I’m sitting in an office at Maine Coastal Realty, trying to figure out why this broker looks so familiar to me as she opens her laptop. She’s very attractive, and of course attractive women always create a major blip on my radar. So maybe it’s just that I saw her somewhere and filed her image in my Hot folder.

I know...I’m basically a horny sixteen-year-old. Not much different from how I was growing up in my family home in Southwest Harbor where my mother still lives. Lettered in football, hockey, baseball and girls at Mount Desert High School. Go Trojans! Has to be the best high school mascot ever. Played baseball and more girls at Dartmouth and majored in business on the side. With Gloria’s help, I nabbed a killer condo in Northeast Harbor after I graduated from college six years ago and started working full-time for Cavanaugh Yacht. It’s been a great bachelor pad (aptly nicknamed The Condom), complete with hickory floors, surround sound system, a kick-ass shower with multiple shower heads, a gas fireplace and cathedral ceiling in the bedroom...safe to say I’ve had a lot of sleepovers there. Christ, if walls could talk.

So I’ve been happy there, but this winter, I made the decision to upgrade to an oceanfront property. I’ve always wanted to live on the water—guess I got spoiled as a little rich kid—and fortunately I have boatloads of money (pun intended) to support that dream. Since the realty company with the best reputation in this area is Maine Coastal, here I am sitting across from Madeline Callaway, designated broker. And still trying to figure out where I know her from.

I’m feeling like it’s more than just me checking her out in passing...like there was some kind of significance surrounding when I saw her. I’m staring at her in a sort of haze when I realize she’s stopped talking and looks a little flustered, her coral-colored lips open slightly. Shit. I have no idea what she just said. She’s probably thinking I’m a creeper who gets his rocks off ogling gorgeous women. She wouldn’t be far off.

“Sorry, Ms. Callaway—caught me daydreaming about my future house.”

She’s not buying it, but she’s more amused than pissed. “Okay, Mr. Cavanaugh—”

“Damon. Please.”

“All right...Damon. Let’s start with me gathering information so we can list your condo, and then we can talk about what type of property you’d like to acquire. I can show you what we have now, but we’ll have a lot more listings coming up in April and May.”

“Sounds good. I wanted to get a jump on spring for both the sale and a possible purchase.”

“So the condo’s in Northeast Harbor.”

“Yes. 25 Harbor Drive.”

She’s nodding. “That’s a great location. How long have you owned it?”

“Six years.”

“Mortgage?”

“All paid off.”

Her fingers hover over the keyboard, and she looks up at me. There’s an expression on her face, like she’s all of a sudden studying me closely, and when I offer up a smile, she blushes.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to stare. You just look familiar to me, and I’m trying to think of where I’ve seen you.”

I lean forward in my chair. “Hey, me too...that’s why I was looking at you earlier.”

I learn she lives in Surry, about forty-five minutes away from me. I’ve never been to Maine Coastal, and she’s never been to Cavanaugh Yacht. No on attending any weddings or going to the same grocery store, and we don’t seem to hit the same bars…

And then, I remember.

I snap my fingers and grin at Madeline triumphantly. “I’ve got it. New Moon, downtown Ellsworth, back in October. I remember the month, because I was in town for my great-uncle’s funeral and ended up going out that night just to have a break from the extended family insanity.”

I also now understand why I had the feeling the situation was more major than just Madeline being a babe.

“You had a friend,” I tell her, remembering a smoking hot girl with a blonde ponytail, wispy pieces of hair framing a delicate-looking face, red shirt, tight jeans. Tight jeans.

I’d jacked off to her image later that night. Probably best to keep that to myself.

Madeline’s deep brown eyes get huge. “Oh my God...you’re Golden Boy.” Her hand comes up to cover her mouth. “Sorry—it was just a nickname I gave you.”

I grin. “I’ve been called worse.”

“I definitely remember that night. Delaney got all flustered when she saw you.”

“Delaney being the blonde girl?”

“Yes. My best friend.” She rolls her eyes and flashes me a rueful, half-smile. “Ugh. And that’s exactly why I need to stop talking to you about this. She’d freaking kill me.”

