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Seeking Single Male
Stephanie Bond
SINGLE FEMALE SEEKING SINGEL MALE FOR GOOD TIME…When lawyer Greg Healey answered a singles ad for his brother, he never expected to fall head over heels in love with the woman himself! Only, sexy, sassy Lana Martina hadn't placed that particular ad–in fact she seemed to think he was gay! So what else could Greg do but prove to her that she was his type?Coffee shop owner Lana had advertised for a roommate, not a lover. Although once she met Greg, the latter definitely had some possibilities…until she discovered he was her landlord! Greg planned to sell the property before the holidays. Lana intended to change his mind. And Greg had no idea just how convincing Lana planned to be….



“Why don’t we go over to my apartment?
“After all,” Lana continued, “you seem like a nice guy.”
Greg wasn’t a nice guy—everybody said so. But his neglected libido stirred. He could be a nice guy for an hour or so.
“That is, if you like me,” she added shyly.
Greg couldn’t believe it. While he was cooped up in his corner office, this kind of stuff was going on all over the city. Men and women were hooking up through singles ads for hot sex. Greg shook his head. No wonder life was passing him by. “What’s not to like?”
Her smile lit up the room. “Great. Give me a sec to grab my coat and purse.”
Greg’s stomach churned with indecision as she walked away. She removed her apron, revealing a stunning silhouette. Seeking single male for good time. He’d never done anything like this in his life.
But when Lana turned her smile in his direction, Greg discarded rational thought. Why the hell not? He was going for it!
“Are you ready?” she asked, hooking her arm through his.
He couldn’t believe his luck. “Oh, I’m ready all right. Ready and willing.”

Dear Reader,
Can true love be found in the singles ads—even if you don’t place one? When Lana Martina finds herself in dire need of a roommate, she advertises for a female or gay male to help her share the rent. So when Greg Healey shows up, she figures the gorgeous guy is off-limits to her gender. Only, Greg is responding to a singles ad for his brother…And when free-spirited Lana starts talking about going back to her apartment, he concludes she’s…well, adventurous. How can these two love-starved loners ever get together?
I hope you enjoy this lighthearted holiday romance in which several characters from my previous books make cameo appearances. (How many will you recognize?)
Watch for my next title in Midnight Fantasies, the 2001 BLAZE anthology, available in June. Then look for Two Sexy!, a sequel to that short story in the new, longer BLAZE line also scheduled to debut in 2001. For a complete list of my titles, please visit my Web site, www.stephaniebond.com.
And don’t forget to share the wonderful world of romance novels with a friend this festive season!
Happy Holidays,
Stephanie Bond

Seeking Single Male
Stephanie Bond


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book is dedicated to all the wonderful readers
who have taken the time to write letters to me about
the characters and stories that run around in my head.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue

1
Lexington, KY: SF in mid-twenties seeking SM for good times. Horse lover a plus. I’m a good cook. Coffee Girl
LEXINGTON ATTORNEY Greg Healey looked up from the ad circled in Attitudes magazine, his stomach twisting at the sight of his younger brother’s wide smile. “You want to do what?”
“Meet Coffee Girl,” Will said. “‘SF’ means single female, and ‘SM’ means single male—that’s me.”
Closing his eyes, Greg murmured, “Seeking single male.”
“For good times,” Will added eagerly. “Will you help me, Gregory?”
After a long morning of correcting real estate contracts, this he did not need. He sighed, then looked up into innocent brown eyes. Will’s childlike expression seemed incongruous with his twenty-five-year-old body, which was broad and toned from grooming and riding horses at the farm that neighbored their home. Greg was tempted to dismiss his brother’s request, but lately Will had been showing an elevated interest in women and dating. And in truth, considering Will’s shyness and relative isolation, turning to the singles ads wasn’t so far-fetched. The fact that his brother had ventured downtown to Greg’s office to discuss the ad was proof that he was serious.
Still, intense protective feelings reared high. Greg gestured for his brother to sit in a plush visitor’s chair, while he himself leaned against his desk and crossed his arms. “I don’t think this is a good idea, buddy. You don’t even know this woman—”
“But she likes horses and she likes to cook and she must like coffee.” Will shrugged massive shoulders, as if he couldn’t imagine what else mattered. “I love coffee, Gregory. Can I call her? There’s a number at the bottom of the ad.”
Greg bit down on his tongue, unable to offer an alternative for the handsome man before him who was obviously craving female companionship. The physical need, he could relate to, but Greg feared Will wouldn’t be able to distinguish a physical attraction from an emotional one. And he was determined to shield Will from would-be opportunists with their sights set on his brother’s half of the Healey family business.
“Will, women are…complicated creatures.”
“Is that why you’re not married, Gregory?”
Greg squirmed. Subtlety was not in Will’s repertoire. “Er, yes.” One of many reasons, the main one being he’d never met a woman who warranted the trouble of his becoming involved. Besides, most women seemed embarrassed by Will’s presence, and his brother would always be his top priority.
Will scratched his temple. “But if women are complicated, then why do other men marry them?”
Greg gave him a wry grin. “Little brother, if you can answer that question, then you’re a lot smarter than I am.”
Will’s eyes widened. “How about for sex?”
Okay, he’d asked for that one. Even after all this time, he still flew by the seat of his pants where Will was concerned. “You don’t have to be married to have sex, Will.”
“How often do you have sex, Gregory?”
He blinked. “That’s a personal question.” And pride barred him from answering truthfully. “Besides, how often one man has sex has nothing to do with how often another man has sex. Everyone is different. Do you understand?”
Will nodded. “Like how often you brush your teeth?”
“Er, something like that, yes.”
Scooting to the edge of the chair, Will said, “I want to have sex, Gregory, but I want to be married first. Don’t you think that’s best?”
And how could he answer that question without being hypocritical? If he said yes and believed it, he would be sentencing himself to a life of celibacy, since marriage was nowhere in his plan. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. “Let’s take it one step at a time, okay? First you need to meet a nice girl.”
Excitement lit Will’s entire face. “So I can call Coffee Girl?”
Greg massaged the bridge of his nose. His brother was a late bloomer with raging hormones. When mixed with Will’s trusting nature, it was a recipe for trouble. The woman who placed the ad could be a hooker, for all they knew. On the other hand, a hooker would be preferable to a gold digger, or to a woman who would make fun of Will’s mental disability. None of the scenarios that played out in his head had a good ending.
“Please, Gregory?”
This had to be what parenting felt like, Greg decided as he looked at his brother’s hopeful expression. Being torn between good judgment and giving in. At last a compromise struck him. “How about if I check out this…Coffee Girl first?”
Will bit on his lower lip. “I don’t know…”
“Will, don’t I always take care of you?”
“Yes, Gregory.” Will gestured toward the phone. “But will you call her right now?”
Greg hesitated, noting with alarm that his brother seemed fixated on the idea that this woman in the ad was somehow his soul mate. But the sooner Greg called, the sooner Will would realize that women were a disappointing lot.
“Sure, buddy, I’ll call.” Consulting the voice mailbox at the bottom of the ad, Greg dialed the number and, after the mechanical voice identified the mailbox, said, “Yes…I’m calling about your ad. My name is…Greg, and I’d like to meet you for…a cup of coffee.” Feeling like a colossal fool, he left the number for his private office line and banged down the receiver.
“She wasn’t home?” Will asked, his eyebrows knit.
“It doesn’t work like that. The number is for a voice mailbox, where I left the message. The lady will call in to pick up the message, then she’ll return my call. It’s safer that way.”
