Open Invitation?

And Lilia had never licked anyone in her life. She was quite sure that licking people was not good manners in any country. But that didn’t stop her from wanting to crawl all over Dan.

“I have to get my keys,” she said, turning away from him. You don’t like cowboys. You like your men supersonically civilized. Why do you have the hots for a man who rides horses? she told herself.

She didn’t know. She couldn’t explain it.

Lilia walked to her front door with the full knowledge that Dan’s eyes were fixed on her backside. Heat bloomed over her skin. Giving in to wicked temptation, she dropped her keys, then bent to pick them up, knowing that her skirt would pull tight as she did so.

She inserted the key into the lock and watched him, reflected in the glass of the door. He actually made a fist and stuck it in his mouth. She was pretty sure that was the man-sign for “hubba hubba” or something like that.

Lilia smiled and wondered what was the most proper, mannerly way to seduce someone.

Dear Reader,

If you love opposites-attract stories, then Open Invitation? is the novel for you! The third book in my THE MAN-HANDLERS trilogy for Harlequin Blaze, it features Lil, a Connecticut etiquette consultant who learns a few steamy lessons from Dan, her west Texas cowboy client. Lil’s got a lesson to learn: that an apparently “rude” cowboy is really the supreme gentleman.

Dan reminds me a little of my own husband, who could burp the alphabet when I first met him, and actually proposed to me in the bathroom while I was washing my face.

ME: (chip clip on head to hold hair back, soap lather on face) You cannot propose to me in the bathroom!

HIM: What, like there’s a rule about this?

ME: Well, if there isn’t a rule, there should be one!

HIM: Look, will you marry me or not?

But hubby is really Prince Charming—just undercover. I hope you enjoy Dan and Lil’s story as much as I did writing it. Come see me at www.KarenKendall.com, or you can write to me care of Harlequin Enterprises Ltd., 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.

Happy reading,

Karen Kendall

Open Invitation?

Karen Kendall

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

1

LILIA LONDON, Connecticut etiquette consultant, grimaced as her bra strap fell off her shoulder and down her arm. She shoved it back up—for the third time—and ignored the throbbing of her left big toe, which ached to escape the sling-back she wore.

An etiquette consultant couldn’t run around in just her panty hose, and she shouldn’t be flashing her lingerie in public, either. Too bad, because the bra was really pretty. Someone besides her should see it….

Lil banished the thought, straightened her posture and edged closer to the eighteenth-century mahogany card table she used as a desk. She peered at her computer.

“In Chinese tradition,” she wrote, “the last half of the seventh lunar month is viewed as unlucky for weddings. During this time, the Hungry Ghost Festival is held. It is thought that the gates of Hell are opened, freeing lost spirits to wander the earth. No couple wishes them invited to their nuptials!”

She finished typing the last line of a report on Chinese wedding customs for a client and hit the save button on her computer just as the phone rang.

Now battling an itch in an uncouth place, Lil sighed. It was really tough to be a lady today.

She ignored the itch, crossed her legs and punched the speakerphone button with one tastefully manicured, medium-length nail. “Finesse, Lilia speaking.”

“Haaaaaaaaah,” said a man’s voice, deep and lazy and full of almost sinister sexual vibrations.

Haaaaaaaaaah? Since her mind was more focused on ni hao, or hello in Chinese, it took her a moment to process his accent.

“Haaaaaaaaaaah,” he repeated. “Maaaah nayme is Dayan Graaanger, Miz Lundun.”

My goodness. His Texas drawl was thicker than the peach preserves Nana Lisbeth used to put away each summer.

“Hello, Mr. Granger. How may I help you?”

“I gotch your nayme by way of a Mrs. Shane.”

Her partner Shannon’s mother. Interesting.

“And the dill is—”

Dill? The spice?

“—I need some emergency, uh, charm school lessons. Mah sister’s marryin’ some blue-blood Brit and she don’t want me to embarrass her at her own weddin’.”

Oh, the poor man. So the sister has humiliated him by saying so. Lil’s heart went out to him, even though his accent was almost comical. “When will the nuptials take place, Mr. Granger?”

“In two weeks.”

