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2

GREG NOTICED RIGHT AWAY that Suzanne hadn’t changed into something more comfortable in honor of his arrival. She was still in full business dress, wearing her black suede suit like a coat of armor. A black velvet bow held her mahogany-colored hair back in a no-nonsense style.

There wasn’t a single casual thing about her as she stood in the doorway of her apartment. She’d even left on her black pumps, something he thought most women kicked off the minute they walked through the door. He wondered if she had an appointment somewhere. Maybe she didn’t intend to stay here and pour her heart out, after all. Maybe her sink really had sprung a leak.

The disappointment he felt was another warning—he should be very careful with this one. “Do you need to leave soon?” he asked. “Because I can fix the leak while you’re gone.” He grinned at her in an attempt to ease the lines of anxiety in her expression. “You don’t have to worry about the silverware. I’m bonded.”

“Uh, no, I don’t need to go anywhere.” Without returning his smile, she stepped away from the door. “Come in.”

“You looked so together, I thought you might be on your way out.”

“Not really.”

“Good.” So they’d talk. Just talk. Kissing Suzanne would be far more dangerous than kissing Terri had been.

He walked into the room and registered the white-on-white decor. She hadn’t needed anything repaired since she’d moved in, so other than a brief glimpse when he’d let the stockbroker in that Saturday about six months ago, he’d had no idea how she’d fixed up the place.

The scent of pine drew his attention to the corner where her little tree twinkled. Because he’d pegged her as an orderly person, he wasn’t surprised that the strings of lights and ornaments were hung in perfect symmetry. He pictured her squinting at the finished product to make sure that there were no bald spots or color clashes.

“I like your tree.” He gave her another smile.

“Thanks.” This time she smiled back, but she still looked very nervous.

He was impressed that she had a tree at all, though, considering that last Christmas she’d been part of a couple and this year she was alone. Apparently she wasn’t about to let that stop her from celebrating, and he was glad to discover that. Her perky little evergreen shone like a badge of courage in the corner of her living room.

He’d expected the place to be immaculate, and it was. The red pillow sitting in the middle of her white sofa was fascinating, though. From the psychology texts he’d read, that pillow in the middle of all the virginal white said something about her sexuality. An erotic nature might be hiding under the sensible surface.

But he wasn’t here to uncover her erotic nature. First he’d tighten the pipe connection that she probably loosened on purpose, and then he’d listen to her complain about her ex-boyfriend. Maybe he’d suggest ordering up some Chinese food. He’d be a shoulder for her to cry on—figuratively in this case—reassuring her that she was too good for the chump who’d left her.

Still, her appearance threw him. She didn’t look like a woman about to let her hair down.

“The pipe’s been leaking for three days.” She led the way toward the bathroom. “This is the first chance I’ve had to call you.”

Another unexpected comment. She didn’t strike him as the type to make up a story about a pipe that had been leaking for three days. That was carrying the charade a little too far. But maybe she had more imagination than the other women he’d dealt with. Or maybe she loosened the pipe, lost her nerve and then had to spend three days working up to the call.

If so, then he’d enjoy helping her rebuild her confidence. Platonically, of course. Always platonically.

In order to get to the bathroom, he had to walk through her bedroom. It was very girly, with rose-printed fabric covering the quilt, armchair and curtains in shades of red and pink. But there, nestled against the pillows, was the devil himself.

He was a cute little doll dressed in bright red velvet, with a mischievous grin on his face and The Devil Made Me Do It written across his chest. Uh-huh. As he’d suspected from his first glimpse of Suzanne, still waters ran deep.

Her bedroom held the subtle scent of roses, but her bathroom was drenched in it. When he walked in, he was bombarded with an image of Suzanne, naked, spritzing the perfume in strategic places. The Devil Made Me Do It. The devil was having a field day with him right now, thumbing his nose at all those platonic vows Greg had taken.

Trying to calm his libido, he crouched in front of the cabinet under the sink and opened the oak doors. A steady drip had made a round spot on the pink towel she’d laid under the pipe. There was nothing erotic about that spot, and yet his mind leaped from damp towels to the image of Suzanne stepping out of a steamy shower, glistening and wet.