Will jumped to his feet. “But what if she doesn’t call back?”
“She’ll call.”
“But what if she meets you for a cup of coffee and she likes you, Gregory?”
Greg draped his arm around his brother’s shoulders. “You’re the one looking for a woman, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re the horseman of the family, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Then don’t worry.”
Will frowned, obviously trying to follow the reasoning. “But when will I get to have coffee with her?”
“If she’s a nice lady, then I’ll introduce the two of you.” But not until she passed every test he planned to throw at the woman.
A grin transformed Will’s face again. “Okay, Gregory.” He gave Greg a giant bear hug. “Maybe we’ll find a lady for you, too. One that’s not so complicated.”
With effort, Greg maintained a smile while Will waved goodbye, but as soon as his brother was out of sight, he leaned heavily on his desk. Gentle, big-hearted Will was always full of surprises, but this one had topped them all. Greg glanced at his desk piled high with papers, and heaved a sigh. And now back to our tedious, mind-numbing program, already in progress.
Moving in slow motion, he settled into his father’s worn leather chair and tried to remember where he’d left off. Increasingly intricate real estate transactions had quadrupled the Healey Land Group’s paperwork over the past year. At times he felt more like a pencil-pushing clerk than president and chief legal counsel. Rewriting mountains of contracts wasn’t what he’d had in mind when he passed the bar exam a decade ago.
His phone bleeped, and he pushed a button with one hand while massaging a pain needling his temple with the other. “Yes, Peg?”
“I need your sign-off on plans for the company Christmas party on the twenty-second, sir.”
He rolled his eyes. Was it his imagination, or had it only been six months since the last agonizing company Christmas party? “Are you within budget?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then go ahead with it.”
“It’s only two weeks away, and you haven’t yet RSVPed, sir.”
Greg sighed. “Will and I both are coming.”
“Shall I put you down for two or four?”
Peg’s polite way of asking if they were bringing dates, although they never had before. “Two, Peg. And I can’t be interrupted right now.” He knew he sounded like a grinch, but he couldn’t help it—as far as he was concerned, Christmas simply heralded the end of another year of being trapped in this corner office. “Hold my calls.”
“Yes, sir.”
He stabbed the disconnect button, then walked to the window that consumed two entire walls of his office. The glass transferred the outside chill to his splayed hand, providing the most pleasurable experience of the prolonged morning. Downtown Lexington, Kentucky was all dressed up for the holidays with giant white plastic garlands and shiny blue bulbs twined around street lamps, the colors a tribute to the university.
Regardless of the season, his eyes were always drawn to the same building—the city courthouse. Indulging in a favorite daydream, he imagined how his life would be different if he’d gone into criminal law, instead of taking over the legal responsibilities for his father’s real estate company when he’d graduated law school. Now, as the sole heir capable of running the business, he had no choice.
Greg reached up to loosen his tie in an attempt to assuage his sudden claustrophobia. Lately he’d had the pressing feeling that he was missing out on something, that life was passing him by. God, he hated the holidays. So damn lonely.
And now Will was wanting to leave him—or so it seemed.
Unable to face the paperwork that loomed large on his desk, Greg grabbed his gym bag and strode out the door. Without much success, he tried to push the singles ad business from his mind during his lunch-hour run, which he extended by a mile. For a reason that now escaped him, he’d never considered the day when his brother might marry and strike out on his own.
When their father had died seven years ago, Greg had sold his plush condo and moved back home, partly so Will could remain in familiar surroundings, partly to put the proceeds from his condo toward the mountain of debt their father had amassed. The bond the brothers had shared when they were children was forged even stronger, and Greg had simply assumed they would always live together, two happy bachelors.
Except, Will obviously wasn’t completely happy. Later, as Greg toweled his neck, he admitted that some small part of him was grateful that his cynicism where women were concerned hadn’t rubbed off on Will. But then again, it hadn’t been an issue for a while; he hadn’t dated anyone seriously since moving back home—the work required to get the family business headed back toward profitability had been enormous.
Oh, he’d had a few dinner dates here and there, but all the women had made their intentions rather clear—marriage. And their interest in his family’s money had been equally apparent. He couldn’t blame a woman for wanting financial security, but even a token interest in him, in his hobbies, in his dreams—was it too much to ask?
Of course, the real kicker was that, thanks to the string of bad investments their father had made before anyone realized his mind was slipping, the Healey brothers weren’t worth nearly as much money as most people believed. He groaned as he stepped under the club shower, regretting more and more the call he’d made on Will’s behalf. They had each other now—a woman would change everything, and not for the better.
When he returned to the office with a boxed lunch, he was cranky and favoring a pulled calf muscle. At the sight of a silver garland strung across his windows, he frowned. “Peg!”
The owlish woman appeared at his door. “Yes, sir?”
“I thought I said I didn’t want my office decorated.”
Her eyes bugged wider. “Do you want me to have it taken down, sir?”
He dragged a hand down his face and sighed. “No, never mind.” He gestured to the slips of paper in her hand. “Do I have messages?”
“Yes, sir. Mr. Payton wants you to call him as soon as possible, sir. And a woman called about an ad, sir. Someone named…Coffee Girl?”
Heat flooded his face. “In the future, please don’t answer my personal phone line.”
“It rings so rarely—I thought it might be an emergency.”
A nice way of saying he had no social life. “Did you say you took a message?”
“Yes, sir. Here it is, sir.”
“Thank you,” he chirped, then took the note and stuffed it into his pants pocket without looking at it. “That will be all.”
Peg trotted out and closed the door.
Greg closed his eyes and counted to ten, willing away this restless, frustrated feeling that seemed to have escalated recently. He knew he needed to reduce the stress in his life, to simplify his obligations, but for the time being, things were what they were.
Glad for a reason to postpone contacting the woman from the singles ad, he phoned his general manager, Art Payton, convinced another problem was afoot. “Art, this is Greg. What’s up?”
“Great news, Greg. The interest from developers is snowballing on the Hyde Parkland parcels.” Art’s hearty laugh rumbled over the line. “If the rezoning goes through, you could be sitting on the most valuable property in central Kentucky.”
Greg refrained from reminding Art of his opposition to the acquisition of Regal Properties that Greg had targeted two years ago specifically for the Hyde Parkland property under its ownership. “Cut to the chase, Art. How valuable?”
“I’m talking about serious money. You could retire.”
He managed a small laugh. “You’re exaggerating.” But he paced in front of the window to expend a burst of nervous energy.
“No, I’m not. If the rezoning goes through, you’ll be set for life. Will, too, of course.”
His feet stopped moving. Will was the sole reason he hadn’t left the company when their father died. When he discovered the financial disaster they’d inherited, Greg had been thrust nearer to panic than he’d ever been in his life. He had to be certain that if something happened to him, Will would always be taken care of. If what Art was saying was true, the Hyde Parkland project would be the parachute he’d been hoping for.
“I’m telling you, Greg, this time next year you could be doing anything your heart desires.”
Greg walked to the tinsel bedecked window, zeroed in on the courthouse roof, and smiled—actually smiled. Maybe this Christmas wouldn’t be so bad, after all. Still, anything that sounded too good to be true…“I need more details, Art. Can we get together this afternoon?”
“How about three-thirty?”
“I’ll see you then.”
He slowly returned the handset, while hope thrashed in his chest. Was this deal the light at the end of a long tunnel? Greg shoved a fidgety hand into his pocket, and his fingers brushed the note Peg had given him. A groan welled in his chest, but a promise made to Will was a promise kept, so he pulled out the piece of paper.
