THE LONELY GUYS

Copyright © 2004 By Bonnie Williams

All rights reserved

Episode 1
Blake and the Pregnant Paws

"She's pregnant!"

Blake Kinsey stared with nothing less then disbelief at the goddess at his front door.

“My poor Pumpkin is expecting,” she said. In her arms she held a big orange tabby with copper
cat's eyes as big as his grandma's copper frying pans, and a forlorn expression that only a cat
could master.

"Well, don't look at me," he said.

Blake let his eyes drift down and wanted to drool at the sight of her long, lean legs attached to a
shapely body that made his hands ache to touch them, with hair so pale a blonde it made his eyes
hurt. And those eyes—good lord a woman should not be allowed to have eyes that bright and
expressive. There was heat in those eyes when she squinted them directly and him and raised an
elegant eyebrow when she caught him giving her the once-over. Busted.

"You do own a huge silvery-gray cat, right?"

The goddess needed an attitude adjustment, but those eyes were a turn-on, for sure. Blake shifted
his stance—his jeans were getting a little uncomfortable in the crouch area.

"Jerry! I think it's for you, pal," Blake shouted, turning to find the guilty cat bathing blissfully in
the sun on the window seat.

"What I want to know is what do you plan to do about it?"

"Well, uh, what exactly do you want me to do about it?"

"He's your cat, isn't he?"

"And what, exactly, should I do? Pay kitten support? I don't think Jerry's disability payments can
support a whole litter."

"Very funny, wise guy. I expect you to have him neutered, that's what."

Blake placed both hands to a naked chest against his heart. "Lady, have a heart. The guy is blind
already and you want to take away his family jewels too? That's downright cruel." As angry as
she was, whoever she was, he wanted to kiss her. Spark in a woman's eyes nearly always did him
in.

"Well, then," she said as she shifted poor Pumpkin under one arm and haughtily brushed a
gleaming strand of hair off her shoulder with the other. "Tell him to keep his family jewels on his
side of the fence."

"Miss...I'm sorry, who are you?"

"I'm Emma Sherwood. I live down the block," she said, placing her adorable nose in the air.

"Ah, Miss Sherwood. You must have just moved here. I'd have remembered if a beautiful
woman lived in the neighborhood."

"Two months ago." He thought he heard her mutter something about the male species, but he
wasn't sure.

He stepped out of the door—purposely crowding her personal space.

"I'm Blake Kinsey." Lord, she smelled nice too. All flowery and female.
"Look, Miss Sherwood, Jerry's been blind since birth. He couldn't possibly impregnated
Pumpkin. He never leaves his own yard."

"I saw him," she shifted poor Pumpkin under one arm to gesture with the other hand. "You
know—"

"No. What?" He inched in a little closer and noticed her pupils turn dark.

"He was on top of her," she whispered while sneering at him.

"Oh, well, I guess the females just can't help themselves. Runs in the family, you know." He
winked at her.

She offered him a lady-like snort. Very cute.

"And females visit him—often. He really works the poor-me angle on 'em. Never fails."

"I see. So, what do you do, Mr. Kinsey, besides walk around shirtless while your pets impregnate
the females? Are you an exotic dancer or something? You've certainly got the, um—"

"Yeah?" he asked, encouraged at the way her eyes stared at his chest and then lower before
snapping her gaze back up to his eyes.

"—attitude for it." She wrinkled her cute nose as she said it. "Or maybe you're involved in some
other tasteless form of employment where only a man who thinks he's God's gift to women is
willing to work." Her eyes went wide as she slapped her palm to her mouth as if she wasn't
accustomed to bantering with men.
Blake rubbed absently at his chest. "Why?" he grinned. "Are you looking to hire one? A 'God's
gift to women' that is."

"No! Oh, never mind. I should never have asked."

Blake leaned his raised arm against one paint-chipped post on the edge of the patio and ducked
his head as if to kiss her. She backed up an inch. Oh, this was fun. "Well, how about dinner
instead?"

She glared at him. A sexy glare, but still a glare. He gave her a well-practiced Kinsey grin when
she said, "No thanks. With my luck you'd stiff me with the bill."

"Mornin', Blake! Package for ya." Fred, their mail carrier, yanked Blake from his lust-filled
thoughts. "It's in your dad's name but I think you can sign for it."

"Thanks, Fred."

"Ya know, those Azaleas aren't lookin' very good these days, son."
"They're rose bushes, Fred."

"Oh. Right."

Blake took the package and signed it off then turned back to his lovely new neighbor who was
turning to leave. "Look, Miss Sherwood," he said as he gently took her arm to stop her from
leaving. "Let me know when Pumpkin has her babies. You can bring her and the newborns here.
I work nights, so I can watch them while you're at work. My brother, Vinn, studies during
the day so he can take over when I can't."

He arched his brows when she didn't respond. "I think that should make up for the fact that Jerry
just can't say 'no' to females who wander into his yard."

She looked up at him then. Really looked. Blake tried to hide the quirk of a smile on his lips. If
he read her right, and he usually could read women, there was real interest in her eyes. Oh, he
liked her eyes.

She nodded. "Okay, that sounds fine." She skirted away as if a fire was under her rear. A nice
rear too.

Women. He loved them but he could never make sense out of a single one. He looked at the over-
night delivery package and stared at the address label with his father's name on it.

Joseph Kinsey. Well, Joe Kinsey hadn't bothered to come home in three years and there was little
chance of him showing up for a delivery.

Blake opened the package just in case it involved some idiotic lien against the house or anything
else unexpected or unpleasant. What the letter said wasn't either of those things. In fact, he was
going to need a search party to track down the old man—and a shot of whiskey to boot.

"Hey Blake," his brother Vinn shouted. "Have you seen Page around? We've got a broken sink
pipe in one of the upstairs bathrooms."

Blake stared at his brother.

"What that?" Vinn took the letter from him. "Looks like you've seen a ghost, or something."

"Just read it."

"'Congratulation, Mr. Kinsey,'" Vinn read. "'You are this years winner for the one million dollar
sweepstakes.' Hot damn! We're rich."
Episode 2
Emma and the Gossip Queen

"Attractive men are nothing but trou—ble."

Emma glanced up from Missy Clark’s nails as the woman said the word "trouble" as two
words. "Not that I don’t agree with you, but why would you said that?" she asked.

"Because every hot guy I ever had the misfortune to date either kept picking at their perfectly
white teeth right there at the table, talk non-stop about his boring career, or worse, ask me out
again."

Missy, as Emma understood, was a bitter, ex-trophy wife with only two goals in life: spend all
her ex-husband’s money, and gossip. One thing Emma was never in short supply of was gossip.
An added benefit to working in the most popular salon in town.

"As if the only qualifications I needed for a hot date," Missy continued, "were my breasts and the
right mascara. And then there’s those Kinsey brothers." Missy groaned and rolled her eyes.
"They’re in a completely different ball field. Why, I even heard that—"

"The Kinseys?" Emma interrupted before thinking. The last thing she wanted to think about was
Blake Kinsey. All six-foot four of him. Darn it. The man was more of an immense, aggravating
Herculean. All sexy chested, low riding jeans of him. Emma sighed hard and heavy. She’d just
finally gotten the irritating man out of her head until Missy started in. Her mother would have
called him discourteous. Shouldn’t a guy have the decency to put on a shirt before answering the
front door? And he kept moving in on her, crowding her, brushing his hip against her, his arm
casually brushing the side of her breast—then that outrageous suggestion to go to dinner. Emma
was more annoyed than alarmed and that’s what scared her—that’s why she’d bolted without so
much as a finial dig to his masculinity. But then he did offer to watch Pumpkin and her babies
after she gave birth. So, he must have some redeemable qualities. Very little, but some.

Definitely not someone she’d take home to meet her parents. But then if her mother had anything
to do with it, she’d have Emma married off to someone stodgy like Peter Ridgeway. Polished,
wealthy, and utterly boring.

Emma suddenly had a vision of Blake Kinsey kissing her. Not the brotherly peck that Peter
always gave her, but a hard deep bone melting kind. Oh dear, this would never do. She felt
herself becoming aroused just from fantasizing about a kiss.

"Yes." She leaned over the linoleum table to whisper, "I heard from a friend of a cousin of mine
that those boys are..." she placed her newly manicure hand to her mouth in secret. "They’re
cursed."

"Cursed? Sounds like an old wives tale."

"Shh. Yes, cursed in the worst way."

What? Where they endowed with tiny penises, she wanted to ask, but bit down on a smirk and
kept her mouth shut. Oh—maybe they were so huge that— Agh, what was wrong with her? She
suddenly wanted to know what Blake’s penis looked like!

"You, know? Incapable of satisfying a woman—sexually."

"Uh. Imagine that." More than likely due to male selfishness, she thought.

Missy left humming after she gave Emma a generous tip—a bigger load of information in her
head then she’d have liked. But Missy was apparently very happy to be the first to offer Emma
the town gossip. The Kinsey brothers apparently had a notorious history going all the way back
to their grandfather’s time.

She blew the strand of hair that fell over her eyes and thumbed through her appointment book.
"Rosie, did my afternoon appointment call in and cancel?" Emma leased the manicurist station at
the salon, but Rosie owned the salon.

"Nope. She called this morning and had to change her time. Since you weren’t coming in until
later, I scheduled her with Michelle."

"Oh." That was odd. This was the third schedule change this week. At this rate, she’d never save
enough money for her own shop. "Well, I’m going to get some coffee, then," she said as she
heard the front door to the shop chime.

Emma felt woefully clueless about the men in this town. She definitely needed to get out more.
"And Blake Kinsey’s offer for dinner is starting to look pre—tty good," she mumbled.

"I’m glad to hear that," said a familiar husky, intensely sensual voice.

Oh, no. Emma reluctantly looked up and found Blake Kinsey smiling broadly as he stood filling
the doorway to the salon. "What are you doing here," she said in a harsh whispered. The At least
he was wearing a shirt. "And how on earth did you know where to find me?"

He took two slow long strides over to her station and gazed down at her. "Greenrich is a small
town, honey." He leaned in, making her think he might kiss her. Instead he whispered in her ear,
"And you’re easy to spot."

Emma crossed her arms, attempting to hide her aroused, mutinous nipples. It didn’t work. The
cad smirked and raised an eyebrow as his eyes dipped down to her cleavage and back up again.
Oh, she was ready for battle.

Blake reached into his jeans pocket and handed her a folded piece of paper, his knuckles grazed
her crossed arms, as if coxing her to relax. Aghast by her body’s response, her arms fell to her
sides, and the outrageous man slipped the paper into her palm. He brought her hand to his mouth,
kissed the inside of her wrist, holding it there a moment longer then she’d consider polite,
grinned, then dropped her hand. Blake turned on his heel and left—leaving Emma nearly
catatonic in the middle of the salon floor with her heart fluttering and nerve ending dancing.

"Yeowza," Rosie said. "Hard to believe that guy’s impotent. The way he was looking at you, his
eyes could’ve started a fire."

"Yeah," she said stupidly. Remembering the paper in her hand, she unfolded it. Inside it said, I
know you want me. When you’re ready to admit it, call me. Yours, B.

"Yeah. In your dreams, Kinsey."

And maybe in her own as well.

Episode 3
The Male Room

He should never have thrown her the gauntlet.

The ball was torturously in Emma's court. Blake placed the dumbbells back into the rack, then
picked up a towel to wipe the sweat from his face and neck. Now he had to wait around like an
ass until Emma decided to show up at his door again. Only this time she'd be there to beg him to
make love to her.
Yeah right, dumbass, he thought. Dream on.

Blake's muscles ached. He'd extended his workouts the last few days in an attempt to work off
some sexual energy.

It hadn't worked.

It had also been three days. Three long, drawn out, agonizing days and still she was defiantly
avoiding him. But, damn it, he wanted to know more about her—the woman who'd managed to
mess with his mind—and his ego. It wasn't difficult to uncover information about your neighbors
when you lived in a small town like Greenrich.

Word always got around—and Emma worked in a salon after all. Soon, Blake discovered she
had an older brother, and her parents owned a realty business across town. Unfortunately, he
hadn't learned more about the lady herself.

Blake did see her several times during these three days, usually while he was walking to his truck
from Farmers Market. He'd be casually passing by the salon and their eyes would meet through
the front window for a few heated seconds.

He knew he was in trouble when he wondered what kind of music she listened to or if she liked
slowing dancing in dark. Holy hell, he really needed to give himself a good swift kick in the
backside. Hadn't he learned his lesson about women? He was looking for a fun, attractive,
athletically built woman who could go toe-to-toe with him in and out of bed. Someone to have a
little fun with then walk away when the affair was over without hurt feelings or
misunderstandings. He was not interested in getting tangled up with some prissy little vixen
disguised as a fairy princess.

It really pissed him off—this gamut of perplexing emotions. He should have been worried about
getting his job back at the police force, or forming a plan to track down his old man. Instead, he
was fighting these relentless thoughts of emerald-green eyes and pale shoulders. It made a guy
want to ram his fist through a wall—he just couldn't afford the repair job if he did.

"So, what are we going to do about Dad?" he heard Vinn ask. Vinn and his buddy, John Murphy,
were spotting each other at the bench press. It clanked as Vinn placed the bar on the rack as
Bruce Springsteen sang about a hungry heart.

Blake had completed more reps today than he had in weeks. He thought if he worked his body
harder, he'd stop thinking about Emma and her shocked face and aroused nipples. That's all he
needed was a boner while in a room full of guys. He'd get flack for that from now until
Christmas.

This was their morning ritual. Though Conroy, Blake's oldest brother, was on an extended
business trip, the workout room for the four of them was like the dinner table for most families.
The workout room used to be in the basement until there was more equipment then basement, so
they’d moved the exercise equipment in the largest room in the house. And that was the library.
It smelled of sweat, musty books, and John Murphy's cologne. The treadmill hummed and the
floorboards creaked as his brother, Dillion, jogged and talked at the same time.

"Yo—earth to Blake."

"Huh? Oh. What?"

"Dork," Vinn muttered. "He's been like this for days. Ever since the babe from across the street
turned him down flat on his ass."

"No way? A hot babe actually broke your one hundred percent track record, Blake? Damn, that's
gotta hurt," John said.

Jerry's furry head straightened from his tongue bath as if he could see them from their voices. He
certainly wasn't worried about how to get a girl's attention. The cat had mastered animal
magnetism at birth.

Blake shrugged as he whipped a towel across his sweat-streaked face. "Oh, she's just afraid of
her strong attraction to my hot bod and cravings for my magical touch," he said in an
exaggerated fake French accent while wriggling his fingers.

Vinn snorted and shook his head.

"Hey, you guys are breaking my heart, but we need a plan," Dillion said. "What are we going to
do about Dad? We have to find him, you know, hire a private investigator or something."

"Are you going to pay for a PI?" Blake asked.

"Can't you guys hire someone on a percentage of the take?" John asked. "You know, like a
lawyer after you win a case."

