Cathy smiled timidly at her and quickly looked down at the toes of her thick-soled Doc Martens. “Well, you know I’ve been trying to convince my boss that I’m ready to try writing features, right?”
Jamie smiled in what she hoped was a friendly, supportive manner and patted Cathy’s hand. She couldn't help but notice that Cathy's nails were a mess. They looked like she gnawed on them like a rabid hamster. “Sure, Clay mentioned that you want to be a real reporter, not just a Proofreader.” Inwardly Jamie thought Cathy might be a bit introverted for the job, but didn’t want to be the one to crush the girl’s aspirations.
“Exactly.” Cathy beamed for a second and then words began pouring out of her mouth in an uncharacteristic rush. “Anyway, I’ve been trying to come up with something that will really grab Mr. Allen’s attention. Then, last week, during a meeting he began talking about someone doing a series about the single life and how difficult it is to find someone to commit to a relationship these days. None of the regular reporters wanted to do it because they thought it was fluff, but I think it would make a great story.” Cathy glanced back and forth between Jamie and then Clay, looking for some sign of criticism.
Clay rolled his eyes and put his hands on his hips. “Yes, yes, it’ll be fabulous, sweetheart, but Jamie wants to hear what this earth-shattering idea has to do with her and the resurrection of her comatose store.”
Cathy gave Clay a small glare. She hated being rushed. “I’m getting to that,” she snapped at Clay and then turned toward Jamie. “We were thinking that you could be the subject of my story.”
“Your guinea pig, you mean?” Jamie asked, raising a speculative eyebrow at Clay.
Cathy reached over and tugged on Jamie’s hand to get her attention. “No, not a guinea pig. You’d be a sort of romance guru who invents rules for getting a guy interested and then tries them out. It would be so great. The public would be riveted.”
Jamie removed her hand from Cathy’s grip and stood up. “Why me? I haven’t been on a date in almost two years. I’d be a complete fraud. You really don't need me at all. You could ask anyone to do it.”
Cathy looked up at Jamie beseechingly. “Please, Jamie. I need someone who really knows what it's like to be an honest-to-goodness femme fatale. And no one else even comes close."
"You are pretty much an erection magnet," Clay interjected, placing his arm around Raoul the mannequin again. This time he gave the life-sized Ken doll's nipple a playful little pinch.
Jamie just shook her head and ignored Clay's mannequin molestation. "You two…" she said, poking Clay in the side as she walked towards the panty display. "…Are laying it on pretty thick. I am not a femme fatale or Dear Abby or a trained professional of any kind. Someone would have to be crazy to listen to me. Why don't you do some research? Contact some life coaches or matchmakers or prostitutes. Interview them about what men like. Or maybe, I don't know, ask some men. Go to the source. Wouldn't that make a lot more sense?"
"It doesn't matter how much research I do, no one is going to take advice from me?” Cathy said, gesturing toward her frumpy clothing and heavy frame.
Jamie gave her an exasperated look and straightened the rainbow of lace thongs for the third time that day. "That's not true, Cathy. If you know your facts and do a well-thought-out and entertaining article, then people will read it. And that's all that matters. You don't have to sell yourself along with the article."
"I wish that were true," Cathy sighed. "But I'm pretty sure all the women at the paper would laugh their collective guts out if I started telling them how to attract a man. This article needs a face with some expertise and that's you. Right, Clay?"
He nodded enthusiastically. "Our aspiring little reporter has a point. Even if you're as clueless as you say, you know you can talk a good game, even when you're speaking directly from your rectum."
Jamie paused. Clay did have an excellent point. Damn him for knowing her so well. He was completely aware of how much she absolutely adored playing amateur shrink to her friends and family. Whether they asked for her advice or not. Her interference had certainly helped her sister when she was determined to give up on Duncan, so Jamie felt at least partly responsible for their happiness now. She found offering her insight to others very satisfying. Even if it wasn't always appreciated.
Sensing that Jamie was wavering, Cathy went in for the kill. “Just think about the publicity for the store, Jamie. You could use the articles to plug Hidden Treasures and give this place the attention it deserves.”
Jamie stared at the younger woman for a second and then shook her head, amazed that Cathy was actually attempting to cajole her. She was delighted to see that Clay’s sister had some real spunk underneath that shy exterior, but it didn’t mean she was willing to subject herself to public humiliation. “Seriously, it’s a great idea. I think you can actually help a lot of people and entertain the hell out of them in the process. But I’m out of practice. What do I know about men at this point? Not much. Who’d be foolish enough to take dating advice from me, an old spinster?”
Cathy shrugged and then said, “I don’t know…I probably would. I mean, you’ve got this store and your designs, and you were an exotic dancer for a few years. And Clay said you minored in psychology in college. To the public, that makes you kind of an expert. Maybe not Dr. Ruth, but still, you’re obviously someone who knows what men like. You’re perfect for this.”
Jamie just looked at her doubtfully and began straightening the seam on the pale pink corset her female mannequin was wearing.