Meet me at The Best Cuppa Joe tomorrow morning at eleven. Coffee Girl
Greg scowled and wadded the note into a ball. Romance—bah! As if he didn’t have enough on his mind.

2
The next morning
LANA MARTINA CONJURED UP a beaming smile for Miss Half-Caf-Nonfat-Whip-Extra-Mocha. Secretly Lana thought that without the fat, why bother with whipped cream at all. But then again, she didn’t even drink coffee—an admitted peculiarity for the owner of a coffee shop—so she offered no comment. Especially since her customers were usually a bit testy before they had their first jolt of caffeine.
Ringing up the three hundred and fifty-sixth sale of the morning, she instead thanked her lucky stars for the large number of Lexington, Kentucky downtowners who relied on the ritual of sucking down coffee before facing their respective daily grinds. Addictions were profitable for the supplier, and Lana prided herself on supplying the best cup of Joe in the city. Ergo, the name of her shop: The Best Cuppa Joe. Okay, she couldn’t take credit for the name since the shop had been located at 145 Hunt Street for thirty years—as long as she’d been alive—but she was proud to carry on the tradition as owner and manager for going on six months now.
The woman exited, and with the morning rush officially over, Lana slumped into the counter and willed away the anxiety roiling in her stomach. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t turn into a workaholic entrepreneur, but lately one circumstance after another had made long hours unavoidable. Her pastry chef Annette had arrived at four-thirty a.m. with her regular supply of decadent muffins, bagels and baklava, but had sprained her ankle in the parking lot. Lana had sent her home, knowing she’d be shorthanded until Wesley clocked in before lunch.
Oh well, at least she’d be spared Annette’s monologue about her ongoing manhunt. The girl was convinced her life was incomplete without the perfect man, and she never ran out of inventive ways to extend her search. Lana, on the other hand, had already found the perfect man. His name was Harry and his maintenance consisted of an occasional puff of air into the valve on the top of his rubber head. Harry never questioned her decisions, never wrestled for the remote, never criticized her hairstyle or clothing.
On the other hand, the only release Harry’s anatomically correct body offered her was an occasional burst of laughter.
The bell on the door rang, and Lana straightened automatically until she recognized her friend Alexandria Stillman. “Oh, it’s only you.”
Alexandria glided toward the counter, sleek and catlike in a cobalt designer suit from her family’s upscale department store across town. “Nice to see you, too.”
Lana waved off Alex’s comment and rubbed her aching pouring arm. “You know what I mean.”
“Business is good, huh?”
Lana surveyed the space she’d come to love so fiercely, from the ancient brick walls to the whorled wood floors, to the slightly sagging stage where talented and not-so-talented hopefuls put their pride on the line during open-mike nights. A far cry from the claustrophobic accounting office where she’d spent seven years of her life after college—holy humdrum.
“I can’t complain,” Lana said with a satisfied sigh, pouring a mug of the almond-flavored coffee Alex liked. “Do you have time to visit for a while?”
“That’s why I came.” Alex took the proffered cup.
Lana quirked an eyebrow. “Is Jack out of town?”
A blush stained Alex’s cheeks. “Have I been neglecting you? I’m sorry.”
“Since you’ve never looked better, Mrs. Stillman, I’ll let you off the hook this time.”
“Marriage does seem to agree with me,” her friend gushed uncharacteristically. At least, the gushing had been uncharacteristic before she’d been swept off her feet by “Jack the Attack” Stillman.
“Yeah, yeah,” Lana said with a grin. “Just don’t turn into one of those marriage evangelists, okay?”
“I can’t promise anything. Hey, do you have plans for Christmas Eve?”
A smile claimed her lips that for once, Alex didn’t have to share her family for yet another holiday. “As a matter of fact, Janet is coming up.”
“Great. I’m sure you and your mother will have a good time. If your plans change, though, you’re welcome to come to Dad’s.”
Lana didn’t respond. Maybe Janet had been a little unreliable in the past, but she’d come. She would.
Alex sipped the coffee and murmured her approval. “Nice hat, by the way.”
Lana flicked the fuzzy ball at the end of the floppy red Santa hat. “Thanks. I wanted to go for the elf shoes, too, but my crew threatened to quit.”
“Speaking of crew, where’s Annette?”
“She sprained her ankle this morning, and I didn’t want her to have to stand on it all day.”
Alex tilted her head. “You look exhausted. Maybe you should sell yourself a cup of your energy blend.”
“I’m not that desperate yet,” Lana said, laughing. She pulled a bag of Earl Grey tea from beneath the counter and dropped it into a mug, then added steaming water from a dispenser. Janet, a bona fide Anglophile, had introduced her to tea as a youngster, and to tea she remained loyal.
“I guess I’m just stressed out over this roommate situation,” Lana said. “I’m glad to be rid of Vile Vicki, but I can’t afford to keep paying the entire rent much longer.” Not and cover the lease on the coffee shop space, and the short-term note for new equipment, and the payments for the additional cash registers, refrigerator and pastry case.
“If you need a loan—”
Lana cut off her friend with a look. “I appreciate the offer, but no thanks.” If she could squeak by for another year, she’d be able to pocket some of the profits instead of sinking all the money back into the business.
Alex relented with a nod. “Any responses from your roommate ads?”
They claimed a small square table painted with a redand-black gameboard. Lana sat back in a padded chair and shook her head. “A couple dozen oddballs I wouldn’t even consider.”
“Oh, that’s rich—you calling someone an oddball.”
Lana pulled a face, then reached behind her to retrieve the magazine that lay discarded on a table. “I let Annette talk me into placing an ad, so maybe I’ll hear something before Christmas, although it’s a lousy time of the year to be looking for a roommate.”
Alex leaned forward when Lana pointed out her ad:
Lexington, KY: SF seeking roommate, F or GM, nonsmoker, preferably sane and willing to share kitchen duties.
“GM?” her friend asked.
“Gay male,” Lana said matter-of-factly. “I don’t want some straight guy getting the wrong idea about the sleeping arrangements.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Alex teased, tapping her finger on the singles ads on the next page. “Maybe you should’ve placed a combination ad and killed two birds with one stone.”
“Oh, please. Don’t start.”
“You were the one hounding me to get a man before I met Jack.”
“That was before I bought the coffee shop. Now I don’t have time for scratch-off lottery tickets, much less a man.”
“Are the ads national?”
“Yep.”
“Well, you should be able to find a roommate over the entire country,” Alex agreed, grinning over the brim of her cup.
Lana frowned. “Are you saying that I’m too picky?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, do you blame me, after living with that witch for so long?”
Alex blew onto the surface of her drink. “I’m just wondering how much of the animosity for your former roommate had to do with the fact that she went out with the only man you ever cared about.”
Ignoring the flash of pain that the memory of Bill Friar conjured up, Lana wagged her finger. “Thought I cared about. Bill Friar is a low-life cheat who was threatened by a woman smarter than he is.” She’d trusted him, the cad. Lately she’d been pondering whether the problem was that she was too trusting of the people she cared about, or perversely drawn to untrustworthy people—excluding Alex, of course.
“Lana, you’re smarter than anyone I know. Maybe you should start accepting invitations to those Mensa meetings to find a date.”
“What? Holy hallucinogen, Alex, you know the only reason I maintain my membership in that uppity organization is for the insurance.”
“Afraid of hooking up with a thinking man?”
