“Nick, I can’t do this.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not the kind of man—”

“Not the kind of man you should want? God, Sara, you’re dying for a man like me.”

“Nick—”

“A man who can’t wait to drive you absolutely wild in ways you can’t even imagine. You want all those things as much as you want your next breath, Sara. And that’s exactly what I’m going to give you.”

Pulling her forward, he smothered her mouth in a kiss. He held her tightly, his kiss raw and hot and possessive; he made her mind go blank and her insides turn to mush.

So this is what it’s supposed to feel like.

Sara thought about the other kisses she’d experienced over the years, those bland, boring, halfhearted attempts that had been cool and hesitant and had left her dying for more. Dying for this. And now she wondered what other wondrous things might be out there that she’d been missing all her life.

She had a feeling this man knew every one of them.

Dear Reader,

The moment this story came to mind, I couldn’t wait to write it. Nick Chandler is my favorite kind of bad boy, one whose good looks, abundance of charm and killer smile are so disarming that he can talk his way into any woman’s heart.

But what happens when the woman Nick wants is Sara Davenport, a psychologist who has written a book that teaches other women how to resist heartbreakers like him? And what happens when the expert on avoiding the bad boy falls for him herself?

The conflict between the good girl and the bad boy is always such fun to write. I hope you enjoy the story!

Visit my Web site at www.janesullivan.com for news of future releases, or write to me at jane@janesullivan.com. I’d love to hear from you!

Best wishes,

Jane Sullivan

Books by Jane Sullivan

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

854—ONE HOT TEXAN

898—RISKY BUSINESS

960—TALL, DARK AND TEXAN

HARLEQUIN DUETS

33—STRAY HEARTS

48—THE MATCHMAKER’S MISTAKE

When He Was Bad…

Jane Sullivan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To my editor, Jennifer Green.

Thank you for your enthusiasm about my books, your editorial advice that always improves them, and your sense of humor that makes my life as a writer a whole lot more fun. I love writing for Harlequin, and you’re the reason why.

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

1

He’s a daredevil on a motorcycle, a rebel with his own cause, a careless heartbreaker or an intriguing man of mystery.

He’s a handsome devil with a buff bod, or a tattooed badass spoiling for a fight. He’s a seductive charmer who will bring out the best in you.

And the worst.

He’s a self-absorbed loner, aloof and jealous and tantalizingly possessive, attracting you with enough charisma for ten men; at the same time, he holds you at arm’s length.

Caught up in the thrill of the chase, you try to grasp his heart and soul, only to feel him slipping away like sand through your fingers.

And while you know you should resist, with just a crook of his finger and a devastating smile, off you go with him, your mind filled with delusions of taming this enigmatic man. And when he has you melting under his hypnotic gaze, falling so fast your head is spinning, that’s when he leaves you like a shadow in the night, never to be seen again…

SARA DAVENPORT knew every one of those men inside and out. She could quote their characteristics, chapter and verse—every nuance of behavior, every game they played, every brand of falsehood that passed their lips. After all, she’d written the book on bad boys.

Literally.

She took a sip of coffee, then sat back on the sofa in her office and spread her planner out in her lap. Next to her, Karen paged through her own planner, lining out their schedule for the coming week.

“I’ve set up book signings for Wednesday and Thursday evening,” Karen told her. “They’re here in Boulder, so there’s no travel involved.” She flipped to another page. “I arranged a phone interview for you with a regional magazine in Charleston. The reporter will e-mail you tomorrow to set up a time. And I booked you for a Friday evening Internet chat with a reader’s group in Spokane.”

Sara made a few notes. “Wow. You’re keeping me busy.”

Karen smiled. “Busy is good. It won’t be long before your name is a household word.”

Sara didn’t doubt that. Her friend’s PR wizardry was a big reason the book had been successful so far. Karen knew just which newspapers and magazines to target with advance reading copies to garner the most articles and reviews. She’d brought Sara untold numbers of new readers by suggesting she pair a minilecture with book signings. She’d gotten her a cameo in Cosmopolitan. All that publicity had put Sara on the fast track to success, but still it was hard for her to believe that she’d barely turned thirty and already her dream was coming true.

Not that she’d intended for things to work out the way they had. She’d initially envisioned the book as an expansion of her dissertation, a serious examination of the psychological, social and emotional reasons women make poor choices in men. But one year, three edits and a show-stopping cover later, it had become a shorter, slicker book with a pop psychology tone and a title that made her cringe: Chasing the Bad Boy.

Sara was still hiding her face over that, but she couldn’t argue with success. The book was heading for its third printing, her editor wanted another book and Sara’s message was getting out in a way that never would have happened through her private psychology practice or her seminars alone.

“Oh, yeah,” Karen said. “One more thing. I called the program director at KZAP this morning.”

Sara came to attention. “What for?”

“To book you on a radio show.”

Sara felt a surge of apprehension. “Radio? No. I don’t want to do radio.”

“But you can reach a lot of people on a radio show. And it has an advantage that advertising doesn’t.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s free.”

“No. Radio is unpredictable. It’s too easy to say the wrong thing and get embarrassed.”

“Come on, Sara. You’re in front of audiences all the time.”

“Right. Doing seminars. It’s friendly territory. I have notes, and I’m in control. I don’t like open-ended situations. They’re recipes for disaster.”

“You know your subject, and you’re a great speaker. What is there to worry about?”

“I just don’t want—” Sara stopped short. “Wait a minute. KZAP? Isn’t that the station with Dr. Frieda?”

“Yeah.”

Okay. Now, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Discussing her book with a medical doctor, maybe getting into the physiological aspects of attraction, taking questions from her listeners…how tough could that be?

“But I booked you on Nick Chandler’s show,” Karen said.

For the count of three, Sara’s voice deserted her, and when it finally returned, still she could barely get words out without choking.

“What did you say?”

“Now, I knew you were going to freak out. But—”

“There is no ‘but’ here. I’m not getting within ten miles of that man.”

“But it’ll be great publicity.”

“Promoting my book on his show? Are you kidding me?”

“Okay. I know it sounds a little weird, but—”

“A little weird? Do you know he once interviewed a man who claimed he’d had sex with a thousand women and has the notches in his bedpost to prove it?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“And a woman who tends bar in a topless club? Topless?”