He could assume that Suzanne had called him because she needed a shoulder to cry on. He’d known she was shy, so meeting him in full career-dress mode made sense, now that he thought about it. Suzanne wouldn’t be the sort to let down her guard easily, but he had a knack for helping women open up and confide in him.

Assuming he used that talent with Suzanne, he wondered how well he’d be able to control himself once she opened up to him and became soft and vulnerable. He wondered if he’d be able to ignore the implications of that red pillow and that suggestive doll in the middle of her bed. He wondered how much trouble he could get into if he ignored the implications, if he broke all his rules, followed his instincts and took this fascinating woman to bed.

A lot of trouble, no doubt. But this time it might be worth the risk.

“Is it a bigger problem than I thought?” Suzanne asked from the bathroom doorway.

“No.” He cleared the huskiness from his throat. “Minor stuff, it looks like.” He got to his knees and fumbled with the latch on his toolbox. After getting it open with far more awkwardness than usual, he took out a small flashlight and beamed it up toward the source of the leak. That’s when he found the rust that was causing it.

Suzanne certainly hadn’t rusted the pipe. Much as he hated to admit it, she hadn’t booby-trapped her sink in order to lure him into her apartment. Her call had been legitimate.

Damn.

THE MINUTE GREG STEPPED into her apartment, Suzanne realized she should have announced that she had an urgent appointment and vamoosed. She thought about asking him to fix the sink while she was gone, but she was…curious. Besides, her apartment was too private a place to let somebody she barely knew walk around by himself, especially someone with a reputation like Greg’s.

For one thing, he might find her stash of sexy novels. Jared had made great fun of those. He’d insisted that reading them meant she’d rather get her kicks vicariously than with a living, breathing man. He’d also claimed that no real guy ever acted the way the men did in those books. He was probably right about that, because she hadn’t found any so far.

But she should have risked having Greg poke around by himself, because being here with him was a colossal mistake. He smelled too good, too masculine, a combination of lime-scented shaving cream and Old Spice. Nothing fancy for this guy. Much as she didn’t want him to, he was turning her on.

She could still leave, of course. She could, but she was already entranced, a deer in the headlights. When he leaned in to turn off the water valve under the sink, his biceps rippled. She’d seen plenty of rippling biceps at the gym both nights she’d dragged herself there with Terri this week, but the guys at the gym were flexing on purpose. A casual, unconscious ripple was so much sexier.

“Can I get you anything?” she asked. “Water, coffee, a soft drink?” A condom?

“No, thanks.” He sat on the floor and chose a wrench from his toolbox.

The authoritative way he grasped the wrench caused little jolts of excitement to dance in her stomach. Her ideal lover would have sure hands like Greg’s, a firm yet gentle touch. She admired his long, tapered fingers and the fine sprinkling of dark hair on the backs of his hands.

He wore a utilitarian watch, the kind you could buy at the drugstore, and no rings. The lack of rings came as no surprise after what Terri had said. He was a Don Juan of the big city, a man who wanted no entanglements.

There would be a certain freedom in making love to someone with that attitude. She wouldn’t have to worry about whether he would make a good husband or a good father, or even a good impression on her mother. Most of all she wouldn’t have to worry about whether he would leave her, because no commitment would exist in the first place. The sex would be about mutual pleasure and nothing else.

It was a whole new concept for her. Up to now she’d scrutinized every man in her life for warning signs that they would eventually treat her the way her father had treated her mother. No wonder she hadn’t ever fully relaxed sexually with a man. So much had been at stake. With Greg, nothing at all would be at stake, and she might finally have the kind of experience she’d read about in her novels.

He glanced up at her. “Maybe you should go ahead and have dinner.”

She looked away, afraid that with his experience he might be able to guess her thoughts. “That’s okay. I had a late lunch.” Maybe he’d misinterpreted her hungry look. Food was the last thing on her mind right now.

“My plan is to dismantle this baby and take it downstairs to see if I have a replacement part. I’m not sure how soon I’ll have it back in operation, so I hope that’s not a problem.”

She couldn’t keep avoiding his gaze forever, as if she lacked any self-confidence. So instead she looked at him with the same directness she’d use with a colleague at work. “No problem.”

There were questions lurking in those green eyes of his. He probably wondered when she’d start getting personal. He might even be giving her more time to feel comfortable with him by drawing out the repair process.