They all exchanged looks. Damn. Blake wished Conroy were here. His brother was better at this
legal crap. Blake let out an exaggerated sigh and rubbed his eyes. He needed to think about this.
He tilted a bottle of water to his lips and gulped several generous swallows before he answered.
Then, with hesitation, Blake nodded his head. "Fine. I'll start researching for a missing person
specialist tomorrow." He pointed a brotherly index finger to Dillion, then to Vinn. "But I'm not
doing all the foot work. You bozos have to help me."

Vinn muttered something about mid-terms, and Dillion shrugged as he continued to jog. The idea
of a million dollars normally wouldn't put dollars signs in Blake's eyes, but there was Vinn's
college tuition to consider. Plus, their beloved family home that Great-grandpa Kinsey built
nearly a century ago was in desperate needed of—everything. Sometimes he was afraid to
breathe for fear of the walls crumbling around him.

Then Blake remembered Emma and her perfectly perky nipples and a promise in her eyes.
It was funny, Blake thought, that the only thing that could pull his thoughts away from his job
situation and family problems were a pair of eyes and a snotty attitude from his shapely
neighbor. Not to mention this unrelenting erection he was constantly fighting. He really, really
needed to clear his head. "I'm going out for a run."

Episode 4
The Domestic Goddess

Determined to shake off the sexual tension rushing through his mind and body, Blake jogged for
several miles before he realized it wasn't helping. So he turned back for home. Merciless
thoughts continued to fill his head. For godsakes, he wasn't a randy teenager with raging
hormones. He was a man—a man who knew his own mind. It was humiliating to be overcome
by such basic physical urges. That had never happened before, even when he was a teenager.
This was all her fault.

While attempting to consider his options for finding his father, visions of Emma tossing her hair
across her shoulder, boldly meeting his unspoken challenge with her eyes, subtly entered his
thoughts. Soon he was wondering which townhouse was hers, what she was doing tonight, if she
was lonely... or if she had a guy in her life. Women like her didn't stay single, did they?
Blake found himself looking at townhouses from the sidewalk as he slowed his jog down to a
brisk walk. But each place seemed to blend into the next. Until...

"Sweet Jesus!" Blake saw, through slightly parted vertical blinds, Emma in her living room
singing loudly to some god-awful opera nonsense, vacuuming—naked!

A new and unexpected heat surged through him that he was unprepared for, nailing his feet to the
concrete—unable to do anything except stare. His body responded so sharply that he couldn't
look away.

Emma must have sensed him there. She abruptly stopped vacuuming, turned her head, then
seemingly too startled to offer an objection or run to the window to close the gap in the blinds—
she simply met his shamelessly-staring eyes without a flinch. She was like the proverbial deer in
the headlight stare. But then, just as quickly, every delectably exposed curve of her body spoke
of defiance, and the Emma he knew was back. And he smiled to himself, finding an oddly
perverse pleasure at the challenge in her expression when she stumbled to the window to adjust
the blinds to a more appropriate closed position.

Blake chuckled to himself as he walked up to her front porch. He didn't have to knock on the
door. Emma, now clad in a silky light-green robe, threw open her front door. In a gesture of
defiance, she lifted her chin as she boldly met his grinning gaze.

"Enjoying yourself?" she asked as her eyes shot daggers at him.

"Hi, Tinkerbell," he said, still grinning like a fool—but he didn't care. He thought for a second
that he must look a disheveled mess, all sweaty, and smelling like a locker room—but what the
hell. Apparently the CD had ended, because gratefully, the music had stopped.

"You are the most irritating man I've ever met," she said. "You know that?"

"Yeah. I get that a lot." Well, at least she didn't slam the door in his face. This was promising.
Though she was still glaring at him, he maneuvered himself inside her front door before she
could object. "And, yes, I am enjoying myself. Thank you."

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked as she closed the door and leaned heavily against it.

She tugged her robe tighter together, then crossed her arms.

"Taking you up on your offer. Wow, something smells great! What's on the menu?"

"Spaghetti. And I didn't offer you anything."

"Yes, you did. That naked serenade was as bold an offer as I've ever seen."

"My clothes are in the dryer, and I was in a hurry."

"Uh huh."
She rolled her eyes and let out a breath. "I was taking a shower and my clothes fell in a puddle
on the bathroom floor. So I threw them in the dryer while I finished getting ready for company."

"Company?"

She shrugged. "Family. My parents. Not that it's any of your business."

"Great," he said. "I'd love to meet your parents."

She shifted to one delicate foot as she crossed the other over her ankle. "You're not on the guest
list, Blake."

"Mmm, I like the way my name sounds on your lips." He pressed his weight against the door by
placing his palms on either side of her head, trapping her between his body and the front door.

"You know, I could be—on the guest list I mean," he said, lowering his voice to a husky whisper
as his lips came teasingly close to hers. He wasn't going to kiss her—yet. And he thought he was
using incredible restraint.

Astonished, Blake's eyes went wide when she pulled his head down and crushed her mouth to
his. So much for restraint. Apparently the lady had other ideas.
The touch of her lips on his sent electric impulses from his lips all the way down to his crotch.
He returned her kiss as he smothered her mouth with desperate, demanding mastery. At least he'd
like to think he was practiced. He took her mouth with all the savage intensity that had been
building since she first arrived at his front door that day, forcing her lips open with the thrusting
of his forceful tongue. Oh, she tasted sweet—just as he knew she would. A sweet little whimper
sounded from her throat and he answered with more of his own devouring urgent kisses.

Emma placed her palms against his chest, caressed and teased with her small hands. Shocked by
her eager response to his earlier challenge, Blake felt his knees weaken at the unexpected
urgency he sensed from her. But she'd trumped him and he was trapped by the pleasure-filled
moans his touch roused from her. And as he roused her passion, his own grew even stronger.

Blake pulled her from the door and backed her against the arm of the sofa. They both fell
headlong onto the cushions as he fell atop her soft body. Emma's robe fell silkily apart, revealing
taut pink nipples and firm tantalizing breasts. Her hips arched up where his body touched hers,
painfully teasing his now aching hard-on—sinking his weight between her spread thighs. His
hands teased and searched one erect nipple as she held him fast against her, drawing his face to
hers in a renewed embrace. Each kiss she offered was filled with more heat than the last.

Her breasts were exactly as he'd expected. Perky, pink and tempting as hell. The smells in her
home were driving him into insanity. The meal she had simmering in the kitchen, the scented
candles glimmering in her living room, and her freshly washed hair. He gave her one last hot,
wet, and deepened kiss—one he didn't want her to soon forget— before he pulled back and
looked into her sparklingly green eyes. He closed his own eyes a moment, tried to regain his
breath. "I want you to know how much restraint I'm showing you right now," he said as he
brushed his lips across her.

"W--what?" Her breath felt warm against his cheek. Soon, her brow wrinkle as she looked up at
him. Blake wasn't sure if her frown was from his comment or her own surprising and passionate
behavior. He fought to keep his grin to himself.

He caressed her cheek and gently kissed her again before he said, "I won't take advantage of your
state of undress, despite how much I want to make love to you, here on this couch. Your
beautiful body and invitation in your eyes are driving me close to the edge." Her confused frown
grew angry. But before she could offer him a retort, he placed a finger to her lips. "I prefer to
date women before I take them to bed."

A menacing knock at the door erupted Blake from his seduction.

"Emma?" The knock became more persistent.

"Oh, God! It's my parents—" She shoved at his chest. "Get off me."

Reluctantly, he released her and stood up from the sofa. "Emma, I—"

"What are you doing? You have to leave. Now! No—not out the front door..." She forced him
toward the kitchen. "Out the back door, please," she whispered harshly.

"No way. I'm not going to sneak away like—"

"Yes. You are. I don’t want to explain to my parents why a strange man is in my home."

"I'm not strange. I'm your neighbor that stopped by to help you...move your sofa."

"Clever, but no." Emma continued to shove at his back. Blake couldn't help the chuckle escape
his chest. He was actually enjoying her distress.

He clasped her arms firmly against her sides to keep her from trying to shove him out the door
like some lovelorn Romeo. "Okay, honey. I'll leave your way if—"

"Emma! Are you there?" asked a female voiced which must have been her mother.

"Please, Blake. I can't handle both you and my mother at the same time." Her eyes were pleading
with him. The look was so disarming he nearly left without getting the promise he wanted from
her.

He kissed her hard and brief while he still held her arms down. "Have dinner with me.
Tomorrow. I'll pick you up at seven."

"I thought I'd made it clear I didn't want to have dinner with you."
"Yeah. But that was before I'd seen you naked. Dinner just seems like a technicality now."

She closed her eyes as her mother continued to shout from the front door. "Fine. Whatever.
Tomorrow," she said and he released her.

Blake stepped through the back door—whistling to himself.

If he was a fool, he was a damn happy one.

Episode 5
Emma's Recipe for Disaster

"Darling, I'd hardly consider a silk night robe appropriate attire for a family dinner," Emma's
mother said, in her typical reproachful tone that managed to dig underneath Emma's skin. "Your
brother and his girlfriend will be here soon. Please, go change. Quickly."

"It's good to see you too, Mama," Emma's replied as diplomatic as possible as she kissed her
mother on a perfectly powdered cheek, then embraced her father. "Hi, Daddy."

"Hi, baby. How's my little girl?"

"A little frazzled. But I'll bore you will the details during dinner." Her father smiled and
squeezed her in a sweet, all-over bear hug. The same way he'd hugged her since she was a little
girl. He still smelled of Dial soap and Old Spice, just as she remembered. Despite the numerous
after-shaves and designer colognes her mother bought for him, he was a man of ritualistic habits.

The loud dryer buzzer sounded. Finally, her clothes were dry and she wouldn't have to hear
another retort from her mother. With a deep sigh of relief she said, "Why don't you both get
comfortable while I change. Daddy, there's plenty of Ginger Ale in the fridge and I just made
iced tea. Help yourselves." As Emma opened the dryer for her stretch chinos and white cotton
blouse, she heard the front door open to a riot of noise indicating her brother and his flavor-of-
the-week girl had arrived.

An unpleasant yapping greeted Emma when she walked into her living room. She groaned when
she saw a woman holding a large handbag with a small brown snout poking out of it. The snout
was attached to large bat-like ears. It looked like a rat with radar dishes on its head. But the
slinky brunette didn't look like that rat-carrying type.

"Hey, shortcake. What's shakin'?"

"Hi, Chad." Emma hugged her brother and eyed the woman speculatively. "Who's your friend?"
"Hello, I'm Bianca." Her voice had a practiced bedroom tone that annoyed Emma, but she
maintained her smile for her brother's sake. "And this is my Truffles. Isn't he the sweetest thing?"
She pulled out the whatever-it-was out of her bag. The only thing Emma knew for certain was
that it was brown with spiky hair that stuck out like a porcupine and yapped uncontrollably.

"Ah, what exactly is Truffles?" Emma asked trying to remain courteous.

Bianca gave a sweetly faked laugh and said, "Silly, my Truffles is chestnut Chihuahua puppy."
She let the little thing-whatever down and it immediately did the doggy-inspection of sticking its
nose into the carpet and furniture.

"I see." That was puppy? "Well, I hope Truffles likes cats, because my Pumpkin can be a little
aggressive with strangers." Nothing stranger than the Truffle-rat.

"Cats?" Bianca's face went a bit pale.

"Well, shall we sit for dinner, Emma?" her mother interjected.

"Yes, please. It should be ready. Everyone, please help yourself to salad while I check the pasta
noodles."

"Don't you have any Mexican food? I really like tacos," Bianca said.

"Ah, no. We only have Italian cuisine today. Sorry," Emma said, trying to keep from clenching
her teeth into tiny pieces. She gave her brother and accusatory look. Chad just gave her an odd
smile and shrugged as if to say, "Hey, it doesn't take brains to be great in the sack." Emma
figured if Bianca didn't like her cooking, she could always feed her dinner to the dog.

Emma sighed when she saw her dad waiting for everyone to be seated. He looked so big seated
at her modest dining table... and looking bored with the whole family dynamics.

The moment everyone settled at the dining table, Pumpkin decided to grace the room with her
presence.

"Uh oh," Chad mumbled.

"What?" Emma asked, then nearly had a panic attack when Truffles sprinted right for Pumpkin's
plump tabby butt.

Pumpkin jumped three feet in the air, then hissed a nasty kitty curse on her back way down.

"That cat better not hurt my poor Truffer-waffer," Bianca cried while Truffles yapped and barked
until Pumpkin ran for cover with her fur puffed out like a blowfish.

Emma wanted to tell Bianca to stuff it until—

"Oh, no—Pumpkin, my sofa—"

Pumpkin spent the rest of the evening locked in the bedroom.

After everyone was finished with their meal, Emma's mother decided it was time for the "Why
are you wasting your life" routine.

"Emma, your father and I only want what's best. Working on people's hands and feet will hardly
pay for a modest living, much less give you the freedom of buying a home."

"Mom, I like being a manicurist. It makes me happy. Besides, when I open my own shop, I'll be
able to earn a better living." Emma looked over at her father for support. "Dad, please tell me
you support my decision."

Her father placed her hands between his two larger ones. "I do support you. And I do agree you
should be running your own shop. But I wish you'd reconsider my offer to help you finance your
start-up costs."

"No," Emma shook her head. This also was an old argument. "I need to do this on my own or it
won't mean anything."

"But, darling," her mother continued, "How can you have a social life while you work all those
hours at the salon."

"I have a social life."

Her brother snorted. "Right, shortcake. When was the last time you went on a date?" Leave it to
Chad to cut right to the chase.

"As a matter of fact, I have a date for tomorrow night."

"That's wonderful, darling. Who is he? When can we meet him?"

"His name is Blake Kinsey."

"You're kidding, right," Chad asked. "Kinsey who lives in that beat-up old Greene and Greene
house?"

"Yes. You have a problem with that," Emma asked as she eyeballed Chad's girlfriend who
ignored everyone as she cooed to her precious rat-dog while he licked the butter off a dinner roll
from Bianca's plate.

"Well, there's the fact that he got fired from the local police department. Now he works as a
bouncer at some night club uptown," Chad said. "Then there's the curse—"
Emma rolled her eyes. "Just some nonsense about the 'bedroom habits' of the brothers. Probably
a bunch of hooey if you ask me." She wasn't about to discuss the Kinseys' supposed sex issues in
front of her parents.

"It's a disgrace," her mother said. "Four grown men, never married, living alone in that old
house."

"Mom, please, don't start," Emma pleaded.

"The Historical Society should evict them on the grounds of neglect."

"Talk about a house full of lo-sers," Chad muttered.

"Geez. You two make them sound like a bunch of tobacco spitting, shotgun toting hillbillies,"
she said. "They own the house. It's their business what they do with it."

"I just think you should reconsider your choice of men, that's all," he said.
Yeah, and your girlfriend has the IQ of a dung beetle.

"Stay away from those boys," her mother said.

"Why? They seem like okay guys." Emma was really starting to feel defensive. She had her own
reservation about Blake, and she certainly wasn't going to give her family even a flicker of doubt
about him.

But then she remembered how he looked at her—the way those devastating eyes caught her
through the window...

Well, duh! She was naked for heaven sakes.