“Yeah, I heard that one. But—”

“And a man who has a Web site dedicated to teaching other men how to score with chicks?”

Karen held up her palm. “I know. I know. It’s a lot of testosterone all in one place, but—”

“I’ve read the gossip columns. I know Nick Chandler’s reputation in this town.”

Karen shrugged. “So he gets around a little.”

“A little? The guy with the thousand notches in his bedpost is an amateur compared to him!”

“And that’s exactly the reason I booked you on his show.”

Sara took a deep breath and tried to calm down, but it was a hard-won battle. Publicity was a good thing, but Nick Chandler wasn’t. The man was so Neanderthal that his knuckles had to drag the ground. Sara shuddered. He probably had back hair and bad posture and drew pictures of bison on his apartment walls.

“Sorry, Karen. I’m not doing a show like that. Call the producer back and tell him to forget it.”

“Even if Nick Chandler has a hundred thousand listeners?”

Sara’s lower jaw fell halfway to her lap. “Are you telling me that a hundred thousand people tune in to hear that kind of programming?”

“Yep.”

“But none of them are going to want to hear about my book. His audience is all men.”

“Hell it is. Thirty-two percent women, demographic eighteen to thirty-five. That’s thirty-two thousand women who are going to be tuning in Thursday afternoon whether you’re there or not.”

“Why? So they can be objectified?”

“Sweetie,” Karen said, “they tune in for Nick Chandler.”

“Come on, Karen! What could a woman possibly find attractive about a man like him?”

“I believe you answered that question in your book.”

“Okay, yes, but—”

“I’m guessing you’ve never seen him.”

“No. I haven’t had the pleasure.”

Karen reached down to Sara’s laptop sitting on the coffee table in front of the sofa. She tapped a few keys. A few moments later she turned the computer toward Sara, who looked at the screen and froze.

Holy mother of God.

Right there on the index page of the KZAP Web site sat Nick Chandler, lounging in a chair in the studio, the microphone tugged over to his lips, wearing a warm, open smile that was engaging beyond belief. His rich coffee-brown hair just brushed his collar in the back, and his eyes were such a brilliant shade of blue that gemstones all over the world had to be crying with jealousy. But Sara wasn’t fooled. Even as his roguish charm oozed right off the screen, she sensed a hint of overbearing overconfidence that gave away the truth: where women were concerned, he played hard and expected to win.

But although she could tell he was every bit the smooth-talking, women-stalking, commitment-mocking man his reputation said he was, she didn’t delude herself. A single glance at him could be hazardous to a woman’s heart.

She looked away. “He’s…decent-looking.”

Karen slumped against the back of the sofa. “Are you kidding me? I’d trade every sex toy in my nightstand drawer for fifteen minutes with a man like him.”

“Oh, yeah? And what would you have in the sixteenth minute?”

“One hell of an afterglow.”

Sara rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t say I wanted to head down the aisle with him,” Karen went on. “I said I wanted fifteen minutes of wild, outrageous, multiorgasmic sex.”

“Fine. But you know the difference between a one-nighter and a lifetimer. Most women don’t. They think they’re going to change the way a man like him thinks about women. About love. About life. And that’s not going to happen.”

“So tell them that.”

“And have Nick Chandler smack down every word I say?”

“With luck, that’s exactly what he’ll do.”

“What?”

“Controversy sells,” Karen said. “If you go head-to-head with him, we might be able to squeeze all kinds of press out of it. Good girl meets bad boy head-on. Get it?”

“I told you I’m not interested.”

Karen gave her a sly smile. “What’s the matter? Afraid you can’t stay on top of a man like him?”

Sara frowned. “Spare me the innuendo, will you?”

“You wrote that book because of men like him, and now you’re afraid to face him?”

“I’m not afraid to face him.”

“Good. You shouldn’t be. You have at least thirty points of IQ on him.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you have at least thirty points of IQ on everyone.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I’m still not doing that show.”

Karen sat back with a heavy sigh. “Sure. Okay. If that’s the way you want it.”

“That’s the way I want it.”

Karen tapped her fingers against her planner, then gave Sara an offhand shrug. “I mean, I guess it is a lot safer just to keep on preaching to the choir.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that you can keep on talking to those women who pay big bucks at your seminars to hear you tell them what they already know. Or what they’re finally ready to hear. Or…” Karen gave her a no-nonsense stare. “You can rescue the wayward souls from the devil himself.”

Sara considered that for a moment. Karen was right. It was one thing to help women who knew they needed it. But what about opening the eyes of women who didn’t?

“You’re sure he has that many women who tune in to his show?” Sara asked.

“Yep. Thirty thousand plus.”

“He’s exactly the kind of man those women need to stay away from.”

“Right. But if they’ve got the hots for him, it means they need you. Every last lust-filled one of them. Can you think of a better place to talk to your target audience?”

Sara sighed. Going on that show would be a mistake. It had to be, didn’t it?

Then again, she had to admit that so far Karen hadn’t steered her wrong. Her creativity in promotion knew no bounds.

Neither did her powers of persuasion.

“I’ll come along, of course,” Karen said. “To give you moral support.”

Sara wavered. She really did want to get her book into the hands of as many women as possible. Maybe this was a way to accomplish that.

“Okay,” Sara said with a sigh of resignation. “I’ll do it.”

“Thank God,” Karen said with relief. “You fell for it.”

“Fell for what?”

“You bought all that ‘it’ll sell books’ stuff. All I really wanted was an excuse to meet Nick Chandler in person.”

Sara smiled. “Why? So you can work toward that fifteen minutes?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll let you have first crack at him. If you decide you don’t want him, just toss him my way.”

“Come on, Karen. Both of us are smarter than that.”

Karen sighed. “Yeah, I know. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing sometimes that I was a dumb blonde.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to go. There’s a bar stool at Kelly’s with my name on it.” She zipped her planner, then stood up. “Your appointments are over for the day. Why don’t you come along?”

“Can’t. I need to head home and do a little brainstorming.”

“Brainstorming?”

Sara sighed. “I’m having a hard time coming up with a concept for my next book.”

“Same subject, different take?”

“Yeah. That’s what my editor wants, but I just don’t know where to go with it.”

“A couple of martinis might break that logjam.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Come on, Sara. When’s the last time you and I hit a happy hour together?”

“I’ve been busy. You’ve kept me busy.”

