Seeking Single Male. Stephanie Bond
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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