It was really stupid of her not to check the blinds before she did her nudie vacuuming routine.
But Emma wasn't entirely sure she was sorry for the faux pas. She wasn't an exhibitionist by any
means, but the heat in Blake's eyes as he watched was so powerfully magnetic. Oh, and then the
way he felt against her skin, all hard and male. It had been too long since she'd felt a man against
her.

Chad leaned closer to Emma to whisper in her ear. "If you date one of them, you can say adios to
your love life. Word has it they're as flaccid as overcooked noodles."

Agh, she really didn't want to have this conversation with her overprotective brother. "Well,
maybe sex isn't as high a priority like it is to some oversexed bullies."

"Brat." Chad squinted his eyes at her and tweaked her nose as if she was still nine.

"My I use your bathroom?" Bianca asked. Truffles was cradled in her arms like a baby.
"Sure. First door down the hall."
"Thanks." The dog went with her.

"Gee Chad," Emma teased, "Does she take the dog to bed with you too?" ~

Episode 6
Vinn's Favorite Pipe Fitter

"Wow, what's with the fancy threads, Blake?" Astonished, Vinn looked at his brother's tailored
pants and shiny black loafers and feared Blake had been replaced by an evil doppelganger.

"I have a date tonight, smart ass."

"Since when do you iron shirts for a date?" At least Vinn thought that thing was an iron, but then
he hadn't seen an iron since Mom hid it from Dillion.

"Are you in love, or something?" Vinn's stomach twisted as he imagined Blake married to one of
his former flames and living here under his roof.

"None of your damn business," Blake said, then stopped ironing and looked at him with a
speculative glance and added, "Since you have to know—and I know you'll bug the shit out of
me until I tell you—she thinks I'm an irritating man." He grinned. "I plan to prove her wrong."

Oh, this is bad. This is really, really bad. Vinn ran his palm across the back of his neck, rubbing
at the kinks that were forming. Their life was just fine the way it was. He loved women—as long
as they didn't live with him. A guy's place should be—like a guy. It should be his little own
private domain with no frills or smelly bathroom soap or fancy kitchen wear. Just guy stuff.
Guys didn't care if you never cleaned the toilet or eat off paper plates and plastic forks. A girl
living here would mess things up! "You're not going to marry her are you?" He heard the
apprehension in his own voice.

"Vinn—knock it off. It's just a first date, okay. Will you go bug Dillion for a while?"

"He's not here."

"Where the hell is he?" Blake snarled at Vinn as if it was his fault. "It's his turn to do the grocery
shopping."

"He went to some art show with his editor." Vinn scrunched his face at Blake.

"Can't you do the shopping this time? If Dillion goes we'll all end up eating goat cheese and
alfalfa sprouts for a week."

"Man cannot live on Cap'n Crunch and Snickers bars alone, Grasshopper."
"Yeah, but man would be a lot happier."

"If you're so picky why don't you go?" Blake asked as he spread a layer of starch to his shirt.

"Because I did it last week. Oh, man, Blake. Starch? You've got it bad."

"Hey! Is anybody here?" A female voice shouted from downstairs. Vinn smiled and felt his
blood pressure increase a couple of notches.

He left Blake and his dating problem and sprinted to the top of the stairs to look down at the
foyer. He found Page Murphy staring up at him. "Hey, there beautiful," he said finding himself
grinning like an idiot at her usual worn-out overalls and cute-as-hell pink t-shirt.

"Who's the one that's got it bad?" Blake yelled from his bedroom.

"Shut up, man," Vinn warned, then felt like an ass when his cheeks heated. He tried to ignore
Blake's snicker when he walked down the stairs to greet Page's skeptical expression.

"Heard you got another leaky sink pipe," she said.

"Holy hell, Vinn! It's Niagara Falls in here—" Blake shouted.

Page and Vinn look up at the direction of the shouting from upstairs.

"Yep, just follow the voice from above, my lovely pipe fitter." Vinn threw his arm casually
around Page's shoulders and led her up the stairs.

"Does my brother know you're trying to make the moves on his sister, slick?" she asked.

"What can I say? John's a man of the modern world. He believes a woman should make her own
choices," Vinn said.

"Uh huh."

As they entered the flood bathroom, Jerry ran out with dripping wet fur soaked and matted into
gray spikes.

"I'm surprised Jerry doesn't ram his head into everything," Page said. They were both grabbing
for towels to mop up the mess before Blake electrocuted himself with the old leave-it-to-Beaver
iron.

"Jerry's memorized this place from his whiskers. That's why we can't move any furniture or he
might hurt himself."

Blake walked into the bathroom as he was tucking in his shirt. "Look I'm sorry I can't stay. Page
can you handle this mess?"
"No problem, Blake."

"Great. Good. Thanks."

"Sure." Blake turn to leave. Both Page and Vinn held in their smirks. On the back of Blake's shirt
was an enormous scorch mark.

"What's with him?" she whispered.

"Don't mind him. He's got a hot date tonight."

"Really? Huh, that's kind of unexpected," she mumbled.

"What's that supposed to mean," Vinn asked.

"Uh, nothing. Never mind."

"Yeah, well apparently she's got him in tailspin," Vinn said as he sat on the side of the tub and
watched Page do her thing. There was an air of efficiency about her that fascinated him. The
sight her in action always got his juices flowing. "She thinks he's irritating, and it's driving him
nuts." Vinn thought about it for a minute. "In fact, he's been acting kind of funny lately."

Vinn's gaze slowly slid downward, lazily appraising her. Hey, he was a guy. He couldn't help it.

"He's not irritating. Bossy, maybe. You're the one that's irritating. Now go shut off the water
pressure so I can work."

"Oh, I just love a woman in command. It turns me on."

"Vinn, the wind blowing in your pants would turn you on," she said.

"Baby, you really know how to hurt a guy," he said. Then she gave him that look. The one that
said, "I'm not sure if I what to kiss you or slug you in the gut." Vinn didn't want to push his luck
so he went downstairs.

The doorbell rang just as he was about to walk out the back. He hoped it wasn't someone he
knew. He didn't want to feel obligated to invite them in. As soon as Blake left, Vinn and Page
would be all alone—hoo ya!

He walked back through the living room to the foyer. Jerry was in his usual window seat licking
the water off his fur. "I wish we could train you to answer the door, Jerry."

Jerry looked up with sightless eyes in Vinn's direction, sniffed the air, then went back to his
grooming.
Vinn walked over to him and pet his damp silvery-gray head. "I think I'm wearing her down,
Jerry. There's just something about a woman who can use a wrench, you know? Yep, Jer, pretty
soon, Page is going to realize she can't live without me. You can only ignore sexual tension for
long."

Jerry purred while he urged Vinn to continue petting.

"I know what you're thinking. You're thinking she's too old for me, but Jer old buddy, three years
between two people means nothing where passion is concerned. But you know all about animal
magnetism, don't you? Yeah, you don't have to worry about girl problems, pal. You just give
them a pitiful look and they come running."

Jerry yawned like a lion with his pink tongue curling up and his pointy teeth fully exposed. He
didn't have a single kitty care in the world.

The person at the door became impatient and opted for knocking instead. "Yes! I'm coming. I'm
coming." He opened the door to a petite older woman, in a dark gray suit with a crisp white
pinstriped shirt. Her shortly cut hair was gray too, making her look like an actor in a black and
white movie. The hairs at the back of his neck prickled. "Can I help you, ma'am."

"Hello," she said. Her voice was on the nasally side and she sounded a little like Lily Tomlin.
Vinn took the card she held out to him.

"My name is Hazel Smith and I'm with the Historical Society. I'm here about your house."

"The house?" Vinn looked from side of the porch to the other, wondering what was up. The
woman lifted her brow just like his old third-grade teacher used to when he misbehaved in class,
then pure trepidation set in.

"Yes. You see, sir," she thrust out an envelope, "We've got a problem." ~

Episode 7
The Hot Date

“Wearing pantyhose stinks.”

Emma struggled with the silky black “slim-shaper” nylons— Yeah, you look slimmer because
you can’t eat once they’re on. She managed to get both feet inside the garment then nearly fell
on her face. “I’m going to kill the man who invented these,” she groaned, when her thumbnail
snagged the “panty” in the pantyhose. “Agh! And if he’s already dead—I’ll kill his descendants.”

Pumpkin tried to wind her plump body around Emma’s legs. “Listen to me, Pumpkin. Only a
man would create such masochistic under things for women to wear. After all, it was men who
created the corset, didn’t they?” Pumpkin didn’t care. She just wanted her growing tummy
rubbed.

Emma took a break from the torturous task and glanced at the simple black dress on the bed—
required attire for a first date. Hey, she read chick-lit. She knew the drill. And if she intended to
wear it, she had to fit her butt into the nylons.

She had them up to her knees when the phone rang and she nearly tripped while hopping to the
phone. “This better be important,” she groaned into the receiver. “You’ve just interrupted my
contortionist act.”

“Sorry I’m not there to see it,” said a deep, sensual voice.

“Blake?”

“Hi. Uh, there’s been a slight change of plans.”

“Hmm, let me guess.” She planted her butt on the edge of the bed. “Your house was demolished
by a meteorite and you can’t make it?”

A masculine laugh sounded through the phone.

Oh, darn it! Why did he have to have a sexy laugh?

“If only,” he said. “But no. We had an unexpected visitor this evening and I’m running a little
late. Would you mind meeting me at Ben’s Diner?”

“Ben’s Diner?” she said skeptically.

“Yeah. I’ll be there in forty minutes.”

“Okay.” Whatever.

“Great. See you there. Oh, and would you mind wearing that silky little green number you had
on yesterday?”

“Dream on.”

He laughed again. “Well, a man can dream, can’t he? Bye, Emma.” The jerk was still laughing
when he hung up.

“Ben’s Diner? Not exactly the most romantic place in town.” Emma wrinkled her nose.
“Pumpkin, I’ll be damned if I’m going to wear pantyhose if we’re just going for burgers and
fries. I should have guessed he’d choose something like the diner.” Maybe her mother was right.
But Emma would prove her mother wrong even if it killed her. It was the principle of the thing.
Pumpkin hopped onto the bed, made two circles around the center of Emma black dress, then
settled in for a nap.

“Yeah, you’re right. I don’t need the dress either.” Emma tugged off the pantyhose and promptly
threw them in the trash. If they were going out for burgers, she required burger attire. She
decided a thread-bare pair of jeans would be appropriate, and because she was feeling
particularly obnoxious, Emma put on a pair of hiking boots and a t-shirt her brother gave her as a
gag gift for her birthday last year that said “I Love Curly” across the chest.

She took the fancy combs out of her hair, brushed out the curls, and pulled it back in a ponytail.
“There, that should do it, Pumpkin. At least I’ll be comfortable while I’m trying to keep Blake
Kinsey’s hands to himself.” She scratched Pumpkin behind the ears and a loud rumbling came
from her kitty throat. “Feel free to make a nest of that dress. I doubt I’ll ever be tempted to wear
it again.”

Forty-five minutes later, Emma was desperately trying to remain ticked at Blake Kinsey. “So
what if he’s a fantastic kisser.” No, don’t think about that. She circled Ben’s Diner parking lot a
second time and finally found a space for her car. Ben’s was the town hang-out, and evenings
were usually busy. She flipped the visor down to check her face in the mirror. Why was she
bothering to check her lipstick? Because, this was the town’s most popular place for busy bodies,
plus she was getting edgy. First date butterflies, that’s all. After one last look— Who was she
kidding? Besides, she wore jeans and a t-shirt…she wasn’t trying to look attractive—was she?

Emma got out of her car and walked through the glass double doors of the diner. The usual smell
of Jose’s meatloaf and Betty’s apple pie was overwhelming. Ben met her at the host podium.
“Hey, Ben. I’m supposed to meet someone here.” She noticed several heads turning in her
direction.

Ben straightened his posture and cleared his throat. “Yes, Madame. Your table is ready.”

Madame. He wasn’t wearing his usual brown pants and plaid shirt. Though his thinning hair still
looked disheveled, his black pants were ironed and he wore a white oxford shirt. “Are you
feeling all right, Ben.”

“Fit as a fiddle,” he said. “Right this way.”

“O-kay.” She spotted two of her clients as she followed Ben toward the rear of the diner. One
stopped arguing with her husband long enough to stare at Emma. The other woman sat at a
window booth with her teenaged daughter. They both leaned toward each other lowering their
voices to a whisper. Emma felt an odd sense of apprehension settle in the pit of her stomach.

Ben escorted her to the last table and she stopped in her tracks—stunned by what she saw. The
table sat in the corner with a window at the side and back allowing the customers a pleasant view
of the city. But that’s not what shocked her. The table was not the usual “diner” ware. This one
was elegantly decorated with a flowing white tablecloth, candles, and a breathtaking all-white
centerpiece with an unusual assortment of snapdragons, roses, and carnations that gave the
bouquet an almost luminous quality. All tied neatly together into a translucent green vase, it
nearly took the breath from her lungs.

Emma shifted her gaze to the man standing at the end of the table and her heart made an
energetic lurch. Blake. He wasn’t dressed in jeans as she’d expected. In fact, he looked
devastatingly handsome in his charcoal suit—minus the tie. She felt a hot ache grow deep inside
her and tried to ignore it. The man was pure sensuality and it was maddening.

He scanned her critically, raised an eyebrow, then beamed at her with approval. Darn him. Her
outfit was meant to put him off. Instead, he seemed to approve of her choice of apparel.
Normally she’d never be caught dead wearing anything remotely hideous or offensive—not that
Curly was offensive—but she’d had it drilled into her brain at an early age to be mindful of
appearance when out in public.

Blake walked over to her, took her hand in his, then gave her a quick kiss on the mouth. “Hi,” he
said. “I hope you like the table. If not we can always sit somewhere else.”

Was he kidding? “Um…” Emma was still mesmerized by the seductive twinkle in his irresistible
chocolate-brown eyes and silky smooth voice. “I thought…I mean…Oh, God.”

There was a long silence among the customers. She tried to swallow the uncomfortable lump
forming in her throat. The tension building around her made her anxious and self-conscious. She
suddenly felt guilty for wearing jeans and disappointed that Blake wasn’t. Leave it to her to get
the signals crossed. Lord, help her if her mother could see her now? Chances are, her mother
would hear about it one way or another, but if she saw what Emma wore right now--out of the
house—she’d never hear the end of it.

“You okay?” Blake asked as he tugged gently on her hand. He led her to the table and pulled out
her chair. Even the chairs, she noticed, had been adorned with white ruffled cushions for the
occasion. “Thank you” was all she’d managed to say.

Was that Ida Brown, the town busy body staring at her? Of course it was. Emma nearly groaned
aloud. Now her mother would definitely know everything.

“I asked around to find out what your favorite food was,” he shrugged. “I was surprised to
discover that Belgian waffles with strawberries were your favorite. Rosy said you could eat them
any time of day. So I got to thinking, I could take you anywhere within a fifty mile radius of
town, but you’d never find a better waffle this side of the equator then Ben’s place. So here we
are.”

She stared at him in wonder and felt an unfamiliar warmth spread through her. This wasn’t how it
was supposed to happen.