“Hey, I’m all for working hard. But you need your playtime, too. I think you’re the one who needs to get laid.”

“You know I don’t do casual sex.”

“Then make it a formal occasion. Evening gown, tiara, the whole thing. Personally, I wouldn’t want to get that dressed up just to have a man rip it all off, but if it works for you, go for it.”

Sara suppressed a smile. “How did we ever get to be friends, anyway?”

“You know how we got to be friends. We suffered through high school hell together. And speaking of high school hell, how’s your mother these days?”

“We met for lunch a few days ago. It’s been pretty good between us since she moved back here.”

“So she really did leave that creep in St. Louis for good?”

“Looks like it. This is going to be a good holiday, Karen. She’s coming over for dinner next week on Christmas Eve, and then we’re spending Christmas Day together.”

“Good,” Karen said, with a smile that looked a little phony. “That’s good.”

Sara recognized the dubious look on her friend’s face. In the past, it would have been justified. But not anymore. “It’s okay, Karen. It’s been three months. I think my mother has finally seen the light.”

“That’s what you thought with the other guys, too.”

“I know. But this time she sees the pattern of her behavior and wants to do something about it.”

“Hey, you’re the shrink. If you say her brain’s finally unscrambled where men are concerned, I believe you.” She checked her watch. “Oops. Happy hour is starting without me.” She rose from the sofa and headed for the door.

“Thanks for all your help, Karen.”

“Just stick with me, dahling. I’ll make you a star.”

With a couple of theatrical air kisses tossed Sara’s way, Karen swept out of her office and closed the door behind her. Sara glanced back at her computer screen.

Good Lord, what had she just agreed to?

Nick Chandler seemed to be staring right at her, teasing her, taunting her, daring her to walk right into his lair, where he lay in wait to chew her into a thousand tiny pieces.

He was undoubtedly good at ad-libbing. She wasn’t. He knew how to commandeer conversations and steer them in the direction he wanted them to go. She didn’t. He had those eyes that could knock her train of thought right off its track, while she had not a single body part that could hope to distract a man like him.

What she did have, though, was a mission, one she had yet to stray from. She hadn’t gotten this far in life without facing insurmountable odds, and she wasn’t going to stop now. Thirty thousand women would be tuning into his show next Thursday, many of whom were heading down the wrong path. This was her chance to show them the right one.

Nick Chandler wasn’t going to get the better of her. By the time that show was over on Thursday, he was going to know he’d met his match.

2

BY THE TIME Thursday came, Sara’s brain was still holding on to her conviction with the tenacity of a bulldog with a bone. Unfortunately, her stomach wasn’t faring so well. For the past hour, it had been doing funny little flip-flops that were making her a little nauseous. On top of that, the snow predicted for that afternoon had come through with a vengeance, snaring her and Karen in traffic. They were now almost late, so Sara didn’t have time to stop and compose herself, which meant she was pretty much a nervous wreck.

They walked into the lobby of the radio station and told the receptionist who they were. Sara shook the snow off her shoulders, then took her coat off and held it in front of her in a death grip.

“Stop looking so uptight,” Karen said.

Sara squeezed her eyes closed. “I told you I didn’t want to do this.”

“Just don’t let him see you sweat.”

“I used extrastrength antiperspirant this morning. Think that’ll do the trick?”

“Will you take it easy? It’s time to let your hair down a little. Get your message out, but have fun with it.”

Fun? She felt as if she were heading to her own execution.

A few moments later, a man came out to the lobby. He was balding, in his midforties, wearing a scruffy pair of khakis and a sweatshirt.

“That must be the producer,” Karen whispered. “You’ll be on in a minute. Just be sure to stick to English when you talk.”

“What do you mean?”

“Whenever you get nervous, you slip into geek speak.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Big words nobody cares about. Just talk to people.” She patted Sara on the arm. “I’ll be waiting for you out here.”

Take it easy, keep your cool, stay on message, she told herself. How hard could that really be?

The man introduced himself as Butch Brannigan. He hung Sara’s coat on a nearby rack, then led her down a long hall. As he swung open the door that led to the studio, her heart beat wildly. She thought she was ready for her first glimpse of Nick Chandler. Unfortunately, his photo on the Web site had barely given a hint of the man in the flesh.

He wore jeans. A ragged V-neck cotton sweater over a white T-shirt. Boots that looked as if they’d been to a war zone and back. He hadn’t seen the business end of a razor that morning, or maybe the morning before, either. Few men could pull off the shabby look without appearing unkempt, but Nick merely looked careless and uninhibited. And those eyes. Dear God. In the war between men and women, they were lethal weapons.

He stood up as she came in. “Hi. You must be Sara.”

“Yes,” she said, extending her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“No,” he said, his lips easing into a captivating smile. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

He enveloped her hand in a warm, solid handshake, sending goose bumps crawling all the way up her arm. Then he pulled out her chair. “Have a seat. We’ll be on in just a little bit.”

His deep, resonant voice meshed perfectly with his seductive smile and his incredible good looks, creating a package of pure temptation that could turn a defenseless woman with low self-esteem into a mindless love slave in a matter of minutes. Fortunately, Sara wasn’t defenseless, her self-esteem was thoroughly intact and Nick Chandler was going to have to fill the position of love slave elsewhere.

Butch left the room and slipped back into the glassed-in booth that looked into the studio. “Thirty seconds, Nick.”

She sat down, and Nick handed her a set of headphones. After putting them on, she folded her hands on the desk in front of her. Then realizing how uptight that looked, she stuck them in her lap instead.

“Nervous?” Nick asked.

She whipped around. “No. Not at all.”

“Ever do radio before?”

“No. This is my first time.”

“Ah. A radio virgin.” He smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

Her heart jolted at the mental image that created. “It’s okay. I’ve done a lot of interviews.” She forced a look of indifference on her face. “This is just one more, right?”

He nodded, still smiling. “Right.”

Pleasant tone of voice. Agreeable expression. Nonconfrontational body language. Everything about him said, You can trust me. So why was she still so terrified?

Because she’d heard his show before. She knew his point of view. A copy of her book lay on the desk beside him, and she wondered if he’d read anything more than the inside flap copy.

A few seconds later, Nick hit a button and leaned into the microphone. “Next in the hot seat is Doctor Sara Davenport, author of a book called Chasing the Bad Boy. Hi, Sara. Glad you could join us today. You don’t mind if I call you Sara, do you? We’re pretty informal around here.”

