Roberto’s reputation extends far beyond his efficiency as a milkman. He also provides intimate services to the many lonely ladies along his route. But he’s had his eye on a lovely divorcee for quite some time. One who has ignored all his flirting, so far. Alice is ready to make a fresh start. Treated as the tract harlot, just because she’s on her own, she’s ready to make that name a reality. And she’s going to begin with the handsome milkman who has let her know on several occasions that he’s ready to deliver. Roberto is playing with fire—a fiery redhead whose surprising innocence may steal his heart and leave the ladies of his route unsatisfied once again!
She twisted back and forth in front of the frustratingly inadequate mirror with the annoying ripple in the middle that made her nose look bent. Her hair in place, only a little eyeliner, rouge, a quick flick of the mascara brush on her lashes and to groom her brows. And a bit of lipstick. Her longline girdle did what it promised and gave her an hourglass shape; the new black bra held her breasts high and proud. Determination straightened her back.
Panic weakened her knees. Her fluffy pink marabou mules with the three-inch heels did nothing to help her balance. She dropped into her vanity seat and groaned. Why was she even trying? Glenn found his secretary more attractive, and who could blame him? At nearly thirty, her best days were behind her. She should just thank her lucky stars that her ex was even willing to support her and stop making a fool of herself.
With every one of her so-called friends avoiding her, she had to do something.
And if that milkman, if Roberto was still interested, she would take him up on his offer.
A whistle and the clumping footsteps of her morning visitor drifted up from the direction of the kitchen door. Jumping up from the bench, she steadied herself on the edge of the dresser and wobbled toward the door, grabbing a sheer new robe and slipping it over her lingerie as she went.
If they were going to treat her as the neighborhood loose woman, she’d better make sure she had some fun along the way. And that tall, dark, and handsome Latin man, in his crisp, pressed white uniform was her first target. After him…who knew! Maybe the dry cleaner, he was kind of cute. And single, as well.
Because despite what those happy housewives whispered over their coffee and Danish, she did not covet their hubbies—or any married man. She’d never put anyone through the experience she’d barely survived. Never. Anger heated her cheeks in memory and she stopped to take a deep breath and let it out.
Wait! The whistling was moving away. She tripped into the kitchen as fast as her fashionable, movie star slippers allowed, clicking on the light and sashaying—carefully—to the door.