The talking and chattering started up again. Emma thought she heard whispers of “…her mother
wouldn’t…and that house” and “…disgraceful…wearing jeans?” Emma even thought she heard
several sexually suggestive comments from the men. She felt a shudder of humiliation and
embarrassment that quickly turned to anger—mostly at herself. Why couldn’t one single thing
come easily for her? Everything she’d gained in her life took ten times more effort then for most
people. She wanted to remain angry with Blake—but it wasn’t his fault that she’d jumped to a
hasty conclusion about his character. Among other emotions racing through her brain, shame
was now added to the mix.

Panicked thoughts rioted through her—her mom would be furious—her clients might harass
her—her brother would never speak to her…

Blake sat down across from her and smiled. She suddenly wanted him to find her desirable,
which she was certain he couldn’t with her outdoor-slob gear. She quickly looked away.

She couldn’t handle this. It was all just too much. Anxious to escape, she mumbled a feeble “I’m
sorry” as she stood up and ran for the door.

Episode 8
Groveling in the Park

He’d really blown it. And the worse part was—he didn’t know why. The human female never
failed to baffle Blake, so he temporarily chalked it up to a woman’s right to change her mind, or
whatever his mom used to say.

He was relieved to see Emma’s little black SUV still in the diner parking lot. If she was on foot,
she couldn’t have gone too far.

Blake found her several blocks away in Fountain Park sitting on a bench with her knees drawn
up to her chest. He hadn’t realized until now how much her approval had meant to him. Good
job, pal. You’ve blown that out of the water. And his confusion gnawed at his confidence as he
approached her.

But then he saw her unusually casual attire and chuckled to himself and remembered why he
wanted her in the first place. There was a spark of defiance in Emma that drew him to her. “You
know, Curly’s always been my favorite, too,” Blake said.

He saw her flinch at the sound of his voice. When she looked up, he saw hesitation in her eyes.

As casual as he could manage, without laying his ego out for her to squash, Blake asked, “What
happened back there, Emma?”

She sighed, then placed her chin on her drawn up knees. “I had this little black ‘first date’ get-up
I was going to wear. When you called I dumped the whole idea and threw on a pair of jeans.”
She turned her head and looked at him. “I was angry at you. I mean, Ben’s Diner? I didn’t give
you the benefit of the doubt.”
Blake sat on the bench next to her, keeping a safe distance so as not to alarm her. “I’m sorry I
couldn’t be there to pick you up.” Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. He didn’t want to trouble
Emma with his problems, but when he searched for a plausible explanation, other than the truth,
he came up with zip. “There was an urgent matter at home that couldn’t be avoided,” he finally
said.

When she didn’t respond, he simply laced his fingers together and leaned his elbows on his
knees. He wished he could offer her a better explanation, but one question would eventually lead
to another. How could he tell her about himself, or his family, when most of the time he refused
to acknowledge his problems to himself? He couldn’t just blurt out “Oh and by the way, Emma,
did you know I’m—what? A cop without a uniform? A millionaire with no money? A loser?”
Yeah, right. That would go over well.

Blake looked around at the expanse of the park. “You know, the city is pretty strict about the
close-at-dusk hours here.” Once a cop, always a cop. He carefully reached out his hand and
placed it on one hers. “We’d better go before they arrest us for park loitering.”

“They do that?” she asked.

“Yeah, they do,” he said as he brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. He detected a faint smile
on her lips and it brought a strange surge of affection from deep inside his chest.

“Thank you, for what you did,” she said softly.

“Did I really blow it?”

She shook her head, “No, Blake. I did. And I owe you an apology. I…” She groaned as she hid
her face against her knees. “You see, you don’t know my mother—”

“Was she there in the diner?” he asked.

“No, but she may as well have been. She knows everyone in town.”

“You’re not making sense—not that I mind. I like the sound of your voice.”

She let out a soft laugh. “She has this way of planting doubt in my head.”

“Doubt about what? Me?” he asked. Us? he wanted to ask.

She shrugged and lowered her gaze from his. “About anything that doesn’t fit in this box of
perfection she keeps her world in.” She fiddled with her fingers. Blake thought it was curious
seeing a nervous action coming from her. She always tried to remain so composed, so guarded
around him that he found the gesture oddly endearing. “When you called and said to meet you at
the diner, I thought my mother had been right. And I was angry that she was.” She sighed and
her shoulders sank forward as she drew herself into a ball. “So I threw out the sex-kitten dress
and threw on these ratty old jeans just to spite her for being right—and you for proving her so.”
“Wow. That’s a lot of spite for one pair of jeans. So what made you change your mind—why’d
you run out on me?”

Emma rocked back and forth like a little Weeble toy as she seemed to contemplate her thoughts.
“You have to understand. I was taught to avoid any and all unpleasant social situations in order
to keep a positive face in public. Unfortunately, much to my mother’s dismay, I tend to freeze up
when put on the spot, and I act too impulsively. If she saw me right now, she’d say I was
disgracing the family by wearing clothes fit for a car washer.”

She let go of her legs and let her feet drop to the ground. “The whole time I was there in the
diner, I kept thinking ‘I hope my mother never finds out’ and then I heard everyone whispering
and staring at me. And then, I just freaked out. I’m sorry. It really wasn’t your fault.”

“Well, I’m relieved. You’ve just restored my wounded manhood.” They both laughed and it
broke the tension that had been building all evening. His stomach growled and he was about to
stand and offer to make her waffles at his place, but then she shifted and turned to look at him.

“Blake?”

“Yes, Emma.”

“Would you kiss me?”

Was she kidding? With those sparkling eyes and plump kissable lips, even a dead man would
stand up and take notice. He slid closer to her, not touching, just looking. He wanted this one to
last. He wanted to memorize her face, her full lips, then gazed deep into her eyes. Blake brought
his hand to her face and brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. “Not that you have to ask me
twice,” he said as his voice deepened. “But would you say that again? Just to make sure I heard
you correctly.”

“Kiss me,” she whispered as she put her arms around his neck to pull him closer.

Blake’s heart thundered against his ribs as if he’s never kissed a woman in his life. But when his
lips touch hers he thought, maybe he hadn’t—until her. His fingers ached to touch every sensual
inch of her, but he knew the minute he did it would be just like it was on her sofa. And wild sex
in the public park wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind for tonight. So he clenched one fist at his
side the other held tightly to the back of the bench, allowing himself to enjoy the feel of her soft
lips against his. He moaned deeply when her tongue timidly asked for entrance. Not demanding
and hungry—not like the last time. This was more of a caress and he let her take the lead.

She kissed him slowly, lingering, and he savored every taste, ever touch—achingly soft, sweet,
and tantalizing—just like the woman herself. There was an intimacy to this kiss that left him
weak in the legs, while the burning desire he felt for her simmered—waited.
The gentle massage of her delicate fingers against his neck sent currents of heat right to his
growing erection, but he ignored it. Then her kiss grew surprisingly demanding—and his
resistance broke.

Emma gasped into his mouth when Blake swept her off the bench and placed her sideways onto
his lap. Her body landed painfully against his crotch, but he didn’t care. He felt drugged by the
scent, the taste, and the touch of her. Her breasts pressed against him as he held her snugly,
allowing his hands to explore the hollows of her back, the curve of her hips. Blake felt her arms
tremble and her hips arch as she clung to him, sending jolts of pleasure to his sex.

“Emma,” he whispered as his lips reclaimed hers as he took over the kiss, crushing her to him.
She gave him the reigns freely, giving in to the growing passion of his kiss. Blake thought they’d
better stop soon before his dick tore a hole clear through his pants.

“All right, you kids,” shouted an authoritive voice. “Break it up and go on home.”

Ah shit. Blake tore his mouth from Emma’s and found himself staring into a blinding light. He
knew that voice.

“Well, well. Blake Kensey,” the voice sneered as the light flicked away from their eyes.

Blake found himself staring into the eyes of his old nemesis. “Hello, Deputy Hicks.”

Episode 9
Rules of the Game

“Her mom’s on the City Council?”

Blake frowned at his cousin, Eaton, while he chalked the tip of his cue stick. “Yeah. Hell of a
thing,” he said flatly.

“Geez, man. You don’t date for God knows how many months—and you manage to find the
daughter of a City Council member? That takes balls.”

“Ball seven, center pocket,” Blake said, as he called it, nailed it clean, then stood and sent Eaton
a challenging look. “I’m dating the daughter, not the mother.” Vinn played referee as he stood at
the foot of the ancient billiard table. “Plus, I didn’t even know until that asshole Hicks showed
up last night.” He bent down and pocketed two more balls before he mistakenly performed a
jump shot with the cue ball.

“Foul!” Vinn called.

“Your call, cuz,” Blake said as he waved his hand for Eaton’s turn.
The old game room still smelled of stale cigars, though no one had smoked in this room for more
than ten years. With the exception of the stereo equipment, playing Led Zeppelin at the moment,
and a fridge just large enough to hold two six-packs of Coronas, the room still held all the
original furniture—including the monster of a billiard table. The “Old Brunswick” his grandpa
used to call it. Blake assumed that was the craftsman’s name, but if there was ever a plaque or a
label to indicate that, it had been rubbed off long ago.

Dillion and John were playing darts on the opposite side of the room. As Blake looked up,
Dillion managed to toss a dart right through the window—a closed window. “Christ, Dillion, can
you be anymore off base? How about damaging Mom’s over-stuffed chairs while you’re at it.”

“Sorry, man. My game’s a little off today.”

The wall covered with dart holes indicated his brother’s game was off most of the time. Jerry had
more luck hitting the target in his cat box then Dillion had with—everything. And Jerry had his
handicap as an excuse.

“So what happen last night?” Eaton asked. “All I got was the Reader’s Digest version from
Vinn-man here.”

Blake began telling about the “date,” minus the intensely arousing kiss, of course. “So, we’re in
the park, it’s after hours, and up walks Hicks,” he said as he positioned his stick and took a shot.
Seemingly pleased, he eyed the table for his next play. “He’s got that damn flashlight and aims it
in Emma’s face. She gets up as if she’s Eleanor Roosevelt with her ratty jeans and sexed-up hair,
looks him square in the eye,” Blake laughs before he can finish and says, “She says, ‘Don’t you
know who my mother is? If you harass us one more second, I’m taking this up with the City
Council. It’s budget season.’ And she pokes the scumbag in the chest, and says ‘I’m sure they’d
be willing to cut a few selected officers out of the police force.’ Of course I’ve got my mouth
hanging open like a dumbass wondering ‘Where the hell did this she-cat come from?’”

Blake stepped forward, called his next shot and took it. Damn, missed. “You’re up,” he said to
Eaton. “I’ve never seen Hicks so shell-shocked.” Blake leaned on his cue stick as is it was a
walking stick, still humored by the odd situation he’d found himself in. “Of course, he looked at
me like I was some wuss-puss for letting a woman champion me, but what the hell. The look on
his grungy mug was well worth it!”

Eaton missed his shot and Blake took the next inning. “Hicks being bested by a woman,” Eaton
chuckled. “Sounds like one hell of a night.” He looked at Blake skeptically. “But I get the feeling
you didn’t invite me over just so I can kick your ass at pool and chew the shit, did you?”

“No. I didn’t,” Blake said as his grin went flat and wondered where to start. He took a deep
cleansing breath. “Yesterday, we got an unexpected visit from our friendly neighborhood
Historical Society.” Blake sighed heavily as he called his next shot. “She left us with some
disturbing information. I’d like you to take a look at it.”

“The house, Blake?”

“Yeah.”

“Look, man. I’m a prosecutor. I’m not real good with real estate,” Eaton said.

Blake nodded his head, remembering when he and Eaton where in college. Eaton was in law
school, while Blake was at the police academy. Though they had different mothers, the two
looked like they could have been brothers. “Would you just review them? Maybe take them to a
colleague, or something? You must know an attorney that can work private property.”

“Fine. I’ll look at them. Can we at least finish this game?”

Thirty minutes later, the guys gathered around the dining room table, and Blake took the large
envelope from the hutch drawer. He handed it to Eaton and waited.

As Eaton read through the information, Dillion and Vinn made turkey sandwiches for everyone.
They all opted for Coke instead of beer with their dinner, all wanting to be sober for the
verdict—and Jerry opted for tuna-flavored Friskies.

After hours—or was it minutes?—Eaton looked up, then stretched his arms before speaking.

John got bored and left for home. Probably because he figured there wouldn’t be anymore food
coming his way.

“Well?” Blake asked. “What do you think?” He placed his elbow on the table, his fist at his chin.

Eaton cleared his throat. “All right. According to this information, Grandpa Kinsey registered the
house with the National and Local Register of Historic Places in 1966.”

“Yeah. So what?” Vinn announced as he belched.

“So, according to this, whomever is the current homeowner, upon taking up residence, must
agree to the terms of the local Historical Society.”

“But Dad inherited this place when Grandpa died,” Dillion said, with a mouth full of sandwich.
“We’ve always lived here.”

“Well, when Uncle Joe—your dad—assumed ownership, he in affect agreed to conform to the
restriction placed by the local Historical Society. They have the right to inspect the inner or outer
conditions of the property for maintenance, and the homeowner must receive the society’s
approval before any changes can be made to the property, or before a permit for these changes
can be issued.”

“What happens if we don’t comply?” Blake asked, feeling his palms start to sweat as a sense of
foreboding hit him square in the chest.
“The city can fine you, sue you, or they can get an injunction to stop you from making material
changes that don’t reflect the original condition of the house.”

Shit. He was afraid of something like this. Damn you, Dad, Blake thought. Where the hell are
you? Why did you leave us in this mess? Blake glanced at Vinn whose face had turned ghost
white. Dillion sat motionless in mid-chew—eyes wide.

“We’re gonna need a boat-load of money,” Dillion said.

“We have got to find Dad,” Vinn insisted. “We’ve got a sweepstakes winning that’s as good as a
deadman’s dick unless we find him.”

“What are you not telling us, Eaton?” Blake asked. He was starting to feel light headed. Too
many Coronas, he thought.

“If the City Council really wanted to play hardball, they could declare eminent domain on the
property. If that happens, man, you can kiss your home goodbye. There aren’t enough attorneys
in Greenrich to fight back and win against the city.”

“What do you recommend?”

“Get this place up to snuff. At least on the outside for now.” Eaton looked down at the papers in
front of him. “Is the façade in the front all original? The windows? Doors?”

“Not since Dillion ran Conroy’s Harley through the front door,” Vinn blurted. “Broke the door
clean off its hinges.”

“Hey! At least I paid to get it replaced,” Dillion said in his own defense.

“Yes, but does it look exactly like the original?” Eaton added. “If it doesn’t, did you guys keep
the broken one?”

“Ah, yeah, I think it’s still in the garage somewhere,” Blake said feeling defeated and worn out.

“Good—use as much of the original as you can salvage. Replace the damage with as close to the
original as possible.”

Damn it all to hell. The city was looking to screw him no matter what. First his job—now this.
“Why didn’t we know about this sooner? Wouldn’t someone have said something before?”

