Mattie was going to bolt.

David needed to do some fast talking if he wanted her to stay, or his story would be dead before it even began. “The prize money is the same, you know. And you don’t have to eat bugs. Fifty thousand to the Average Jill just for suffering through all the dates and then a hundred-thousand-dollar purse for her to split if she falls in love and gets engaged at the end.”

Mattie’s eyes grew wide. For a second, David had to remember to breathe. It wasn’t fair that one woman should have eyes that captivating. “With who?”

“With me, of course.”

“You?”

He cleared his throat. Whoa. That hadn’t come out as he’d intended. In fact, he hadn’t even wanted it to come out. Besides, he wasn’t here to fall in love. He wanted the story—not the girl.

Didn’t he?

Dear Reader,

What is the best gift you ever received? Chances are it came from a loved one and reflects to some degree the love you share. Or maybe the gift was something like a cruise or a trip to an exotic locale that raised the hope of finding romance and lasting love. Well, it’s no different for this month’s heroes and heroines, who will all receive special gifts that extend beyond the holiday season to provide a lifetime of happiness.

Karen Rose Smith starts off this month’s offerings with Twelfth Night Proposal (#1794)—the final installment in the SHAKESPEARE IN LOVE continuity. Set during the holidays, the hero’s love enables the plain-Jane heroine to become the glowing beauty she was always meant to be.

In The Dating Game (#1795) by Shirley Jump, a package delivered to the wrong address lands the heroine on a reality dating show. Julianna Morris writes a memorable romance with Meet Me under the Mistletoe (#1796), in which the heroine ends up giving a widower the son he “lost” when his mother died. Finally, in Donna Clayton’s stirring romance Bound by Honor (#1797), the heroine receives a “life present” when she saves the Native American hero’s life.

When you’re drawing up your New Year’s resolutions, be sure to put reading Silhouette Romance right at the top. After all, it’s the love these heroines discover that reminds us all of what truly matters most in life.

With all best wishes for the holidays and a happy and healthy 2006.

Ann Leslie Tuttle

Associate Senior Editor

The Dating Game
Shirley Jump

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To my husband, who almost went to the wrong address on our first date, and who stole my heart through letters and packages. If we’d have been smart, honey, we’d have bought stock in FedEx and UPS when we met.

For my daughter, who knows her mother has the athletic ability of a goldfish, and coached me through the soccer scenes without laughing. Finally, to all the young female athletes, who work and play hard. The boys certainly have something to contend with when the girls are on the field. Girls rock!

Books by Shirley Jump

Silhouette Romance

*The Virgin’s Proposal #1641

*The Bachelor’s Dare #1700

*The Daddy’s Promise #1724

Her Frog Prince #1746

Kissed by Cat #1757

*The Marine’s Kiss #1781

The Dating Game #1795

SHIRLEY JUMP

spends her days writing romantic comedies with sweet attitude to feed her shoe addiction and avoid housework. A wife and mother of two, her real life helps her maintain her sense of humor. She swears that if she didn’t laugh, she’d be fatally overcome by things like uncooperative llamas at birthday parties and chipmunks in the bathroom. When she isn’t writing, Shirley’s either eating or shopping. Or on a really good day, doing both at the same time.

Her first novel for Silhouette, The Virgin’s Proposal, won the Bookseller’s Best Award in 2004. Though she framed the award, it didn’t impress the kids enough to make them do the dishes more often. In fact, life as a published author is pretty much like life as it was before, except now Shirley conveniently pulls a deadline out of thin air whenever the laundry piles up.

Read excerpts, see reviews or learn more about Shirley at www.shirleyjump.com.

Dear Reader,

Did you ever get the wrong package delivered to your house? What if that wrong package had been delivered on purpose, and it could lead to finding your true love? That’s where this book begins, with matchmaker and deliveryman Bowden Hartman taking love matters into his own hands.