She’d never feel that comfortable. Suzanne Talbot did not fall into bed with a man she hardly knew. “What’s your last name?” The question popped right out of its own accord.

“Stone.” Warmth flickered in his gaze. “Thanks for asking.”

Heat flooded her face. “I’m not sure why I did. I guess it doesn’t really mat—”

“Sure it does. It always does.” Without giving her a chance to respond, he leaned back and squirmed under the sink until his head and shoulders were nearly out of sight.

She appreciated his tact in partially disappearing so that she could pull herself together again. Now that she’d asked his last name, he probably thought it was only a matter of time before she invited him to spend the night. He might expect her to use this moment to change into something more revealing.

She wouldn’t be doing that, but maybe she’d indulge her curiosity a little more by checking him out when he couldn’t see her do it. It wasn’t every day that she had a chance to study a certified loverboy up close and personal.

He wore his navy T-shirt tucked into the waistband of his jeans, and no belt. Well, belts were an unnecessary impediment, after all. This looked like a man who appreciated simplicity when it came to clothes that might need to be shed quickly in the heat of passion.

As she watched, he lifted his pelvis and shifted to the left to get a better angle on the pipe. The front of his shirt came untucked and rode up, exposing a neat belly button. An insy.

Saliva pooled in her mouth as she stared at that belly button. Such an intimate part of a person, a belly button. A smattering of dark hair decorated the area around it. He inhaled, causing a slight gap between his flat belly and the waistband of his jeans. A gap just big enough for a woman to slip her hand into, if a woman were so inclined….

She moistened her lips. She wasn’t even remotely that daring. Besides, he wouldn’t be expecting something like that, and he’d probably sit up suddenly and bean himself on the water pipe.

But she could imagine doing it, and that was enough to get her juices flowing. His jeans were old and the denim looked soft. As he shifted his weight again, the material tightened over his crotch and she gained an excellent idea of exactly what lay behind that button fly.

Greg looked like such a bad boy, and now that Terri had confided in her, Suzanne knew that he was absolutely as bad as all that. Even if she had the courage to come on to him, which she didn’t, she wouldn’t know what to do with such powerful badness.

But Terri had said that he was understanding and very romantic. In that case, she wouldn’t have to know everything. He would know everything, just like the men in the novels she loved.

Yet if she managed to start an affair with Greg, who had become a legend in her apartment building, and she still turned out to be an anal-retentive ice queen, what then? She’d probably never date again. She’d channel all her energies into her career, become the best financial analyst in Chicago, make piles of money and live alone in some opulent penthouse with her twenty-nine cats. Rich but pathetic.

If there was the slightest chance she’d blow it with Greg, she’d be far better off blundering along as she’d been doing. The situation reminded her of when she’d had a funky Honda Civic with lots of miles on it. She’d loved that car, but one day it wouldn’t go. A boisterous jock from high school, somebody much like Jared, had talked her into letting him give her a jump. He must have done something wrong, because he’d burned out the electrical system.

Getting involved with Greg was a jump start that might blow out her entire electrical system, and she’d have to be towed in, just like that Honda. She was already feeling road-weary after two nights at the gym with Terri. In her present condition she probably wouldn’t be able to have sex without pulling a muscle, anyway.

So why, with all those considerations, was she staring at Greg’s crotch and getting damp and achy? She liked the shape of his legs, too—long and lean. He wore scuffed running shoes that were some off-brand she didn’t recognize, and no socks. His lack of pretense was very appealing, especially after she’d spent so much time with Jared, who was terminally fashion-conscious.

Sex with Greg would mean stripping the act down to its primary motivation—one man, one woman, pure lust. She could guess from Greg’s manner of dress and his general attitude that he wouldn’t care what brand of mineral water she had in the fridge or whether her sheets had a Calvin Klein label.

She didn’t know how she’d fare in the pure-lust department. In her experience, sex had always been more complicated than that. But watching Greg twist his body as he wrestled with the pipe fitting, listening to his grunt of satisfaction when he wrenched the piece free, she certainly felt as if pure lust was a possibility.

As he started to emerge from under the sink, she backed out of the doorway to give him room to maneuver. Here she was, standing conveniently in the bedroom. But even if she chose to start something, she’d have no idea what to say first.