“They just had an election. New council, new set of rules.” Eaton shrugged. “Don’t any of you
read your property tax bill? Deduct the property taxes? The historical status would be indicated
on the bill,” Eaton said.

“No.” Blake rubbed at his eyes. “Conroy takes care of all that, and he won’t be back for several
months.”
“Hey! Can any of you jackasses help me?” John yelled from the foyer. “Some nimrod just
slashed all my tires!”

Episode 10
Out of the Frontlines

“Yo, Connie. Message for you.”

Conroy Kinsey lifted his head from between the ample breasts of the sassy brunette reporter, and
growled. The pounding on the door to his hotel room was enough, but the loud booming voice of
the guy on the opposite side could rouse a deaf man from sleep. He gave each luscious nipple a
suckling-kiss before he got up to put on his rumbled black boxer shorts. “Sorry, baby. I gotta see
what this is about.”

“Ah, Connie,” she pouted as she got up onto her knees, then wrapped her sinuous body around
him. “Can’t you tell that nasty man to come back later?” She tried to convince him with her
hands in such a way that Conroy was nearly convinced.

He peeled her hands away. “Sorry, babe,” he said as he patted her naked behind. “It might be
important.” He heard her huff as he walked to the door, not bothering to tell her to get dressed in
case the annoyance on the other end might barge in.

The pounding continued. “Connie, I know you’re in there, man.”

“Christ almighty, where’s the fire,” he said as he opened the door. It was Michael Gomez, the
only person Conroy could call a friend during this godforsaken war on terrorism. “Gomez. What
couldn’t wait until I got some rest?” He’d been on the frontlines with the 101st Army Division
for the better part of the year until he was flown out. He was dead-tired and brain-weary.

It was odd, being here in this plush Americanized Radisson Hotel, though he was still in Turkey.
Stranger still, he thought, with all the plush burgundy carpet, polished brass light fixtures, and
cozy bedding in his room, it was hard to believe a war was still raging just a few hundred miles
away. He wouldn’t even be here had he not been put on a respite from his original assignment.
And he about to be shipped out on another one—unless he decided to call uncle.

He wasn’t a coward, by any means. He was just tired. Conroy was cherry-picked by the military
from the pool of fellow journalists. Since he ate, fought, shit, and slept along side the troops, they
considered him an “embedded” reporter. But now he was done with it. He was worn out and
disillusioned from teetering on that fine line between reporting for the public, and letting the
government control what he reported. And Conroy decided he didn’t want to be controlled by the
Pentagon another day.

“Geez, sorry, Connie, but an urgent message just arrived from The States. I thought you’d want
to know.”
“Well, why the hell didn’t the hotel just transfer the call to my room?”

“They tried. You haven’t been answering the phone.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Conroy mocked as he smacked his forehead with his palm.

Michael ignored the gesture and handed him the message, then quickly sprinted down the
hallway.

Conroy closed the door, then unfolded the paper in his hand. The message, though unspecific,
made his palms sweat. It simply said “Call Home.” Conroy muttered to himself, ignoring the
questioning-look of his female champion. Home.

He’d intended to go home several months ago. And yet, he was still here—in Turkey, dragging
his feet. Several of his fellow war correspondent reports were here in the same hotel with him.
Though Conroy was the only one from News Corporation, CNN, NBC and several reporters
from the UK were all bunking in the same hotel as he was.

“Connie?”

Pulled from his thoughts, he was more annoyed then aroused now. His mind was weighing heavy
with apprehension and guilt. “Honey, we’re going to have to do this another time.”

“Conroy, you promised!” What she really meant was he was keeping her from pumping him for
information. Conroy had no misconceptions about how she really felt about him. They were
competitors for the same information. Hers just came in a more tantalizing package.

“Fine. But I have to make a phone call.” He turned to give her a hard look. “In private.” She
really hadn’t earned his reproach, but he suddenly just wanted to be alone with his thoughts.

She grabbed for her robe, then left mumbling something about the guy from Fox News. But
Conroy didn’t care. And the reason for his indifference was the very same reason for his delay in
going home—memories of the past that gnawed at his conscience. Memories that kept his cock
hard at night, and his heart aching in the morning.

“Damn,” he whispered to himself as he held the receiver in his hand. Every time he thought he’d
erased her from his mind she’d crept right back in—when he was most vulnerable. Quickly,
before he had time to think, he dialed home.

In rang four times before the machine picked—then, “Yeah—hello?”

“Hey, Dill.”

“Connie? Hey, bro it’s good to hear from you. Blake’s been trying to find you, man.”
“Yeah. I got the message.” Dillion didn’t sound frantic. What could be so damn urgent? “Dillion,
it’s…” He glanced at the alarm clock on the side table, “…one o’clock in the morning. What’s so
urgent?”

“It’s noon here.”

Right. “What’s wrong, then? The house burn down? Vinn get his ass stuck in a sling?”

Dillion let out a dopey laugh. “Well, I don’t know about the ‘sling’ part, but…we kinda need you
home. We know you were planning on coming home soon anyway, and I guess Blake was
counting on you maybe, you know, coming home a little early.”

Shit. He knew it. Conroy was toying with the idea of staying in Europe for a while. Maybe hang
out in a Parisian café or visit the castles of Ireland.

“So I guess the Iraqis haven’t killed you yet, huh Con-man?” Dillion asked.

“Very nearly, but you of all people should know I’m not an easy target.” Being a war
correspondent had lost its appeal—and he’d escaped from certain death more times than the
number of women he’d had—which was saying a lot. The adrenaline could keep you going only
so far.

“Ask him about Dad,” Conroy heard Vinn say on the other end.

“Oh, yeah. Connie, before Dad left, did he ever mention anything about Granddad and the
National Register of Historical—something-or-other?”

“No.”

“Oh, well. Do you have an idea where Dad is?”

“What’s this about, Dill?” He wasn’t in the mood to rehash the mystery of their disappearing
dad. He’d turned into a shadow after their mom died. The hard truth was, green alien bitches
with three tits could’ve abducted his dad and Conroy would’ve never known the difference.

“Eaton said something about losing the house if we can’t find Dad.”

“Dillion, when will Blake be home?” Prying direct information from Dillion was like getting a
straight answer from a politician.

“He’s working a double shift, so around midnight, I guess. When can you come home?”

“I’ll see if I can get the next flight out. I’ll call you when I land in Dulles.”

“Great! Blake will be relieved.”

“Oh, and Dill? Ask Vinn if he’s gotten laid yet?”

“Ha!” Conroy heard Dillion question Vinn. “Connie wants to know if you got laid.”

There was a loud grumbling on the other side of the phone. “Give me the phone, you idiot!”

Conroy chuckled to himself when he heard a muffled sound. He assumed Vinn had grabbed the
phone from his brother.

“Geez, Connie, I’m a senior in college,” Vinn said. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re a pussy who’s afraid of girls.”

“Wait until you get home. I’ll kick your ass.”

Conroy laughed as he hung up the phone. Lord, he missed those guys.

And he missed her.

He’d be turning forty years old soon. It was time to reassess his life.

And his past was waiting for him—and, quite possibly, so was his future.

Episode 11
Hearsay and Other Evils

“So, Page, has Vinn Kinsey charmed you into the sack yet?”

“Rosie, if you’re trying to get a rise out of me—it’s not going to work.”

“Well, all I know is that boy’s had his eye on you since he was twelve.”

“Yes. And he’s made that fact known since he was ten. He’s a walking horndog with a one track
mind.”

“Uh huh—for you.”

Emma couldn’t help but smile to herself at the exchange between her boss and the pretty blonde
plumber lady with the enviable slim body and smiling eyes that kept glancing at Rosie from the
shampoo sink she was repairing.

She knew it was rude to eavesdrop, but given the topic of discussion (i.e. the Kinseys) she just
could not help herself. Her mother would have been appalled, but Emma gave herself a mental
shrug of indifference, and continued to clear out some of the clutter from her station.
Her next appointment hadn’t arrived yet, which gave her ample time for reflection. A moment to
daydream about Blake—reliving that scorcher of a kiss they’d shared in the park, then laughed to
herself remembering the look on that rude policeman’s face when she threatened his job. She’d
never really follow through on something so heavy-handed, but she enjoyed the moment
anyway. Emma was certain, had it not been the cop-makeout-interruptus, she’d have torn
Blake’s clothes off and jumped his bones—right there in the park.

That surge of excitement when he touched her could become addictive. Every time he looked at
her, her heart did a little rumba dance. Emma had never felt conflicting emotions for a guy
before. On the one hand, she loved how he made her feel when they were together, like she was
the only woman in the world. Yet on the other, her mother’s mocking voice inside her head
nagged at her incessantly. But she knew in her heart there was just something about Blake
Kinsey, something exceptional, that even the cynical inner-voice of her mother couldn’t
extinguish from her mind.

“Darn it,” she muttered as she snagged one of her own nails on an open nail clipper. She pulled
out a nail file to repair the damage. Funny how she was thinking about her mother when it
happened. Seemed the woman always brought out her clumsy side.

Her mom, of course, found out about their sham-of-a-date. And as predicted, her mom had
plenty to say when she’d called the other night. But Emma was still on an emotional high then—
so caught up in her own enthusiasm, she was determined to ignore even the expected biting
comments.

“He’s not really interested in you, dear,” she’d said. “He obviously knows of your family’s
influence and believes you’re the vehicle for which to achieve his ambition of some sort.” Her
mother, as usual, tried to convince her it was for her own benefit that it hadn’t worked—all said
in her typical royally condescending tone. That mommy-knows-best voice always that managed
to make Emma feel like a perpetual eight-year old.

The words were familiar, but stung just the same. Every boyfriend she’d ever had—Emma went
through the same old tired routine, until she stopped dating completely just to get her mother off
her back. Until Blake.

“It’s like I’ve always said, those Kinseys are out for what they can get.”

Did her mother really think no man wanted her for herself? Emma wondered if Chad ever went
through this with his girlfriends. Somehow, she doubted it.

Thankfully, her mother didn’t know what happened after the date. And Emma wasn’t about to
clue her in. Hopefully, no one else would either. She truly enjoyed being with Blake. When was
the last time she’d enjoyed being with a man? Sadly, she couldn’t remember.

She looked up from cleaning out her drawer, and caught a glimpse of a woman staring at her. A
quick glance around the room, Emma noticed a couple other women in the salon glancing her
way and speaking in harsh whispers. She shrugged her shoulders, chose to ignore them and
pulled out her appointment book.

When several more minutes went by and her appointment hadn’t shown up, Emma turned to
Gilda, Rosie’s other manicurist. “Gilda, do you know if my ten o’clock called to say she’d be
late?”

Gilda, who was a middle-aged brunette with a permanent frown etched just above her eyebrows,
looked up from her client’s right hand and fixed her overly made up eyes on Emma. “No. She
called several days ago,” she said, waving her nail file like a symphony conductor as she spoke.
“Had to reschedule on a day you weren’t here.”

It wasn’t the first time this had happened, so Emma probed further. “Why didn’t anyone mention
it? It’s not indicated in my appointment book.”

“Must’ve slipped my mind.” She turned back to her client as if the subject was closed.

“Okay, Rosie,” the plumber lady called out as she passed Emma. “I’ll see ya.”

Emma had a thought. “Oh, hey. Um, excuse me. Page, right?”

“Yeah. That’s me,” she said.

“Can I speak to you for a second?” Emma asked as she slapped her hands together to remove the
dust from her palms.

Page raised her brow slightly, but gestured for Emma to follow her outside.

As the door closed behind them, they both made their way to a nearby bench the neighborhood
kids had recently painted like a Dalmatian, and sat.

“I understand you know the Kinsey brothers,” Emma said, suddenly feeling silly for asking.

“I’ve been down to their place once or twice.” Emma noted the smirk that followed her
comment.

“I was wondering if you weren’t busy, I thought we might have lunch.”

“Sounds nice. But I’m running behind schedule today. The old Miller’s place toilet overflowed
again. I keep telling Mr. Miller he has to stop flushing coffee grounds.”

“What?” Emma laughed.

“Yeah, he heard it was good luck or something.”

“Good luck for what?”

“Constipation.” They both smiled. “Listen, drop by my dad’s hardware shop tomorrow.” Page
gestured toward the gray and white building at the end of the block. “If you’re after dirt, I’m not
one to spread gossip. But if you want to girl-talk—it would be a refreshing change from sink slug
and copper piping.”

“Great! Oh, I’m Emma, by the way.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Page said as she shook the hand Emma offered. “Heard you and Blake were
carrying on in the park the other night.”

“You heard that?” Emma felt her face heat up.

“Hey, I’m not criticizing,” Page said holding up her palms. “I’m glad Blake is finally dating
again. And you seem like a nice enough person.” She shook Emma’s hand again as she stood. “I
figure we’ll get along fine, Emma.” She then got in her pickup and drove off.

Emma thought she was going to like Page as well. She turned on her heel and walked back
through the door to face Gilda—the client-stealing rat. When she stepped inside the door,
everyone stopped speaking. But not before she heard her name and something about “curse” and
“the date.” Emma felt her ears burn. “What?” she said harshly looking about the place. “If
anyone has got a problem with me, then just say so.” When no one said a word, Emma sighed
and shook her head, regretting her impulsive words the moment they left her lips. And after a
moment of uncomfortable silence, she walked to her station. Gilda’s client gave Emma an odd
look before she paid Gilda then left. “Gilda,” Emma said more sternly than she meant to. “Why
are you trying to take my customers away?” Her confidence wavered a little but she was
determined.

“I’m not doing any such thing. It’s not my fault if your customers prefer to work with someone
who actually has skills they’ve earned.”

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

Gilda’s caterpillar-eyelashes lowered as resentment filled them. “Not everyone has parents like
yours to buy their way into what ever they want.”

Her stomach suddenly wedged in her throat, Emma was unable to reply to Gilda’s accusations. If
she did, she might throw up, and she was humiliated enough as it was. It didn’t help that she
continued to hear voices drift around the salon.

“It doesn’t take a fancy education or a high-ranking mama to know why that Kinsey boy has
hooked up with you.”

Emma had no idea to how handle such unwelcome frankness. Whether the biting comments were
meant as truth or deception, she couldn’t tell. Regardless, it was enough to send her thoughts
from disbelief to a gnawing uncertainty. Could she have been deceived with Blake’s feelings for
her? She was becoming more uncomfortable by the minute. No, she wasn’t about to let the old
bat who probably hadn’t been laid in ten years get the best of her. She was about to lean forward
and tell Gilda where she could put it, but before she found the courage, she heard someone make
an anxious cough as Rosie came up behind her.

“That’s enough, Gilda. Do you have any more appointments today?”

Gilda tightened her lips and shook her head.

“Good,” Rosie said. “Now go on home. Emma can take over for any walk-ins.” Despite
everything, Emma smiled at Rosie. She was a big woman. Not tall by any means, but what she
lacked in height she more than made up for in girth. “You all right, hon?” she asked Emma after
Gilda grabbed her purse and left.

“Does everyone feel that way about me?”