Clay stepped in, holding up his hands. “C’mon, James. I used to go the clubs with you and watch you whip men into a frenzy. Be honest, over the two years you strutted your stuff at the Pitty Pat, how many men fell in love with you? I'm not talking about naughty naked propositions, mind you. Those were too many to count. I'm talking about actual declarations of love and commitment.”
Jamie looked sheepish. “That's Kitty Kat, you goof. But those declarations don’t count. They were under duress. Most of those guys were drunk, high or horny as hell. Or all three.”
Clay crossed his arms over his yoga-perfected chest and gave a cheeky grin. “I think that's pretty much standard operating procedure for most declarations of love, but never-mind that. How many?”
“Thirty-six.” Jamie pretended not to notice Cathy’s gulp of surprise.
“Thirty-six? In two years? Are you jerking my tail?” Clay’s green eyes wide with shock.
Jamie just shrugged and looked down at the floor in embarrassment.
“Okay, you actually kept track so don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy playing the game with them. You and I both know it’s what you used to get off on. Torturing those poor hetero bastards.”
“Well, I’m not that woman anymore,” Jamie said in a hard, determined tone. She gestured around at her store. “I'm a respectable business woman now and I’m really not interested in whipping anyone into a frenzy of any kind, unless it’s a shopping frenzy.”
“You don’t miss it at all?” Clay asked slyly. “You don’t miss the way they used to look at you like you were the last M&M on Earth? How they used to call you and pursue you like you were Vancouver’s answer to Marilyn Monroe or something?”
Jamie couldn’t help herself, she grinned at Clay’s blatantly exaggerated description. “Hardly. Besides those guys didn’t even know me. All that adoration wasn’t real. It was about my being a dancer—how I used to look.” She looked down at her navy pinstriped suit and skyscraper high heels—conservative dress compared to her old exhibitionist style. “No one adored me. They just liked the idea of me. I was just a living, breathing fantasy to them. Not a real person.”
Clay rolled his eyes in exasperation and held up a hand to ward off anymore of her words. “Oh poor you. Spare me the Oprah-speak, please. I know you, James, and you reveled in the attention you used to get from men. Now, what I can’t figure out is why you don’t want to use that God-given talent to save your store. I thought yo
u were desperate.”
She came extremely close to stamping her foot in exasperation but restrained herself. “I am,” she wailed. “But telling women how to manipulate men doesn’t seem very ethical. Do I really want to save my store that way?”
“Dumpling, what choice do you have?” Clay asked softly. He was completely serious for a change. “This might actually work and no one will actually get hurt. You’ll mostly be spouting good sense. You’ll be like the Dr. Oz of romance.”
“I don’t know…” Jamie said, looking around at Hidden Treasures and admiring the gleam of highly polished wood and crystal chandeliers. She loved this place—loved what she’d accomplished in making it a reality, and then managing to keep it alive. For a while anyway. She couldn’t give up on it, could she? Not if there was even a chance she could save it?
Cathy’s timid voice interrupted her thoughts. “I know this sounds kind of crazy, but maybe you could actually help some women, Jamie. There are lots of single girls out there who might actually benefit from your advice.”
Jamie sighed. She didn’t actually believe she had the secret to attracting men, but would it really harm anyone to pretend she did? Could she turn her back on this opportunity if there was even the slightest chance she might be able to save her dream? She didn’t think she could live with that.
“Okay,” she said, quietly. “I’ll give it a try.”
Moments later Clay and Cathy were both hugging her. “This is going to be so great,” Clay said, giving Jamie’s ribs an extra tight squeeze. “Hey, maybe you’ll actually meet your own true love. Or at least get some hot and slippery loving from a local stud-muffin. You’ve been off the market so long I was starting to get worried about you growing cobwebs on your lady parts.”
Jamie laughed and gently disentangled herself. “No danger of that, but this is purely an experiment—a publicity stunt. The True Love and Happily Ever After thing is not an option and never will be.” As she said this, the image of a certain muscular blond wanna-be surfer came to mind, but she ignored it.
As far as she was concerned true love was for dreamers like her sister. But romance, well, that was something Jamie could really get into. She felt a burst of adrenaline at the idea of getting out there and pursuing this new challenge—something she had control over and had been successful with in the past was exactly what her poor deprived ego needed. As an added bonus, it would also give her something to focus on other than her own uncertain future.
Now if she could just come up with some fun but practical advice for the romantically challenged she’d be on her way to becoming a Love Guru. Hopefully the attention from her new venture would prevent Hidden Treasures from becoming buried under a mountain of debt. She only hoped there were desperate singles out there who were interested in what she had to say. Otherwise, she'd lose her store and what little dignity she'd gained since retiring her pasties and G-strings. And that was something she just wasn’t ready to lose.
Chapter Two
Kevin Hall was trapped. Usually waking up in a strange woman’s bed was exactly how he liked to start his day, but this time he felt like he’d fallen into a pit of quicksand. He would gladly give up beer, hockey, and his entire comic book collection to be anywhere else on the planet right then.
The woman lying on his arm wasn’t unattractive, crazy or even married, but she might as well have been all three. Gently, he tried to ease his arm out from under her sleeping form, but it was no use. She wasn’t budging, and the only thing that would make this situation worse would be if she woke up—then he’d really have to face the reality of his impaired judgment.