He sets his sights on Mattie Grant, a soccer coach who has everything but love on her mind when she signs up for a reality survival show. Bowden has other plans for her, though, and sends her to a completely different show—a dating game that’s about to change her life and that of jaded reporter-turned-bachelor David Bennett.

The story just proves one thing—you never know when that package might lead you to love!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Prologue

On Monday morning Bowden Hartman toyed with the envelope in his hands and considered breaking every rule that went with the hideous olive-green uniform he wore. Well, not every rule. Just a couple of the more important ones.

The front of the envelope made no bones about his mission. “Overnight delivery, by 10:00 a.m.,” blared the red banner. A quick, on-time delivery—his specialty, and what they paid him to do every day at Speedy Delivery Services.

Okay, he’d make the overnight delivery. Just not this letter to this person.

He knew better than to mess with the packages, of course. But when had he ever followed the rules, rather than what his instincts told him was right?

Not very often. That was, indeed, what made his life fun and kept this job from being unbearable.

He didn’t need to work—not since he’d inherited the rest of the Hartman fortune. But since his father’s death two years ago, Bowden had found he liked to work, especially jobs where people were glad to see him and he got to indulge his bad habit of meddling in other people’s lives.

Especially their love lives. If there was anything Bowden Hartman liked to see, it was a happy ending.

“You got lucky, Hartman,” one of his co-workers, Jimmy Landry, said from across the room, hoisting a coffee mug in tribute. “What I wouldn’t give to be delivering that letter today.”

“Which one?”

“The one to the hot woman who’s going to be on the Love and the Average Jill reality show. I heard they got the former Miss Indiana. Bet she gives you a kiss for bringing that by.” Jimmy flipped him a thumbs-up. “I know I’ll be tuning in every night to see that girl, er, show.”

Bowden glanced again at the envelope in his palm. It was, as he already knew, addressed to Tiffany Barrett, Miss Indiana of two years ago. Across from him sat stacks of other envelopes meant for the rest of that show’s and another show’s contestants, many of which were in the pile for his route. Some were going to the bachelors who’d been chosen to go on the show with her and compete for the “average” Jill, the newest star in Lawford, Indiana’s, Channel Ten nightly seven-o’clock lineup. Other letters were designated for the outdoors-loving competitors of Survival of the Fittest, the second reality show Lawford Channel Ten was debuting this week.

The executive producer of the show had come in himself at five yesterday, handed over the envelopes, noting which ones were for chosen contestants on each show—and therefore had to be delivered, and which ones were for the rejects. He’d also given everyone explicit directions not to peek at or leak the information, or he’d have their heads on a platter.

Well, he hadn’t actually said “heads” or mentioned “platter.” He’d used other—and worse—potential consequences for leaking the news. The other men in the office had steered clear of the envelopes, guarding all protruding body parts that might come anywhere near the piles.

Bowden hadn’t said a word but hadn’t followed the producer’s demands, either. He’d peeked. He’d then been up half the night concocting a plan.

Bowden picked up another letter slated for his route, this one for Survival of the Fittest. Part of a big blitz, the producer had said, to up the ratings for the local TV station by debuting two knock-off reality shows the same week.

This letter was marked for Mattie Grant, who lived in the historic Pierpont Apartments downtown, one of the first stops on Bowden’s route. A nice woman, though in need of a change. He’d met her several times over the year he’d worked here, when he’d delivered special cleats or a shipment of customized shirts for the young girls’ soccer league she coached.

They’d chatted for a few minutes last week while he’d dropped off her latest delivery. She’d let it slip that she’d auditioned for the survival show. In his hand, he knew, was her letter telling her she’d been accepted as one of the contestants.

He weighed the two letters, one in each palm, Mattie’s against the one for Miss Indiana. The idea he’d had last night returned. He shouldn’t. If he ever got caught, it would be a sure way to get fired.

Ah, to hell with the consequences. Bowden Hartman believed firmly that breaking the rules was a whole lot more fun than following them.

