by Lori Foster
Nick tamped down the angry panic clutching at his gut. To write a character, he had to get into his head. The last thing he needed was to delve into an emotional pit.
He glanced at the folder, flipping through the stack of newspaper clippings. Instead of a picture next to her byline, this Delaney Madison had a book graphic. Odd. Most women he knew craved attention like they craved air. It was a necessity. Maybe it was a ploy to play up the makeover fame.
“Give me a chance to take care of this,” he said, getting to his feet. Looming over his agent’s desk from his six-two height, Nick rolled the folder and stuck it the back pocket of his jeans.
“What are you going to do?”
Nick headed for the door. His hand on the knob, he glanced back.
“I’m going to teach Ms. Madison to think twice before she messes with me. By the time I’m through with her, she’ll publicly admit the way I do sex is just perfect.”
*
“YOU KNOW, YOU should try a different shade of eye shadow,” Delaney mused, her chin resting on her hand as she stared across the restaurant table at Mindy. “Maybe something in a gray instead of brown. I think it’d bring out your eyes more.”
Her glass of iced tea halfway to her mouth, Mindy stared, shock clear in her brown-shadowed eyes. Then she burst into laughter.
“You’re loving this, aren’t you?”
“Actually, I am,” Delaney confirmed, lifting her own glass to toast her friend.
This was the makeover results, of course.
She glanced at her reflection in the restaurant’s plateglass window. Even blunted in that poor excuse for a mirror, the change was still amazing. Her once wild carrot hair flowed in a smooth, russet bob, swinging a few inches above her shoulders. Cheekbones she hadn’t realized she owned accented eyes made huge and mysterious by the wonders of cosmetics.
She’d actually won! Sure, she’d figured her essay on “The Inner Risqué Woman” would give her an edge. But after that first round, the entire contest had depended on chance. But thanks to a combination of her essay, her obvious need of a makeover and some awesome luck, here she was. All made over.
Right after the drawing at the beginning of April, they’d done the makeover in segments, briefly interviewing her and running a “before” photo in the May issue of Risqué. Then for their June issue, they’d spent two weeks showing her the ins and outs of doing her makeup and how to actually style her hair to look the same as they’d done. And best of all, she mused as she ran a finger over the buttery leather strap of her purse, was her new wardrobe.
The shock of winning Risqué’s contest was starting to pass, but the shock of her own transformation was still fresh.
“I had no idea something as superfluous as makeup and fancy clothes could be so, well…”
“Sexy?” Mindy finished, grinning like a proud fairy godmother.
Delaney started to deny it. She’d never in her life aspired to be sexy. Oh, sure, she might have wished to be like the women Nick Angel wrote about. The kind that had a body worthy of using as an international weapon. But that’d always seemed as impossible as having tea with Frodo in Middle Earth. But now…
“Ladies, your salads will be right out. More tea?”
The women glanced up. Delaney’s cheeks heated when she realized the waiter’s attention was totally focused on her. Or, more specially, on her gel-bra enhanced cleavage. Again. This restaurant was a block from the college, and the guy had waited on Delaney at least a dozen times in the past. He’d never stared before. Maybe he was trying to figure out where she’d bought the new boobs?
Delaney squirmed while Mindy shooed him off.
“Yeah, maybe I’m feeling a little sexy,” Delaney admitted when he was gone. “But it’s a weird feeling. Uncomfortable. Like wearing a Halloween costume or pretending to be someone I’m not.”
Mindy shook her head so hard her kewpie-doll curls shook loose. “Oh, no, this is totally you. You’re a beautiful woman, I’ve told you that before. Now you have to admit it yourself because it’s staring you in the face.”
“As long as it gets me that promotion,” Delaney muttered, waving her hand in dismissal. Not realizing he was there, she knocked her salad out of the waiter’s hand as he tried to set it in front of her. He fumbled to catch it but half still ended up on the floor. With a dirty look he left, probably to get a broom. Apparently new boobs weren’t enough to excuse clumsiness. Delaney glared at Mindy, who didn’t bother to hide her snicker. “I told you, I’m not used to this.”