Lilia raised an eyebrow and looked at her gilt-edged, blue-leather appointment book. “I’m afraid that I’m out of the office on vacation starting Monday, a week from today. Could you come in tomorrow, perhaps? I think I can clear my afternoon.”

“Ahh think this is gonna take more than a single afternoon, Miz London, but I guess I can try to find a flight.”

“From where will you be traveling?”

“Amarillo, Texas.”

She’d surmised that he was coming from somewhere in the Wild West.

“I can probably give you two and a half days this week, but I’m afraid that’s all the time I have,” she said regretfully.

“Here’s the dill, Miz Granger. Because I’m guilty of procrastinatin’ on this, I’m willing to triple your normal fees if you’ll take me on. I need dancin’ lessons. I need fark lessons. I need—”

Lil paused. What on earth is a fark? “Fark lessons, Mr. Granger?”

“You know. Like knife ‘n’ fark. I’ve been warned there’s gonna be five farks at this damn dinner, and hell if I know what to do with ’em. Also, I need to learn ballroom dancin’—the waltz and that kinda crap. And I need clothes, plus a penguin suit.”

Penguin…oh, dear. He needs a great deal more than that, by the sound of it.

“I know it’s short notice, Miz London. But I’d make it worth your while. An’ I’m a real charmin’ guy. It won’t be no chore.”

Her lips twitched. “Yes, obviously you possess a great deal of ch—ah, charisma, Mr. Granger. But—”

“Ten thousand dollars a week. How does that sound?”

“I beg your pardon?” Lilia blinked rapidly. “I’m not sure I heard you correctly.”

“Okay, twelve. But that’s my final offer. Twelve thousand a week, for the next two weeks. And I’ll pay for your vacation that you have to reschedule, if I’m pleased with your work. A bonus, you could call that.”

Lilia’s brain didn’t require more than a nanosecond to do the math. Twenty-four thousand dollars for Finesse and a free vacation for her? They could hire a PR firm to make a push for more business. And even start anticipating actual salaries!

“Mr. Granger, your offer is very generous.” Lil hesitated, torn between wanting her vacation and wanting the business.

“Well, I think so.”

She could take her vacation a little later. “I do hate to ask, but would you be willing to sign a contract with everything down in black and white?”

“I’ll sign my own ass in red permanent marker if you’ll take me on.”

Lilia tried not to choke. “That—that won’t be necessary, Mr. Granger. Why don’t you give me your fax number, and I’ll send a contract right over?”

“You betcha.” He recited the number, and Lilia immediately typed it straight into her computer, where she’d already opened up a file with his name on it. “Mr. Granger? Just for our records, how is it that you know Mrs. Shane?”

“My mother knows her. Some Paris fashion show they both attend? Or some charity event? The kind where you pay five thousand for a plate of rubber veal, soaked in champagne and topped with escargot? The type of thing where everybody there gets to show off their flashy jewels and plastic surgeon’s miracles, while feeling smug and righteous ’cuz every sip of their drink costs a hundred bucks.”

The man has a chip on his shoulder, that much is certain. Poor guy. It sounds like he really doesn’t fit in with his own family. She wondered why he was so different.

Lilia recaptured her thoughts and pressed her lips together, along with her silk hosiery-clad knees. She found something about this man’s Texas-accented voice very…carnal.

Which was utterly ridiculous, since she could barely understand that redneck drawl of his. Not to mention the fact that just during their brief conversation so far, he’d butchered the basics of Grammar 101 as she knew it. Still, his voice poured over her like sexual syrup—and she couldn’t help liking him.

“Thank you, Mr. Granger,” Lilia said. “I look forward to meeting you tomorrow. Will you confirm with me when you find a flight?”

“You betcha.”

Lilia smiled. “Goodbye, Mr. Granger.”

“Catch ya later, Miz London.”

She sat at her desk reflecting for a moment: was it realistic to think she could break his slang speech patterns or change his accent in two weeks? Probably not.

She could dress him and teach him basic table manners, dance steps and polite conversation. She could explain some of the peculiarities of the English language. But as for the rest, no.