She frowned at her friend. “No. I’d love to find a man with a big brain. But most eggheads are just that—eggheads. No life, no passion. Now, finding a man with a big brain and a big—”
The phone rang, cutting off her tirade, and spurring Alex’s laughter. Lana sprang for the receiver. “Best Cuppa Joe, this is Lana. Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and a Cheery Kwanza.”
“Lana, this is Marshall Ballou.”
Of Ballou’s Antique Clothing Boutique at the end of the block. “Hey, Marsh. What’s up?”
“I just picked up my mail. Did you know there’s a rezoning meeting this Friday?”
Black dread ballooned in her stomach—so the rumor was true. “I hadn’t heard yet, but of course I’ll be there.”
“I was hoping you’d say that, hon, because I was just talking to Vic and Paige and Maxie, and we’d like for you to be our spokeswoman.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Me?”
“What do you say?”
“I say you must be desperate.”
“Quite the contrary, my dear, you’re perfect. And we need you. The company that owns the property thinks they can railroad this rezoning plan through because it’s our busy season and we won’t notice.”
Lana swallowed to force down the bad taste in her mouth. When she’d gone headfirst into debt to buy the coffee shop, she’d bought a virtual landmark. Everyone in Lexington knew there was a coffee shop at 145 Hunt Street. Parking was decent, the atmosphere was good. She’d never be able to build this kind of traffic at a new location—not enough to pay back her loans. “S-sure, Marsh, whatever I can do.”
“Great. Call me after closing tonight. Gotta run.”
Lana returned the receiver gingerly, telling herself not to panic. Yet.
“Bad news?” Alex asked.
“Potentially. There’s a council meeting Friday night to introduce a rezoning plan for the blocks between here and Hyde. The local shop owners want me to be their mouthpiece.”
“Good choice, since some of the council members already know who you are.”
“Yeah, from protest rallies.” She dropped into the chair. “I so do not need this right now. Besides, without the landlord’s support, I don’t believe it’ll do much good.”
“So get the landlord’s support.”
“We’ve tried, but the property is in the hands of so many holding companies, we haven’t even been able to reach a real live person.”
“I can have Daddy talk to his friend on the council and at least make them aware of the way the merchants have been ignored.”
Her friend had offered help many times before—usually financial—but this was the first time Lana was desperate enough to take advantage of the clout the Tremont name commanded in the city. She touched Alex’s hand and nodded. “Thanks. I know all of the shop owners will be grateful.”
“Consider it done. If there’s going to be a fight, at least it’ll be a fair fight.”
Lana puffed out her cheeks in a weary sigh. “So much for sleeping the rest of the week.”
“Don’t worry—you’ll knock ’em dead.” Alex stood and lifted her mug, but her obviously forced smile did not put Lana at ease. “I’d better get back to work. Thanks for the coffee.” She walked to the door, then turned back with a little frown. “Cheery Kwanza?”
Lana shrugged.
Alex laughed. “Keep me posted on the roommate search.”
Lana relinquished a smile as she watched the woman she’d known since junior high leave the shop with a sexy bounce to her step. Alex, it seemed, had nabbed the last gorgeous, independent, thinking man walking the face of the earth, or at least walking in the vicinity of the Bluegrass. Lana was happy for her friend, and sad for the rest of the female population, primarily herself. In times like these, it would have been nice to have a big, dependable shoulder to lean on. But since she’d bought the shop, she no longer had time to entertain her fantasies about a stranger arriving to sweep her off her feet. Now she’d settle for someone willing to sweep the floor.
With great effort, she pushed the upcoming council meeting from her mind while she tidied up the tables and plugged in the lights of the four Christmas trees on the stage. The liquid bubble lights on the smallest tree cheered her immensely. She loved this time of year—people were in a generous spirit during the holidays, if at no other time. It served a little glimpse into how things were supposed to be.
She worked around a college-age couple reading from a shared book and holding hands. A pang of envy cut through her chest. Young love was so sweet, so powerful. But she looked at the young woman and willed her to remain her own person, to follow her own interests, to make her own way. Not to marry out of sheer infatuation, then someday wake up dissatisfied with the life she’d built around another person’s needs and wants.
Like her mother. The divorce had taken all of thirty days—and Lana hadn’t even known until she’d dropped by her parents’ apartment during a college class break and found her old room stacked with moving boxes. Janet now lived in Florida, selling tour packages and dating men that were wrong for her. Lana’s father had bought a secondhand RV and hit the road with a chick named Mia. She hadn’t seen him in years. The sordid clichés had broken Lana’s heart. She’d thrown herself into her studies, determined to make something of herself that had nothing to do with a man.
About that time she had discovered The Best Cuppa Joe as a hangout. Old Mr. Haffner had given her grief about not liking coffee—but kept tea bags beneath the counter just for her. She loved the artsy feel of the place, the way musicians and poets and would-be philosophers gathered to try to solve the world’s problems. Who would’ve thought that she would someday own the place?
She knocked over a mug and chastised herself for wasting precious time before the lunch rush. Picking up her pace, she carried table scraps to the back door and fed the two stray cats that magically appeared each morning. The day-old pastries went into a box to be delivered to a soup kitchen a few blocks away. Sorting the trash between serving customers took a while, with each recyclable going into its proper bin. When the morning chores were finished, Lana straightened the magazine she and Alex had been reading and decided to check the voice mailbox for the ad she’d placed. Juggling the receiver, she punched buttons while reaching for a pad of paper.
Eight calls—five men and three women. For one reason or another, none of them sounded exactly right. Then, remembering what Alex had said about her being too choosy, Lana replayed the messages and jotted down names, then just numbers when the pen threatened to run out of ink. Okay, so one of the women had a voice so annoying Lana struck her from the list, but she did return the rest of the calls, inviting the applicants to stop by the coffee shop for a chat as soon as possible—the first to make the grade would sign the lease.
She hung up the phone and turned to the mirror that ran along one wall to adjust her Santa hat. Her unruly pale hair stuck out from under it, hair that she’d finally whacked off in deference to the widow’s peak and wavy texture. Her father had once said she was a hairbreadth from being albino, but instead of pinkish eyes, hers were violet. People thought she wore contact lenses, and when she told them different, they dubbed her eyes “spooky.”
Funny thing, but when a person looked different, their behavior sometimes rose to the occasion. Even as a child, she’d stepped to the beat of a different drummer. Friends were hard to come by, doubly so since she was teased for living in a low-income apartment tenement. Teachers dismissed her as an oddity. A fluke pop quiz by a school administrator had led to IQ testing in the seventh grade. It was amazing how a “159” changed her in the eyes of her instructors. She was moved into private school on a scholarship, where she’d met Alexandria Tremont, heiress to a local department store chain. Their backgrounds couldn’t have been more different, and their friendship couldn’t have been more strong.
The warbling of the blue jay from the Birds of North America clock dragged her from her nostalgic musings. Ten o’clock—the lunch rush would start in an hour, and without Annette, it would be nuts. Thank goodness Wesley, a bespectacled college student, arrived a few minutes early.
But by eleven, customers were standing at the counter three-and four-deep. Lana deftly doled out coffee and bagels and biscotti until she was sure her arms would fall off. The rezoning meeting nagged at the back of her mind, although she tried to concentrate on each customer.
She glanced toward the door to gauge how long the rush would last, and did a double take when a seriously good-looking man walked in—tall, dark hair, wide features, great tie. On the heels of her initial assessment, disappointment set in. Such an interesting face for a working stiff. And holy houndstooth, hadn’t she met enough shallow yuppie guys on her old job?
