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her ears and moaned. “Stop! Look, maybe it is a good idea for you to stay home tonight. I just want to go dancing and have a good time, Miss Wet Blanket.”

      Peg grinned at her. “Yeah, well, it’s better than being Mrs. Wet Blanket, married to a guy who’s so cheap that his wallet creaks when he has to open it. Or—”

      Shirlie was beginning to look a little wild-eyed when the door to After Hours opened and in walked The Man. Her eyes went from wild to glazed over within a nanosecond.

      Peg observed this while running her own eyes over The Man. He was six feet, two inches of gym-terrorized perfection, she had to give him that. His wide, solid torso formed a perfect V as it tapered into his slim waist, which was the only thing slim about him. He had the biceps of a young Arnold Schwartzenegger, shoulders that made even Peg want to cram a fist into her mouth and long, lean-looking legs. She couldn’t see his backside, but she’d be willing to bet that it was Grade A prime beef.

      The Man smiled at her, displaying even white teeth.

      Just as a spark of sexual awareness shot through her belly and zoomed lower, she recovered her mental capacity. Steroids, she sang to herself. The guy is so bulked up he looks like he’s made of rubber. He’d bounce if you threw him on the pavement. And he’s probably a knucklehead, to boot.

      Peg pulled her white lab coat closed against his gaze. There was something vaguely familiar about him, which disconcerted her. She didn’t like his air of cool appraisal either—he stepped in as if he owned the place.

      Shirlie beamed at The Man and got an instant case of the nervous babbles. “Hi, welcome to After Hours! I mean, I know it’s not after hours right now, it’s regular daytime business hours, but After Hours is the name of the salon and spa since we’re open 9:00 a.m. to midnight. Isn’t that fabulous? New marketing concept. Most people don’t have time to leave work and come during the day, so we get them to come at night.”

      “Oh,” said The Man, “I’m not particular about when I come.” He grinned at Peg.

      She narrowed her eyes, but she couldn’t find a trace of innuendo or sarcasm in his voice.

      Shirlie’s blue eyes widened and she squirmed. “Uh, arrive at night. Make evening appointments. I didn’t mean, well, you know…” Shirlie blushed fire. “I didn’t mean anything by—I just meant—Oh, God, just shoot me. But by the way, I’m Shirlie!”

      Peg cringed for her.

      The Man blinked, bit back laughter and finally said politely, “Nice to meet you, Shirlie.”

      “You have an appointment for a massage?” She scanned the book, looking very much as if she’d like to close her face in it and die.

      He shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but the babbles took hold of her again. “You’re here to have your back waxed, then! Of course. Don’t be embarrassed—lots of men have your problem. We wax backs all the time. My brother has come here for that. No shame in it at all—”

      “Actually,” The Man said, “I’m here to—”

      “Your bikini area, then?” Shirlie blurted.

      “God, no!” He looked alarmed.

      Peggy decided that it was time she stepped in, to rescue both Shirlie and The Man from any more awkwardness. “What can we help you with?” she asked.

      “I was, uh…” He looked up at the ceiling tiles, of all places. And along the baseboards. He squinted into the back of the salon, gazing…under the sinks?

      Peggy didn’t know what to make of him. Then he stuck his foot in his mouth.

      “Listen,” he said. “Do any straight guys come here?”

      Unbelievable. Peg couldn’t help it. She snorted.

      He looked at her sharply.

      She cleared her throat. “Sorry. Just getting over a cold. Yes, plenty of straight guys come here. Your masculinity is safe on our premises.”

      “Are you making fun of me?” he asked.

      Oh, hell. Yes, I was, and it was wrong, and it’s certainly not good business to do that. “No, no. Not at all.” She gave him her best smile. “We’re running a special right now on spa packages, and as the manager, I can offer you twenty-five percent off. Would you be interested in booking our Qu—uh, King package? It’s a combination of a sea salt body scrub and wrap, a hot stone massage and a warm mud bath. Very relaxing and rejuvenating—and men, straight men, get this package all the time.”

      “Sounds great,” The Man said, looking uninterested and still inspecting everything but the decor, which usually riveted first-time visitors since it was so splashy and contemporary. Orchid, sea-foam green, yellow and pink walls surrounded übermod furniture and funky floor cloths.

      After dark, the spa’s lighting, music and atmosphere created almost a nightclub feel, where clients could have a cocktail or two while getting their nails or hair done. Part of Shirlie’s job was to mix drinks after 5:00 p.m.

      The idea was that the spa functioned as a relaxing, fun preparty spot where clients could start their evenings while being pampered and polished.

      “Would you like to book your package all at once,” Peg asked, “or in three separate treatments?”

      The Man hesitated for a moment. “Three separate treatments, please,” he said.

      “All right.” Since Shirlie wasn’t responding to the verbal cues, Peg took the appointment book from her apparently nerveless hands and flipped through the pages. “When would you like to come in?”

      “Uh, tomorrow? Say, around six or seven?”

      She scanned the book. Their part-time massage therapist was off tomorrow. She’d have to take the appointment herself. “Seven o’clock all right?”

      “That’ll be fine, thanks.” He continued to scan the premises. What was he, an engineer? Again, he didn’t seem interested in the design, the multicolored walls or the distressed, hand-painted cement floor.

      He did seem interested in her—she could feel it in his gaze—but it was as if he didn’t want to be.

      There was something about him that she didn’t trust, though she couldn’t put her finger on why. And why did he seem familiar? It wasn’t just that his casual, cocky, muscular stance reminded her of Eddie.

      Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. There’s nothing sinister in a guy signing up for a sea salt scrub.

      She tried not to think about the fact that tomorrow she’d be running her bare hands all over those broad shoulders of his, that smooth, tanned muscle. Her body went on full, red-hot alert, which wasn’t in the least professional.

      Shirlie was still pinned in the receptionist’s chair by the visual force of the man, riveted by that butt of his as he strode to the door. Was that a trickle of drool at the corner of her mouth?

      The butt was indeed Grade A prime. And his chinos fit him just right. The Man’s back muscles rippled as he opened the door, and both Peg and Shirlie sighed as he walked through it and let it close behind him. God, what was wrong with the pair of them? This was Miami—they saw male models all the time.

      It wasn’t until he’d disappeared from sight that Peg realized she’d forgotten to get his name and phone number. Had she really been lecturing Shirlie in that smug, worldly way just a few minutes ago? She herself was just as bad!

      “What do you think he looks like with his clothes off?” Shirlie asked reverently. “Did you catch his name?”

      Peg shook her head sheepishly. “No, but I’ll be the one doing his sea salt scrub tomorrow, so—”

      “Shut-up-no-you-are-not!”

      “Yep.”

      “Some people have all the

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