She could suggest ways of capitalizing on his Texas heritage and demeanor. She could train him to be a charming eccentric: good-humored about his differences. If he was at all good-looking she’d show him how to kiss a lady’s hand and compliment her without smarm. The British women would swoon.

However, she was undoubtedly reading too much into that voice. Dan Granger might be gangly, have a prominent Adam’s apple and pizzalike skin for all she knew. She’d just have to wait and find out.

Twenty-four thousand dollars for two weeks of work, though! Lilia decided that she didn’t care what Dan Granger looked like. She stood up and pirouetted into the reception area. “Shan? Jane? I’m bringing in the big bucks!”

Shannon stuck her blond head out of her office. True to form, she wore tight, black, boot-cut slacks and an electric-blue leather jacket. “Huh? What’s this about big bucks?”

“This Texas guy is going to pay us twenty-four thousand dollars to turn him into Pierce Brosnan in two weeks.”

Jane stuck her dark, curly head out of her own office. “You’re kidding!”

Lil smiled at Jane. She could finally pay her back for bringing her into the business; identifying that she had a unique set of skills that were in demand in the marketplace. Jane had rescued her from a dead-end job as a receptionist in a law firm, and Lil still couldn’t believe she was now a professional and a partner in Finesse.

“How raw is the material, Professor Higgins?” Shannon asked, wryly.

Lil’s lips twitched and she met their gazes with a steady, even one. “Well…”

“Uh, oh,” said Jane.

“I wish you luck,” Shannon said.

“Thank you. I think I’ll need it, judging by how he handles himself on the phone.”

Lilia preferred to work with women. They were easier to mold and they did their homework. Most of the male clients she had were sent by their employers and didn’t take etiquette too seriously as a means to move forward in their careers. A mistake, to Lil’s thinking.

“So why is this guy paying you so much money?” Jane asked. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Because I’m having to clear my schedule and cancel my vacation in order to complete his transformation in two weeks. His sister is marrying into British aristocracy, and he doesn’t want to embarrass her with his crass, crude ways. Incidentally, Shan, we were recommended to him through your mother. She knows his mother from either charity events or fashion week.”

“Small world. Hey, I guess that means I get a kick-back, though, Lil. You can give me a shopping spree at Neiman Marcus.” Shannon winked.

“I think not,” Lil told her. “Good try, though. You’ll have to settle for a PR firm instead.”

“Done!” announced Jane.

Shannon frowned. “You’re so cruel.” She wandered into the small kitchenette they all shared. “Hey! Who ate all the crème doughnuts?”

Jane’s face was a study in innocence.

“Jane!”

“Who, me?” Then she gave up the pretence. “You ate them all last time!”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you should descend to my level…”

Jane laughed. Then she turned back to Lilia. “I can’t believe you’re giving up your vacation in San Francisco for this guy. But thank you.”

“It’s not a sum I think we should turn down, with the business being so new and all. And besides, he offered to pay for my rescheduled vacation—as a bonus, if he’s pleased with my work.”

Jane’s jaw dropped. “This guy must be either too loaded to care, or truly desperate. He’s probably a mess. Are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

Lilia thought about the farks. About the dancin’ and crap. And about the penguin suit. She was probably in for a rough time of it.

Was she up to the challenge? “Yes.”

Well, it wasn’t as if she had a social life lately, since breaking up with her boyfriend of two years after he’d proposed.

She had considered marrying Li Wong, a terribly sweet Chinese man. But the awful truth was more than Shannon’s summary of things: that Li’s wong was not so long.

He’d wanted Lil to give him a full-body massage every night—without ever returning the favor—learn Cantonese and move to Beijing as his obedient wife.

Lil had very respectfully declined, whereupon Li Wong had informed her that she was ignorant of the great honor he had conferred upon her by even considering a mixed-breed wife. Half American and half Vietnamese? Why, he exclaimed, she wasn’t fit to scrub his floors.

That was the moment at which Lilia agreed with his highness: he should leave her disgraceful hovel immediately and never return. So much for Li’s beautiful manners and courteous demeanor. Jerk!

She felt a late-afternoon yawn coming on, and delicately covered her mouth with her hand. She’d been through tougher things than this; most recently the loss of her grandmother, who’d raised her. “I’m not afraid of cowboys, Jane. I can handle Dan Granger.”