Yet she couldn’t pull away her gaze, and to her surprise, the man stared back with such intensity that she wondered if she knew him from somewhere. He wasn’t a regular customer, she was sure. In fact, he seemed more interested in her than in the menu. A second later, Lana laughed at herself—the man was probably there about the ad. When he claimed an empty booth without ordering, she was almost certain. It made perfect sense—all the best-looking specimens were gay. Although from the permanent wrinkle in his brow, this man appeared to be gay and depressed at the same time.
Oh well, if the man could cook and didn’t steal, she’d be content. And just because he was gay didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy the scenery. The crowd thinned in thirty minutes, and the man still loitered in the booth, occasionally glancing her way. Jeez, he might smile once in a while. When Wesley signaled he could handle the orders, Lana wiped her hands on her red apron and approached the man.
Upon closer inspection, the man was even better looking than she’d thought. His dark hair was closely shorn, his black eyebrows thick and expressive. His brown eyes were framed with heavy lashes and his skin glowed with health. Unusually affected, Lana overcompensated with a broad grin. “Hi! Would you happen to be here about the ad in Attitudes?”
He studied her for so long that she started to feel foolish. Then the man gave her a conservative smile and nodded his well-shaped head. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I am.”

3
GREG STARED at the unusual-looking woman, tamping down his surprise. He had assumed that most women who placed singles ads were…desperate, shy or even homely. This woman appeared to be none of those things—the fuzzy Santa hat notwithstanding. In fact, her beauty slammed into him like a sucker punch. The white-blond hair that framed her perky face, and those violet-colored eyes—well, surely she was wearing contact lenses, but the color suited her enormously. His initial thought was that a woman this beautiful wouldn’t be sincerely interested in Will, no matter how sweet his temperament.
A purely selfish reaction, he conceded a split second later. Because while he’d never denied his brother anything, he had to admit he wouldn’t mind spending time with this woman himself.
“You must be Coffee Girl,” he said stupidly, standing.
Her laugh was musical. “Well, my friends call me Lana. Lana Martina.”
He luxuriated in her voice—smooth and full-bodied, like heavily creamed coffee. His vision tilted slightly, and he felt off balance. Suddenly remembering his manners, he extended his hand. “Greg Healey.” Her handshake was firm and surprisingly strong.
“Nice to meet you, Greg. Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you.” Only because his swallowing reflex was behaving strangely.
She gestured for him to sit, and they claimed opposite sides of the booth. Lana Martina was lean and long-limbed, and moved like a dancer. She also seemed completely at ease, so much so that he wondered how long she’d been placing singles ads. In his mind, he filled in the blanks: She worked a minimum-wage job at a coffee shop, and was hoping to snag a vulnerable, wealthy man. Like Will.
“Have you had a lot of responses to your ad?” he asked, at a loss for protocol.
“Several,” she admitted, then smiled. “But you’re the first person I’ve met face-to-face, so you’ll have the best shot.”
He blinked. First come, first served?
She looked around, then dipped her chin conspiratorially. “Look, this is a little awkward, but I have to ask—do you meet all the, um…requirements?”
“Requirements?” Those eyes of hers were mesmerizing, and so incredibly large. With a start he realized she was referring to the items in her ad—being a horse lover and someone who appreciates good cooking. Well, he wasn’t a horseman like Will, but he could hold his own at the dinner table. “Uh, sure. And I make a pretty mean omelette myself.” Had he said that?
She pursed her mouth as if impressed. “So, Greg, when were you looking to make a move?”
The woman was nothing if not to the point. Wiping his palms on his slacks, he said, “Well, I thought I might find out a little more about you first, like…where you live.”
She laughed, nodding. “Sorry, I was getting a little ahead of myself. My apartment is on Wisteria, walking distance from here.”
“I’m familiar with this area.” He should be—he and Art had discussed it in depth yesterday afternoon. In fact, the hazing of this building and the one next door were critical to their plans. Coffee Girl would be out of a job—but those were the breaks.
“Listen,” she said. “I can step out for a moment. Why don’t we go over to my apartment right now?”
Her words obliterated all real-estate-related thoughts. “Right now?”
She shrugged. “Sure. You seem like a nice guy.”
He wasn’t a nice guy—everyone said so. But his neglected sex stirred. He could be a nice guy for an hour or so.
“That is, if you like me,” she added.
So…while he was cooped up in his corner office, this kind of stuff was going on all over the city. Men and women hooking up through singles ads for hot rendezvouses. Greg tingled with naiveté. No wonder he felt as if life were passing him by. He swallowed hard. “Wh-what’s not to like?”
Her smile lit up the room. “Great. Give me a sec to grab my coat and purse.”
The mention of her purse rang a bell. He needed to know if this was a business transaction. “Um, speaking of money…”
She dismissed his worry with a flip of her wrist. “If you like it, we’ll talk about money later.”
Greg’s stomach and mind churned with indecision as she walked away. She removed her red apron, revealing a stunning silhouette. Seeking single male for good times. His collar felt moist. He ran his hand over his mouth. He’d never done anything remotely like this in his thirty-five years.
But when Lana turned her smile in his direction, Greg discarded rational thought. Why not? Why the hell not? He’d spent his life looking after his brother, his family’s business—satisfying external obligations. Because he had no desire for a messy emotional relationship, his physical needs had gone unfulfilled. And here was Lady Luck, standing before him in a snug Christmas sweater. He was going for it, damn it. Merry Christmas to me.
She rejoined him, now hatless and pulling on a black-and-white spotted, fake fur coat more befitting of a ten-year-old. But he supposed most women with her, er, hobby were a tad on the flamboyant side.
“Are you ready?” she asked, hooking her arm through his in a familiar way that both startled and pleased him.
Greg’s thoughts turned to the pocket in his wallet where he kept protection. If memory served, he had two condoms stashed there. Male satisfaction swelled in his chest. “I’m ready.”

LANA SLID HER GAZE sideways at the handsome man walking next to her. The day was definitely looking up. The first person to respond to her ad seemed like a pretty cool guy, even if he was a little stiff. Greg Healey was certainly one of the most masculine gay men she’d ever met. She was a tall woman, and he was a full head taller. His profile was strong, his shoulders wide, his stride assertive. A bizarre thrill raced through her at his proximity, causing Lana to chastise herself. She wasn’t the type of woman who would try to “convert” a gay man, but if she found out that he was intelligent on top of looking good, she was going to be supremely irritated.
Meanwhile, she liked him. There was something…undiscovered about him. In fact, she’d bet her tea bag that he was very recently out of the closet.
“So, Greg, what do you do for a living?” she asked, a few steps down the block.
“I’m an attorney,” he said. From the tone of his voice, he wasn’t in love with his job. Little wonder, if he didn’t make enough money to afford his own apartment. When he glanced at his watch, she said, “Don’t worry—this shouldn’t take long, so you can get right back to work.”
He coughed, and Lana hoped he didn’t have any kind of weird allergies, such as to rubber. Choosing between this guy and Harry, her blow-up doll, would be tough. “Any hobbies?”
“Hmm?” He looked as if she’d spoken in a foreign language.
“Hobbies?” she repeated with a laugh. “If we’re going to be spending so much time together, I’d just like to know if you have any strange pastimes.”
“I have a telescope,” he said, then his cheeks reddened. “I mean, I used to enjoy astronomy.”
Ah, a Science Club guy—how sweet. “Used to?”
“My job is rather demanding. I don’t have a lot of free time.”
“I can relate. What else should I know about you?”
He shrugged. “What do you want to know?”
Lana laughed. “Well, do you sleepwalk?”