He settled back on the pillows for a moment and his poor head spun with vague memories from the night before. He had no idea how he’d ended up here. He didn’t even like this woman—in fact; he’d known her since high school and had avoided her like the Ebola virus whenever possible. How the hell had he ended up in her bed?
She’d bought him a drink—that’s how it had started. He’d wanted to refuse, but good manners had won out and he’d accepted the shooter of Tequila she’d placed before him. It would have been churlish to refuse her. At least that’s what he’d told himself at the time. Several drinks later he’d found himself dancing with her. Well, he’d mostly just stood there watching her dance—the sway of her hips, directness of her gaze, and soft touches on his chest and arms had told him she wanted him. He should have walked away. He knew this woman was trouble, but instead he’d just stared blankly at the show she put on.
When she’d wrapped her arms around him and told him in no uncertain terms exactly what she wanted from him in crude, guttural language, he’d been unable to resist. Everything in him had told him that being with this woman was wrong, but he’d gone to her room anyway. Had made love to her most of the night, despite the vague whispers of his conscience.
Now, finally sober, he was disgusted with himself. He’d woken up with strange women before, but this was definitely a low point. Never in his life had he felt like such a complete douchebag—waking up next to his best friend’s vindictive ex-wife had a way of revealing how far he’d sunk over the past few months.
He’d come back from Maui three months ago planning on getting his life in order. The image of Duncan’s new sister-in-law striding away from him across the sand seemed to have imprinted itself on his mind and he really wanted to get to know her better. No matter how he tried he couldn’t get the sexy redhead out of his mind.
Being best man at the Duncan’s wedding had shown him exactly how empty and shallow his life had become, and he’d really wanted to turn things around. Settle down, do the whole picket fence and rug-rat thing, but instead the exact opposite had occurred. He’d become even more out of control than ever.
He knew what Dr. Phil and the rest of his ilk would say—he feared commitment and was compensating, blah, blah, blah. But that wasn’t it. He really did want to give up his wild ways.
The problem was that he couldn’t write anymore. Well, he could write, but he couldn’t think about what he wrote anymore, which made it difficult to write anything in-depth or remotely interesting. The subject matter he dealt with—bad men doing horrible things was getting to him. When he’d come back from Duncan’s honeymoon, he’d foolishly taken on a very lucrative book deal detailing the life and activities of serial killer Harold Richard Rawlings, and he had been spiraling downward ever since.
He’d known before he took on the Rawlings book that his days as a crime writer were numbered. Interviewing monsters had once fascinated him, but lately he’d been unable to sleep. Nightmares plagued him and a few drinks—eventually many drinks—had been his only way of deadening his reaction to the horrors he heard and wrote about every day.
Kevin had been a cop for five years before leaving the force to become a writer. After that, he’d interviewed countless psychopaths, child molesters, and rapists. He knew exactly what men were capable of, but there was something different about Rawlings—something Kevin could only describe as evil.
With Rawlings, the nightmares, the insomnia, and especially the drinking had all escalated at an alarming rate. His dreams of settling down were forgotten as he attempted to distract himself from what was going on in his head. Now, he finally had to accept that he’d hit rock bottom.
Looking around Kerry’s luxury suite at the Vancouver Fairmont Hotel, Kevin knew there wasn’t any excuse for his poor judgment. No matter how crazy his job was making him, he had no business being here and with this woman especially. Or any woman, for that matter, at least until he straightened himself out.
Gently, he attempted to disentangle his arm again. Kerry sighed and shifted against his side reminding him that she’d made the same kind of satisfied exhalations many times during the night.
He gulped in reaction and noted that both of them were completely naked. The off-white Egyptian cotton sheets had been kicked to the floor in the wee hours of the morning and now her warmth and nudity had a predictable effect on his anat
omy. He looked down at himself and scowled. His hardening dick had even worse judgment than he did.
Her breath puffed against his chest and his condition worsened. No matter how much his body would like to continue the activities of last night, there was no way he could live with himself if he gave in and had sex with her while his mind was clear.
As if sensing his thoughts, Kerry curled closer into Kevin’s side and trailed her finely manicured hand down his taut stomach, past his navel, and to his groin where it rested on his inner thigh for a long moment before tracing the head of his traitorous erection.
“Hmmm…” Kerry purred, grasping him more firmly and pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss against his shoulder. “I see some things haven’t changed since high school.”
Kevin stiffened, but not in a good way. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten what Kerry was like. In high school she’d faked a pregnancy to trick his best friend, Duncan, into marrying her because she’d wanted to get her hands on his friend’s family fortune. Her plan had worked until Duncan had decided to follow his dream of becoming a police officer and they’d moved from Toronto to Vancouver to get away from Duncan’s overbearing grandmother. Being a cop’s wife wasn’t the life Kerry had planned so she’d spent the next seven years making Duncan miserable for not taking his place in the family business.
Kevin grasped Kerry’s shoulders tightly to prevent her from kissing her way down his chest. She was lying on top of him now, tracing his left nipple with her tongue. “Stop,” he groaned. “This is wrong.”
The Love Laws Page 2