She wished she could keep her doctorate wedged between them, along with the title that came with it, but she didn’t want to look stuffy. Just have fun with it, Karen had told her.

“Of course you can call me Sara. If I can call you Nick.”

“Sweetheart,” he said with a dazzling smile, “you can call me anything you want to.”

Little prickles of awareness danced across the back of her neck. Stay on your toes.

“Why don’t you give us your book in a nutshell?” Nick said. “Then we’ll chat about it.”

She took a deep, silent breath. Here we go.

“Well, the premise of my book is that there are certain men who some women have a hard time resisting. They’re the guys they meet at the gym with the incredible bodies who want them for their bodies and nothing else. The mystery men who are here today and gone tomorrow. The amazingly handsome men who sweep women off their feet, then hit on their sisters the moment they leave the room. These men are all very enticing on the outside, but in reality, most of them are immature, reckless and irresponsible, offering nothing to the women who fall for them.”

“Wow,” Nick said. “So how many men do you think are out there who fit that description?”

Sara blinked with surprise. As if she had an actual number? “Well, I don’t know exactly. But obviously not all men are like that.”

“So some of them are pretty good guys.”

“Of course.”

“So it’s really just a select few who are causing a whole bunch of problems.”

Her heart skipped. “I didn’t say there were a lot of problems, just—”

“Sara. You wrote an entire book on the subject. Of course there must be a lot of problems. In this country we don’t fell trees just for the heck of it, you know.”

Sara just stared at him, her heart thumping. What was she supposed to do now? Defend the logger who’d cut the trees to make the materials that the printer had bought so he could commit her words to paper?

“Okay, so let’s narrow it down a little,” Nick said. “What’s the biggest problem you see with this situation between good girls and bad boys?”

“Women think they’re going to change men’s thought processes. Make them into something they’re not.”

“So men are inflexible.”

“Some of them are.”

“But women aren’t.”

“Well, some women are—”

“But they’re inflexible about the right things.”

This man was turning her mind to mush. “We’re talking about men here. Men who have no intention of ever committing, yet women chase them, anyway.”

“Because they like the challenge?”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“But you don’t?”

“What?”

“Like a man who’s a challenge.”

Sara’s nervousness escalated. “This isn’t about me.”

“Of course it is. You’re a woman, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Are you telling me you’ve never fallen for one of those bad boys?”

“Of course not.”

“Hmm,” he said. “Maybe you’ve just never had the opportunity.”

The words fell from his lips like warm honey in a slow drip. In spite of the fact that Sara knew exactly what kind of man he was, still her heart beat with a primal kind of attraction she just couldn’t quell.

Get it together, or he’s going to tear you apart.

“The basis of the problem lies in women’s physiological reactions,” she explained. “Some women feel a heightened sense of excitement when they’re with a man who they know is bad for them. It’s a kind of thrill-seeking behavior, and they’re physically drawn to it.”

“Physically?” Nick said, as his gaze took a slow trip down Sara’s body and back up again. “Hmm. I’m not quite sure I’m following you.”

That was a lie. He was following every word she spoke, every breath she took, every blink of an eyelash, and she knew why. He was the charming kind of bad boy who seemed innocuous on the surface, even as he used that charm to disarm his victims so he could control every situation. Intellectually, she knew what he was up to. So why was he making her so nervous?

“It’s a physical reaction,” she said. “They feel a heightened awareness, and there’s an increase in heart rate.”

Nick nodded, but he looked a little puzzled.

“And an accelerated neurotransmitter response.”

His brows pulled together with confusion.

“And a dilation of blood vessels. That causes the skin to flush. Then the perspiration glands become overstimulated—”

Nick held up his palm. “Hold on there, Sara. I’m afraid you’re losing me with all that physiological whatever.”

Geek speak. Hadn’t Karen warned her about that? “All I’m trying to say is—”

“What you’re trying to say,” Nick said, leaning toward her and pulling his microphone along with him, “is that bad boys make women hot. Is that right?”

He focused those gorgeous eyes on hers with the intensity of a laser beam, and all at once Sara felt her heart race, her face flush, her skin prickle and her palms sweat.

She cleared her throat. “I’m merely saying they have a physical reaction when they’re with such men. One that’s…uh…hard to ignore.”

He gave her a sinful smile that said, Yes, it is, isn’t it?

“The truth is that good boys will date bad girls,” Sara said, “but they know who they can take home to Mom. Some women, though, will go to extremes trying to change a man who’s never going to change. For men, bad girls are flings. For women, bad boys are projects.”

“But like it or not,” Nick said, “women want those bad boys you’re talking about. Oh, they say they don’t. They say they want men who will mind their manners and take out the trash without being told and be kind to their mothers.”

“All very wonderful qualities.”

“But that’s not all they want.” He gave her a tempting smile. “They want a man who’s exciting. Intriguing. Who keeps them guessing. Who changes from one day to the next and leaves them breathless in an attempt to keep up. A man with an erotic edge who makes them feel alive in a way they never have before. What they want,” he said in a voice as smooth as glass, “is a man who’s just a little…bit…dangerous.”

Sara opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. All she could do was stare at him. It was as if the verbal part of her brain had shut down completely.

Nick glanced at the console. “Wow. Look at that. All the lines are lit up. Better see what the folks have to say.” He punched a button. “This is Andy in Alto Linda. Hey, Andy. What’s up, man?”

“You haven’t done the rundown yet,” Andy said. “I’m dying to hear this one.”

Sara’s nerves tightened. The rundown? What was that?

“Yep. You’re right, Andy. Thanks for keeping me on track. I’ll do that right away.”

Sara looked at him questioningly.

“My listeners want to know what you look like,” Nick said.

Sara felt a shot of apprehension. “I don’t see the relevancy—”

“Oh, it’s relevant to them. Believe me.”

He kicked back in his chair, put his foot on the desk and dragged the microphone up to his mouth.

“Okay, guys, let me tell you what I’m looking at here. “Sara Davenport is about five-six, one twenty-five. Long, silky brown hair. Gorgeous green eyes. I think they’re green, anyway. They’re hard to make out with the reflection off her glasses.”

She pursed her lips, trying hard not to react.