At last he cracked a smile, an extraordinary smile that transformed his grave features. “No, I don’t sleepwalk.”
“Good, because I live on the third floor.”
He suddenly looked uncertain, and his step slowed.
She winked. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”
He ran his hand over his dark hair. The movement revealed the barest glints of silver. Suddenly he stopped, and a bemused expression came over his face. “Listen, um, Lana, this is pretty new to me.”
Poor guy, he was still wrestling with coming out. “Don’t worry,” she said, laying a comforting hand on his arm. “I’ll help you as much as I can. I want us to be friends, you know.”
In fact, until this moment, she hadn’t realized how much she missed having someone with whom she could share little things. Oh sure, Alex lived just down the hall—but Jack was there now, too, and they were building a home on Versailles Road, where the rich of Lexington migrated to live among endangered horse farms. She sensed an uncommon connection with Greg and hoped he would feel comfortable with her, too.
He shook his head. “But the money—”
“Hey, I’m fairly flexible. My rent is due on the first of the month, so as long as you pay me the day before, we’re square.”
He pursed his mouth. “Exactly how much money are we talking about?”
Ah—he was broke. A man who lived above his means, by the looks of his suit, and who probably hated the thought of having to share an apartment. Well, at least the man had good taste in clothing, even if he erred a bit on the Republican side. She smiled. “Four hundred a month.”
He studied her, as if sizing up what kind of a roommate she’d make. “In return 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 to…” He gestured helplessly toward the bedroom. “You know, for a good time.”
Her eyes bugged. “What? How dare you!” She reached into the purse she’d set on the floor and withdrew a bottle of hair spray. “Get out before I call the police!”
Incredulous, Greg shook his head. “But your ad—arrgghhh!” He clawed at his eyes, which were suddenly filled with burning, clotting hair spray. “You’re insane!” he gasped, blinded and feeling for the door. He found it, with the help of her foot on his backside. Greg tumbled through the opening and landed facedown on musty, smelly carpet. The door slammed shut behind him.
Greg lay there a few seconds before groaning and rolling to his back. Cursing under his breath, he rubbed his burning, watery eyes and tried to sort out what had just happened. The woman was obviously an unstable individual who set up men, teased them unmercifully, and then…what? Blackmailed them? Deciding he didn’t want to wait to find out, Greg pushed himself to his feet, fished his handkerchief from his back pocket, and escaped the building while mopping his stricken eyes.
This was the reason he was single, and the reason Will would be better off as a bachelor, too. Women were like pet snakes—damn unpredictable. If he never saw the statuesque blonde again, it would be too soon.

4
LANA OPENED HER DOOR and peeked out into the empty hallway, hair spray poised. It looked as if Greg Healey—assuming that was his real name—was long gone, the baboon. He obviously hadn’t expected her to object to his pilfered kiss.
And in truth, the kiss had been quite remarkable, but it was where the kiss was leading that she had a problem with. Lana pressed her fingers to her mouth, dizzy and a little perplexed as to why a guy who looked that good and kissed that well would resort to answering a lousy roommate ad on the remote chance of getting lucky. Strange. Very strange.
Heavy footsteps sounded in the opposite direction, and for a second she thought he’d come back, or had lost his way since his eyes were full of Aqua-Net. But instead, Jack Stillman loped around the corner, barefoot and wearing only jeans, his wet hair and torso evidence that he’d just stepped out of the shower. Holy he-man—Alex was one lucky woman.
“What’s all the commotion?” he asked, his eyebrows drawn together. “Are you all right, Lana?”
She nodded, then waved in the direction of the exit. “Some guy answered my ad for a roommate, told me he was gay, and agreed to see the place.” A wry frown pulled one side of her mouth back. “Then he tried to cop a feel in the bedroom.”
Jack was trying not to smile. “Are you converting gay men now?”
“You’re such a comedian, Jack.”
“Seriously, did the guy hurt you?”
“No.”
“Then what was that loud thump?”
“I threw him out, and he sort of, um, bounced off the wall.”
He shook his head. “Alex assures me you can take care of yourself, but why would you invite a stranger to your apartment?”
“He looked trustworthy. And like I said, he said he was gay.” Then she frowned. “Or rather, he let me think he was gay.”
Jack scratched his temple. “Couldn’t you tell?”
“What a completely homophobic thing to say.”
He sighed. “Forget it. Should I go after the guy?”
Lana thought about it, then shook her head. “Nah. I don’t think he’s dangerous.”
“You also thought he was gay.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think he meant to harm me. In fact, I had the strangest feeling he was…scared of me when I resisted.”
“I’m scared of you,” Jack said. “So, did you hurt him?”
“He has a few bruises, I suppose. And I sprayed him in the face with this—” She held up the pump spray bottle. “Extra hold.”
Jack winced. “Do you know his name, just in case he shows up again?”
“He said his name was Greg Healey.”
Her neighbor’s eyes widened. “Greg Healey?”
She nodded. “He said he was an attorney. Do you know him?”
A laugh exploded from Jack’s mouth. “I used to know a Greg Healey. But it can’t be the same guy.”
“Mid-thirties, dark hair, stuffed shirt.”
Jack pursed his mouth. “Sounds right, but the Greg Healey I knew was a wealthy SOB—he wouldn’t have been looking for a roommate. Damn unlikable. And for that matter, he wouldn’t have been looking for a woman.”
“Let me guess—he’s gay?” she asked with an arched brow.
“No. But he was a seriously confirmed bachelor.”
“Like you?” she teased, nodding toward the gleaming wedding band on his finger.
“More so,” he assured her.
“Must be a different guy,” she said with a shrug, wanting to erase the disturbing incident from her mind. “I guess I should chalk it up to experience and get back to the coffee shop.”
Jack shook his finger. “Don’t invite strange men back to your apartment until you know what you’re dealing with.”
She stood erect and saluted. “Sir, yes, sir.” Lana pretended to click her tennis shoe heels together, then returned to her apartment for her purse and coat. But she was immensely troubled by the fact that equal to the relief for her safety, she felt a curious sense of loss. She had sensed a connection between herself and Greg Healey, darn it, and had been looking forward to a new friendship. Before he’d gone and ruined it all with that kiss of his.
Lana slipped her coat off Harry’s shoulder, then angled her head at him. “I think we should make a pact, Harry old boy. If I haven’t found a decent man by the time I’m ninety-five, and you still have air left in you, what say we tie the knot?”
He stared at her with a big permanent grin.
“Oh, good grief, don’t tell me you’re gay.” She sighed, tracing her finger around the lock of brown hair printed on his wide forehead. “I don’t blame you—the man was rather extraordinary looking, wasn’t he?”
Harry’s big vacant eyes looked at her pityingly.
“I know, I’m getting desperate.” She laughed ruefully. “It must be the holidays. Just don’t tell anyone, okay?” Lana planted a kiss on his plastic cheek and walked out the door, trying to salvage her attitude. She wasn’t about to give Greg Healey the satisfaction of ruining her day—not when so many other things were vying for that special honor.

GREG’S LINGERING INCREDULITY over his encounter with Lana Martina weighted his foot on the accelerator. The black Porsche coupe responded well to his frustration, gripping the curves of the winding driveway leading to the three-story house where he’d spent the majority of his life. His father had ordered that the sprawling structure on Versailles Road be constructed from genuine limestone mined from fertile Kentucky ground. The Healey homestead was a virtual fortress, and would be standing long after the family name died out.