I’ve heard good things about you, Greg. That sounded way too fake, like bad cocktail-party chatter.

I’m between boyfriends right now, Greg. Oh, that was classy. She’d appear to have a spare ten minutes where she could work him in.

I could use a friend, Greg. Better, but not true. She had friends. What she needed was a lover, a lover who would heal her bruised sexual ego.

He emerged from the bathroom holding the rusted pipe wrapped in a rag he must have taken from his toolbox. “Can I leave my tools here for now?”

“Sure.” Now was the time to tell him he didn’t have to rush the job. He could put the pipe down and find something else to do with his hands. She should have asked Terri how she’d handled this awkward moment.

“Okay. Thanks.” He walked past her and out of the bedroom. He was definitely getting away. “Lock up after I leave, though,” he said over his shoulder. “This neighborhood’s pretty safe, but there’s no need to take chances.”

Whatever she needed to say to make him turn around wouldn’t come out of her mouth. “Right.”

“See you in about ten minutes.”

“Okeydokey.” Ten minutes. Time enough to call Terri and get some advice.

The door closed behind him. She walked over and locked it as he’d suggested. He didn’t know that she was very good about locking up. Just ask Jared, who had been caught in the hall without a key.

That doggone Jared—he’d known she was going to the store. She seemed to remember having told him to take a key when he’d left for his run, but maybe she hadn’t. She might have assumed he’d take a key to be on the safe side.

Suzanne was always on the safe side. This whole business with Greg didn’t feel at all safe. She dialed Terri’s number and tapped her foot while waiting for the no-solicitation message to finish. Finally Terri picked up.

“It’s Suzanne,” she said. “Greg is here fixing my sink.”

“Congratulations!”

“It really was leaking, Terri.”

“Sure, sure.” Terri laughed. “Whatever you say, girl. Enjoy.”

“He left to get a replacement part, and he’s coming back. Nothing’s happened yet, and I was wondering how you got from the handyman job to…more personal stuff.”

“Um, well…I said something about how I didn’t understand guys at all, I think. He asked me to elaborate, and we…took it from there.”

“That was a good line.” Suzanne couldn’t imagine coming up with a better one, but she could hardly use Terri’s.

“He’s very sweet,” Terri said. “Don’t angst over this. Just start talking to the guy.”

Anxiety caused her ears to buzz. “You know what? I’m not doing this. I’m not cut out for it.”

“That’s what you said about the gym, and look at you now.”

“Exactly! I’m sore in places I didn’t even know I had places. If you’re telling me that getting involved with Greg is like signing up for the gym, then I’m definitely not doing it.”

Terri laughed again. “You’re such a crybaby. Greg won’t be anything like the gym. He’s—”

The doorbell rang and her chest tightened. “He’s back. Bye, Terri.”

“Go for it, Suzanne!”

She wasn’t going to follow Terri’s advice, she decided as she went to answer the door. The sound of Greg ringing the doorbell had nearly made her faint. She didn’t have the chutzpah to carry this off, and that was that.

3

GREG HAD THOUGHT SUZANNE might change clothes while he was downstairs, but nope, she wore the same serious businesswoman outfit as before. The velvet bow was still in her hair, too, and the tidy pumps remained on her feet. He couldn’t believe she hadn’t kicked them off by now.

There was absolutely nothing in her behavior to suggest she wanted to become more friendly with him. He was almost convinced that she had no interest in talking about her personal life. So then why had she asked his last name?

“Luckily I found what I needed,” he said, holding up a section of pipe.

“Great.” She smiled and stood back so he could come in.

That smile was still full of nerves, he thought. Terri had said something to her—he was sure of it. Apparently Suzanne didn’t know quite what to do with the information.

“This shouldn’t take long,” he said as he walked through the white living room with its touching little Christmas tree and one red pillow. “You’ll be back in business in no time.”

“That’s good.” She followed him.

He tried to interpret why she trailed after him when the job didn’t require her to be there. He concluded that she was working up to a real conversation.

He gestured toward the devil on his way through her bedroom. “Cute little guy.”

“I thought so, too. He was in the kids’ department at Marshall Field’s, and I couldn’t resist him.”

