Surprise Me.... Isabel Sharpe

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      “In and out, huh?” He rotated his hip back and forth against her thigh. “Tell me more about that concept.”

      She would, but her mind had turned to lust-mush. “Maybe later?”

      “Definitely later.”

      “Her mom just came back to town.” Jenny finished her mojito and picked up the one Stoner had bought her. “She’s trying to settle down and change her ways.”

      “Aw, man.” Stoner shook his head sorrowfully. “You can’t fight who you are. There’s no point. Like I said, I knew early on I was different from my family. There was nothing I could do about it but be me. So that’s who I am.”

      Melanie wanted to applaud. “I totally agree with you.”

      “Well, then, cheers, girl—sorry. Ms. Mel-a-nie, she is a-all woman.” He clinked their glasses, drained his beer and thunked it on the bar. “And I am sad to say, I gotta get going.”

      Melanie’s adrenaline petered out abruptly.

      “Already?” Jenny looked as bewildered as Melanie felt.

      “I have somewhere to be tonight. I just stopped by to see if I could catch you.” He slid his arm around Melanie’s shoulder. “Bang, you’re caught.”

      Melanie tipped back to look directly into his bottomless blue pools of sex. “I know.”

      “I should be home to Edgar’s place by midnight.” He glanced carelessly around the bar, then angled his head lazily back toward hers. “I’m heading right to bed.”

      Her petered-out adrenaline came flooding back.

      “Really…”

      “I hear Edgar doesn’t lock his apartment at night.” His voice had dropped, for her ears only. She was getting every word. “Or at least he’s going to forget tonight.”

      She pretended to look shocked. “How careless.”

      “And guess what.” He leaned forward until his lips touched her cheek. “Edgar is such a good guy that he’s given up his bedroom for me so I can sleep in when he has to get up for work.”

      “Is that so?” She could barely get sound out, battered by a surge of hormones broadcasting their readiness for this man. Tonight. After midnight. In Edgar’s—

      Edgar’s bed? With Edgar in the apartment? Oh, no. She couldn’t—

      “It’s a nice big bed. Clean sheets.” His voice rumbled through her, his lips brushed her cheek at every syllable. “Very comfortable.”

      “Your brother…”

      “Won’t be home. He’s visiting a friend in…Chicago. Lastminute thing.”

      Melanie frowned. Edgar hadn’t told her that. Though, if he wasn’t going to be home…

      “Well.” She turned. Stoner’s lips touched the corner of her mouth. “That might change things.”

      “I hope it does.” He lingered a blissful second, then drew back and took her hand for a formal shake. “Very nice to see you, Ms. Mel-a-nie.”

      “And you, Mr. Stoner.”

      “I hope to see you again—” he brought her hand to his mouth for a gallant kiss ”—very soon.”

      “We’ll see.” She kept her cool, all the while dying to jump down from her stool and go skipping around the bar shrieking yes, yes, yes!

      Nothing in this world, nothing, fired her up like a sexy guy wanting her. The pumped-up thrill took over her, made the world a fabulous place bursting with possibilities.

      Stoner said goodbye to Jenny, left one last piercing blue look with Melanie and exited the bar, probably sure they were staring at his fabulous shoulders and ass disappearing into the crowd, which they both were.

      “What did he say? What’s going on? Are you going to meet him later?”

      Melanie smiled dreamily. Why fight it? She knew inviting random encounters was a bad way to live, knew it was a crazy way to look for love, knew men who approached her like this were not in the mood for any kind of real relationship, but heck, she couldn’t resist. She had her mother’s genes. And look at Mom—fifty-one and only recently deciding it was time to renounce her self-indulgent lifestyle.

      Which meant Melanie had another twenty-five years of fabulous high after fabulous high to look forward to. Starting tonight, with the current man of her dreams, through an unlocked apartment door into a nice-size room holding a big, clean and ready-for-action bed.

      MELANIE STRODE DOWN Water Street in the cool night air, checking her watch by the nearest streetlight even knowing it would be exactly one minute later than the last time she checked it. Which put her at forty-five minutes past midnight, enough time, she hoped, for Stoner to have made it back from wherever he’d gone, gotten into bed as promised, and to have given up on her and fallen asleep.

      After Stoner left, she’d had another mojito with Jenny at The Wicked Hop, then they’d gone to hear a band at the Milwaukee Ale House, where she drank a lot of water and nursed a beer for appearances, not wanting to show up in Stoner’s bed too drunk to function. Before it was time to leave, though, she’d poured back one last mojito to make sure any inhibitions—she didn’t have many—would be on hold.

      So now, well-hydrated, high on adrenaline and that last quickly downed drink, she was on her way.

      To Stoner. Oh, yeah.

      At the entrance to Edgar’s funny little building, she pushed through the outer door…then stopped. Oh, no. Stoner might have made sure the door to Edgar’s apartment would be open, but the inner door to the building was locked. She’d have to buzz him to let her in, which wasn’t the end of the world, but announcing herself would spoil the fun of creeping into the bedroom and jumping him in the dark. Not that he’d be totally surprised, but she never had actually told him whether she’d show, so she had a shot at a stealth attack.

      Maybe someone would come out? Thursday night, it could happen this late. She peered through the glass, hand next to her face to block the light from the foyer. The last several steps of the staircase were visible…and empty.

      Three impatient, fidgety minutes later, they were still empty, but the now familiar row of buzzers next to the door gave her another idea. Sledge, the artist/sculptor/jeweler, lived in Edgar’s building on the second floor, the guy she’d met when Edgar took her to buy a necklace for his longtime “girlfriend,” who turned out, incredibly, not to exist.

      Melanie frowned, boozily distracted by a new thought. What had happened to that necklace if there was no girlfriend to give it to? Maybe the whole scene had been a charade and Edgar hadn’t really bought it. Except that made no sense either because—

      Focus, Melanie. The point was that she could buzz Sledge and say she needed to get into Edgar’s apartment, that she was early for a rendezvous and wanted to wait until he got back from…somewhere. With luck, Sledge wouldn’t know Edgar had gone to Chicago.

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