And that would, quite possibly, happen fairly soon, since perpetuating the Healey name depended on his or Will’s producing offspring. His parents had intended that the rooms be filled with grandchildren and great-grandchildren, but they hadn’t counted on Greg’s opposition to marriage, or on Will’s special problems.
Flanked by towering hardwoods standing leafless but proud, the house never failed to lift his spirits. Until now. Now all he wanted was to take a shower, rinse his stinging eyes, and change his clothing that reeked of musty carpet.
The woman could certainly defend herself, he conceded. Almost as well as she could kiss. Not that it mattered, since she was a tease and a nut. He couldn’t imagine how much that woman would have messed with Will’s mind.
Spotting a large package by the front door, he parked in front of the four-car garage and made his way around the sweeping sidewalk to the main entrance. He caught a glimpse of his disheveled self in the glass of the doors and was glad their housekeeper, Yvonne, was away visiting her brother for a couple of days, or else she’d give him the third degree about his appearance and his impromptu trip home in the middle of the day.
But when he realized that the carton contained the saddle he’d ordered for Will for Christmas, he was almost glad for the incident; otherwise Will might have seen the box. Almost being the operative word, considering the bruises Coffee Girl had inflicted upon his person and his pride. Still, Greg admitted with a wry smile as he wrestled the box inside the door, it would be nice to surprise his brother for once.
“Whatcha got, Gregory?”
His brother’s voice startled him so badly he nearly dropped the carton in the foyer. “Jesus, Will, I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”
Will held up a thick sandwich. “I forgot to pack my lunch this morning. Want some help?”
“No, that’s okay—”
With his free arm, Will took the box from him as if it were a bale of goose down. “Is it a new telescope?”
Greg blinked. He hadn’t thought of his broken telescope in months, and it had come up twice today, once with Miss Looney Tunes, and now with Will. “Er, yeah, it is,” he lied, glad the return address label of Cloak’s Saddlery had gone unnoticed.
“Good. I’ll take it upstairs for you,” Will said, hoisting the box to his shoulder while nonchalantly taking a bite out of the sandwich.
Greg followed, shaking his head. He himself was a big man, but Will’s stocky frame was solid muscle from his strenuous job on Kelty’s stud farm that bordered their property. The gentle giant carried the carton to Greg’s suite and deposited it in a closet, none the wiser that he’d just stowed his own gift.
Greg envied his brother sometimes—working outdoors, doing what he loved—and today was one of those times. Tugging on his tie, he suddenly dreaded returning to that damnable corner office. As far as he was concerned, the Hyde Parkland rezoning proposal couldn’t be approved soon enough. He entertained a moment of vindictive pleasure at the knowledge that Lana Martina would be out of a job—she’d regret she hadn’t earned that four hundred dollars when she’d had the chance.
“Gregory, your eye is bruised. Did someone hit you?” Will leaned close for a better look.
He sighed and ran a hand over his eye, wishing he could think of a good lie. But Will had to know how risky the singles scene could be. “I met Coffee Girl this morning.”
His brother’s eyes lit up. “You did?”
He hadn’t told Will for this very reason—he hadn’t wanted to give him false hope.
“Yes,” Greg said, unbuttoning his sleeves. “She attacked me and sprayed hair spray in my eyes.”
Will’s head jutted forward. “Why?”
“Because she’s—” At the wide-eyed innocence on his brother’s face, he stopped and nodded toward a leather club chair. “Have a seat while I wash up, huh, buddy?”
“Okay.”
Greg walked into the adjoining bathroom, stripped his shirt and flushed his eyes with handfuls of cool, soothing water. Sure enough, he’d gotten a shiner when he’d hit a wall—which wall, he wasn’t sure. Pressing a towel against his tender eyelids, he nearly groaned in blessed relief. Meanwhile his mind raced as he tried to decide how many details about the encounter he should divulge to Will. Guilt churned in his stomach when he realized that his promise to help Will meet a girl had fled his mind as soon as he set eyes on Lana Martina. In hindsight, he’d gotten exactly what he deserved for being so pettily distracted from his goal.
“Are you okay, Gregory?”
He walked back into the bedroom, drying his face with the towel. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
“So why did Coffee Girl attack you?” Will sat on the edge of his seat, wringing his big hands.
Greg dropped onto the side of his bed and slipped off his shoes. “Will, Coffee Girl isn’t the woman for you.”
His face fell. “Why not?”
“She’s a…” A lovely, bubbly, bright light whose medication wore off mid-kiss. “She’s a…um…” The only woman who’d ever managed to kick up his libido and kick his ass. He sighed, fidgeting.
His brother stood abruptly. “You told her I was s-slow, and she doesn’t want to meet me.”
Feeling morose, Greg stood and held out his hand. “No, Will, that’s not it. In fact, I didn’t even get to the point of mentioning your name.”
He frowned. “Why not?”
“Trust me, buddy, this woman is…weird.”
“Most people think I’m weird, Gregory.”
Greg smiled. “No, I mean this lady is…” He floundered for words that would nip this whole singles ad business in the bud. “She’s mentally unstable.”
Will’s expression was one of near fright. “Coffee Girl is crazy?”
“As a bat.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Yeah, but I’m afraid that’s the kind of desperate person who places those ads.”
Will bit into his lip. “But I’m desperate, too.”
“You’re not desperate,” Greg said, putting his arm around Will. “You’re just impatient. Relax, okay?”
“Okay, Gregory. I know you’ll help me find the right girl.”
Greg pasted on a smile and bit his tongue to keep from saying such a girl didn’t exist—for either one of them.
Will jerked his thumb toward the door. “I have to go back to the farm. They’re bringing in Miner’s Nephew today.”
At last, something to really smile about. His brother loved his job, and the Keltys were good people to have given him the chance to prove himself.
“Can I look through your new telescope tonight, Gregory?”
He nodded, thinking now he had no choice but to buy a new telescope. And he gave quiet thanks that Will hadn’t dwelled on Coffee Girl. After Will left, Greg showered quickly and changed into more casual clothes. He only wished he were able to dismiss Lana Martina so easily. The bizarre encounter plagued him as he jogged downstairs, and as he drove toward the science museum gift shop.
One minute she’d been enjoying the kiss as much as he, then she’d gone completely berserk. Maybe he’d simply been too assertive, or maybe—oh, hell, he’d probably never know what had caused the woman to snap.
Finally, the idea of buying a new telescope pushed troubling thoughts of Lana Martina from his mind. He called Peg to let her know he’d be late returning from lunch. “Any messages?”
“Just two, sir. The closing on the Toler building has been moved to the twenty-third. And Art Payton called about the Friday rezoning meeting for the Hyde Parkland area. He can’t attend because of a family emergency, and his key managers are committed elsewhere. Wanted you to know so you could send someone else, perhaps Ms. Hughs or Mr. Weber, sir?”
He hadn’t been to a rezoning meeting in ages—usually they were routine and uncontested. But his future and Will’s rested on the outcome of this particular meeting, so he wanted to ensure their interests were represented. Vigorously.
“Add the meeting to my schedule, Peg. I’ll go.” He hung up the phone and tried on a smile. Finally, something to look forward to.

5
“THE DOCTOR WHO WRAPPED my ankle was dreamy,” Annette said as she slid the tray of cranberry Danishes into place. “But he was married, darn it, with four kids.”
Lana rolled her eyes at yet another chapter in Annette’s manhunt. The woman was a grown-up version of Little Orphan Annie, her petite figure overwhelmed by a helmet of wild red curls. Lana typically endured the woman’s nonstop chatter good-naturedly, but her own usual good mood had been compromised by an unexplainable preoccupation with the man who’d called himself Greg Healey. All last evening she’d been restless, fidgety and irritated. Even a formidable amount of cake icing eaten straight from the carton hadn’t helped.