“Now, don’t worry, Sara,” Nick went on. “I’m not knocking off any points for those. Contrary to common belief…” He dropped his voice to a sexy drawl. “Men do make passes at girls who wear glasses.”

Sara just sat there, astonished that he was saying these things in front of…good God. Ahundred thousand people?

“And I’m thinking she’s probably…” Nick paused. “Let’s see. Thirty-two years old?”

She couldn’t stop her eyes from narrowing.

“Oops,” Nick said. “Got the evil eye on that. With all those letters after her name, I assumed she had to be older. Turns out she’s not old, just smart. Let’s try twenty-eight.”

Actually, he was off by two years, but that was absolutely none of his business, and she willed herself again not to react. She didn’t want to telegraph to the women in the audience that she cared whether this man found her attractive or not.

“Okay,” Nick said. “Twenty-eight it is.” His gaze slid down her body, lingering on her legs. “I’m guessing she’s got some really nice legs, but underneath the wool pants she’s wearing, it’s hard to tell. Now, up on top…” He eyed her breasts with such intensity that she had to resist the urge to fold her arms over her chest. “Unfortunately, she left the spandex at home today, and her buttoned-up cotton shirt kinda hinders the view.”

“So what score do you give her?” Andy asked.

Nick sighed. “I’m afraid I can’t go any higher than a six.”

Sara’s eyes flew open wide. “A six?”

She instantly clamped her mouth shut. Damn it. He’d dangled the bait and she’d snapped at it. She’d known exactly what he was up to, and still—

“Wait a minute, Sara,” Nick said. “Let me clarify. I’m pretty darned sure there’s a ten under there somewhere, but I can’t go jumping to conclusions with the obstructed view and all. Now, if you could see your way clear to get rid of some of that cotton and wool, I might be persuaded to reevaluate.”

For several seconds, Sara was dumbfounded into silence. Did he seriously think she’d consider such a thing, as if she was one of the strippers he was so famous for interviewing? Was she supposed to take this kind of thing lying down?

Then, out of nowhere, she was hit with an image of taking all kinds of things from Nick Chandler while lying down.

Oh, God. Why was her brain going there at a time like this? What was the matter with her?

“Never mind, Sara,” Nick said. “Numbers really aren’t that important, now are they? Let’s take a few more calls.” He punched a button on the console. “I’ve got Tawny in Forest Heights on the line. Hey, Tawny. Welcome to the show.”

“This question is for Sara,” she said.

Sara sat up and squared her shoulders. Finally. A woman who wanted to ask a serious question. She leaned into the microphone. “Yes?”

“I’ve never seen Nick in person,” Tawny said. “Is he as gorgeous as his picture on the Web site?”

Sara flicked her gaze to Nick, who was wearing a smile of supreme satisfaction.

What was she supposed to do now? If she said yes, he’d become so arrogant and unbearable that his ego would ooze right out of this studio. If she said no, her nose would grow like Pinocchio’s on steroids. There was only one way to deal with this.

It was time to fight fire with fire.

She took hold of her microphone. “Hi, Tawny. You want to know if Nick is as gorgeous as his picture on the Web site?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Well, maybe it’s time for me to do a rundown of my own. Let me tell you what I’m looking at.”

She turned and stared at Nick, who responded only by leaning back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest and giving her a challenging smile.

“Nick Chandler is the kind of man who makes every woman he meets check her chest for the heart she’s sure she’s lost. And no wonder. When it comes to good looks, this man went through the line twice. He’s got a smile that would light up New York in the middle of a blackout. A body that dropped right down from Mount Olympus. I suspect he’s given more than one woman a case of whiplash just by walking past her.”

A big grin spread across Nick’s face. He leaned into his microphone. “Tawny, I’ve got to tell you. This woman really knows what she’s talking about.”

“Hold on, Nick,” Sara said. “I’m not finished yet.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said with a smug smile. “Did I interrupt?”

She leaned into the microphone again. “Given his excessive good looks, I suspect he never developed any real talent because he never had to. That’s why he hosts a radio show that relies strictly on his physical attractiveness and his magnetic yet misguided personality. Where women are concerned, he’s as full of empty promises as he is of BS. He’s the kind of man who wouldn’t think to ask ‘Was it good for you, too?’ because he couldn’t fathom that five minutes in his presence wouldn’t drive a woman to orgasm. And while you’re busy thinking about the future, he’s wondering how many beers are left in the fridge.

“So, without demeaning him by asking him to strip to make the assessment, I’d give him a ten-plus for looks. What I’d give him for what’s underneath those good looks, though, would be a big fat zero.”

A few seconds of dead air passed, and the flicker of amazement on Nick’s face gave Sara a rush of vindication. Yes. She’d scored a direct hit. Let him try to mess with her after that.

To her surprise, though, his expression morphed into a grin of sheer delight. “Well,” he said into the microphone, “there may be a little frost on her windows, but it looks as if the furnace inside is going full blast. So how about it, guys? If you like your women feisty, this one might be worth turning off the big screen for. Give me a call and tell me what you think.”

As the phone lines lit up, anger rumbled inside Sara like a volcano ready to blow. Feisty? Had he just called her feisty? And how had this interview gotten to be about her, anyway?

Nick started to touch a button to pick up another call, only to put a finger to his headphones. “Oops. Sorry, guys. Butch is telling me we’re out of time.” He swung around and grabbed the copy of Sara’s book from the table beside him. “The name of the book is Chasing the Bad Boy, by Sara Davenport. Buy it because you believe it or buy it because you don’t, but whatever you do, buy it. Then drop Sara an e-mail at—” he flipped to the back of the book “—Sara at Sara Davenport dot com and tell her what you think. Now, don’t go away. We’ll be back in just a few minutes with a little sports talk.”

Nick punched a button, then pulled off his headphones and faced her. “Wow, Sara. You really let me have it, didn’t you?”

Sara couldn’t believe this. As if it was her fault they’d squared off the way they had? He’d baited her, angered her and demeaned her, and now he was upset because she’d given him a dose of his own medicine?

She pulled off her headphones. “Look, Nick. If you’re expecting an apology—”

“Apology? Are you kidding? That was what I call damned good radio.” He gave her a radiant smile. “Don’t let this get out, but I swear sometimes it’s better than sex.”

Huh?

He leaned toward her, dropping his voice. “How about you, Sara? Did you feel the rush?”