Chapter One

Mattie Grant was prepared for anything. Mosquitoes the size of hummingbirds. Fires with all the durability of tissues, drinking water with enough germs to contaminate a small rodent colony.

She could handle all of it. And win.

She had, after all, trained for competing on Survival of the Fittest with the dedication usually only seen in marathon runners. Reading books, practicing fire building, studying native flora and fauna. She had the art of survival down pat. In a jungle, a woodland, even a cave, she’d be fine.

What she was not prepared for, however, was a lavish mansion with a manicured lawn and a butler waiting at the door.

She parked her Jeep out front and considered the address on the letter she’d received via Speedy Delivery Services that morning. Bowden, her regular delivery man, had waited for her to open the envelope because he knew how much she wanted this chance at the Survival contest. Once he’d seen the look on her face, he’d offered a congratulations, told her good luck and bid her goodbye.

But she didn’t need good luck. She had skill, and during her twenty-six years Mattie had learned skill was what counted, not money, not connections, not beauty. On the field and in the game of life.

She glanced again at the opulent home, sitting like a gem in the early-July sunshine. It had to have at least twenty rooms, all behind a stone facade with great white columns flanking the front steps. This was the right street and number, but as far away from what Mattie considered roughing it as life could be.

Maybe she had to do publicity photos first or something. She’d seen CBS pull that on their contestants once. She wouldn’t put it past the Lawford, Indiana, network to do the same.

She got out of the car, strode up the granite steps and raised the bronze knocker, lowering it twice against the matching plate. A moment later an older man wearing a black suit opened the massive eight-foot oak door.

“I’m here for the TV show,” Mattie said, holding up the letter, her voice more question than declaration. This so didn’t feel right.

The butler, tall, slim and gray, didn’t blink. Or even seem to breathe. In fact, if she hadn’t seen his hand twitch a little on the door frame, she’d suspect he was one of Madame Tussaud’s best. “Right this way, ma’am.” He stepped back and waved her into the house.

“This can’t be right,” Mattie said, entering the ornate marble foyer. A crystal chandelier hung over them, the cut glass reflecting like a constellation in the sudden burst of outdoor light. “I’m here for Survival of the Fittest. This looks more like Day Camp for the Rich.”

The butler merely walked down the hall without answering her. Mattie considered leaving. If this was the right place, though, and it was some kind of trick to throw her off guard before the real Survival contest started, then she might disqualify herself by walking away.

“So, do you have a lot of Girl Scout campouts here?” she asked as she hurried down the hall to catch up, looking around for hidden cameras.

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

“You know, sitting around the fire, singing “Kumbaya” and eating s’mores? Or is this more the place people go for serious mall withdrawal?”

“Uh, no, ma’am. We have none of that here at the James Estate,” the butler said, without a hint of humor in his voice. He cast a glance over his shoulder at her flip-flops and khaki shorts, not bothering to hide his look of disdain for her attire. Apparently, guests who weren’t properly clothed weren’t allowed very far into the house because he stopped at the first room on the right, a fancy-dancy parlor well suited for a poodle, and led her inside.

“Please have a seat,” the butler said, gesturing toward an ornate love seat with some curlicue fabric on it. She knew there was a name for the pattern—a name she’d never bothered to learn, much to the consternation of her mother, who thought living well was the only way to live.

Mattie, who’d spent her life with scraped knees and grass-stained socks, believed in playing hard and winning well. Curlicue fabrics didn’t fit into that equation.

The butler cleared his throat. Mattie regarded the chair. It looked more like dollhouse furniture than people furniture. Still, the butler seemed convinced it would make a suitable seat.

“May I take your, ah, bag, ma’am?” He eyed her Lands’ End backpack with a little confusion. She’d be willing to place odds on the number of people who came into a house like this ready for outdoor adventures.

“I’ll keep it with me, thanks.” On the other network’s show, Mattie had seen what happened to people who made the mistake of giving up their stuff. They ended up stuck on some island with nothing while their smarter competitors remained fully equipped. That wasn’t going to happen to her. She intended to win, and if that meant keeping her backpack away from the mortician over there, so be it.

