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at the regatta photo, on the side table. “You know what? It’s none of my business.”
    “Truest words you’ve said since you rang my bell.”
    “You wish I’d ring your bell,” Colby muttered under his breath.
    “Why?” Pip persisted. “Why would you want to date a cripple?”
    “The question is why would I want to take out a grumpy bastard who jumps down my throat every five minutes?”
    “Is this your idea of customer service?” Pip shifted against the doorframe. “Calling me names and hitting on me in the same sentence?”
    Colby shrugged, trying to regain his composure. “You called me in. I’m just saying, I’d date you. Well, maybe not, because you have a chip on your shoulder the size of a potato, but I’d get all up on that, regardless. You’re fit.”
    What the hell am I doing?
    “You’d fuck me, but you wouldn’t date me?”
    “Don’t need to like you to fuck you. Especially if I can find some way to keep that mouth of yours busy.” Colby grinned, hoping it covered up the nervousness he felt. He couldn’t believe he was saying such things to anyone, let alone a prospective client. Yet the urge to push all of Pip’s buttons compelled him to continue, and from the sudden intensity in Pip’s expression, he guessed he’d hit at least one. He just wasn’t certain if angry sex or the implication of filling Pip’s mouth was the catalyst.
    He couldn’t keep the indifferent persona going for too long, though. He gathered up the crutch, and, dialing down his grin from feral man-eater to something softer and more in keeping with his actual personality, he moved toward Pip. “I’d date you if you smiled more.”
    Pip pressed himself back against the doorframe. “Do you want this stuff or not?”
    “Sure,” Colby said, hopefully making it clear he was talking about Pip as well as the clothes. He moved past Pip, his arm brushing against Pip’s torso, and then handed him the ugly metal crutch. “I could probably get rid of it. I’ll be back with a van on—”
    “I want it gone now.”
    “I’m not throwing these gorgeous things in the back of my car. Jesus, I’ve got a Fiat 500. I’d never fit them all in anyway.” Colby paused at the top of the stairs. “I’ve got a friend with a lorry decked out with clothes rails. I can use that—”
    “Fine. Pick them up later.”
    “He’s doing a market on the South Coast. He’ll be back in two days, so I can be here early Thursday. It’ll take me most of the day, so if you have a parking space….”
    “Fine. Thursday,” Pip bit out abruptly, as if talking to Colby caused him physical pain. “You can use my parking permit. I don’t have a car anymore.”
    “Brilliant.” Colby smiled and took the first few stairs, pausing when Pip took a step forward. “I’ll let myself out, Pip. See you Thursday.”
    The words that followed him down the stairs were clear and distinct but lacked the anger of previous altercations.
    “Only my friends call me Pip.”

Chapter Four
     
     
    LOCAL HERO Saves Dog from Watery Grave
    When local resident and early morning jogger, Phillip Longhampton, discovered a dog trapped in discarded rubbish in the lake at Greenhill Park, he didn’t expect his kind act to end in a trip to the hospital.
    The news article went on to describe how the small dog had been trapped and in danger of drowning when Pip had tried to rescue it. How in its distress it had lashed out and bitten Pip even as he managed to free the animal. There was no information on where or how badly Pip had been bitten. The article was a perfunctory piece appearing to praise the heroic act of a local resident but spent more copy space having a dig at the local council for the state of the lake, tying the article in to a reduction in street-cleansing services. It finished up stating that the dog was being held with the RSPCA while they attempted to find the owner.
    There were several related links to the story. The council promising to clean up the