What the hell was he talking about? “All I felt,” she said hotly, “was the desire to get out of here. You made me look like a fool.”

Nick drew back. “Nobody looked like a fool. Least of all you.”

“But all those things you said—”

“Yes. I said a lot of things. And you gave them right back to me. We lit up those lines. That’s a good thing.”

“No, it’s not,” she said, standing up. “Not when you humiliate me to make it happen.”

She turned to leave. Nick rose and grabbed her arm. “Hey, take it easy, okay? I don’t want you going away mad.”

She shook her arm loose and glared at him. “Too late for that.”

“Okay,” he said, holding up his palms. “I can see that we got off on the wrong foot here.”

“You have a talent for understatement.”

“So how about we start over?” A smile eased across his face. “Say…with dinner tonight?”

Sara drew back in total disbelief. “You have got to be joking.”

“I never joke about food. I know a great steakhouse on Campbell Road that’s got a rib eye that I just might sell my soul for.”

“No, thank you.”

He frowned. “Oh, boy. It’s the red meat thing, isn’t it? Are you one of those women who eats only green stuff?”

“No!”

He sighed with relief. “Thank God. Nothing’s worse than taking a vegetarian to a steak house. They end up eating a salad and poking at a baked potato.” He smiled again. “So how about it, Sara? Wanna make an evening of it?”

This was absolutely unbelievable. How could he even think she’d take him up on such a thing?

“I told you I’m not interested,” she said. “And I can’t imagine why you would be, either. I mean, why would you want to get stuck with a six like me when you could thumb through your little black book and come up with a perfect ten?”

“Come on, Sara. That rating thing is just a gimmick. My listeners love it.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Okay, then. Forget the numbers. Here’s the truth.” He moved closer, his mouth edging into a warm smile. “When you walked in here a few minutes ago, my very first thought was that you were just—quite simply—one beautiful woman.”

For a moment, she thought she heard a note of actual sincerity in his voice, one that almost made her think he wasn’t just tossing compliments around because she’d turned him down and his ego couldn’t take it.

Almost.

“No, Nick. Here’s the truth. Your opinion of my physical appearance doesn’t interest me in the least. I was here to promote my book, not to subject myself to your adolescent behavior. But you know what? It’s my fault. I knew what your show was like, and I let my publicist book me on it, anyway. But you can bet your life I won’t make a mistake like that again.”

“Nick!” Butch said. “You got fifteen seconds!”

Nick’s smile faded, replaced by a look of resignation. “Okay, Sara. I get the message.”

“Good.”

She started to walk out.

“Sara?”

“What?”

“If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”

He put on his headphones and hit a button on the console. As he started his well-practiced banter once again, Sara left the booth, still fuming, still frustrated, and when she thought about the people all over town who had just heard her humiliation, she wanted to crawl under a rock and die.

You know where to find me. As if she’d ever get within a mile of this radio station again.

When she came into the lobby, Karen stood up. Sara brushed past her and headed for the door.

“Hey, wait a minute!” Karen said. “Where are you going? I wanted to meet—”

“No. You don’t want to meet him. Trust me. You don’t.”

She yanked open the door and stepped outside. Traipsing through the snow, she headed for her car, the bitter winter wind swirling around her. Karen threw the strap of her laptop case over her shoulder and followed. She caught up to Sara in the parking lot and pulled her to a halt. “Hey! What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? Did you not hear that interview?”

“I heard every word.”

“It was a disaster!”

“Disaster? Are you kidding? You were brilliant!”

Sara gaped with disbelief. “Brilliant? What are you talking about? That man humiliated me!”

“No way. He may have given it to you, but you gave it right back. You beat him at his own game.”

“No. All I did was let him drag me down into the gutter right along with him.”

“Yeah, and while you two were wallowing around in that gutter, I was checking the e-mails coming in through your Web site. Half a dozen already.”

“What?”

“Get in the car. I’ll show you.”

They slid into the car, and Karen flipped open her laptop. She ran her finger over the touch pad, then tapped.

“Listen to this,” she said. “‘I just heard you on Nick Chandler’s show. You’re absolutely right. Somebody needs to warn women about men like him. Keep up the good work!’”

Sara blinked with surprise.

“Here’s another one,” Karen said. “‘I liked how you let him have it. If I had that kind of backbone with a man, then maybe I never would have stayed with the losers I have.’” Karen hit the touch pad again. “And how about this one? ‘I came to one of your seminars, and now after hearing you on Nick Chandler’s show today, I can see that you’re somebody who actually practices what she preaches. You don’t let men mess with you. Way to go!’”

Sara was dumbfounded. “They actually heard me? Women who aren’t Nick Chandler groupies?”

“If they were before, they’re not now. They heard you, they thought about what you said and they responded. And there are more e-mails coming in. Didn’t I tell you this would happen?”

Sara felt a glimmer of hope. “I still don’t believe it.”

“Believe it. You reached your target audience. You may have done it under the radar, but you did it just the same. It appears that Nick Chandler was his own worst enemy in there, and he didn’t even know it.”

His own worst enemy?

The more Sara thought about that, the more it made sense. He’d baited her into unmasking him just enough that at least a few of the women in his audience had been able to see him for what he really was. And that was a very good thing.

Then all at once, an inkling of an idea came to Sara. She froze, her hands on the steering wheel, as it took shape in her mind. She felt a spark of excitement, which grew hotter with every second that passed.

“Oh, my God. Karen. I know the angle for my next book.”

“What?”

“Maybe it’s time the women of the world knew exactly what goes on inside the mind of a man like Nick Chandler.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wrote my first book from the perspective of women who fall prey to bad boys. What if I write my second one from the perspective of the bad boy himself?”

“Nick?”

“Exactly. He’ll be my starting point. Once women have a peek inside his head, see his motives, hear firsthand how he goes about controlling and manipulating them, they’ll know he’s the kind of man they need to avoid at all cost.”

Karen’s eyes flicked back and forth, her mind turning. “Sounds promising. PR-wise, it could be a gold mine. But how are you going to get Nick Chandler to spill all his secrets?”

“You said it yourself—he’s his own worst enemy. He doesn’t see anything wrong with his point of view, and with an ego like his, getting him to talk about himself should be a breeze.” She gave her friend a devious smile. “Believe me, Karen. If I want to know what Nick Chandler is thinking, all I have to do is ask.”

