldn’t afford to hire another full-time funeral director. Not if I wanted to eat, anyway. I could make him take more call, but I’d have to pay him more and trust him to provide my clients with the same level of service I could give them myself.

      Nobody could give them the same level of service I could. After all, I had very big shoes to fill. My dad and his brother, Chuck, both retired now, had taken over the business from their father. Frawley and Sons had been the only funeral home in Annville for fifty years. People could and did go to funeral homes in the adjoining towns, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t keep trying to be the best.

      I busied myself with cleaning up the supplies I’d used on Mr. Dennison, glad for the chance to work in silence. I couldn’t stop thinking about the stranger. Sam. The hair, the eyes, the smile. Those long damn legs. The way he’d gotten harder when I said his name. I hadn’t even asked for his number.

      Hell. He hadn’t asked for mine, either. I don’t blush easily, but I blushed just