She tucked it on the floor beside her feet and lowered herself to the love seat. No matter what it was called, the chair certainly didn’t hold a lot of love for her rear end. The seat felt stiff and uncomfortable, as if it was layered with concrete beneath the fabric. She hoped she wouldn’t be here long. Mattie Grant was about as well suited for an environment like this as a cheetah was for a cat carrier.

The butler backed out of the room, shutting the double doors without a sound. Mattie fished out the letter again from her back pocket. The single piece of stationery from the Lawford television station was simple and to the point, telling her she’d been selected as a contestant on their new reality show. The letter hadn’t been very detailed, which she’d expected. When she’d gone to the tryouts for Survival of the Fittest, the producers had warned her they’d keep as much information secret as possible, but still…

This letter was taking subterfuge to a whole new level. It said little more than “Congratulations on being selected as a contestant on Lawford Channel Ten’s newest reality show,” the address to which she was supposed to report and the day, Tuesday. Nothing else specific at all, except the prize money amount.

Fifty thousand dollars.

“Fifty thousand dollars.” Even aloud, the number sounded huge. She needed that money. She had to win. Even if it meant putting up with this environment for a while before she got to the place where she felt most at home—the great outdoors.

The doors opened again and in walked a man. Okay, not a man. A demigod. At least six feet tall, he had the dark good looks and deep-blue eyes that made grown women trip over themselves in order to get a better look. Sort of a Pierce Brosnan type, only younger.

Mattie figured she could take him. No problem.

A guy like that wouldn’t last long in the woods. He’d be too worried about what gathering a few sticks of kindling would do to his manicure. Good. One competitor she didn’t have to worry about.

“Am I in the right place?” He paused, adjusting his maroon tie.

What kind of guy wore a suit on a survival show? Well, there had been that lawyer on the other network’s show two or three seasons ago. Maybe this guy had some crazy ideas about using his navy Brooks Brothers suit for a makeshift sleeping bag.

“Depends on where you’re supposed to be,” she said.

“Touché.” He smiled. “I’m sorry. I probably should have started by introducing myself. I’m David Simpson.” He took a step toward her, putting out a hand. “And you are?”

Mattie rose and shook with him, grinning. “Your worst nightmare.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry. I’m Mattie Grant.” She broadened her smile. “And I don’t intend to lose this game.”

He grinned. “And neither do I.”

She gave his three-piece suit and polished shoes another glance. “I don’t think you’re quite cut out for this competition.”

“Funny, I was going to say the same thing about you.” He gave her the once-over, his gaze lingering on her shorts and flip-flops. “Aren’t you a little…underdressed?”

“I’m not here for a beauty pageant. Who cares what I look like?”

He chuckled. “I like you, Mattie Grant. You aren’t what I expected. This is going to be one interesting show,” he said. “Very interesting.”

He had a way of looking at her that was both direct and intent. Like he was sizing her up. Well, two could play that game. She circled the room in an idle pattern. “Why do you think they’re doing a show like this in Lawford, of all places?” Mattie asked. “I’m not complaining, and Lawford is a good-size city, but this is usually the kind of thing the big networks do.”

“Well, reality TV is low budget, big viewership. To the head honchos at Channel Ten, this was a no-brainer. The new station owner is hoping to make a big splash in this marketplace. Lawford Channel Ten isn’t exactly the shining gem in the Media Star conglomerate.”

Mattie cocked her head and studied him. “How do you know all this?” She didn’t remember reading much more than a press release announcing the new station ownership in the Lawford Sun. Apparently David Simpson knew something she didn’t know.

He had an edge. And Mattie didn’t like that at all.

“I, ah, heard about it at work.” David turned away and moved across the room to study a spring landscape hanging on the wall.

“Do you work in TV?” She tried to keep her tone casual, friendly. This not being a girly-girl thing made it tough, though. Even to her own ears she sounded like an FBI interrogator.