Annette sighed dramatically. “I’ll never get to wear my wedding gown.”
Lana bit her tongue. Everyone who knew Annette had seen the wedding gown she’d been working on for going on ten years, because she carried it around in the back of her van on a mannequin.
“Mr. Right is out there somewhere, Lana, I just know it,” Annette continued. “And he’s looking for me, too.”
“Well, if he’s looking for you, I hope he likes coffee.”
“From your mouth to God’s ear. Hey, speaking of looking, have you found a roommate?”
Lana’s laugh was as dry as yesterday’s biscotti. “No, but I found a certified weirdo.”
The pastry chef’s eyes lit up curiously. “What happened?”
“A guy came in yesterday and said he was here about the ad. I asked him if he met all the requirements, meaning was he gay, and he said yes. He seemed all right, maybe a little stuffy, but definitely good-looking. But when I took him to see the apartment, he made a pass at me, right in the bedroom!”
Annette’s face had gone totally white.
Lana laughed. “Oh, don’t worry—I shot his eyes full of hair spray. But it was all very bizarre.”
“Was his name Greg something-or-other?”
A tiny alarm went off in Lana’s brain. “Do you know him?”
Annette touched a hand to her forehead. “Lana…oh my goodness, I completely forgot. A guy called about the singles ad I put in the paper, and I told him to meet me here yesterday at eleven a.m.”
Lana’s throat tightened—the timing was right. “You’re running singles ads now?”
Annette nodded, her face red.
She gripped the counter. “What did your ad say, exactly?”
While Annette scrambled to find the magazine, Lana’s mind swirled with the implication of a missed connection.
“Here it is,” Annette said, smoothing the page on the counter. “‘Lexington, Kentucky: Single female in mid-twenties seeking single male for good times. Horse lover a plus. I’m a good cook. Coffee Girl.’”
“Coffee Girl?” Lana murmured, remembering the man’s puzzling enquiry.
“I thought it fit,” Annette said with a sheepish shrug. “And I thought meeting in a public place was a good idea.”
She had to sit down to sort through it all—while ignoring the tiny thrill that he’d mistaken her for someone in her mid-twenties. “You mean this guy I thought was answering my roommate ad was actually answering your singles ad?”
“I’m sorry, Lana. With going to the doctor and all, I forgot that I asked him to meet me here.” She leaned in close. “But you said he was cute?”
Lana barely heard Annette as snatches of her conversation with Greg Healy came back to her and she realized how incriminating her words had been. She closed her eyes and managed a small hysterical laugh. He must have thought she was propositioning him. And being a red-blooded male, he’d accepted.
Then Lana froze as his other comments floated back to her. She swallowed a lump of mortification that lodged in her throat. Holy hooker! The man thought she was propositioning him, all right—for money.
“Lana,” Annette said loudly, yanking her back to the present.
“Huh?”
The redhead’s eyes glowed with hope. “You said he was cute?”
“I…guess so. But he made a pass at me, remember?”
“Well, you took him back to your apartment!”
“Yeah, but…if he were a decent guy, he wouldn’t have gone!”
Annette’s mouth was grim. “You’re absolutely right. Any guy who would be that forward wouldn’t be willing to wait until the wedding night, would he?”
Another one of Annette’s romantic fantasies—that her gentleman prince would be willing to wait until their wedding night before consummating their relationship. Lana remembered Greg Healey’s hot kiss, the split-second hardness of his sex against her thigh. “Er, no, he didn’t strike me as the waiting type.”
“Oh well, I’m just relieved that nothing bad happened. Thanks, Lana, for weeding out another loser.”
Lana smirked. “That’s me, the jerk strainer.”
Annette grinned. “I’ll bet he got more than he bargained for when he made that pass.”
Lana returned a weak smile.
“Well, I’d better unload the rest of the doughnuts before the doors open.”
When Annette exited to the back room, Lana rubbed her breastbone. Her internal organs had begun behaving strangely at the news that Greg Healey might not be the pervert she had originally thought. She swallowed hard, realizing that maybe Mr. Healey wasn’t the only one who’d gotten more than he bargained for when he’d made that pass.
The alien sensation stayed with her throughout the day. Business was good due to a college sports conference going on downtown, and she found herself watching the door for the appearance of Greg Healey’s tall, broad figure. It was silly, she knew, because the only reason the guy would come back would be to sue her for blinding him.
Her neighbor Jack’s comments came back to her, and she idly wondered if this Greg Healey was the same rich SOB bachelor Jack used to know, after all. But if what Jack said was true, the Greg Healey he knew would be even less prone to answer a singles ad than an ad for a roommate.
She frowned. Unless the man simply shopped the singles ads for sex.
Her opinion of him continued to flip-flop. Lana even debated whether she should try to contact him and explain the misunderstanding. But she suspected he wouldn’t find the situation quite so humorous.
No, better to let sleeping dogs lie. She’d lived in Lexington most of her adult life and had crossed paths with Greg Healey once. The chances of it happening again were astronomical.
Of course, when she arrived home that night, it occurred to her that he knew where she lived. She would certainly feel better if she’d found a roommate, but she’d had no luck.
“You’re too picky,” Alex chided her when she came over that night to bring a velvet footstool she said she didn’t want to haul to the new house. “And you should be careful about who you let in your apartment.”
Lana sighed. “I suppose Jack told you what happened yesterday?”
“We have no secrets.”
“Are you interested in hearing the rest of the story?”
Alex sat down on the yellow couch. “Absolutely.”
Lana dropped onto the blue beanbag chair and watched as little foam balls went flying out of the tired seams. “The guy actually thought he was meeting someone who placed a singles ad.”
Alex squinted. “Hmm?”
“My pastry chef, Annette, placed a singles ad and asked the guy to meet her at the coffee shop.”
Her friend’s eyes widened. “And he thought you were—”
“—looking for more than a roommate when I invited him up to see the apartment.”
“Oh, that’s hysterical.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m still laughing about it,” she said, rolling her eyes.
Alex tilted her head. “Wait a minute—why aren’t you laughing? Did this guy scare you more than you’re letting on?”
“Oh, no. He backed off as soon as I put up resistance.”
“What is it, then?”
She laid her head back, wishing she could put her finger on this elusive unease. “It’s nothing.”
Alex gasped. “I don’t believe it. You actually liked this guy, didn’t you.”
Lana lifted her head. “Are you insane?”
But her friend wore the most infuriatingly triumphant expression.
“That’s it! You dig this Greg Healey.” She clasped her hands together. “I’ll have Jack call him up and—”
“Oh, no, you won’t,” Lana warned, shaking her finger. “I do not like this guy. I just…don’t like the idea of him thinking I’m…loose.”
“But he doesn’t even know you.”
“He knows my name and where I work and where I live. God only knows how many people he could tell.”
Alex arched an eyebrow. “You practically beat him up. I’d say the man has as much incentive to keep it quiet as you do.”
She frowned. “I guess you’re right.”
“Besides, if you’re so worried about it, why don’t you call him and set the record straight?” Alex suggested with a sly smile.
Lana frowned harder. “No, thanks.”
“Okay,” Alex said with a shrug. “If you change your mind—”
“I won’t.”
Alex relented with a nod, then gestured toward the ornament-laden evergreen. “I think it’s leaning. Shall I warn the people in the apartment beneath you?”

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