Constant Craving

SERENA MOORE WHISTLED cheerfully as she walked up the short concrete walkway and opened the front door to her new home. But the happy tune, along with her carefree smile, stopped as her eyes encountered ... nothingness!

Plaster boarded walls and bare wood floors glared back at her, reflecting the harsh July sunlight blazing through naked windows. Rainbows of electrical wiring hung out from several gaping holes in the walls like so many tongues blowing her raspberries.

"Dammit!" Her voice echoed in the empty space. The house was supposed to have been finished days ago. As she stared in disbelief at the starkness around her, she realized something was very, very wrong.

And where was her furniture?

She scrubbed a frustrated hand over her face, turned and locked the door behind her. A few ripe swear words slipped through her lips as she walked next door, intending to use the neighbor's phone since she’d dropped her cell in the commode this morning. Was that three cell phones she'd trashed in as many months? She grimaced at the knowledge.

Her mind did a one-eighty back to the problem at hand. She had absolutely no place to live! 

She stalked across the small, manicured lawn separating her front porch from her neighbor's. Why hadn't the realtor called her? Why hadn't somebody, anybody, let her know that her place hadn't been finished?

She knew her neighbor's home had been refurbished previously and hers just recently, making the large house into two separate units—as had nearly all the Victorian-era homes in California's old Pasadena area. But hers was nowhere near being finished.

Now she was basically homeless. Her old apartment had already been rented out, and every last penny she owned had been socked away into the unfinished void she couldn't even call home yet.

True, she had a blossoming online marketing and promotion business, but that money had to be budgeted to pay utilities, buy food, and provide other necessities, not to be spent on a motel room for who knows how long.

With her mind racing and thoughts shooting out in all directions, she knocked on the solid wood door in front of her, avoiding the low-hanging potted fern she nearly bumped her head on.

When several seconds passed with no response, she impatiently knocked again. Her knuckles were still poised in midair when a drop-dead gorgeous hunk opened the door.

Looking as though he had stepped off the cover of G.Q. magazine in his perfectly tailored gray suit, coal black hair that was slicked back, and eyes so incredibly blue Serena was sure she could swim in them, her mouth hung open and her libido saluted him.

And she simply stared.

Was she drooling?

"May I help you?" A deep frown marred an otherwise perfect face.

Startled out of her sexual musings, Serena sucked in a sharp breath, shut her mouth, and felt her cheeks heat as she remembered why she was here. 

"Mr. Emrys?" She squinted, reading the engraved nameplate above the brass mail slot just to the right of the open doorway. She wondered if she pronounced it right, but he gave a curt nod, so she figured she hadn’t mangled it too badly.

Oh goodie, Serena thought. How many single women were blessed to have a neighbor this damn hot? Her eyes darted to his left hand then quickly up to his face again, the bright smile on her lips masking the disappointment she felt inside. A wedding ring? Crap! She seemed to have the worst luck.

"I'm Serena Moore." She stuck out her hand in greeting, forgetting her silly, romantic thoughts. She was here to use the phone, not get hot and bothered over a man she had met all of thirty seconds ago.

"Ah...yes," he said in hesitant understanding, ignoring her gesture to shake hands. "Please, come inside." He stepped to his right and just inside, allowing her to enter.

With a small shrug Serena wiped her damp palms on the thighs of her jeans and walked into the entryway. His house smelled cool, like the inside of a cave, and was void of any other aromas except the cologne he wore. Armani. She’d recognize the scent anywhere. Her heart lurched at the memory, but she shook it off, along with the wave of old desire the scent aroused. 

The air-conditioning was on and the abrupt change in temperature had her nipples hard. Who was she kidding? Married or not, this guy had her hormones turning somersaults! 

Seeing the leather briefcase at his feet that he promptly snatched up, she figured he was in a hurry to be somewhere. She would be sure to make her phone call a quick one.