“No.”

He didn’t elaborate. She shouldn’t fault him for that. They were, after all, competitors. Personal knowledge could be used to someone else’s advantage. She wasn’t about to share anything, either. No one here needed to know who Mattie Grant really was or why she was on this show.

However, that didn’t mean Mattie couldn’t find a way to soften her approach. How she’d do that, she had no idea. Her best interactions with men came when she battled them for a black-and-white ball on a hundred-yard field. This small talk in the parlor thing left her feeling like a cow trying to perform “Swan Lake”.

Behind them another door opened and a woman in an evening gown—most likely Dior, said another part of Mattie that used to live a life where those kinds of names mattered—slipped into the room, her movements lithe and graceful. Her auburn hair was perfectly coiffed, her nails impeccably done, her presentation flawless.

What was with these people? Didn’t they realize this was an outdoor adventure show? She’d never seen a survival show where everyone came dressed for the Oscars.

Either the producers for the Lawford television station had zero idea what a show like this comprised or…

For the first time that day, Mattie began to feel a little worried. Had she stumbled into the wrong place somehow? Had there been a mistake?

“Oh! I see you two have already met,” the woman said, glancing at Mattie, then at David. “The butler was supposed to bring you to the dining room with the other men, but I suppose this one mistake won’t mess things up too badly.”

“Are you the owner of the house?” Mattie asked. Why wasn’t she supposed to meet David? And what was up with this “other men” thing?

“Oh no! I’m Larissa Peterson, the host of the show.” She put out her hand to Mattie and then to David. “The owners are in the Caribbean and graciously allowed us to use their home for the show.” She looked around the room, empty except for the three of them. “I’d thought maybe someone had been in here already to explain everything to you.”

“Wait a minute. You said you’re the…host?” Mattie took another look at Larissa’s designer dress and high heels. “Of Survival of the Fittest?”

“God, no!” Larissa laughed. “I couldn’t survive five minutes outside of civilization. I’m the host of Love and the Average Jill.”

“Love and the Average Jill? But…but—” Mattie’s gaze zipped around the room again. The pieces fell into horrifying place, one at a time.

The letter that hadn’t named any specific show.

The fancy mansion.

The butler who’d been surprised at her sporty attire.

The man dressed in a suit. One of the…

Oh, God. Bachelors. Plural.

That meant she was supposed to be the…

“I think I’m in the wrong place,” Mattie said, letting out a nervous little laugh. She choked back the nausea rising in her throat. No, no, no. This was not for her. She had to leave. Now.

Mattie pivoted away and yanked her backpack out from under the love seat. It caught on the bottom of the cushions before giving way, causing her to stumble a couple of feet.

David put a hand against her back, saving her from crashing to the floor. For a second she felt as if he’d zapped her with a stun gun. “Steady there. Don’t want to hurt yourself before we’ve even begun.”

She jerked away from his touch. This was wrong. So wrong. “I’m supposed to be on Survival of the Fittest.” Maybe if she said it enough, it would come true, but the sinking feeling in her chest told her something else.

Larissa laughed. “I don’t think so. Do you have your letter?”

Mattie nodded. “Yeah.” She dug in her back pocket, fished it out and handed it to Larissa. Find the mistake, please, Mattie prayed.

Larissa scanned the single sheet of paper, then looked at Mattie, considering her for a long, long moment. “You’re Matilda Grant?”

“Yes, I am.” Lord how she hated her given name. Made her sound like a character from Sabrina, the Teenage Witch, not a woman trying to be taken seriously in a rough-and-tumble sport.

“You’re not…” Larissa paused, put a finger on her chin, then her lips turned up into a smile that Mattie swore looked crafty. “Why, you’re the perfect average Jill.” Larissa put out her arms, as if she expected Mattie to step into the hug. “Welcome to the show, and to your heart’s destiny.”