“Don’t listen to that worn-out old crone. She been unhappy since her husband left her for a
twenty-year old mud wrestler from Pasadena.” She gave Emma a sympathetic smile, avoiding
the question all together. “Can I get you a cappuccino or something?”

“No thanks. I—“ Just then, Emma looked out the salon window to see Blake’s devastating form
across the street—with his arms around a woman. She looked vaguely familiar, but Emma
couldn’t place her. She had flowing auburn hair and long legs. They were standing near the front
entrance to Pumpkin’s veterinarian. Emma found herself studying Blake’s profile as he spoke to
the woman. To her dismay, Blake held the woman’s face in his hands, then placed his arm
around her shoulders. She nodded up at him as they both turned and faced the salon. When Blake
spotted Emma he gave her a friendly, heart-stopping smile. The man actually had to gall to wave
in her direction—with his arm around another woman.

And Emma felt her heart sink. Maybe her mother was right after all.

Episode 12
Women: Manual Not Included

“Mmm, nice butt there, cutie.”

“Yeow!” Dillion Kinsey yelped as an attractive woman in tight jeans and a big grin walked by
and pinched his ass. Geez, it was dangerous for a guy to walk in his own neighborhood. And it
wasn’t the first time it had happened either. Last week, an old lady slapped him on the rear and
told him he could come by her place anytime. He didn’t think he had a particularly cute ass—it
was just a place to sit on as far as he was concerned. Maybe Jerry’s pheromones were rubbing
off on him.
It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate woman—he did. But today he was on a mission. Blake had
asked him to find home repair manuals to guide them with the refurbishing of the outer façade of
their home before the historical society ran them out of “Dodge.”

He knew the house was a craftsman’s style home because their granddad used to talk about it
when they were kids. There had to be something useful, something more substantial than
Granddad’s beer-induced nostalgic description of how the house “once was.”

Dillion figured the best place to start was the local bookshop. Since they’d be marking up pages
and writing in the margins, the local library wasn’t an option. Plus, if he went to the book store
he could check if the latest X-Men graphic novel came in—as long as he was there—right? As
he stepped inside, Dillion recalled that he used to frequent old professor Starling’s bookshop
when he was a kid. But he hadn’t stepped foot in the place for years since most of his collection
could be purchased on-line.

The old place looked the same as it always had—at least on the outside. He’d heard old Starling
died several years ago, and left the bookstore to his son. When he walked inside, Dillion found
the place completely remodeled to look like one of those funky coffee house hang-outs. Ah
shoot, he’d probably need to ask for help if he wanted to find anything useful. Unfortunately, he
hated asking for help.

He groaned when two young women at the check-out counter giggled when they spotted him.

“Hiya,” one said. “You have nice hair, handsome,” one of them said as the other gave a coy
wave with her index finger. “Yeah, nice enough for a girl to run her fingers through,” the other
one mumbled to her friend. He let out an exasperated sigh, then backed himself into a corner.
Out of sight from nosy females.

What was wrong with the women in this town lately?

Dillion wondered aimlessly through the store, but didn’t find the graphic novel section. He did,
however, find a humongo magazine rack. “Cool,” he muttered under his breath. He stepped
closer when one magazine in particular caught his attention and he picked it up. “Man, this artist
is a genius,” he mumbled to himself as he thumbed through the glossy pages. As a cartoonist,
Dillion appreciated the work of other artists who had made it big. He glanced through the pages.
Not only did the guy create a huge following with a simply-made character, he also was a
marketing genius. Or at least his marketing team was.

He carried the magazine along with him as he wound back and forth between the aisles, looking
for the home improvement section. When he didn’t find it, he stuck his nose back in the pages as
he walked. “’A billion dollar dynasty…making it big in the states and overseas…high-end New
York line up.’ Man, if only.” His little daily comic strip only made it as far as his own town.

“Umf!” A hard blow to his temple caused Dillion to hit the carpeted floor like a sack of Idaho
potatoes. His eyes went spotty as a sharp pain in his head made him moan, and he thought he
saw an angel floating about his head.
“Oh, God! Sir, I’m so sorry. Please open your eyes.”

The angel was speaking to him, and stroking his hair. Mom? No, it couldn’t be his mom. She
died years ago, and this angel smelled really good. That flowery scent brought him back to
reality. Slowly, he opened his eyes and the fluorescent light above hurt his eyeballs. Dillion
thought he heard other female voices said “geek” but he wasn’t sure.

“Sir? Please wake up. You’re too heavy for me to carry.”

That pleasingly frantic voice again. Squinting his eyes, he turned to find a pretty face belonged to
that pleasant voice. “Hi,” he said. Boy, that was dumb. Her eyes were a stunning shade of
emerald with cute little round glasses perched on a small nose that turned up at the end. Her face
was framed by her copper-colored hair that brushed just passed her shoulders in long straight
stands. Dillion felt an uncharacteristic urge to run his hands through it. He was never that
forward with woman—especially ones he didn’t know.

Her hands cupped his face as she smiled down at him. “Oh, thank goodness. I thought I’d killed
you when that huge volume fell from upper storage.” Her hands left his face, and tugged on his
arm to get him to sit up. “You’re bleeding!”

Dillion lifted his hand to his forehead and his fingers came back with blood on them. Yep, he
was bleeding all right.

“I’ll get you a bandage.”

Dillion grasped her arm before she stood. He wasn’t sure why, other than the fact that he was
afraid might simply be an apparition. “I’m all right—really, Miss.”

The woman settled on the floor facing him with her legs tucked under. A throb started as the
blood rushed back to his head. He went to place his palm to his aching temple when he saw what
exactly had accosted him. It was indeed a very large volume and was spread open revealing a
man and woman engaged in a yoga pose he’d only seen in Conroy’s old European pornos. But
seeing it in a public place was a little jarring. He looked at Angel-face quizzically, and her face
turned a pretty shade of pink. She looked away and cleared her throat.

“Um, an…academic study…of the sexual behaviors of humans,” she said.

“Uh huh.” He picked up the mammoth and read the title with renewed interest. “’Sex: An
Illustrated User’s Manual.’ Strange, I didn’t think anyone needed a manual for that.”

He thought he heard her say “You’d be surprised” but when he felt like he had an elephant
parked on his melon, he wasn’t sure.

“I think I sat on your magazine—“

“No, don’t—“ Dillion went to grab it from her, but she was too quick and his reflexes were
stunted.

She laughed at the title. “’The Adventures of Hello Kitty?’” She continued to laugh.

He snatched it from her. “I know what you’re thinking, but this Yuko guy who created her is
brilliant.”

“The illustrator is Yuko Yamaguchi—a woman, not a guy,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Oh,” he said, and looked at the floor and felt like an ass.

“Look, my dad is going to kill me if he finds out I hit a customer over the head. Please sit down
in one of the reader chairs and I’ll get you that bandage and some water.”

He nodded his head and did as she instructed. She came back quickly and leaned down to reach
his forehead. The white cotton shirt she wore parted a little as she leaned over. Dillion caught a
glimpse of a satiny bra and a hint of cleavage. He couldn’t help it. It was just there within bulls-
eye range. Her hands felt warm as she slid her fingers through his hair and away from his
forehead to attend his injury.

“I’m Alice, by the way. Alice Starling. I figured you should know the name of your assailant.”

“Yeah, but we both know each others secrets, now.” He gestured toward the evidence left on the
floor. “So I figure that makes us accomplices.”

She smiled at him and his heart nearly stopped. He could stare at that smile all day. “Aren’t you
going to tell me your name? Or did I delete your memory banks when the sex manual made
contact with your noggin?”

He held out his hand. “Sorry, Kinsey. Dillion Kinsey.” Her smile widened as she took his hand.
He held it for a long moment as he stared at her plump bottom lip. He had a peculiar urge to run
his tongue along the edge. He stopped his hand in mid-motion before he stopped himself from
tracing his finger on it.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of you Kinsey boys.” Her teasing expression soon switched back to genuine
concern. “Mister Kinsey, I know you have every right to file a complaint for your injury, but I—
“

His grasped her chin in his hand. “I’m not going to sue your family, Alice, if that’s what you’re
worried about.”

She let out a breath. “That’s a relief. I think my dad would ship me off to Bulgaria, or Ethiopia,
or any place without plumbing or hair dryers, if I had another accident. Can I at least take you to
dinner—or if that’s too, you know, date-like can I buy you lunch…or coffee…milk shake, or—
there’s this great new candy shop in town, we could—Oh, Lord I’m not making any sense. Am
I?”

He chuckled. “Not really.” It was nice to know he wasn’t the only one at a loss for words. “And
any of those would do, but—“

“Oh, no.” Her eyes widened behind those adorable glasses. “You have a girlfriend, don’t you? I
should have guessed a guy like you probably has several girlfriends, and…”

He stood up from the chair. “Alice.”

“Huh.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend. And dinner sounds nice.”

“Oh.” She stood on her toes and reached up to smack him a good one on the lips with one quick,
noisy kiss. “Thank you.”

“Sure.” His brain hadn’t caught up with her. Did she just kiss him? His head was still spinning,
but that was probably from the hit on the head that making him dizzy. “And no butt pinching.”

“Huh?”

Dillion shrugged. “Besides, any girl who can read sex manuals for a little light reading has got to
make for an interesting date.”

“Funny. I was just thinking that a sweet guy like you who reads Hello Kitty must be pretty
secure with his masculinity.”

“Don’t let the Hello Kitty thing fool you. My usual taste in reading is ‘Death of Captain
Marvel.’”

“Ah, comic books.”

“Graphic novels,” he corrected.

“Right.”

Dillion noted how her face changed as she adjusted her glasses and look up at him. She cleared
her throat with an obvious exaggeration.

“Now, what was it you came in for today, sir?” Her tone was all business.

A dinner date with volume-tossing, lip-smacking-good Alice Starling? Dillion wondered if he’d
just agreed to more than he bargained for.
Episode 13
Lost Loves and New Headaches

“Does she ever ask about me?”

“No.” Blake ran a hand through his hair, while the other gripped the stirring wheel. Damn glad to
have his brother back, he’d felt an undeniable weight lift from his shoulders the moment
Conroy’s flight from Dulles landed in LAX. Conroy had no idea Blake laid awake night after
night ever since Conroy left home for the Middle East.

Conroy grunted a reply, then turned to stare out the truck’s passenger-side window.

Poor bastard, Blake thought. He had it bad. After all this time, his brother still refused to admit
to himself that he was in love with her. “I did see her in town this morning.”

After a long moment he asked, “How is she?” His tone was low and sullen.

“Beautiful as always,” Blake said, and grinned when Conroy gave him a sideways glance.
“Filled out a little—in all the right places.” A clear expression of male possessiveness emerged
on his brother’s face. Just as Blake knew it would.

“Is she seeing anyone?”

“Not that I know of. Doc Rivers retired six months ago. She took over his office after that. You
should stop by and she her.”

“I doubt she’d let me through the door.”

Blake shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He could relate somewhat to how Conroy felt. After Blake saw
Emma this morning, she’d been avoiding him. He’d tried her cell several times, but she hadn’t
picked up. He would have gone to see her at work had he not been in a hurry to get the airport.
He missed her. He missed just talking to her. He wanted to make love with her… But common
sense told him that would have to wait.

Screw common sense. He was going mad from wanting her in his bed. He just hoped he hadn’t
scared her off.

A siren roared by and Blake pulled over to the side of the road.

“How is everybody?” Conroy asked. “Jerry get anyone pregnant lately?” His tone lightened.

“Oh yeah. I have to thank him for his latest female.”

“Did he bring home some babe too?”

Blake smiled.
Conroy hooted. “Way to go, Jer.”

“Vinn’s still driving everyone nuts. But you know Vinn. He’s not happy unless he’s making the
girls cry. Dillion’s doing some research for the house facade.” Blake pulled his Chevy truck back
onto the road. “You look tan,” Blake said trying to lighten the mood. “I thought you were over
there to report on the war, not sitting on the beach with a bunch of army babes.”

“Hey, I was all business.” He grinned. “But, a man’s got to do whatever it takes to survive.”

“Uh huh. It’s great to have you back, Con-man.”

“The food sucks over there too. It was so bad I think I even missed Dillion’s cooking.”

“Man, you gotta be pretty damn desperate to eat Dillion’s cooking. But, you’re no Julia Childs
either, Connie.”

“My cooking is an acquired taste.”

“Bullshit.”

Conroy’s face fell somber. “I should have come home sooner. I’m sorry.”

“I understand why you didn’t.”

“Christ, I’m so tired. I think I could sleep for an entire month,” Conroy said.

“Good luck. Now that I’m working nights, I haven’t had a decent nights sleep. With the guys
working on the house, I’ve realized what a racket these guys can cause. I think Vinn’s gone
through three sets of speakers. And John… the guy can’t sing worth crap. I’m starting to think
Vinn hangs out with him just to get inside info on his sister.”

Conroy chuckled. “Vinn’s still holding out for Page? Geez, he’s had a hard-on for her since
seventh grade.”

Blake laughed.

They both fell silent as they drove up the hills, before descending to the other side for home.

Blake’s voice turned serious. “We’re in a real mess, Connie. The Historical Society is harassing
us to fix it up or move ‘em out. I think they or someone associated with them is turning to scare
tactics to force us out.”

“Bad?”

“Well, we’ve had tires slashed. Dillion found a dead rat in the mail box and some small minded
ass took a shit on our porch.”
“Christ almighty,” Conroy muttered as he rubbed and his temples. “Well I’ve got some money.
Not much to spend it on where I…” Conroy stopped speaking when they drove through uptown.
She was walking to her office—and Conroy spotted her. He had radar instincts when it came to
her. It was like a hawk to a field mouse. Both proud and stubborn. Conroy pressed his forehead
against the passenger-side window and closed his eyes.

“Connie, we need to find Dad.”

“Is it that serious? I mean, other than the harassment?”

“We could lose the house.”

Conroy sighed. “So what? It’s just a house.” His voice sounded rough. Blake knew that the
memories of their mom were still too raw for him.

“You may not have an attachment to the place, but I’d like to raise kids in the house some day.
It’s money we need. And a lot of it. Dad has the means to get it. Vinn’s made several calls to hire
a personal investigator. We can’t afford a damn one of them.”

“Blake, look, if you need financial help or an extra set of hands, I’m here for you. But if Pop
hasn’t come back on his own, maybe he doesn’t want to be found.”

“Hey, you were closer to him than the rest of us. Did he ever write to you? Leave you a letter?
Anything that might give us a hint to where he might have gone?”

Conroy shook his head, staring straight ahead in thought, then closed his eyes again as he spoke.
“Well, there was this one thing. But I can’t say if it relates directly to his disappearance…”

When Blake turned down their street, a crowd had gathered in the middle of the road near a fire
truck and a police vehicle.

Conroy stirred, groaning as he opened his eyes. “What the hell is up there?” He rubbed his eyes.
“Is that—what is that?”

“What the hell?” Blake said. “That’s our yard!”

“What’s that stink?”

Blake parked the truck at the curb, set the gears to park and they both bolted from the truck.
“Dillion?” Blake shouted.

