curls, and soft, golden curves.
And that’s the problem.
I don’t want Lisa.
Or Juliette.
Or any other woman.
I want Dee.
And only when I imagine her sweet, strawberry-tinted mouth on me do I start to rise in a hearty salute. Christ. I have an intense moment of déjà vu, and I know I’m not going to be able to do this now. Lisa might be willing to blow me here without a care for what’s going on in my head, but my conscience won’t let me use her as Dee’s stand-in.
I open my eyes and grab Lisa’s wrist. “Your offer is tempting,” I say by way of a polite brush-off. “But we’re neighbors and that makes anything between us potentially complicated.”
Her baby blues flicker in confusion. “You’re turning me down because we’re neighbors?”
“Afraid so.”
“What’s the real issue here, Micky?” Lisa snatches her hand back and sneers, going from sex kitten to woman spurned in a nanosecond. “Can’t get it up?”
No man appreciates a hit below the belt. “Good night, Lisa.”
“Go to hell!”
I’m still lusting over the last woman in the world I should want. My best friend of thirty years is barely speaking to me for hiring her, and now my neighbor thinks I’m impotent—and I’ll probably read all about it on Twitter tomorrow.
With the sudden direction my life has taken in the past day and a half, hell doesn’t seem as though it’s too far a trip.
I SLEEP THROUGH MY ALARM and wake up an hour late, vowing never to drink again, or let Mick loosen the threads of my carefully woven control.
After taking two aspirin and a long, hot shower, I quickly dress and tackle the thirty-minute commute to the office. On my way, I stop at Starbucks and pick up a macchiato for Lena and a strong Italian roast for myself. It’s just after nine thirty when I push through the office door. “I come bearing gifts.”
Lena’s gray eyes, dramatically outlined in purple kohl today, brighten. “Thanks, Dee.” She takes the cup and removes the lid for an appreciative sip. “I was beginning to think my workaholic boss was going to play hooky this morning.”
“Nope, too much to do,” I reply offhandedly and flip through the pink stack of messages. “Did Thomas Jackson return my call?” I ask, hoping to speak to the Franklins’ attorney before I meet with Dwayde at four o’clock.
“Not yet,” Lena says. She takes another sip. “But something arrived for you ten minutes ago.”
Her Cheshire grin makes me wary. “What is it?”
“You’ll see,” Lena croons. “It’s on your desk.”
The instant I set foot in my office, my jaw drops. Seated in a tall crystal vase, sparkling like diamonds beneath the light, are at least three dozen red orchids and golden calla lilies.
“I’d say your old friend is on a mission. And you’re the target. That’s Baccarat crystal. It looked expensive, so I Googled it.” Lena lightly flicks the vase with her black-painted nail and smiles at the resounding ping. “See? The real thing.”
I feel my face warm. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“I’m going,” Lena says, raising her palms in mock surrender. “But just for the record, Dee, you’re blushing.”
“Out!” I point at the door, and Lena, chuckling, beats a hasty retreat.
Once alone, I breathe in the bouquet’s fragrant scent and lift the white envelope from among the vibrant blooms. It takes me a full minute to open the flap and remove the silk parchment card. In the loose, relaxed script I recognize as his, he’s written:
Mick had given me the same flowers, tied with a red ribbon, the day after we’d first made love. We’d told my foster parents it was because I’d helped him ace a math test, but it was an acknowledgment of the evening I’d gladly given myself to him—heart, body and soul.
I stuff the card inside my tote bag to keep Lena from seeing it, but unable to resist, I lean in for another sniff. God, I’m so weak. How many other details from our
And that’s the problem.
I don’t want Lisa.
Or Juliette.
Or any other woman.
I want Dee.
And only when I imagine her sweet, strawberry-tinted mouth on me do I start to rise in a hearty salute. Christ. I have an intense moment of déjà vu, and I know I’m not going to be able to do this now. Lisa might be willing to blow me here without a care for what’s going on in my head, but my conscience won’t let me use her as Dee’s stand-in.
I open my eyes and grab Lisa’s wrist. “Your offer is tempting,” I say by way of a polite brush-off. “But we’re neighbors and that makes anything between us potentially complicated.”
Her baby blues flicker in confusion. “You’re turning me down because we’re neighbors?”
“Afraid so.”
“What’s the real issue here, Micky?” Lisa snatches her hand back and sneers, going from sex kitten to woman spurned in a nanosecond. “Can’t get it up?”
No man appreciates a hit below the belt. “Good night, Lisa.”
“Go to hell!”
I’m still lusting over the last woman in the world I should want. My best friend of thirty years is barely speaking to me for hiring her, and now my neighbor thinks I’m impotent—and I’ll probably read all about it on Twitter tomorrow.
With the sudden direction my life has taken in the past day and a half, hell doesn’t seem as though it’s too far a trip.
I SLEEP THROUGH MY ALARM and wake up an hour late, vowing never to drink again, or let Mick loosen the threads of my carefully woven control.
After taking two aspirin and a long, hot shower, I quickly dress and tackle the thirty-minute commute to the office. On my way, I stop at Starbucks and pick up a macchiato for Lena and a strong Italian roast for myself. It’s just after nine thirty when I push through the office door. “I come bearing gifts.”
Lena’s gray eyes, dramatically outlined in purple kohl today, brighten. “Thanks, Dee.” She takes the cup and removes the lid for an appreciative sip. “I was beginning to think my workaholic boss was going to play hooky this morning.”
“Nope, too much to do,” I reply offhandedly and flip through the pink stack of messages. “Did Thomas Jackson return my call?” I ask, hoping to speak to the Franklins’ attorney before I meet with Dwayde at four o’clock.
“Not yet,” Lena says. She takes another sip. “But something arrived for you ten minutes ago.”
Her Cheshire grin makes me wary. “What is it?”
“You’ll see,” Lena croons. “It’s on your desk.”
The instant I set foot in my office, my jaw drops. Seated in a tall crystal vase, sparkling like diamonds beneath the light, are at least three dozen red orchids and golden calla lilies.
“I’d say your old friend is on a mission. And you’re the target. That’s Baccarat crystal. It looked expensive, so I Googled it.” Lena lightly flicks the vase with her black-painted nail and smiles at the resounding ping. “See? The real thing.”
I feel my face warm. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“I’m going,” Lena says, raising her palms in mock surrender. “But just for the record, Dee, you’re blushing.”
“Out!” I point at the door, and Lena, chuckling, beats a hasty retreat.
Once alone, I breathe in the bouquet’s fragrant scent and lift the white envelope from among the vibrant blooms. It takes me a full minute to open the flap and remove the silk parchment card. In the loose, relaxed script I recognize as his, he’s written:
Mick had given me the same flowers, tied with a red ribbon, the day after we’d first made love. We’d told my foster parents it was because I’d helped him ace a math test, but it was an acknowledgment of the evening I’d gladly given myself to him—heart, body and soul.
I stuff the card inside my tote bag to keep Lena from seeing it, but unable to resist, I lean in for another sniff. God, I’m so weak. How many other details from our
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