Mindy tilted her chin as if to say “watch,” and then gave the waiter two tables away a warm smile. He scurried right over. “Could you be a sweetie and take that salad back for a fresh one. And the sun is shining right through onto our table here, can you pull the shades down just a smidge, please?”
Delaney watched, awed as always, as Mindy wrapped the guy around her finger with a sweet smile and little flutter of her lashes. With a big grin to them both, he stepped over the spilled lunch and hurried to do Mindy’s bidding, tugging the shade down on his way.
“Instant obedience,” Delaney breathed. “Always. How do you do that? I thought maybe it was just a girly thing. But I’m wearing girly stuff now, all the way to my pastel panties, and I can’t get that kind of attention.”
“You’d better figure it out,” Mindy warned with a little frown. “You know the makeover is only part of what you need to get the promotion. Belkin can’t claim he’s hiring on looks, even if he is. He’s going to use the argument that he needs a charismatic, commanding assistant.”
Delaney’s jaw clenched. No. She’d gone through so much already, spent a month having her face and body analyzed like a freakish puzzle. She’d almost blown her anonymity when she’d slipped up in her “after” interview and told the Risqué people she was a book reviewer. The discussion turned to hot authors and next thing she knew, she’d opened her big mouth and critiqued Nick Angel’s books. Since she’d entered the contest using her pseudonym, she’d been worried her face attached to it would blow her cover. But Risqué wasn’t typical reading material for Rosewood’s students or faculty. Heck, it wasn’t even sold in bookstores or newsstands anywhere in the Santa Rosa area. It might be false confidence, but she figured her reviewing secret was safe.
She wanted that promotion. It was more than a job now. It was a symbol of her worth. To herself, to the college and to her father.
“You know,” Mindy said, picking at her nails like she always did when she was nervous, “I might have a suggestion that’d help you with that.”
“What?” Delaney asked slowly, eying the fingernails. As long as they stayed away from Mindy’s mouth, the idea probably wasn’t too crazy. It’s when she started nibbling on those things that Delaney really worried.
“My brother is the station manager at the local TV station. He mentioned last week their morning show is thinking of expanding their summer programming to include a critic’s corner.” Delaney’s stomach tightened when Mindy raised her hand to her mouth, pressing her thumbnail to her lip. “When I mentioned your name, Mike said he’d wait to post the job until I talked to you.”
“Me?”
“They’re looking for someone with a good handle on literature to do book reviews, discussions, that kind of thing,” Mindy finished in a rush, the words falling around the fingernail she was now diligently chewing. “It’s right up your alley. You do reviews already, love to read, and it’d be a great way to learn to become visible.”
“A TV show?” She couldn’t help it, she started laughing. “You’re joking, right? Me, on TV?”
She hyperventilated at the idea of having her driver’s license picture taken. Why on earth would she want to be on TV?
She’d make a complete ass of herself.
“It’s a great idea,” Mindy argued.
“No, it’s a crazy idea. What if someone saw me? I’m trying to hide that I’m a reviewer, remember?”
“It’s a San Francisco station, we
don’t even get it up here,” Mindy assured her. “Besides, it’s a morning show, on the air during school hours. Who’d see it?”
“My father?”
“Does he even own a TV?”
No, but that wasn’t the point.
“Ahem.”
Both women turned startled glances to the tall, angular man standing by their table glaring at the mess the waiter had yet to clear. He turned his glare to Delaney. His eyes widened briefly, then narrowed with consideration.
Delaney grimaced. Professor Belkin. Then she glanced past him and felt herself turn pale. Her father. She’d been avoiding him, easy enough now that the spring semester was over. This wasn’t how she’d intended to tell him about the makeover.
She forced a smile on her suddenly stiff lips, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at her, so engrossed was he in his discussion with a physics professor. Two feet away, and she was invisible to her own father. As usual.
“Ms. Adams, Professor. Perhaps they can bring you a bib,” Belkin said, his tone stiff and annoyed as he stepped over the scattered croutons.