"I've been expecting you," Mr. Emrys said. He had a softened British accent, as if he’d spent his childhood in an upper-class London boarding school and his adult years in America. She had a college friend with an accent very much like this guy’s. It was pretty damn sexy.

"So, I guess you know why I'm here then?" She felt a small, edgy laugh rising in her throat at her predicament, though she really couldn't see anything funny about it. 

Since her breakup with Jason over a year ago, she hadn’t been this close to another man. Mr. Emrys was so overwhelming it made her insides all jumpy. The fact that she was apparently the only one who knew her house was still unfinished caused the laugh to bubble out.

"Of course." His frown deepened at her seemingly dumb question, while his gaze traveled over her T-shirt. She watched his eyes widen for a second as he surveyed her chest. She grimaced, acutely aware that her nipples seemed to be reaching out to him. A knot twisted in the pit of her stomach at his obvious scrutiny.

"Would you mind if I used your phone?" she finally asked, since he stood there mute. “Landline, cell, string and tin cans, whatever you’ve got.”

"Well, I am in a hurry," he said slowly, tapping a long finger to his lips.   

Jeez! Serena thought with a hint of bitterness. Did he think she was going to case the joint and make off with his valuables? 

Her impatience grew and she labeled him an egotistical ass. Was he going to let her make the call or not? She probably would have wasted less time driving over to the nearest phone store and buying a new one.

She was just about to walk out and do just that when Mr. Emrys sighed, obviously giving in to his predicament. Serena never felt so lousy in all her life, and knew where not to come if she needed anything in the future.

Just then a small boy around four-years-old ran up to them, hugging his father's leg. A wife and a kid. Her sigh was inward and silent. It seemed that most people her age, and some even younger, had their lives going smoothly. She was probably the only thirty-year-old who had no idea where the rest of her life would go. 

Thinking she would forever remain single wasn't a fact she was eager to embrace. She didn’t have trouble finding men, she just managed to attract the ones who couldn’t settle down. 

Isn’t that why Jason left? Sure, their relationship started out hot and heavy and seemed ideal. His dad had money, Jason wanted to start a band, and she was a promoter, so they naturally gravitated toward each another. As soon as he started touring, barely-legal groupies became his flavor of the week. 

"This is my son, Danny," the man flatly stated, bringing her out of introspection. Prying the child away from him he said, "Danny, this is Ms. Moore." He nodded in her direction.

The kid grinned up at her, displaying an adorable dimple in each cheek. Serena wondered if the man before her possessed a similar set of dimples, but could only guess since he seemed to be made of stone. His handsome face showed little emotion—aside from his reluctance to let her use the phone and obvious discomfort at his son's show of affection. Poor little guy. She found herself wondering if his mother was just as standoffish as his father appeared to be.

She stooped down to ruffle the boy's hair, noting he was a small, physical replica of his silent father. "I love kids," she commented before standing back up. 

"I certainly hope so." He shot her with a hard look.

Serena looked at him, confused.  

"I'm sorry, but I had to be at a meeting half an hour ago," he explained in the same even tone as he started out the door.

"Wait! I really needed to use your—"

"Just make yourself at home," he interrupted. "Your room is on the second floor, right hand side." With long, purposeful strides he walked out to the midnight-blue Mercedes parked in the driveway, calling out over his shoulder, "I'll be back around nine. We can work out the details then."

Seconds later he drove away, leaving a stunned Serena to sort out this crazy situation with her small companion.

Giving her head a thorough shake, she decided to ask the Mrs. if she could use the phone. "Is your mom home?" she asked the boy standing beside her. He seemed to be sizing her up.

"Nope, don't got a mommy. She died." He clasped his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

Serena blew her bangs up with exasperation, tucking away the knowledge of Mr. Emrys being a widower. "All right then, who's taking care of you while your father’s at work? Your grandma, an aunt maybe?"

He cocked his dark head to one side and frowned. "You are."

"Me?" She pointed at herself.

He only nodded then tugged on her pant leg when she directed her gaze to the...