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knew she was, everything so on point he thought her farts would probably smell like potpourri.
    He realized almost immediately that it was all effected to cover her underlying sadness. She’d been hurt, badly, and was trying to hide beneath a veneer of cool professionalism.
    She couldn’t hide from him though. Not for long.
    EJ finished a round of sit-ups—ten quick sets of ten—bounced to his feet heading for his stationary bike at the far end of the living room when someone knocked on his door.
    He grabbed the towel from the handlebar of his bike and draped it around his neck as he headed for the door, determined to get rid of whoever it was and get back to his work-in-progress.

    24
    Beneath the Surface

    * * * *
Tabitha listened to the sound of bare feet padding to the door, ears finely tuned to whatever might be going on behind it, and preparing herself for just about anything.
    Anything except the sight of Eric shirtless and in a pair of navy sweat pants that did little to detract from his overall sleek look.
    She inhaled and his scent wafted to her. God, even his sweat smelled good!
    He stood holding the door, his eyes slowly widening at the sight of her on the threshold. “Oh, shit! We had an appointment.”
    “Yes.” She nodded. “Yes, we did.” She waited, staring at him, did not even want to begin to wonder what or who was the source of his perspiration and breathless state.
    “You forgot.”
    “No, I didn’t forget. Not totally. I mean I remembered this morning when I got up that we had an appointment. I just lost track of time in the interim and—”
    “Please spare me.” She put up a hand, motioned to pass him and enter the apartment.
    He opened the door wider and stepped aside.
    She stopped several feet inside, admiring the unexpected order and cleanliness.
    His taste in clothes may have been suspect, but his decorating style was flawless.
    Or maybe he’d hired a professional like her to secure the smooth eclectic look of his loft.
    She had a particular weakness for polished wood floors, loved the purity of uncovered parquet, but appreciated Eric’s only concession, a Persian area rug in the region right in front of the door where she was standing, pumps sinking into the luxurious turquoise material.
    Tabitha noticed his workstation right away—the black flat screen monitor on the desk, the black lacquer entertainment center on the opposite wall housing a small CD
    player, a twenty-seven inch flat-screen TV—and liked his state-of-the-art taste in electronics. The rest of the shelf space around the house was filled with hordes of framed family pictures that she liked as well, thought the personal touches gave nice insight to the man; more insight even than his over-protective older sister Evelyn gave with tales of growing up a tomboy in a house with three older fashion-plate sisters, two bratty younger brothers and one bathroom.
    She smiled at the thought now as she admired Eric’s living room and thought his furnishings indicated that there was hope; he wasn’t totally clueless about what was going on in the outside world where style was concerned. But then he was a man, drawn to anything with gears, electricity and an engine. Now fashion…
    Tabitha started when she felt his hands on her shoulders, glanced at him over one and saw that devastating take-no-prisoners smile. Her vaginal muscles tightened in response to his closeness and heat.
    “Let me take your coat,” he told her as she let him slide the trench off of her.

    25
    Gracie C. McKeever
    Watching him saunter to the coat rack to hang it up Tabitha noted he had the most delicious male butt, round and tight in every place it should be, making her imagine what each steely cheek would feel like cupped in her hands as he pumped into her.
    Tabitha shook her head as if she could shake off her sudden desire. She didn’t need this sort of trouble in her life, didn’t want it. She was still stinging from the last time she’d let her