Now I’m even more intrigued. So Blonde Girl—Delaney—was flustered. She wasn’t the only one. Hell, I remember feeling that way, too—the second I saw her, it was the weirdest thing...I felt this major pull toward her. Almost like I was supposed to get up from my seat, go over to her, introduce myself. It took hold of me in my chest, my gut, and most definitely, my cock. Felt like some sort of divining rod, pointing right at her.

That was part of the reason I didn’t stand up. Couldn’t. I told you I was basically a horny sixteen-year-old.

And here I am, sitting across from Blonde Girl’s best friend. Go figure.

Then, the idea. Taking root, blooming inside me like the biggest sunflower you’ve ever seen, till it’s too big to hold onto, and I’ve got to open my mouth and plant the seed from it.

“Is Delaney, uh...single?”

Madeline’s face brightens, like she’s up for doing a little gardening right alongside of me. “She...is,” she says, hesitantly. “But she doesn’t really date. She hasn’t for a few years.”

Seriously? A knockout like that? Wonder if she’s got some issues, and if so, how deep they go. My thoughts must have trickled into my face, because Madeline answers hastily.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with her personality,” she says, her eyes a little anxious, like she wants me to believe her. “She’s the best. A beautiful person, both inside and out. She’s just become turned off from guys. She works with some real jerks.”

“Men can definitely be assholes.” I know; I’ve been one.

“I’ve tried to fix her up with people and encourage her to date...” Madeline’s voice fades, and she rolls her eyes again. “I shouldn’t be discussing this.”

“Understood.”

“When she saw you at the club that night, she really—ahh, I seriously need to stop.”

She’s got me smiling. She’s cute, getting agitated about not wanting to share too much with me. I like her.

Back to my idea. “But she is single, right?”

“Yes.”

“I know we’re supposed to be talking real estate here, and I don’t want to take up your valuable time, but could I ask you a favor?”

She smiles. Her eyes are smiling, too, and I think she knows where I’m going. “I can’t guarantee anything, but you can ask.”

“I’d like to meet Delaney.”

A sigh. She folds her arms across her chest. “You seem like a really nice guy, but like I told you—I’ve tried to fix her up before, and it doesn’t seem to take.”

“I’m not really asking you to fix me up...I’m asking for the chance to meet her. Think you can get her to the New Moon bar again? Like this weekend? And then I’ll take it from there.” I give her my most convincing smile, and I’m pumped to see her cheeks pink up, because I think she’s going to help me out.

“Mr. Cavanaugh...”

“Damon, remember?”

“Sorry...Damon. If I do this—and the only reason I’m considering this is because I definitely sensed some sort of connection between you two that night—you need to give me your word that you’ll treat her right for whatever time you spend with her. I’m not saying you two are going to ride off into the sunset together, but I just don’t want her to get hurt. I’d never forgive myself.”

“Absolutely. I’ll be very up front with her.” I shift a little in my chair. “I’ll be honest—I’m not looking for a serious relationship.” That, at least, is the truth.

Madeline’s lips are twitching, like she’s trying to hold in a giggle. “Sorry—I don’t mean to laugh, but I’ve heard that line before.”

“Pretty sure that most every red-blooded American male has used that line at one time or another.”

“And some red-blooded American women. Including me, actually. But to answer your question, I’ll do my best to get her to New Moon. Friday night okay?”

“Perfect. I’ll give you my cell number, and you can let me know mid-week the status of the Delaney project.”

“All right.”

“I owe you one, Ms. Callaway.”

“Madeline. And it’s called commission.”

“Thanks again.”

As we get back to the business of why I’m meeting with her, I try to tamp down the flames flickering inside me. This was totally, totally unexpected. Jesus, how lucky can I get? A gorgeous woman I had a powerful reaction to happens to be single. Her best friend is going to help me out. And—one of the best things—this woman doesn’t want to get emotionally involved with anyone. Neither do I.

Perfect match.

And I’m burning with anticipation.