3

TWO HOURS LATER, Nick swung his car out of the KZAP parking lot onto the snow-crusted road to head home. Sixteen inches of snow had hit the city already, and more was falling. His windshield wipers were working overtime to sweep enough away that he could see to drive.

He pulled up to a stoplight, then turned to look at Sara Davenport’s book lying in the passenger seat beside him. Why he was bringing it home with him, he really didn’t know. It had sat on the table beside him during the rest of his show this afternoon, distracting him to the point that he’d actually lost his train of thought a time or two. Finally, he’d stuck it under his desk, thinking out of sight, out of mind, only to see Sara’s face in his mind instead.

And now the book was staring up at him in that same accusing way it had in the studio. For an inanimate object, it was doing a pretty good job of generating a whole lot of guilt.

He sighed. Face it, Chandler. You screwed up.

The minute he’d seen those lines light up during his show, he’d responded as he always did, like some kind of Pavlovian dog with his tail wagging wildly and his mouth watering. As he pictured every one of those incoming lines jammed with callers, his heart had raced and his nerves had come to life, driving him to fan those flames until they burned as hot as they possibly could.

But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he’d fueled that bonfire at Sara Davenport’s expense.

Technically, he’d done things right. He’d entertained his listeners, stirred up a little attention-getting controversy, and plugged her book. Unfortunately, she hadn’t exactly gotten into the spirit of his show. And he was still stinging from her turning down his dinner invitation, too, because that meant she was holding a grudge, and he hated that. He’d been a lot of things to a lot of women in his life, but enemy had never been one of them.

He hadn’t been lying. She was a beautiful woman, which made her turning down his dinner invitation doubly painful. He glanced at her book again and let out a heavy sigh. He was going to have to do something to rectify the situation, but he just wasn’t sure what.

A few minutes later, he pulled into his parking space next to his apartment and killed the engine, thankful that he’d moved to a new apartment only five minutes from the station. It was bigger than his last one, and the covered parking was a real plus in a city with an average annual snowfall of almost ninety inches. His recent salary increase had afforded him all kinds of luxuries: more space, more comfort, more convenience. All very good things.

Nick grabbed Sara’s book, got out of the car and trudged through the snow to his apartment door. Glancing through the window into his living room, he saw a familiar head sticking up above the back of the sofa. He checked his watch. No wonder. He was late getting home tonight, and the game started in ten minutes.

Nick unlocked the door, stomped the snow off his boots and walked inside to find that Ted, as usual, had let himself in and parked himself in front of Nick’s big-screen TV, which he said beat the hell out of the piddly twenty-six incher in his own apartment.

“Hey, man!” Ted said. “About time you got home. The game’s about to start.”

Nick closed the door and tossed Sara’s book down on the coffee table. “Let me grab a beer. Need another one?”

“Has the answer to that question ever been no?”

Nick pulled two bottles from the fridge and they sat down on the sofa. Ted looked as he always did, which wasn’t surprising since his wardrobe consisted of three pair of jeans and sixty-two concert and radio station T-shirts. And Nick knew that sixteen inches of snow was the only thing on the planet that could make Ted swap his flip-flops for the boots he was wearing now.

He and Ted had met for the first time when Nick had been an intern at KPAT in Colorado Springs. Ted had been their morning man along with another DJ, a guy who was a genius behind the microphone but had a reliability problem stemming from his close personal relationship with the whiskey bottle. When that guy got canned, Ted had lobbied for Nick to fill the spot, telling the station manager that he needed a pretty face to balance his own butt-ugly one because wearing a ski mask during remotes seemed a little too serial killer. It had been an unheard-of opportunity for someone who’d done as little dues-paying as Nick had, and he vowed he’d never forget it.

They’d been a great team on a show with great ratings, but eventually they’d been fired. Nick figured that the hoax they’d pulled on the mayor probably had something to do with it. They’d split up, Ted heading to Monroe, Louisiana, and Nick to Dallas, then Chicago, before finally landing in Boulder. Nick had learned his lesson. He kept the practical jokes to a minimum, stayed put and built a reputation, finally working his way up to his own show. Ted hopped from job to job, eventually ending up at a low-watt hole-in-the-wall FM station in Tupelo.

When he’d called three months ago to tell Nick that he’d been fired one more time, Nick hadn’t been surprised. There was always some stunt Ted wanted to pull, music he declined to play, or ass he refused to kiss. But this time Nick had heard a touch of desperation in his friend’s voice that had never been there before, so he pulled a few strings and got him an interview for a producer’s job at KZAP. At first, Ted had flipped out: I’ve been playing rock and roll across this great country of ours for the past twenty years, and you want me to produce a gardening show? But then he’d gotten real and gotten down to business, taking the job when it was offered and staying with Nick until he could get back on his feet again.

“Caught your show today,” Ted said. “Great stuff. Loved Amber, the pole dancing champion.” He drooped his lids and assumed a Madonna-like voice. “‘It’s, like, you have to become one with the pole. Feel the pole. Love the pole.’”

“Hey, everybody’s got their thing. I respect that.” Nick gave him a sly grin. “Her thing just happens to be slithering naked up and down a pole in front of a roomful of drunk men.”

And after her spot on the show, Amber had offered to show Nick the practice pole in her bedroom, complete with a private performance. When he’d declined, she’d given him an open invitation for the future. In light of Amber’s considerable physical assets, he’d surprised himself by feeling more turned off by her than turned on.

Then Sara Davenport had shown up.

He’d looked around to see her standing at the door of the studio, uptight and buttoned-down, but still considerably sexier than any psychologist he’d ever imagined. The nervousness she’d tried to hide had only made him wonder what other chinks there might be in the armor of rigid professionalism she wore. Only seconds passed before he was already thinking about pulling those glasses off her real slow, tossing them aside, then taking her in his arms and…

“But your best bit was that psychologist,” Ted said. “She really let you have it, didn’t she? God, that was great. The kind of guest you kill for.”

“Yeah, I know. Unfortunately, the lady didn’t think it was all that entertaining. She thought I humiliated her.”

“You kidding? She got her shots in, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, but she still didn’t think much of me by the time the interview was over. I tried to ask her out to dinner as a peace offering, but that didn’t fly, either.”

“Are you telling me a woman turned you down?”