2

A RED-BLOODED AMERICAN guy does not belong in some friggin’ charm school.

Dan wiped the sweat from his eyes, neck and naked chest. He stood in faded Wranglers and beat-up ropers at his kitchen sink in Amarillo, Texas, feeling pissed off and reflecting that time ran faster than the water from his faucet.

Lilia London’s voice had been like cool water, pouring down the telephone lines. Too bad he hadn’t been able to feel it on the back of his neck. Dan grabbed an old hand towel and soaked it under the tap. He wrung it out and pressed it to his face, wiping away some of the day’s grime.

Claire can’t possibly be getting married. Wasn’t his little half sister still a ten-year-old tomboy?

Through the window over the sink, Dan watched two bay quarter horses nip at each other playfully and then swat flies from their flanks with their long black tails.

Beyond their coral, his father stood in paint-spattered overalls with one of the field hands, covering the barn in a fresh coat of deep red. They’d have to scrape and paint the house, next. Dan didn’t look forward to the work, but he wouldn’t avoid it, either. It was all for a good cause: his dream of starting a boys’ retreat out here. Next summer, they’d bring twenty at-risk urban teens out to take classes and work on the ranch. He’d show them a different way of life…and a good time, too.

The interior of the house was sorely in need of a woman’s touch, and had been since his mother’s departure twenty-two years ago. While Dan wasn’t inclined to shop for floral curtains or wallpaper borders, he did see to it that the house was well-maintained on the outside.

Inside they still had the same beat-up plaid sofa they’d had since 1977 and the same worn avocado-green recliner with the ugly crocheted afghan that his aunt Mary Beth had made. Dan had added an area rug he’d had in college, which lent the room a certain something: the smell of old beer.

The walls held nothing but a functional calendar, courtesy of John Deere, and some photos of Dan as a child and his parents. The bridal photograph of his mother in her long white dress was conspicuously absent.

The focal point of the living room was a massive forty-eight-inch wide-screen television, which he’d rather be watching than remembering the conversation he’d had with Mama three weeks ago. It still rankled.

Dan had been scrubbing the dirt out from under his fingernails when the phone rang. The sound was shrill and unrelenting, like a nagging wife. He’d been sorely tempted to ignore it. But with a sigh he’d knocked the faucet to the off position with an elbow and grabbed for the worn dish towel on the countertop. Then he’d picked up the phone and, by doing so, sealed his miserable fate.

“Yo, Granger here.”

The connection sounded fuzzy, thousands of miles away, and he didn’t need caller ID to know who it was.

Mama…calling from England. He took a deep breath and cracked his neck, his gaze resting again on the stoop-shouldered figure of his father.

“Daniel, really. What kind of greeting is that?” Her voice was peppered with disapproval.

It never ceased to amuse him that the former Louella Granger had trained her West Texas drawl, like some hardy vine, to climb a worldly trellis until it flowered into a British accent.

“It’s a functional greetin’,” he told her. “Brief, to the point, states who I am. No bullshit about it, Mama.”

“Mummy. Please, call me Mummy, dear boy. And don’t curse.”

Dan grimaced. Dear boy? Christ. Oh, I say, old chaps. Are y’all fixin’ to watch the telly? “Apologies, Mama. How are you?”

“Splendid! And you?”

“Can’t complain. Dad’s fine, too, by the way.”

She expelled an audible breath.

He added, “Salutations to dear Nigel, of course.”

“Daniel, your sarcasm is not appreciated.”

“Sarcasm?”

“Nigel is a lovely man. I’m very lucky.”

Uh-huh. Nigel-the-Lovely had broken up Dan’s parents’ marriage without a qualm and whisked Louella off to Merry Olde England without her fourteen-year-old son.

Nigel, being a real peach, hadn’t wanted a sullen teenager weighing down the bliss of his new marriage. And Louella had preferred the guilt of leaving her son behind to the realities of raising him. She was very sorry for the way things had turned out, but young Dan had been a little wild and needed the firm guidance that only his father could give him. He was to visit for a month out of every summer though. Wasn’t that just divine?

