Love and Romance, etc.

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."

THE LONELY GUYS
Copyright © 2004 By Bonnie Williams
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