They found Dillion shouting over the noise of the crowd to Officer Hicks, waving his arms to get
their attention when he spotted them. Shit, just what Blake needed. Asshole Hicks at his front
door.

“Good God, what’s he done now?” Blake muttered.

Another fire truck pulled up beside them. Suddenly, Dillion, his face streaked with dirt, the rest
of his face ashen gray, ran toward them. “God, I’m glad to see you guys.”

“What happened?” Blake asked.

There in the center of their front lawn was Dillion’s Black Mustang, and spilling nearly six feet
up was a geyser of water and brown sludge spewing from under ground.

“Something happened to the pipe that leads to the sewer…and well—“

“You mean that’s shit spewing out from our lawn?” Conroy sneered as he held his palm to his
nose and mouth.

Blake laughed—knowing there wasn’t much else he could do. He slapped a hand on Conroy’s
shoulder. “Welcome home, Connie.”

Episode 14
A Serious Matter

“I swear. It wasn’t my fault.”

“Dillion,” Blake’s impatience shone through his tone. “We had a front yard when I left. How
could we have a swamp with its own fountain in a matter of hours?”

“Look, all I wanted to do was hose off the driveway.” Dillion’s voice slowed, his words evenly
spaced as if explaining himself to a four year old. “I parked my car on the lawn and turned on the
hose. Then I don’t know what—“

“Men, what you have here,” said a portly guy with a hardhat and smug know-it-all smirk. “…is a
classic case of sewage pipe blockage mixed with unfortunate house location which resulted in a
low pressure point. Probably been building up for years.”

“And you are…?” asked Blake.

“Striker.” The man held out his hand to Blake. “Howard Striker. City Sanitation Department.”

“Mister Striker, can you clue me in on what set it off?”

“Well, any added pressure could have done the job. Probably just the added pressure of the
vehicle on the lawn could have set it off. I won’t know ‘til we dig up these old pipes to know for
sure, but I’d bet dollars for donuts, this here’s a tree-root problem.”

“Tree root?”
“Sure. Probably that one right over there at the front of the house. Fact, that tree may be older
than the house itself. Those roots have been known to grow through concrete, causing damage
for blocks. They can squeeze these ol’ pipe right in half.”

“Jesus,” muttered Conroy.

“Can you repair it?” Blake asked.

“My boys will give you an estimate. More than likely you’re going to need to replace all them
pipes leading from your drainage pipe to the drain field under the street.”

Hicks stood in the sidelines, as a smug observer arms crossed like a head coach watching the
team players. What an ass.

“Damn. If it’s not one thing—” Blake’s cell phone hummed at his waist. He removed it from his
belt, but who ever it was hung up before he could answer.

“Not much you fellas can do in the mean time,” Striker said.

Blake nodded, glanced at Conroy, then took the opportunity to back away from the immediate
problem to try and call Emma again.

He dialed, then waiting for several rings before her machine picked up. Even hearing her
cheerful recorded voice raised he spirits. “Please leave a message after the tone…” “Emma? It’s
me.” He sighed and thought for a long moment then said, “I miss you. Please call me, honey.”
He didn’t hang up right away. But just as he removed the phone from his ear he thought he heard
the phone pick up.

“Who is she?” Emma voice was cool and exact. But no less sweet. At least she answered—
before her question registered.

“Hey, you’re home.”

“Who is she, Blake?”

“Who’s who?”

“That woman I saw you with? Look, if you don’t want to see me any more—“ Her voice caught.

“Hold it a second. You mean the woman at the vet’s? She an old family friend, Emma.” He
lowered his voice. “My brother’s, um,” He glanced in Conroy’s direction. “…friend.” Blake felt
elated that she was actually jealous.

“Oh.”

After a long silence he said, “I’m coming over there.”

“No, Blake don—“

He shut off his phone and placed it at his belt. “Hey, Connie? I, uh, need do some damage
control.”

“That was her on the phone, wasn’t it?” Conroy asked with a sideways grin at Blake. “Go on.
Take care of your lady. I can handle things here.”

“Thanks. There’s food in the fridge, if you can eat with this smell. I’ll be right back.”

“Get out of here already!”

He jogged down the block to her townhouse and knocked on her door, disappointed she wasn’t at
the door waiting for him. “Emma, let me in.”

“Go away. I can’t talk to you right now.”

“That’s okay. I’ll do all the talking.” When she said nothing, he thought she might have left the
living room. He nearly gave up when she slowly opened the door. “Hi,” he said, and noticed she
was wearing that satiny light-green robe he loved on her, and her face was free of makeup. “Will
you let me in?”

She stepped aside, let him pass and then closed the door softly, her back to him. Her head was
cast down, she wouldn’t look at him. “I…have things to do. So if you don’t mind, you’ll have to
talk while I’m doing…stuff.” She walked passed him but didn’t get far. He grasped her upper
arm before she could get by.

“Emma?” Her gaze still cast down. “Look at me.” Blake tugged at her chin. She pulled it away,
but he grabbed it firmly this time until her eyes met his. They were red and puffy. “You’ve been
crying.”

A sob escaped as she tried to break free. She shrugged as pulled from his grasp, then turned and
started down the hall.

“Hey, what happened?” He pulled her to him wrapping her in his arms despite her objections.
“Tell me.”

She shook her head against his chest. “Damn you, Blake,” she whispered. “Don’t make me fall in
love with you.” Her voice made him shudder as she gave him a half-hearted slug to the chest
with her palm.

“Where is this coming from? Is this because of the friend you saw me with?” He backed her far
enough to look at her face, tilted his head studying her for a moment. A fresh tear fell down her
cheek.

She shrugged again. “Maybe. That, among…other things.”

“Are people at that salon filling your ears with garbage? Damn it, if that’s it, Emma, it’s
nobody’s business what goes on between you and me, okay?” He placed his palm to her cheek
and finally her mouth curved up just enough to form a smile to her face. “That’s better.” Blake
felt an unfamiliar ache so intense, it was almost frightening.

“I’m sorry. I just got scared and I don’t like that feeling.” Her cheeks were flushed.

If it was his rough day, her tears, or just pure lust, he wasn’t sure. In an instant he had her
pressed hard against him as he pressed his lips to hers. “Emma,” he whispered. He ran his tongue
across her lips and when she opened them, inviting him, he delved inside, deeply, thoroughly.
She was like ice cream on a hot summer day. Sweet, soft, and addictive. “I want you so much,”
he said as he tangled his fingers in her soft hair, gently devouring, tasting. “Only you.”

Her eyes, now heavy-lidded, and her breath uneven, it seemed to him her body was reacting as
intensely as his. The sizzling heat was rising between them. He moved with an agonizing
slowness, though his body was screaming for release as his erection pressed against her silk-
covered belly. He wanted to rip the robe from her, but he knew Emma needed more from him
then just sexual heat. He measured her responses, his gaze slowly slipping from her swollen lips
from his kisses down to the swell of her breasts, her nipples tantalizing him from beneath the
fabric. He stifled a moan when her hands reached under his shirt, raking her fingers through the
hair on his chest.

Blake had to see her. He tugged at the center of her robe, and as it fell from one shoulder,
exposing one perfect breast, he bent his head down and took one incredible nipple between his
teeth and into his mouth. His hands cupped them, firmly squeezing then until the peaks became
the color of sweet raspberries. She gasped and held his head to her.

He was quickly losing control. Just the scent of her and the silky smoothness of her skin drove
him to the cliffs of madness. No woman had ever made him feel so wanting, so possessive, and
so satisfied all at once. Just the anticipation, just knowing she wanted him was enough. If she put
a halt on things, he’d still feel as though— “Mmm.” Blake sucked in his breath as her fingers
came dangerously close to releasing him from his jeans. He felt his abdomen constrict at the feel
of her hands on him. “Honey, don’t start that yet or the night may end sooner than we want.”

“Blake, please.” This time, Emma tugged his head to hers, shifting her head for a full, deep kiss.
Hot and wet with need. “I need you. Make love to me, now—” she whimpered.

That was all the encouragement he needed. He swept her up and into his arms and grinned with
pure male exhilaration. “Where’s your bedroom, honey?”
Episode 15
Getting Carried Away

Though her eyes were closed, Emma knew Blake was taking her to her room, yet she still gasped
when he nudged her back and they both tumbled to the quilted bed cover.

Pumpkin growled in protest when she was evicted from her napping spot.

“Emma, what you do to me.” He kissed her, placing hot, wet kisses, to her lips and neck, her
earlobes and eye lids.

“I didn’t do anything,” she sighed, half teasing, half delirious. “You’re the one that was banging
on my front door.”

“That’s because you were driving me insane with worry.” He punctuated his reason with an open
mouth kiss to the hollow of her throat. “I must have called you fifty times today.”

“I know. I was avoiding you.” She moaned when he trailed his lips and tongue from her throat on
down between her breasts. But that wasn’t enough. “More…”

“Why were you avoiding me, honey?”

“Because, I…um…oh, God!” She grabbed fists-full of his hair when his mouth encircled one
erect nipple, licking and suckling, turning it into one hardend peak before moving to the other.
He pinched the abandoned one with his thumb and forefinger, sending waves of pleasure pulsing
down her belly and between her legs until she was writhing with need. She wanted him inside
her, but he was moving agonizingly slow. “I thought you didn’t want me.”

“Mmm,” was all he said, making her last comment seem obtuse. He released her breast from his
lips and moved up to place his mouth to hers once more, shifting his head to deepen their kiss.
Emma felt drunk with desire. The musky male sent of his body was intoxicating. “Oh, I want
you. I plan on showing you how much.”

The words, the sexy tone of his voice, felt like a gentle stroke to her naked skin. She could feel
his desire for her against her belly as his erection strained against the zipper of his jeans. She
wanted to release him and stroke him until he was as crazy with need as she was. But he had her
caged to the bed with his weight, unable to do anything but feel.

Blake shifted, parted the silk robe from her body, leaving her skin exposed and vulnerable. She
watched as he studied her body, his gaze hot and intense. Emma tried to reach for him, but he
grasped her wrists and held them above her head, causing her back to arch. She heard a low
husky groan from his throat as he looked up from her body, to her eyes, grinning with approval.

His large hand slid gently across her skin, around her breasts, finally gliding down her belly.
Heat exploded throughout her body when his hand cupped between the apex of her legs. She
arched higher as he held her hands up, driving her crazy for release. “Blake, please…” She
tugged at her wrists, but he was relentless. “I want you naked with me,” she begged. “Let me
help you,” she said. This time he devoured her—his mouth to hers.

Blake thrust his tongue between her lips just as one long finger slid inside her moist heat. She
gasped from the arousing intrusion, but it still wasn’t enough. Soon his hand began moving, fast
and rhythmic, while his mouth and tongue mimicked the act of lovemaking. Emma cried out as
she came—wave after sensual wave of heat so intense she thought she might burst from the
pleasure of his ministrations.

After, when her breathing returned to normal and she could open her eyes, Emma looked up at
Blake and offered a sated smile. But she was ready for more. She needed more.

Her hands came up and eased the zipper of his trousers down, her gaze never leaving his. Soon,
his erection sprang free from his briefs and into her waiting hand. She relished the feel of him, all
silky smooth yet hard and impossibly big. She felt him shutter and groan as she stroked lightly,
testing, feeling his length, pleasuring him as he had explored her.

“Emma…” His voice was hoarse and compelling and gave her the encouragement to continue.

She’d never held a man’s penis in her hands like this before. It was thrilling to know his pleasure
came from her attention. “I want to please you,” she whispered. “I’m not very good at this, so
would you tell me if I’m doing this right?”

He groaned again. “Honey, any better and I’d explode.” This time when he kissed her, it was
more hungry and savage, both devouring while delaying the moment when his body would join
with hers. “I want to be with you,” he said as the anticipation grew. Emma sensed she was
leaving him nearly crazy with need. “Inside you.”

“Yes, Blake…hurry.”

“Emma? You hooo.”

The thunderous sound of knuckles to wood had both Emma and Blake jerk forward. Emma’s
head knocked squarely into Blake lip. “Ow!”

“Oh, God—“

“Emma, darling are you in there?” Neither Blake nor Emma had time to take cover when
Emma’s mother burst through the bedroom door.

“Mother!”

“Holy hell,” Blake muttered as he grabbed for the zipper of his pants. Emma wisped the
bedcover up to her chest, effectively covering anything important, however, not enough to
conceal their activities.
Her mother held the doorknob and propped the other fist at her waist with a scowl on her face.
“Well, I did knock. Your front door was unlocked, for heaven’s sake.”

Emma saw the moment of recognition on her mother’s face when her and Blake’s eye’s locked.

“You!” they said in unison.

“You two know each other?” Emma felt like she’d missed the party. Horrified she said, “How do
you know each other?” When they ignored her questions, she growled and pulled the quilt over
her head.

“That’s your mother?” Blake looked like a caged animal ready to make an escape. He raked his
fingers roughly though his disheveled hair as he paced the floor, then briefly glanced at Emma
before looking her mother in the eye, and waited as if expecting a challenge.

“You know this is exactly what I’d have expected from you, Mister Kinsey. However, screwing
my daughter won’t get you any closer to me, or my decision. So you can end the charade before
Emma gets hurt.

“Excuse me? But can one of you answer my question?” She threw the cover off her head, the
stare-off between the two. Emma noticed Blake’s lower lip was bleeding.

“Oh, his family and I go back a long way, don’t we Mister Kinsey?”

Blake said nothing. And Emma’s heart sank.

“But you, darling. I expected you to be more cautious with the men you allow in your bed. I
warned you about him—“

“Mother,” Emma spoke harsh under her breath. “Please go into the living room and wait for me.”

“But—“

“Please, Mother,” Emma pleaded.

Her mother gave Blake a harsh and thorough once-over before she turned on her Italian-leather
heels and closed the door behind her.

“Emma, I—“

Emma held up her hand. “Don’t say anything, Blake.” She stood from the bed, doing her best to
keep exposed skin from his eyes. “Just get dressed and leave.”

“All right, but we’re not done here.” He tried to kiss her before he walked out, but she avoided
him.
Finally after what seemed to be minutes, he finally gave up and left the room. When Blake
walked out, she suddenly felt abandoned.

She expected a bomb to explode with the two of them in her living room. But when she heard the
front door shut without incident, Emma allowed a small measure of relaxation in her shoulders.
She threw on her robe, and ran a brush through her hair. It was time to face the dragon.

“Why are you here, Mother?” she said when she came into the room.

“Can’t a mother come by to see her only daughter?”

“You never just ‘stop by’.”

“All right fine. If you must know the awful truth. One of your neighbors saw that Kinsey boy
pounding down your door and thought I should be notified in case you were being harassed. One
can’t be too careful when in the political arena.” She pulled out a Chanel lipstick and gold-tone
mirror, added a dab off nude mauve to her lips. “Really, Emma. Inviting a man to your home
when everyone can witness—“

“You know what, Mother, not everything is about you. Did you happen to stop and think that
maybe Blake is with me because he enjoys my company?”

“I can’t believe this coming from my own daughter. I only have your best interest at heart.”