Nope. Dan couldn’t stomach tea and crumpets and Lovely Nigel. He’d lasted for exactly ten days on his first visit before announcing that he hated Nigel’s stuffy mausoleum, he couldn’t stand British food and there was no way in hell he’d ever call Mama “Mummy.” He’d taken the first available flight to Dallas. Hard to believe that was twenty-two years ago. Even harder to believe that little Claire, his twenty-one-year-old half sister, was now getting married in just three short weeks. Claire had been the only bright spot in his visits.

Mama waxed poetic and floral about the upcoming wedding, while all he could think about was how he’d adored his little barefoot hellion of a sister. In an odd arrangement, she’d come to visit a few times with Mama.

Claire the sweet, funny tomboy with the sunny personality and Nigel’s snooty accent. Dan had taught her to appreciate the value of a good peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich on Wonder bread instead of those vile crumpets. And as for tea—the only way to drink the stuff, as far as Dan was concerned, was cold and sweet, with a healthy dose of lemon. No fussy porcelain with curlicue handles. No silver sugar tongs. No milk.

“So, darling,” his mother said, her voice holding a note of determination. “I said you’d call her. You understand it’s only for Claire that I ask.”

Huh? He’d obviously missed something. “Mama, I’m sorry—my mind was wandering. Who am I supposed to call?”

“Lilia London, Daniel. Of Finesse.”

“And why am I supposed to call this woman?”

“Daniel! I may as well have been talking to a stump. Now listen to me this time.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“As I told you, Claire’s fiancé is a gentleman of impeccable lineage, and the family is very prominent. His father has a seat in the House of Lords. He’s a viscount.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Well, the thing is, Claire wants to be sure the wedding and reception go smoothly. And she doesn’t want to…” his mother trailed off delicately. “She would like to avoid embarrassment. Not to mention that she’d like you to be comfortable—”

“I’ll be fine. I couldn’t care less about rubbing shoulders with the snoots. I’ll hang out with the common folk. The, uh, hoi polloi, I believe you call them.”

“Yes, well. I’m afraid that there won’t be any common folk at the festivities, Daniel. That’s rather the issue here, darling.”

Dan felt irritation spark somewhere in the region of his liver. Now what? “Would you like me to just stay in the kitchen, then, Mama? Wash the pots and pans?”

“Of course not, silly goose! What a mad idea.” She trilled with laughter. “It would never do for the bride’s brother to be working in the kitchen.”

Of course not. Bad for the family image.

“But you have to admit that you’re rather rough around the edges, and this will be a challenging social situation. Five forks at the sit-down dinner, you know. Ballroom dancing with a live orchestra. And a Sunday morning mini-steeplechase—it should have been a hunt, but the horrid government put an end to that—followed by a champagne luncheon.”

Dan tried to imagine what in the hell anybody did with five forks at one meal, besides use them to stab obnoxious dinner companions whose politics you didn’t agree with.

“…so I want you to call Lilia, dearest. She’ll work with you for the next two weeks. Teach you conversation, table etiquette and dancing. She’s going to outfit you with proper clothes, too.”

The irritation in Dan’s liver flamed into full-fledged annoyance, not to mention hurt. “You have got to be kiddin’ me. You want to train me like a chimp just for this blasted, stupid, redcoat wedding?”

“It’s not blasted and stupid! It’s the most important day—weekend—of your sister’s life. This is a very small favor to ask.”

“Uh-huh. And how much will this small favor cost? Is Lovely Nigel footing the bill?”

Silence. “Daniel, you’ve done very well for yourself with the ranching and the oil leases. There is no reason Nigel should be asked to…to…pay for your civilization.”

Dan stuck a finger in his ear and jiggled it, hard. “My what? Did I hear you right? Did you just say my civilization?”

Louella sighed. “It’s only a figure of speech.”

“It’s a figure of speech that implies you think I’m a savage!”

“Daniel, on my last visit I distinctly remember you eating some sort of vile pasta product direct from the can with a plastic spoon. You also slept in your clothes.”

“I was twenty-two years old! That’s how long it’s been since you’ve visited.”