“It’s hardly the first time.”

“Yeah, but it’s the first time since you were twelve years old.” He reached to the coffee table. “Is this her book?”

“Yeah.”

Ted thumbed through it. “Wow. Check out her bio. Education out the wazoo.” He turned to Nick. “Since when do you have a thing for the intellectual type?”

He didn’t. At least, he didn’t think he did.

Did he?

“I just didn’t want her to go away mad,” Nick said. “That’s bad for business.”

“So which was she? A six or a ten?”

Nick winced. He’d taken that bit a little too far. Sara wasn’t a mud wrestler or a Penthouse pet or the owner of a nudist resort. Those women were used to his kind of banter. They thrived on his kind of banter.

Sara didn’t.

“That’s just a stupid bit I do,” Nick said. “I’m thinking of trashing it.”

“No way. It’s that kind of bit that got you where you are. That show’s a cash cow, kid. Milk it for all it’s worth. If you don’t, one of these days you’ll be old and decrepit like me, and you won’t be good for much of anything.” He took a swig of beer. “Well, anything except producing a gardening show.”

“For God’s sake, Ted. You’re only forty-one.”

“In radio, I might as well be a hundred and forty-one.” He pointed his finger at Nick. “Take this as a warning, kid. This business chews you up and spits you out.” Then he waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, hell, why am I warning you? You’re riding the wave. If they’re talking syndication for your show, you’re gonna be on easy street.”

“They’re talking. But I’m not holding my breath.”

“Nope. You’ve got what it takes. I knew it from the second I met you. Syndication will put you on top, so you do anything—and I mean anything—to get there. You hear me? Otherwise you’re gonna end up like me in ten years. Look how I was wallowing around at the bottom of the barrel when I called you a few months ago.”

“You were out of a job. Like that’s something new to radio guys?”

To Nick’s surprise, Ted’s expression turned solemn, and he stared down at his beer. “You know, when I got fired, I was at the end of my rope. I wasn’t quite sure where I was gonna go. I just hung around Tupelo for a few days, staring at the wall. Then I talked to you.” He turned his gaze up to meet Nick’s. “Thanks, kid. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

Nick’s heart twisted a little. “Hey, it was purely selfish on my part, believe me.”

“How’s that?”

“At the rate I’m going, I’m never going to have a wife, but what do I need one of those for when I have you waiting for me when I get home? If I could just get you to have dinner ready and bring me my slippers, I’d be all set.”

Ted scowled. “Hey, you know the number of the pizza place as well as I do. And your big stinky feet can freeze for all I care. Now, just watch the game, will you?”

Nick grinned and picked up the remote, when all at once the phone rang. He tossed the remote aside and grabbed it.

“This is Nick.”

“Hi, Nick. This is Sara Davenport.”

His heart skipped. Hers was the last voice he’d expected to hear on the other end of the line, and for a moment he was actually speechless.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” she asked.

“Uh, no,” he said, sitting up straight. “Not at all. I’m just…well, I guess I’m a little surprised. I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”

“I phoned the station and your producer gave me your home number. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.” Nick’s mind was spinning, wondering why she was calling. “I just hope this means you’ve reconsidered my dinner invitation.”

“No,” she said. “I’m not calling about dinner. But there is something I’d like to discuss with you. A business proposition.”

Business? He could think of all kinds of business he’d like to get down to with her. Unfortunately, she sounded as if she meant, well…business.

“Can you meet me at my office tomorrow at ten o’clock?”

Nick ran through his mental to-do list for tomorrow and saw nothing on his schedule for that hour. And between now and then, if he remembered something, he’d cancel it.

“Sure, Sara. I can meet you at ten.”

“Good. My office address is 8442 Cavanaugh Court, Suite 214.”

Nick grabbed a pencil and scribbled the address on the cover of his TV Guide. “Care to tell me what we’re gonna be talking about?”

“I’d rather go into it tomorrow, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure. That’s fine.”

“I’ll see you then.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it.”

Nick heard a click. He held out the phone and stared at it for a moment, then turned to Ted. “That’s weird.”

“What?”

He returned the phone to its cradle. “That was Sara Davenport.”

“The shrink on the show today?”

“Yeah. She wants me to meet her at her office tomorrow morning.”

Ted raised his eyebrows. “Her office, huh? Why there?”

“I don’t know. She’s says it’s business.”

Ted grinned. “Business? Right. Don’t psychologists have couches in their offices?”

“They do on TV.”

“Well, there you go, kid.”

“What?”

“I’d say she’s looking for a little afternoon delight. This way, you don’t even have to buy her dinner.”

“Will you give me a break? It’s nothing like that. Trust me. When she left the station, she was cold as ice. And I don’t sense that a whole lot of thawing has taken place since then.”

“Oh, yeah? Bet you can lock her office door, draw the blinds and get her naked in under two minutes.”

Nick gave him a deadpan stare. “Ted?”

“Yeah?”

“You really need to get a love life of your own.”

“Nah. What woman in her right mind is gonna want a washed-up bum like me? Just hand me a beer and let me live vicariously.”

As Ted picked up the remote and found the station the game was on, Nick glanced at the phone again, still wondering why Sara wanted to see him.

And why he wanted to see her.

It was crazy, after all. Sara wasn’t anything like the kind of women he usually dated. She’d probably never done a Jell-O shot in her life. Or picked up a pool cue. Or flashed her boobs during Mardi Gras, worn a thong or woken up in Cancun with a hangover and wondered how she’d gotten there. Instead, she’d been busy getting all those letters after her name and writing books, not to mention straightening out people’s minds and collecting a hefty paycheck for her services. Just being seen with a sharp, conservative, intellectual woman like Sara would make his bar-hopping, speed-dating, sports-crazy listeners wonder when he’d gone over to the dark side.

So why did he feel a hot little rush at the very thought of seeing her again?

He had no idea. He only knew that it had been a very long time since he’d met a woman who was any kind of challenge at all. Most of the women he encountered were either waiting in the lobby of the station to slip their phone numbers into his pocket, calling his show with various sexual propositions or tossing their panties into the booth whenever he did remotes. He tried to imagine Sara doing any of those things, and he almost laughed out loud.

He settled back with Ted to watch the game, but he had a hard time concentrating. Business? He had no idea if Sara ever mixed that with pleasure, but he sure intended to find out.

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