So she’d bought the devil for herself. If someone had given it to her, someone like Jared, he wouldn’t have placed so much stock in it. But then again, she wouldn’t have had to plop it smack-dab in the middle of her bed, either. The devil said something about her, just like the red pillow in the living room.

Guaranteed, he’d found a shy woman who was hiding a delicious naughty streak. His ultimate fantasy. But if she was shy, she might never become bold enough to cross the barrier between them.

That was really for the best, because the longer he hung around Suzanne, the more he realized that he would definitely have trouble maintaining his distance. Suzanne was too close to his ideal woman for comfort. If she indicated the slightest interest he would be setting himself up for a fall.

Once he got to know her better, she’d probably give herself away like all the others had. Sooner or later she’d ask why he hadn’t finished his degree. When she learned he had no interest in that, she’d either end the connection or keep bugging him about it. He wasn’t about to be harassed.

At least now he knew enough not to repeat the mistake he’d made with Amelia. He was probably an idiot for holding out any hope that he’d find a woman who was smart, ambitious and yet willing to let him live as he chose. Still, the hope wouldn’t completely die.

Suzanne lingered in the doorway of the bathroom as he sat down and prepared to wiggle under the sink again. She reminded him of his cat, Matilda, when he’d first found her as a stray two years ago. Matilda had been timid in the beginning, too, but once he’d won her over she’d turned into an awesome cat. He tended to prefer people and animals who were slow to warm up. Although they presented more of a challenge at first, they usually were more steadfast in the end.

Still, he had the impression that he could fix the sink and leave the apartment without making any real contact with this intriguing woman. Once again, he told himself that was a good thing. He was too attracted to her, and that was dangerous.

But what if Suzanne was different? What if she was the one he’d been looking for? On impulse, he broke a longstanding rule. “I haven’t seen your boyfriend around lately,” he said.

Panic flashed in her blue eyes. “Uh, he—”

“Not that it’s any of my business.” He ducked under the sink, silently cursing himself. He might imagine he knew what was going on with Suzanne, but he could be dead wrong. All he really knew was that the pipe under her bathroom sink had rusted out.

No, that wasn’t true, he thought as he applied plumber’s tape to the threads of the new pipe. He’d bet a million dollars that she hadn’t been the one who walked out of the relationship. And, as his experience taught him, now she was doubting herself, doubting her ability to attract and keep a man. Restoring the confidence of women in that position had become his stock-in-trade recently, and he knew that he did it well.

In spite of the risk, he wanted to help Suzanne, but he couldn’t if she didn’t want him to. So far she’d given no indication that she wanted his sympathy and counsel. He inserted the new pipe and tightened it down. At least Suzanne’s sink wouldn’t leak anymore. As for the rest of her problems, she’d have to decide whether she needed his assistance.

Crawling back out from under the sink, he checked to see if she was still standing in the bathroom doorway. She wasn’t. He’d scared her off with that remark about Jared. Served him right for jumping the gun.

He turned on the water valve and tested the pipe coupling for leaks. An interesting word—coupling. He hadn’t enjoyed any personal coupling in months, not since the mess with Rachel.

About a year ago he’d stumbled onto a cozy pub, a place where he’d felt instantly at home. The weekly darts tournament had soon become a cherished ritual for him.

Rachel was one of the regular participants and they’d flirted with each other for months. But they never should have gone to bed together. Deep down he’d known that, but he let a couple of beers and her sexy red dress cloud his judgment. Rachel was good-hearted, and she had an amazing body, but she had no intellectual curiosity whatsoever.

That’s when Greg had learned the hard way that if a women didn’t stimulate his mind she wouldn’t stimulate the rest of him, at least not after the first flush of discovery had passed. Rachel, as forgiving a woman as he could hope to find, didn’t seem to hold it against him. The others had obviously taken their cue from her, so he was still welcomed as part of the group. Because his job could be lonely at times, he needed that connection.

While he put away his tools and closed up the toolbox, he thought about the bind he’d created for himself. The women who attracted him, like Suzanne, weren’t likely to want a guy who was content to remain a handyman for the rest of his life. But women like Rachel, who thought his job was perfectly acceptable, weren’t brainy enough to satisfy him. He’d boxed himself into a corner, and he had no idea what to do about it.

