“No.” He spat out the word with all the friendliness of a guard dog.

He was definitely irritated, but Greer didn’t mind. Even hostile company was welcome after one of her phone calls. And she was honestly fascinated by refilling the man’s grocery bag. People revealed so much about themselves by what they bought at the grocery store. This man was clearly a bachelor who was going to die soon of malnutrition. Oranges, lettuce, beer, three containers of cashews, apples and two packages of Oreos. The Oreos were the worse for wear after their tumble. “I’ll replace these,” she said seriously as she turned back to him.

“Just…” He grabbed the bag from her and set it safely next to the apartment door opposite Greer’s. Out of harm’s way, said his body language.

Her lips twitched. “Honestly, I’m sorry,” she said gravely.

“You usually eat your dinner sitting on the stairs in the hall?” he growled.

“Not…exactly.”

“You just happened to pick tonight.”

“Not…exactly.”

“And Battle Cat-is it exactly yours?”

“Truce?” Greer glanced down at the feline who was winding in and around her bare legs. “You have to be kidding. I’ve never seen that animal before in my life.”

He was silent for a minute, and when Greer peeked she could see a grin sneaking up on the corners of his mouth. And he was staring at her. Leaning back against the opposite wall, the stranger was clearly catching his breath, but at the same time his eyes were busy wandering over her legs-which she instantly tucked together-and then at the sexy hint of chartreuse satin slip-which she hurriedly buried under the lapels of her robe.

Her attempts to hide her figure were by long habit quick; the stranger’s eyes were quicker. They settled on her oval face, the frame of bouncing nut-brown hair, the straight nose with three freckles, the untannable cream of her complexion, and her eyes-and by the time his eyes met hers, she had the sudden inexplicable urge to fidget.

It wasn’t wearing only a robe that bothered her, or even that he checked out her figure. Men inevitably checked out her curves on first meeting, but few, very few, spent more time looking at her face. Regardless, fidgeting wasn’t her thing. Sensibly, Greer plopped back down on the step and picked up her fork and TV dinner.

“I take it you’re my neighbor-unless you regularly wander through strange apartment buildings finding halls to eat your dinner in?” There was an ultrapatient quality in his low-pitched voice, as if he’d already resigned himself to sharing the building with a kook.

“You should never sign a lease until you know the people you’re going to live across from,” Greer said gravely. “Anyway, it’s not the way it looks.”

“No?”

“No. It’s the crank calls. Not that my reaction to them is in any way rational. I admit that my behavior is ridiculous.” Greer forked in another, small mouthful of lasagna. “Can’t help it, though,” she admitted. “In the beginning, it wasn’t so bad. Actually, I thought it was kind of funny. He was nice. Honestly. I mean, he never called in the middle of the night, and one time when I told him I had company, he laid off for three days-”

“Wait a minute.” Her stranger took a breath and then sank down on the top step, lazily stretching out long, denim-clad legs as if resting up for a siege. “Go on,” he said politely and cleared his throat. “I must have missed the transition. Like the whole relationship between eating dinner in a hallway and receiving crank calls. Never mind. You were telling me that your obscene caller didn’t phone for a few days?”

“He isn’t an obscene caller. He’s just a breather.”

“I see.”

“Which is why it’s so ridiculous to get upset. He doesn’t say or do anything terrible. And I thought I’d get rid of him when I had my telephone number changed, but no such luck. Anyway, I would hardly have been out here in the hall if I’d thought anyone was going to be around.” Greer dropped her fork, rubbed her palm on the thigh of her robe and whipped out her hand with a determinedly friendly smile. “Greer here. Mostly because my mother was a frustrated actress. Lothrup’s the last name. And you’re…?”

“Becoming rapidly exhausted,” he said flatly. His palm enclosed hers. His hand was very warm, very callused, and he withdrew it very, very quickly.

Greer repressed a smile. The fury had clearly left his eyes, and a deliriously wicked twinkle had replaced it. Well. An exasperated twinkle perhaps, but there was humor in there somewhere. “I really am a very good neighbor,” she assured him gravely. “You can ask the guys upstairs. I mean, your business is your business. I pick up mail and water plants, when people are on vacation. Deliver chicken soup when someone has a cold. Generally keep the cat I’ve never seen in my life out of sight. In a pinch, I’m not opposed to sewing on a button. Not to imply that men aren’t fully capable…”

She had to stop for breath, which was probably just as well since she seemed to be chattering like a nervous mynah bird. Most people found Greer reserved on first meeting. But then, most people didn’t meet her after one of her confrontations with The Breather. And whether the stranger meant to or not, he was winning an awful lot of brownie points by keeping his attention above her neck while they talked.