He was obviously not impressed with her makeover, and even less with her dining skills. Delaney wanted to pick up a tomato and throw it at his departing head. Bet that would get his attention. It’d blow her ever-narrowing shot at the promotion, too. So she choked back her temper with a deep breath.
“TV?” she asked Mindy, blinking away the frustrated tears as she watched her father depart.
“Keep using your pseudonym,” Mindy advised. “Let Delaney Madison become the woman you’ve always wanted to be. Imagine the shock value when you waltz into the hiring meeting and wow them all with your newly acquired charisma and command of the room.”
The woman she’d always wanted to be? Her ultimate fantasy was to be a woman like the kind she loved to read about. Sexy, powerful, confident. The kind who could handle the most arrogant snobs and the hottest guys with the same panache.
Delaney knew there were a million reasons why TV was a crazy idea. But this was to improve her chances of getting the promotion. She’d thought the makeup would be enough, that it’d make her stand out. Obviously she needed a little more than a costume. She needed to learn to command attention. So she’d do TV and become Delaney Madison. Super Reviewer. Savvy, sexy and commanding.
Nobody was ruining this for her. No way, no how.
*
“SEX IS SECONDARY,” Delaney insisted to Sean Logan, host of the morning show Wake Up California. Despite the fact that she was almost hyperventilating with nerves, she managed a quick smile and strong, assured tone. Nothing like a good literary argument to put her at ease. After three weeks of her weekly fifteen-minute segment on “Critic’s Corner,” she still hadn’t gotten past the terror of being on camera.
“Yes, I want to be invested in a hot, wild love scene,” she continued. “I want to feel just as turned-on as they are when I read the character’s actions. But unless I care about them, unless I’ve already developed a connection to them, it’s just…well, bodies. Often messy, rarely appealing.”
“So what you’re saying is you want emotionally driven love scenes when you read?” Sean, the epitome of the all-American boy grown up, asked as he shifted in his chair.
“I’m saying all stories, to really draw in the reader, benefit from an emotional depth the reader can empathize with,” Delaney clarified.
While Sean tugged his bottom lip and nodded, she shifted in the hard wood chair, wishing she could take a deep breath. She assured herself it wasn’t nerves—after three shows, she had to be getting over those by now, didn’t she?—but it was just the bite of leather where her belt snugged around her waist. Why couldn’t fashion and comfort be synonymous? According to Mindy, her skirt was the “latest fashion,” which apparently meant uncomfortably short and tight.
“Tell me the truth, Delaney,” Sean said with a schmoozy smile, leaning toward her like an old friend about to share a secret. “Do you really buy in to all that romance…stuff?”
Delaney grinned at the last-second correction. Halfway through her first segment, she and Sean had gotten past the formal Q&A they’d started with, and relaxed into a casual conversation. Used to his technique now, she knew this was the sign to wrap up the chosen topic for this week’s segment—the romance genre.
“Romance is what makes the world go ’round,” she paraphrased. “The excitement of falling in love in all its varieties, the quest for happily ever after.”
“You really believe that? That romance has that much of an impact on the world?”
“Relationships, by whatever terms they are defined, are what drive literature. Both period and modern,” Delaney said, warming to her subject. “Jane Eyre, Romeo and Juliet, Wuthering Heights, they’re all examples of romances that have strongly impacted our literary history.”
Caught by something offstage, Sean’s eyes went wide.
Delaney noted the muted explosion of murmurs and rustles. Well used to impatient students, she continued her lecture on romance novels through the ages without a hitch, but let her gaze shift to the ruckus on the main set.
Oh. My. God. Could a woman have an orgasm at just the sight of a man? Delaney tried to catch her breath, but she couldn’t stop her racing thoughts long enough to remember how. Gorgeous. Pure male perfection.
Midnight hair, so black there were hints of blue from the bright studio lights, waved back from a face that would do a romance writer proud. Piercing eyes, a clear blue that made her feel as if he could see through her carefully applied mask all the way to her squirming insecure soul, narrowed when they met hers.