“No Mom, you don’t.” Emma swallowed hard and boldly met her mother’s gaze. “I like Blake.
He makes me feel good about myself. I’m asking you to please not interfere.”

“Very well. But he won’t ever be welcome in my house.”

“Fine.” Emma glanced out the front window. Blake was there, standing in her yard, with his
hands jammed in his pockets and his hair blowing across his forehead from the light breeze.
Emma’s heart swelled with deep affection.

He hadn’t abandoned her at all.

Episode 16
Flat Tires and Painted Toenails

“Show me your boobs…eek…show me your boobs.”

“Well, aren’t you a naughty bird.” Emma laughed as she walked into the diner. A large macaw
with a cerulean blue body and a golden chest greeted her. He was perched on the host’s podium,
bobbing his head and pointing his big black tongue at her.
“Hot mama…eek…show me your boobs.”

“Sorry about that,” the host said as he came to show Emma to her booth. “His name’s Baby.”

“Hey baby…eeek!”

“Baby, behave yourself.” John, the host, offered Baby a peanut. “Anyway, he was abandoned by
a group of college kids. I’m just babysitting him today for Doctor Wake.”

“He’s fresh,” she laughed. “But very beautiful. I imagine, the guys taught him that.”

He chuckled. “I imagine they did. Are you dining alone?”

“No, I’m waiting for a friend. She’s supposed to meet me here.” Emma looked about the diner,
hoping to see Page. The diner was set like an old 1950s ice cream shop, equipped with red and
white booths, Elvis posters, and a jukebox. It wasn’t playing music at the moment.

“Are you Emma?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Page just called and said to start without her. She’s going to be a little late.”

“Here I am,” Page shouted as she came through the door. She was wearing slim-fit jeans and a
sweatshirt with black smudges across the front. Her short blonde hair was pointing in all
directions but down. “Sorry, I got a flat tire on my way over.”

“Hot mama…”

“Hey, Baby. How are you handsome?” Page asked as she stroked the bird’s chest. The rascal
closed his eyes in utter bliss.

“You changed a tire by yourself?” Emma was in awe.

“What—you expect me to wait for some guy to help me?” Page winked at John.

He raised his brows then said, “Ladies, right this way.”

After Emma and Page were seated and ordered beverages, Page looked at Emma and gave a big
I-know-what-you’ve-been-doing grin. “So, you want to know about the Kinsey brothers, huh?”

“Guilty.” Emma laughed, shaking her head.

“Well, I have noticed Blake’s been in a better mood these days. I assume that’s your doing?”
Emma shrugged and felt her face heat up, remembering the way Blake’s hands and mouth
touched her last night. “He’s improved mine, that’s for sure.”

Page groaned. “He’d been a grouch for months until you came along. Vinn and my brother, John
threatened to take Blake out of his misery if he didn’t shape up.” She smiled when their waitress
brought their drinks.

“Why?”

“Several months ago the city voted to cut the police department’s budget, so some of the officers
lost their job. Blake was one of them. But he thinks he was steamrolled by members of the
council that hold a grudge.”

“Grudge?” Emma felt her stomach twist, knowing she was well acquainted with one of them.

Page shrugged. “Yeah, I guess some of them believe their position should hold certain perks.
Special parking privileges, waved speeding tickets, that sort of thing.”

Emma nodded, hoping the pulse thumping in her neck didn’t show.

“But if anyone around here runs the straight-and-narrow, that’s Blake. To him, the law is the
law--no gray area—and some people didn’t like it.”

Afraid to hear any more, Emma wasn’t going to push her for additional information. Besides,
she’d rather hear it from Blake. “What about his brothers? What are they like?” she asked, a little
too enthusiastic for sincerity. But by the grin on her face and the glimmer in her eyes, Page
didn’t seem to notice.

“I don’t know Connie that well. He’s a journalist and travels most of the time. Dillion’s the artist
that creates the weekly funnies for the Greenrich Daily News.” Her smile widened. “Then there’s
good ol’ Vinn. He thinks he’s God’s gift to women.” Page managed to roll her eyes, but kept her
smirk firmly in place. “He’s cute enough, but he lacks finesse. His version of seduction is
waving his eyebrows, offering a beer, and throwing out lousy one-liners.”

Emma noticed the sparkle in her eyes brightened when she spoke of Vinn. “But you like him.”

Page nodded briefly, glimpsed at Emma, then looked down at her drink. “Vinn flirts with just
about every female this side of Los Angeles. Even with me. But I won’t kid myself. I don’t know
the first thing about attracting a guy. Even a guy like Vinn that I’ve know since we were kids.”

“Why not? You’re pretty enough. You’ve got great skin and have the hair color some women
would kill an endangered species for. What more do you need?”

“For one thing, I’m older than he is. He probably expects older women to be…experienced. Plus,
I feel too provincial, too ordinary. I just don’t believe I’ve got what it takes. Not to mention, I
can’t remember the last time I went on a date.”
“Eeek…hot mama…hot…

Emma wondered if Page had any experience with sex. “So,” Emma said lowering her voice.
“What do you know about this curse everybody keeps whispering about?”

Incredulous, Page said, “If you ask me, the women in this town are just obsessed with sex.” She
shrugged. “I mean, what’s the big deal anyway?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Yep—Page didn’t have any experience, all right. Either that or she’d
never experienced an orgasm. If she had, Emma was pretty sure she’d have a different outlook.

“Hot mama…show me your…eeek…”

“Okay big guy. Time to go.”

Emma looked just as a pretty brunette entered the diner to take Baby from his lofty perch of
leering at ladies. He teetered on the woman’s arm and flapped several times creating a whirlwind
of flying napkins, before gaining his balance.

She groaned inwardly when she realized that the woman was the same one she thought was
Blake’s “other woman.” She was also her cat’s vet—making Emma feel like a complete idiot.
“Page, do you know that woman?”

Page twisted in her seat. “Yeah, that Doctor Mary Wake. She’s the local vet.”

“Yeah but who is she—to the Kinsey brothers? I saw her with Blake yesterday.”

“Oh. She’s Connie’s ex. They were together for a long time before he left the country. Why?”

“Oh, uh…no reason.” Emma didn’t want to open that can of snakes and decided to change the
subject. “So, then you don’t know what this so-called curse is or how it all started?”

“Oh, I didn’t say that. I just think sex is on everyone’s mind lately.”

“But not yours?”

Page shrugged. “I…um, I don’t have firsthand experience on that subject.” Emma noticed her
neck turned red at that admission. “I don’t know much about the curse.” Page thought for a
moment, tapping her index finger to her lips. “Two years ago, one of the guys was dating or
maybe just sleeping with someone—I can’t remember. Anyway, when they broke it off, the
woman wasn’t happy about it. Soon after, the rumor spread that any man that lived in that house
was on the limp side.”

Emma frowned. She knew first hand that wasn’t true.

Page must have read her expression. “Let me ask you something, Emma. Have the two of you
ever been together in his house?”

“No. I’ve never even been in the house.”

“Apparently it only affects the guys when they’re in the house. I think that’s any guy in the
house. Even visitors. And I guess this rumor isn’t new. It’s been circulating since their great-
grandfather lived there.”

“So when you say ‘all males’ do you mean their cat too? Because I know for a fact that’s not
true—my cat is expecting kittens. I was a witness to the conception.”

“But was that in the house, or in the yard?” Page asked as she played with the grease under her
nails.

“Neither,” Emma replied as she grabbed them up. “My goodness you’re in need of a good long
soaking and a manicure.”

Page pulled them back. “I was raised by my dad, so I missed a lot of the fun girly stuff that
you’re supposed to do.” She looked at her grubby hands again. “You know, high heels, fingernail
polish, pantyhose, sexy lingerie…”

“I’ll make you a deal.” Emma grabbed a paper napkin and pulled a pen out from her purse.
“Here’s my phone number. I’ll give you a make over, complete with a hair style and high heels,
and you teach me how to change a tire.”

“Could you paint my toes too?”

“Of course.” Emma leaned in and whispered. “Your guy, Vinn won’t know what hit him.”

“Deal.”

A ruckus was heard outside the diner. Page and Emma turned to see a man chasing after a
woman twirling a pair of men’s pants over her head. Said pants must have belonged to the man
running after her—he was in his Jockeys.

“Good grief,” Page shouted staring out the window with a look of disbelief. “That bonehead is
my brother!”

Emma stood up to get a better look. “Hey, cute butt.”

Episode 17
Sex, White Lies, and DVD Movies
“Come on, Darla, honey. Give me my pants back!” John Murphy shouted, wondering what on
earth happened to the sweet woman he’d made love to just two short weeks ago. The same
woman who’d fulfilled his sexual fantasy—starred in those sex fantasies since junior high
school. She was taunting him, humiliating him while he stupidly chased her in his underwear. He
felt like an ass toting his Nikes in his hands running down Greenrich street. Good thing things
hadn’t gone any further before she tricked him and ran off with his pants or he’d be completely
naked—toting a hard-on as well.

“Don’t give this ‘honey’ business you rat. You can run around town naked until the second
coming for all I care, you bastard.”

He stared at her pretty ass as he charged for her. “What’s wrong? What the hell did I do, baby?”
John liked his occasional lunch with Darla while she took her break for lunch from the movie
rental store where she worked as an assistant manager. Plus, the free movies she gave him were
an added bonus.

In truth, when they’d made love it felt right, too right…and it scared the shit out of him. Maybe
he was running scared these past two weeks, using exams and family issues as an excuse.

“Betty said she saw you with Bitsy Stark! How long did it take you to get into her pants? I
thought we had something special going on, but I guess sex must have reduced your brain
cells—or does it just cause memory loss. I’m okay to sleep with, but then you don’t return by
phone calls for two weeks after we’d had sex—pig-vomit slime ball.”

“Darla, can we have this conversation with my pants on—like civilized adults,” he said harshly
between his teeth. He was taken aback by her jealous behavior. He’d thought they’d had an okay
time together that night.

“You call your juvenile behavior civilized?” she whispered back—more like a stage whisper
then a silent one. Darla finally stopped running, and changed to a slow jog when they reached the
back parking lot behind the strip mall uptown shopping area. “I gave up this crap in high
school,” she panted. “I don’t deserve this sort of treatment.”

“Darla, honey, baby, buttercup…” He was with Bitsy Stark, but not for the reasons she assumed.
Actually Darla’s ranting was turning him on!

“Cretin.” She stopped and, turned toward him and crossed her arms, still catching her breath. He
nearly ran his near-naked body into her. “The only reason you even agreed to see me, you lying
mouse turd, was because I led you to believe we’d have sex. Ha! I was right. Just because I don’t
have a college education like you…you think I’m some sort of…of waddle brained, airhead, sex-
toy bimbo?”

“If you’d just listen for one second—“ She wouldn’t stop talking. So he shut her up the only way
he knew how. He reached out and firmly grasped her face and planted one hard, firm kiss to her
luscious, too busy mouth. She melted instantly. Just like he knew she would. He opened his eyes
glanced down to her hand, deepening his kiss—then reached back and snatched his pants clean
from her hand. “Gotcha!”

Darla’s eyes snapped opened, and her face held such a wounded expression, his triumph was
short lived. He changed the subject.

“By the way. What do you know about my tires being slashed the other day?”

“Why? Do you think I might have done it?” She squinted her eyes and glared at him.

“Did you?”

“No! But I’m sorry I didn’t think of it.”

“Darla, this is serious. It cost me over five hundred to get those tires replaced.”

“Maybe another one of your sex kittens?”

“Baby, you’re my only sex kitten.”

She snorted.

John quickly pulled on his pants, then nuzzled at her neck and she sighed. God, she was such a
sensual creature, just the simplest touch from him sent her reeling. He pulled back. “So, have I
totally screwed up?” He offered his most pitiful expression. “Will you give me another chance—
to redeem my manhood?”

She crunched her face in mock deep thought. “I don’t know. What have you got in mind? You
didn’t even take me out on a date before you jumped my bones.”

“I seem to remember you’re the one that did the jumping.”

“I just kissed you. You’re the one that tore my clothes off.”

John noticed several people staring at them as they walked by. He tugged on her arm to lead her
to a more private spot in the alley.

“All right.” He placed his thumb on her lower lip, rubbing it lightly. He loved how her light gray
eyes turned smoky when he touched her. “I don’t have any exams next week. How about we
spend the day together on Saturday? We can go wherever you want.” He wanted to kiss her
again, but she seemed to have a hair-trigger response whenever he touched her. It drove him
insane and so hard he could barely breathe. But he could handle it. He even managed to get his
shoes on, tying the laces while keeping his eyes fixed on hers.

She smiled and nodded. That had him worried. She never gave in so easily. “Whatever I want.
Okay.” Then she paused.
“What is it?” he asked when he noticed that something had caught her attention.

“That man.” She pointed at the back window to his dad’s hardware store. A man wearing a black
jacket, the hood over his head, was trying to jimmy the lock to the delivery entrance.

“What the hell? Darla, baby,” he whispered in her ear. “Get out your cell and call the police. I’m
going to go around the other side.”

The guy must have spotted John, because he took off like a scared jackrabbit. John ran after the
bastard, but lost him down a darkened alley. John decided to head him off at the pass. It worked.

He came full-force against the guy’s chest—tackling him to the ground and they both fell hard to
the concrete. John’s hands came down hard to break his fall only to land on the assailant’s chest.
This guy is a lightweight. The man’s chest was small and soft. Perky soft. Breast soft! John was
so startled, he threw himself back, only to be assaulted when the he/she kicked him in the head—
forcing him back onto his butt with a grunt—then took off like a shot. Only the sounds of soft-
soled shoes on gravel was all he heard. His head buzzed in pain.

“John! Oh, god. John, are you all right?” Darla ran for him and knelt down and touched his face.

“Woman.” John moaned. “It was…a woman.”

“Don’t worry. I called the police. Oh! You’re mouth is bleeding.” She touched his lip with her
fingers.

“Ow!” John placed his head on her lap and smiled up at her like an idiot. He had to admit he was
kind of liking the hero-attention.

“Sorry. Oh mmm.” She kissed him lightly. Little butterfly kisses to his lips. “Is that better?”

“Oh yeah, much better.” It hurt. But damn if he didn’t care. She turned her attention away when
the sounds of sirens filled the alley.

“John, what do you think he was after?”

“What do you think he, uh, she was after?” He tried to breath, but his head hurt too much. “Spray
paint, tools, chains. Things that thugs don’t want to pay for.”

“You said it was a woman?” Her voice held and edge of disbelief.

“Honey, criminals aren’t only just men.”

“I know that!” She fell silent, waiting for the authorities. John was content to keep his head in
her lap and stared up at her pretty face.

“Darla, honey?”
“Hmm?”

“I didn’t sleep with you for the sex.”

She smiled. “You didn’t.”

He shook his head. “I did it for the free DVD rentals.”

She slapped him on the shoulder. “You liar. You slept with me because you’re secretly in love
with me.”

“Ya, well—that and because I heard you were great in the sack.”

“Uff!” She stood up, not bothering to remove his head from her lap. His skull fell hard against
the asphalt.

Lord, she really turned him on.