Walking back through Suzanne’s bedroom, he noticed her suit jacket lying neatly across the end of the four-poster bed. He wondered if that was a subtle signal, and his pulse quickened.

Then he blew out a breath, impatient with himself. Talk about overanalyzing the situation. No doubt she’d decided to cook herself some dinner and didn’t want to do it wearing a suit jacket.

Still, he couldn’t quite dismiss the picture of Suzanne in the bedroom taking off her suit jacket while he was only a few feet away working on the pipe under her bathroom sink. Thinking of Suzanne unfastening buttons and arching her back slightly as she slipped out of the jacket, he experienced a distinct stirring in his groin.

That impulse had required two beers and a slinky red dress in Rachel’s case. Apparently, in Suzanne’s case, all he needed was his own fertile imagination and a black suede jacket lying across the end of a bed of roses.

He took another look at the little red devil on her bed. If only Suzanne hadn’t asked him his last name, he’d be convinced that there was nothing on her mind besides the sink. But she had asked, which made him wonder if the two of them were missing a golden opportunity to get better acquainted.

“See you later, buddy,” he said to the devil, although chances were he never would.

He found Suzanne in the kitchen stirring a saucepan full of tomato soup. By eliminating the jacket, she’d raised the seduction value of her outfit about five hundred percent. The cream-colored blouse had long sleeves with covered buttons down the front and at the cuffs. A silky blouse like that draped a woman’s breasts like nothing else he knew of. He could make out a hint of lace beneath the material, a kind of subtlety that had always driven him a little crazy.

Moist heat from the stove had steamed up the small window over the sink, which seemed to close them into their own private world. If they were lovers, he’d put down his toolbox and walk up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist. Then he’d cup her breasts. He swallowed, nearly able to feel the warm silk against his palms. Gradually he’d begin unfastening the buttons…

He cleared his throat. “You’re all set,” he said. “No leaks.”

She glanced up, a wary look in her eyes. “Thank you so much.”

Had she seemed more relaxed, he might have searched for a reason to stay, but she was as uptight as ever. “I’ll be taking off, then.” He started to leave.

“Would you…”

He turned back. “What?”

Her cheeks were pinker than the roses decorating her comforter. “Would you like some soup?”

He hesitated, unsure if the offer was made from courtesy because he’d caught her in the act of preparing it, or if she genuinely wanted him to stay.

“It’s out of a can,” she said. “It’s not homemade or anything. And I’m keeping it simple.” She nodded toward a cheese board holding a wedge of cheddar and a cheese slicer. Next to that was a basketfull of assorted crackers. “Just crackers and cheese to go with it.”

That decided the issue. No way would he turn down her soup and make her think he cared whether it was canned or not, or whether he was picky about having a full meal. “Thanks. That would be great.” He looked around for a place to put his toolbox.

“Over there by the pantry is fine.”

He set the box down, shoving it out of the way as best he could.

“I’ve never seen a wooden toolbox like that,” she said. “Aren’t they usually made out of metal?”

“The newer ones are,” he said. “This one belonged to my dad.” He couldn’t remember any of the tenants commenting on the box, and he was pleased that she had. The toolbox meant a great deal to him, but to most people, it was only a big wooden carrying case. “Can I help with anything?”

She shrugged. “Not much to do but stir.”

The kitchen was small and narrow, with the stove and refrigerator on one side, the sink and cabinets on the other. He wanted to wash his hands before he ate, but if he stood at the sink, he’d be crowding her, invading her space. Still, going back into the bathroom to wash his hands seemed sort of ridiculous.

“I’d like to wash up, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure.” She didn’t look up from her vigorous stirring of the soup.

The space between was barely big enough for two people. He was careful not to brush against her as he moved in front of the sink. In such proximity he could smell that rose fragrance of hers, and when he leaned over to wash his hands, his hip brushed against her. He imagined he heard a quick intake of breath and wondered if she’d felt the same jolt of awareness he had.

“Sorry,” he said. He tilted his pelvis toward the sink.

“Not a problem.”

He was a skilled listener, and he heard the tremble in her voice. “They didn’t build these kitchens with two people in mind.” In reality he thought this was the best kind of kitchen for cooking with your lover. He thought large spaces were highly overrated.