Delaney swallowed, sure the zap of sexual energy was just some weird reaction to the camera and lights. Or maybe an allergic reaction to the makeup. Did gel bras have a toxic effect when the skin got overheated?
“Well, well.” With a quick look at the producer, Sean gave a little nod, then said, “We have an unexpected guest joining us today. Ladies and gentlemen, Nick Angel.”
Delaney barely kept her jaw from dropping. Her gaze shot back to the hunk joining them onstage. She stifled a little gasp as his eyes met hers, energy zinging between them like lightning.
No, she assured herself. Not between them. It had to be just her reaction. Men never got zingy around her.
When he joined them her stomach took a nosedive. All the zing on her side or not, it still scared the hell out of her. She had no idea how to channel this level of sexual attraction.
So she fell back on the tried and true, and pretended her body didn’t exist. Shifting into brainiac mode, she processed his appearance, which consisted of jeans, a dress shirt and a black leather jacket, his attitude—defiance wrapped in charm—and his body language, which suggested “watch out, someone’s gonna get it.”
Damned if she didn’t wish it were her.
CHAPTER THREE
DELANEY MENTALLY RECITED the works of early American poets to keep from drooling at the sight of Nick Angel, master of erotic suspense, just inches from her. If she’d thought he looked hot across the room, he was an inferno now. The pure masculine sexuality called to her like nothing she’d ever felt before. She wanted to peel his clothes off with her teeth. An image flashed through her mind of the two of them, a few feet of rope and a tub of double chocolate fudge ice cream.
“Nick, I’d like you to meet the newest addition to Wake Up California, Delaney Madison. Delaney, I believe you’ve read Nick’s work.”
Visions of ice cream melted as Delaney met Nick’s piercing blue gaze. She froze at the look in those intense depths, then reminded herself this was the new Delaney. The made-over, sophisticated, worthy-of-attention Delaney.
Even if his gaze said he knew what she looked like naked, she was only imagining that he knew how nervous she was. Don’t let them see you sweat, Mindy had lectured. Delaney recalled all her friend’s advice on handling the on-air nerves and figured it applied even more now. As long as she kept her polished mask in place, she’d be fi
ne.
For a woman who worshiped the written word, meeting an author was always a pleasure. To meet the author responsible for her last orgasm was both fabulous and a little embarrassing. Especially since the look in his eyes, that dark and sexy consideration, made her wonder if he knew he’d given her such pleasure. Probably. He had that much self-assurance.
The old Delaney would have been humiliated to face that considering look. She’d have run, no question about it. But the new Delaney? Delaney Madison, Super Reviewer? She drew back her shoulders, showing her gel-lifted breasts to their best advantage in her red silk blouse, and lifted a brow in challenge.
“It’s a pleasure,” she said, proud of her smooth tone. “I’ve read all of your books.”
“Have you, now?” He arched one perfect brow, his smile predatory. Like a sexy, charming shark…ready to take one huge bite out of her ass. “And what did you think of them? Oh, wait, I think I’ve read your opinions already, haven’t I?”
Not sure how to respond, Delaney licked her lips, disconcerted to see his eyes narrow as he followed the movement of her tongue. After a heartbeat, he raised his gaze to meet hers again. The dark heat of his look made her stomach clench.
“From the look on your face, Nick, you’re not a fan of reviews?” she commented, falling back on her debate training to hide her nerves. “Or is it just reviewers who say things you don’t want to hear?”
She watched with fascination the expressions shift on Nick’s gorgeous face, from shock to amusement to appreciation.
“I have no problem with reviewers, or their reviews,” Nick said, his voice rich and deep. Delaney knew she’d be hearing it in her sleep. “It’s when they interject their unfounded prejudices into the review that I take issue.”
“Such as asking for emotional depth from your stories?”
“That’d be a good example.”
“But that’s what your readers are asking for.”
“They weren’t until you stirred them up,” he pointed out.
“Oh, please,” she scoffed, nerves forgotten. “You’re giving me credit for the readers’ demanding emotions in your books? You think my one comment turned the opinion of thousands of readers?”