Seeking Single Male. Stephanie Bond

for?”

      She gestured ahead of them to an ivy-covered brick structure. “There’s my building up ahead. Why don’t I just show you?”

      More studying—Greg Healey was a studier. Suddenly, she very much wanted the chance to get to know him better. Say yes, she urged him silently.

      His chest rose as he inhaled deeply, then he lifted his hands in a gesture of submission. “Okay, let’s go.”

      GREG’S HEART POUNDED as he climbed the stairs behind Lana. He suspected, however, that his elevated pulse had more to do with the side-to-side motion of Lana’s curvy behind than the exertion of ascending two flights of stairs.

      “The elevator works most of the time,” she offered over her shoulder. “But to be honest, it’s so slow, I always take the stairs, anyway.”

      She talked as if he’d be spending a lot of time in the building, Greg noted. He had to admit he admired the woman’s chutzpah. He followed her mutely through the door at the top of the stairs, into a corridor, then wound around two corners before stopping behind her in front of number thirty-six.

      “This is it,” she said, swinging open the wooden door.

      As Greg stood rooted at the threshold, a tiny voice he recognized as his conscience whispered, Don’t do it. This woman is complicated. Greg’s nerve endings danced with indecision. He could still turn back. He should turn back.

      But when she beamed a glorious smile his way, her eyes flashing an invitation, anticipation waxed over caution. A powerful surge of attraction hardened his sex. At this moment, he would have followed this beauty into a pit of tar. His feet must have moved, because suddenly he was standing in an eccentric, if slightly bare, loft. He barely took his eyes off Lana, whose sexual appeal now bordered on hazardous. His body strained for fulfillment. Greg wet his lips, feeling like a teenager in his haste to touch her.

      “This is the living room,” she said, practically bouncing on the heels of her thick-soled pink tennis shoes.

      The “living room” was defined by a large red area rug in the shape of an apple. In contrast, the couch facing them was yellow; the chair, an oversize beanbag chair in University-of-Kentucky-blue. An enormous live Christmas tree stood against the wall, its branches bowed from the dozens of ornaments and dangling crystals. The scent of fresh evergreen stirred his senses even more. Sitting on a wooden stool was a small antique television sporting a rabbit-ear antenna contraption that extended into the air at least four feet.

      “You’re welcome to bring a bigger set if you want,” she offered.

      Did she plan on them watching that much TV? Scratching his head, Greg turned to the left and came up short, his heart skipping a beat at sight of the man standing mere inches in front of him. He felt foolish when he realized the “man” was a blow-up doll dressed in striped pajamas.

      “Oh, meet Harry,” Lana said with a grin. “He’s my sidekick.”

      “Okay,” Greg murmured. Even with the pajamas, it was clear that the doll was anatomically correct. A prop of Lana’s?

      She hung her coat on Harry’s shoulder, then pivoted and swept an arm toward a galley-style kitchen decorated with…cows. Everywhere. Black-and-white, pink-nosed Jersey cows with fat udders. “Not much counter space,” she said cheerfully. “But I’m willing to make room for your omelette pan.”

      Greg stared across the arm’s length of space between them, and something…unfamiliar happened. Her gaze locked with his, and the static electricity in the air stung his skin. A weird humming noise sounded in his ears, like a frequency interrupted. God, she was lovely—her violet eyes, her pink mouth, her creamy skin. And with her leaning back against the gray-speckled counter, all he could think was how perfect the height would be for…good times.

      She glanced away, and the moment was gone, perhaps a figment of his imagination to ease his guilt, a delusion that he shared some sort of connection with this stranger he was about to bed.

      “And here—” she said, brushing by him to stand in a vacant area in front of two tall windows, “is where the table and chairs used to sit. I don’t suppose you could fill up the space with something interesting?”

      He swallowed at the picture she presented, her lush, willowy figure silhouetted by the midday sun slanting in through the windows, her hair a white halo. A piano. He’d buy her a baby grand piano if she’d only stand there a few moments longer.

      Her eyes went wide. “Did you say a piano?”

      Damn, had he spoken? A thermometer on his neck at this moment would have registered at least one hundred degrees Fahrenheit.

      She clasped her hands together, her face lit up like a child’s. “You’re right, this would be the perfect spot for a piano! I haven’t played in years, but it would be so fun!” Then her white teeth appeared on her lower lip, and she looked almost embarrassed. She grabbed both his hands in hers. “Greg, I don’t mean to get all girly on you, but I just have a very good feeling about this situation.”

      He had the same feeling, and it made his pants tighter.

      “I have this strange vibe that we were supposed to meet. Weird, huh?”

      Her smile revealed a dimple in her chin. Greg might have thought it adorable, but he wasn’t the kind of man who used the word adorable.

      “Well—” she blushed “—I’m sure you’d like to see the bedroom.”

      If they didn’t get down to it soon, he thought, limping slightly as he followed her, he might embarrass himself. On the far side of the loft, opposite the door they’d entered, a narrow hallway ran between two rooms partitioned off with permanent walls, but open to the vaulted ceiling. The bathroom is at the end of the hall,” she said, pointing. “And this is the bedroom.”

      She pushed open the door to the room on the right and walked in a few steps ahead of him. He had the vague impression of a bed with white linens in the otherwise empty and modest room. The room where she…entertained?

      Lana was talking, but he only caught a few words. “…great lighting…comfy mattress.” Frankly, he couldn’t concentrate on anything she was saying for watching her move. She was fine-boned, her arms long and lithe, her wrists small, her neck and collarbone well defined.

      “So,” she said, stopping in front of him and spreading her arms, “what do you think?”

      Overcome with longing, Greg swallowed hard. The woman, his need, the circumstances—the combination overwhelmed him. His control was slipping, badly. “I think,” he murmured, “that you are the most desirable woman I’ve ever met.”

      She stared at him and her lips parted. She blinked, but she couldn’t hide the desire that flared in her eyes. Before he could change his mind, he reached up, curled his fingers around the back of her neck, and pulled her lips against his.

      Their meeting was electric. Her mouth moved under his. Her sweet fragrance swirled in his nostrils, her tongue was as smooth as cream. She opened her lips, inviting him inside, where he foraged like a starved man. It was the perfect kiss, fueled by the tide of raw passion pulsing through his body. He’d never felt so in tune with a woman—they both wanted it. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her against him, reveling in the way her slim figure melded to him. His erection sought warm resistance, and found it against her thigh. He—

      —was suddenly spun around and his arm yanked up between his shoulder blades. Greg grunted at the pain exploding in his rotator cuff. Before he could form a question, a knee in his back propelled him into the hall between the rooms. The wall stopped him. With his head smarting and his mind reeling, Greg straightened and turned around, but at the sight of the fuming blonde advancing on him, he backed into the living room. “Wh-what’s wrong?”

      “What’s wrong?” she shouted. “What was that, that, that…kiss all about?”

      “I thought you brought me here