Free Love at Large by Jaffarian;others Page B

laundry room to herself.
    The man in black hastened to the table, seized his basket, and filled it with clothes from his dryer, then stacked Mrs. B’s basket on his own and strode through the door held open by the salivating Gladys.
    Lauren returned her attention to her own washing and, feeling forlorn, put her now pink white load into the dryer vacated by the handsome stranger, and her darks in the one next to that. Retreating to her seat, she saw the beaten-up copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance still sitting on the man in black’s chair. The ding of the elevator told her she’d missed her chance to run into the hall and return it to him.
    Well, if he doesn’t come back for it by the time I’m done down here, I’ll just bring it on up to him myself, she thought. After all, it’d hardly be neighborly to leave it down here for any old person to walk off with.
    Lauren settled into her chair and propped her book in front of her face once again, pleased to be back in Scotland basking in the love of her hunky laird. At last the dryers buzzed their end signal and alerted her to the fact that it was time to shake a leg. Grateful to discover the biddies were done, she stuffed her clothes into her basket and repacked her survival kit, with the gentleman’s wayward book perched in precarious fashion on the top of the heap. Thoughts of seeing the man in black again propelled Lauren out the door and back to her apartment. Before she returned his book, she really needed to improve her appearance.
    Once inside the sanctuary of her home, she tossed the basket of rumpled clothes on a chair in the corner of her bedroom, and made a beeline for the shower. After much cleaning and primping, she shimmied into a bias-cut shell top and side-zip slacks that flattered her voluptuous curves, the burgundy tones of the outfit picking up the chestnut shade of her hair. She spritzed a cloud of her favorite lavender-scented perfume in the air before her and walked through it.
    Running a self-satisfied hand down the front of her ensemble one last time, Lauren was sure the hunk would be hard pressed to recognize her as the sorry slob from the laundry room. Snatching her purse, keys, and the tattered book, she blew a confident kiss at her favorite Marilyn Monroe poster tacked to the closet door, and headed back to the elevator.
    Lauren’s bliss received a slight dent as she stepped in and found herself joining none other than the infamous red-head and two of her dazzling friends. She offered them a shy smile and started flipping through the book in her hands. Inside the cover, scrawled in smudged black ink, was the name Dr. James Brandt . Lauren wondered if the book had once belonged to someone else, or if the man in black was indeed the good doctor. Riffling through the pages she saw notes crammed into the margins, but had trouble making much sense out of the scribbling.
    The elevator slowed and she realized she’d reached the seventh floor. Stepping into the corridor, she angled across the hall to apartment 7B, kitty-corner from the left of the elevator doors. She waited for the redhead and her pals to disappear from view, then reached out a dainty finger, pressed the doorbell and waited with a sense of excitement.
    Nothing.
    No sounds of life inside the apartment.
    She gave the bell another ring, and after a moment of waiting swallowed a rising sense of disappointment. It was probably better to shove the book under his door and leave.
    She bent down and tried to gauge whether or not the novel would fit through the narrow crack. Distracted by her task, Lauren was surprised to hear the elevator bell ding and the doors swoosh open. Without a doubt, she knew deep in her soul that the mysterious man was standing behind her.
    Of course, why not? Why shouldn’t I be bent over in front of his door looking like one of those ridiculous old-lady-gardening wood cutouts??
    “Can I help you?” His voice was even more mellow and rich than she