Embezzled Love Read Free

her computer, she logged in again. Most of the other messages she'd received were spam. She hated that. There should be a way to stop people from littering one's inbox with crap!
    The scroll key took her back to the message from Blue Eyes. Everyone chose a corny screen name for themselves—she picked Dream Weaver. Her fingers trembled when she clicked on the message:
    Hi,
    I saw your profile on Perfectmatch.com and thought I'd jot you a quick note. Sounds like we may have some things in common and I'd like to have the opportunity to get to know you a little better. I notice you didn't post a picture of yourself; I didn't either. Don't have any current ones, but check out my info on the site and if you like what you read, would you be willing to share your phone number? By the way, my eyes are blue but my name is Evan.
     What had gotten into her? She eyed the delete key and pondered using it. Her shoulders sagged.
    When had she become so desperate that shopping for men on the Internet had become an option? Besides, he was probably butt ugly.
    She pushed back from the desk and started to stand, but her gaze drifted back to the message still displayed on the screen. God, was she the loser she felt she was—pitiful and unable to meet a man face-to-face? But what if this one was her knight in shining armor?
    She slid the chair forward and propped her face in her palm, reading the message over again. Her fingers hovered over the delete key, but…What would it hurt to read about him?
    She typed the dating site URL, found the search option, and keyed in Evan's screen name. Irritation crept over her like a shroud at the computer's continued slowness. The blinking lights on the tower indicated processing, but loading took forever.
    She raked impatient fingers through her hair, tucking it behind her ears. "Okay," she admonished herself, "so you'll read his bio and that's all. You posted an ad, someone responded, and now you can delete both the profile and the message." God, now she was talking to herself.
    On his profile page, just like on hers, a large empty space showed where a photo should be. Her heart racing, she scanned his vital information, hoping to find an immediate turnoff. Unfortunately, he sounded better than average…at least better than what she had encountered in person.
    Five foot eleven inches, sandy blond hair, non-smoker, occasional drinker, owns his own business, and looking for a confident woman who would like to share some good times and possibly more. Blah, blah, blah. Let's chat.
    She mentally added the blue eyes to the image in her mind. He didn't sound so bad. The only thing she would change was his height. She stood five foot ten and liked really tall guys. What did it matter? She wasn't going to meet him anyhow.
    She quickly rose and walked away. Maybe taking a shower would wash these stupid notions out of her mind…or at least keep her from carrying on conversations in an empty room.
    The warm water, streaming down her body, didn't wash away the thoughts of Evan that invaded her mind. The cause of her sudden bout of desperation to find a man went unanswered. While she lathered her body, she pondered life. Her world centered on work. She held an impressive title but lacked the respect of her peers. Changing professions at this stage wasn't an option, but sharing her personal time with someone would be a definite improvement. She turned off the water and grabbed a towel. A glance at the reflection of her nude body in the mirror brought a smile. For an old broad, she truly wasn't so bad.
    Clad in her robe, Cassie walked out of the bathroom with the towel on her head. Her nightly routine of removing her make-up made her wonder why she went to so much trouble to look glamorous. In the laundry room, she paused to hang the damp terrycloth on the side of the hamper and let her hair hang free, combing her fingers through the wet tangles as she strode toward the kitchen.
    Her mouth felt like cotton. She opened