There was a dance of amusement in his eyes as he motioned for her to continue eating. “I get the message,” he said gravely, “but somehow I have trouble picturing you in the role of resident housemother.”

Wrong, sweetie, Greer thought with amusement. Other men had made the same mistake, and Greer had no doubts she could set her new neighbor straight in time. Figure or no figure, the femme fatale role just wasn’t her scene. Eye shadow looked clownish on her; she wasn’t about to mask her freckles with makeup; and over the years she’d learned that even the most ruthless predators didn’t make passes at mother figures. The defense mechanism had evolved naturally. Greer liked taking care of people, and that included men.

Since the stranger refused to stop studying her, Greer responded in kind. People-watching was one of her favorite pastimes anyway.

As handsome went, he wasn’t particularly. His hair was sort of cinnamon-brown, crisply curling and healthy-looking. The sun had baked his skin to a warm gold. A small mustache trailed the shape of his smooth upper lip; he had a square chin and clean, strong features. Nice-looking but not outstanding. His eyes, though, were wonderfully unusual, an absolutely brilliant blue, keen and intelligent, full of life.

He didn’t give all that much away with his facial expressions, but his body language said a great deal. His blue work shirt fit snugly over a broad chest, and his jeans hugged the long, smooth muscles of his thighs. His shirt was open at the throat, and a worn leather belt settled on his lean hips. The message wasn’t rough-and-tough machismo, but a certain bold sexuality came with the man.

Again, Greer guessed that he was single. No self-respecting wife would have let him loose with that tiny hole in his worn jeans-not that high on the thigh. Assuming from his northern accent that he was new in town, Greer doubted that he’d have any problem finding female companionship in North Carolina. Even his lazy smile carried a teasing hint of sexuality.

Fine by her. On one level, certain wary instincts automatically kicked into operation when she was near a certain kind of man. On another level, Greer had erected well-entrenched defenses against her own susceptibility. Other women would see the sexuality of the lean and hungry figure. Greer’s only concern was that he looked slightly underfed. She swallowed a bite of lasagna. “What do you do?” she asked curiously.

“Pardon?”

“Your work?”

“Engineer. A mechanical engineer-I spend most of my day out in the field, as you can see.” He motioned to his dusty work boots. “Laughlin’s the company; they’re busy moving into Greenville at the moment. If the building ever does get done, I hope to have a little time to put up a house. I’ve rented this apartment for six months, but I hope to move into my own place before then. You?”

“Um.” She swallowed the last morsel of food, feeling just slightly unnerved by his lazy stare. Old defenses were slipping, as he kept his eyes on her face, but she knew darn well she didn’t have that fascinating a nose. “I work for Love Lace. Lingerie.” Greer looked him straight in the eye, administering a little private test of her own.

“Doing…?”

Greer set aside the aluminum tray and twined her hands loosely around her knees, relaxing. He’d passed her tiny test by not indulging in sexual innuendo about her job. “I’m their ad psychologist. If you’ve never heard of that job before, it’s probably because my boss invented it. Grant hired me-directly out of college with an extremely useless degree in psych-to keep the marketing and design staff from killing each other. Since his wife’s our head designer, he had a vested interest in her survival.”

“I can understand that.”

“I’m glad you can. I don’t always. Basically, the lingerie industry’s gone boom; Grant wants to stay in for the count, and he needed an impartial woman’s viewpoint to back up his own business expertise. His wife wants to make French panties; the marketing staff says Jockey-type shorts for women are in. Somebody’s got to study the public to psyche out what they really want to buy. For instance, a man can stare at a Playboy spread of a woman in a satin G-string, but as to whether or not he’ll actually buy one for his wife- What’s wrong?” Greer asked cheerfully.

“Nothing.” He was choking mildly.

And Greer knew exactly what was wrong. A big ego wasn’t her problem, and he’d given her no reason to think he was going to come on to her. She’d just wanted to make sure that didn’t happen, and nothing took the predatory gleam out of a man’s eyes quicker than an encounter with a commonsense woman who talked about unmentionables the way other people talked about toothpaste.