Seeking Single Male by Stephanie Bond Page A

men she'd ever seen. He was pleasingly handsome, and in command of a
    hulking muscular body. But there was something infinitely gentle in his eyes and his shy smile. He gestured to a seat in the
    second row that he had obviously just vacated.
    "I don't want to take your seat," she protested.
    "I'm glad to give up my seat for a lady," he said, enunciating very deliberately.
    Lana suddenly realized the man had a slight mental deficiency or neurological disorder. She flashed him a grateful smile.
    "And I thought chivalry had died. Thank you very much."
    The large man pointed to a black briefcase on the seat next to the one he was giving up. "My brother had to make a phone
    call, but he's coming back."
    "I'll let him know how kind you were when he returns." Suddenly cheered by the stranger's thoughtfulness, Lana inhaled
    deeply and claimed the seat with an optimistic smile. Maybe this night wouldn't turn out so badly, after all.
    "Excuse me." The kind man's brother had returned. She moved her knees sideways and shifted her bag in her lap to allow
    him to pass. The councilwoman banged again for the crowd to settle down. The man picked up his briefcase and dropped into
    the seat.
    Lana turned her head. "Your brother gave me his—" She felt her jaw drop at the sight of Greg Healey. "You!"
    His eyes flew wide, and he recoiled as if she'd hit him—again. "You!"
    They vaulted to their feet and sprang away from each other, trampling toes of the people around them. Lana could not find her
    voice. A hot flush swept over her body. What the devil was he doing here?
    "We need to get started," the woman in the front repeated loudly, and Lana realized that everyone was staring at them.
    "Please take your seats."
    Lana eyed him warily, and he looked equally cautious. But when the silent stares around them became uncomfortable, they
    slowly reclaimed their seats. Lana sat rigid with shock. Every inch of her skin burned. Her mind spun with the coincidence of
    seeing him again and the inevitable embarrassment of explaining the mix-up. How would he react? Keenly distracted by his
    appearance and his proximity, Lana could barely concentrate on what was being said.
    "…Margaret Wheeler, council president. Proceed to the microphone when your name is called. First, we'll hear from a
    representative from the city planner's office, who will read the proposal and define the specific area involved in the rezoning
    plan."
    The lights were dimmed, plunging her into forced intimacy with the man next to her. The negative energy rolled off him in
    waves. An overhead projector kicked on, and a blurry map of the Hyde Parkland area appeared. A small man named Peterson
    droned on and on about the formal process of enacting a zoning change. She had contacted the city planner's office countless
    times to share her ideas about community conservation projects; Peterson thought she was a royal pest.
    Suddenly Lana wanted to be anywhere but this blasted council meeting.
    "Where is the man who was sitting there?" Greg Healey demanded close to her ear.
    She jumped. "Your brother? I don't know," she whispered back. "He gave me his seat."
    His soft snort could be translated to mean lots of things—none of them complimentary. She pulled away even farther, until
    she was practically in the lap of the woman sitting on the other side of her.
    Lana faded in and out of the speaker's thirty-minute speech because she had already researched the tedious details he was
    providing. Instead, her mind zeroed in on Greg Healey, although she dared not look in his direction, not even with her
    peripheral vision. He was irritated, as evidenced by his frequent sighs and constant fidgeting. His chair creaked incessantly
    and the fabric of his suit slid back and forth, back and forth.
    Her mind drifted as she recalled her first impression of him. Darkly handsome, friendly, even appealing. Holy hoodwink,
    looks could be so deceiving. Too late, she felt the heavy canvas bag slipping out of her