LITMIR.BIZ

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Why couldn’t he have waited to ask until then, so it wouldn’t be so obvious she had no idea where she was going?

      “I’ve got a long wait, too. I’m meeting a friend. Can I buy you a drink?”

      “Oh, gosh. I don’t think so, thanks.” She quickened her pace; he kept up easily.

      “I just want to buy you a drink, that’s it. Juice, milk, soda, whatever…doesn’t have to be booze.”

      “No, really. I’m fine.”

      “I don’t mind. There are some decent places here.” He gestured toward the assortment of eateries in the station.

      Rose stopped and turned to face him, struck again by the depth and complexity of the expression in his eyes. “Are you always this persistent?”

      “No.” He grinned and crossed his arms, hands shoved into his armpits. “Usually I don’t even ask in the first place. So I guess I don’t want to start off a career of asking strange women out with a dismal failure.”

      She couldn’t help a small smile. This guy would probably be a lot of fun. Damn the timing all to hell.

      “I’m sorry. I just have to be so careful.” She bit her lip. “Everyone has to be careful these days.”

      “Okay, no problem.” He held up his hands and backed away. “Nice to meet you, Rose. Have a good trip.”

      He grinned once more and strode off toward the food court. She took a quick, deep breath. Stupid as it sounded, and as much as she had been anxious to shake him off, now that he was gone, she felt terribly alone.

      She pulled herself together, scanned the departure board, chose a train to D.C., so she’d have the most stops to choose from, bought her ticket and a newspaper, and settled down to wait.

      3

      MELISSA SAT ON HER discarded-outfit littered bed, hands tucked under her thighs, knees pressed together, feet pressed together. She had a good view in the dresser mirror opposite her, so she could see firsthand what she looked like when she was panicking.

      Not a pretty sight. Her eyes were huge, her face so pale that the makeup she’d put on looked like it was trying to bring her back from the dead. Her jaw was so tight her teeth were starting to ache, and when she brought her hand up to tuck her hair behind her ears, forgetting her hair wasn’t long enough to tuck anymore, her hand was shaking. In fact, her entire body was shaking.

      She glanced at the clock. Seven-fifty. In ten minutes she’d go across the hall and do some shaking there. Seeing as guys were always late, at eight-fifteen this Tom person would waltz in. He’d be overly handsome, with tufts of chest hair that poked all the way up to his Adam’s apple. He’d have several gold necklaces glinting through the unbuttoned opening of his rayon shirt, and he’d make that horrible gun with his fingers and pretend to shoot her in greeting. Which was a damn strange way to be charming, now that she thought about it.

      No way. She couldn’t do this. She was not a sex goddess. She belonged with someone dependable and a little dull, someone like Bill. She should be married, cheerfully and gracefully pregnant, glowing with peace and good health, helping her husband make their bed in the morning.

      She shuddered. Ick. Not yet. Not until she was thirty, anyway. She needed this time to explore, this last chance in her life to check out the wild side. Each of her relationships had lasted longer than the previous one, and she had a feeling Mr. Right would show up soon. So what was wrong with something before then? A little stopgap? Better to screw around now than do it after she was married. Or wonder the rest of her life what a fling would feel like. Right? Right.

      She glanced at the clock again. A little sideways flirt of a glance, so that maybe if she took only the tiniest look, time would slow down a little, or maybe stop, and she wouldn’t ever have to go in there and meet him.

      Tom would hook his jacket over one finger on his shoulder and wink at her as if she was a cute child. He’d be too huge and musclebound, the kind of guy who’d have to turn sideways to fit through the door, and who’d have no spit at all and kiss her with a dry mouth that he used special lip weights to keep young and firm. The kind of guy who called women he was trying to impress “kid” or “babe.”

      Ick.

      No way. She couldn’t do this. What were the odds that he would be attractive to her? How many men did she pass in the street, and how many of them were? Really attractive? Enough to want to touch? Hardly any.

      So Rose thought he was sexy. Rose dated men old enough to be her father, who had paunches and horrible taste in clothes and probably bad breath and erectile dysfunction.

      What the hell am I doing?

      The traitorous clock now said 7:58. Melissa took a shaky breath and moved her shaky body over to the dresser. She picked up the key with her shaky hand, her shaky brain still not sure if she was actually going to use the key. But she had to. She couldn’t stand him up. She couldn’t bear the curiosity for the rest of her life if she never even got a peek at him. And she wasn’t going to stoop to peering through the doorway and only coming out if he was cute.

      For one thing, she didn’t want him to know she even lived in this building until she decided whether he was someone she’d like to…get to know.

      She opened her door and raced across to Rose’s apartment, managed to fit the key into the lock and went inside, trying to take deep breaths into lungs that had developed some kind of weird stuttering problem. She would have loved a small drink—say, a fifth or so of Scotch—but she didn’t drink that much, and wouldn’t want him to smell it on her if he got close enough to.

      Oh, God. What was she doing? What if he was totally wonderful? How could she stop herself from falling in love with him? What made her think she was emotionally equipped for intimacy without feeling?

      She went over to the window and opened it, thankful for the cool night air that flowed into Rose’s apartment. If it was humid and oppressive, she’d probably pass out. She looked down into the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of the guy so she could at least get a preview.

      No studs. All she saw was that parked TV repair truck, which must belong to someone who had recently moved onto their street.

      The knock on the door was perfect. Not loud and insistent. Not timid. Not silly and overly rhythmic. Confident, firm-knuckled, let me in.

      Oh, help. Let him in.

      She took a huge deep breath, which her lungs suddenly allowed her to have, and went to open the door.

      He was perfect.

      He was so perfect she wanted to laugh. He was so perfect she wanted to cry. He was so perfect she just stood there and stared and thought about how perfect he was until it occurred to her she was being totally ridiculous.

      “Hi, Tom. Come in.”

      He nodded. Even his nod was perfect. Up and down of his head, with his firm jaw starting it and his high forehead following. Dark, dark hair, slightly wavy and thick, dynamite brown eyes surprisingly light in color, long lashes, nice mouth, a sexy groove running down one cheek.

      She moved back into Rose’s overdecorated apartment and gestured him in, then closed the door and watched as he walked into the room and looked around.

      Perfect. Tall, not too tall; built, not too built. Jacket and tie, respectable, well-groomed. Perfect.

      And the most perfect thing of all was that he was so perfect, there wasn’t the slightest chance she’d fall in love with him. Who the hell wanted to stare at someone that perfect for the rest of her life? Talk about feeling inadequate.

      He swung around and met her gaze, a faint smile deepening that groove in his right cheek. His eyes were penetrating, his expression slightly cynical, totally exciting. She found herself beaming back in breathless, idiotic, hopeful happiness. This could actually work.

      “Call me Riley.” His

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