At those words everything within Mattie rebelled. She put a hand to her stomach and dashed from the room before Lawford’s newest bachelorette made an unforgettable impression on the Oriental rug.

Chapter Two

Mattie stood in the driveway, catching her breath. After a minute she got into her Jeep and turned the key. The engine made a sick “rew-rew” sound but didn’t get any further than that.

“Come on, baby, not now,” Mattie said. She turned the key again, whispering to the cantankerous ten-year-old vehicle. It didn’t turn over. It just let out a high-pitched moan like a donkey refusing to make that last trek back up the Grand Canyon.

Clearly, a little Jeep revenge for missing that last tune-up and oil change, since money had been so tight lately. What she wouldn’t do for a Jiffy Lube and a miracle.

“Damn!” Mattie smacked the steering wheel, but that didn’t do anything more than hurt her palm. She dug in her backpack and found her cell phone. Within a few seconds she was connected with her best friend.

“Hey, Mattie. Are you surviving okay?” Hillary’s voice traveled across the line, upbeat and positive as always. She could picture Hillary sitting at her desk at the Lawford Insurance Company, blond and fit, zipping through her day with the same enthusiasm she gave all her friends.

“Yes, but not on the show I thought.” Mattie gave Hillary a quick rundown of what had happened. “Now they want me to stay and be on Love and the Average Jill.”

“I saw the previews on the news this morning. Looks like a great one.” Hillary laughed. “And they asked you to do it? For real?”

“Yep. They’ve even got what I assume is a whole room of bachelors waiting for me, too. They said something about fifteen men. Fifteen! I don’t think even Cleopatra had that many at once.”

“Sounds like fun to me. A bachelorette party made in heaven.” Hillary laughed. “So why aren’t you in there?”

“Because that’s the last thing I need right now. I’m not interested in falling in love or getting married, especially in front of a bunch of cameras. I’m here to raise money for the Lawford Girls’ Soccer League. That’s why I wanted to go on the Survival Show. I bet this one’s “prize” is true love. I need cash for the league, not a man.”

“I love your altruistic spirit, Mattie, but you should think of yourself. How long has it been since you went out on a date?”

“What does that have to do with this?”

“Uh, excuse me? Did you not just tell me you’re standing in front of a mansion filled with gorgeous men who want to date you?”

“Yeah, but—”

“But nothing, girlfriend. If you have any brains at all, which I know you do, you’ll get back in there and get yourself one of the hot guys inside.”

“Hillary—”

“Don’t ‘Hillary’ me. You know I’m right. You’ve become a virtual hermit, pouring all your time into those girls’ teams. Now, I know what you’re going to say, so don’t interrupt me. The girls need you and the league needs you. Everybody gets to have you but you.” Hillary let out a sigh. They’d had this argument at least three times in the past six months, with Hillary always trying to get Mattie to go to a bar or a singles club or some other crazy thing that would take her focus away from her job and her girls.

She wasn’t going to do that. Mattie Grant needed a man about as much as a monkey needed a second tail.

“Right. That’s why this is a bad idea.”

“No, that’s why this is a perfect idea! It’s going to be on TV, so you can get plenty of publicity for the league. And if you stick it out, the exposure can help you get the money you need to get it back up and running, plus keep you employed. What’s not to like about it?”

“The dating part,” Mattie said, toying with the steering wheel of the silent, recalcitrant Jeep. “That’s not what I had in mind when I signed up for Survival of the Fittest. I was supposed to be out in the woods, trying to choose between poisonous and nonpoisonous wild berries, not standing in a mansion choosing a mate with all the forethought of picking a doughnut out of a box.”

“I’m saying this as your best friend, Mattie. You need a man. A nice one, preferably. And now you have fifteen at your beck and call.” Hillary laughed. “You are the envy of the entire female population of Lawford. So enjoy it while you can.”

“I’d rather be out building fires and roasting wild game.”

“If you’re lucky, you’ll get to do a little fire building still.” Hillary laughed again, then said goodbye, with a second admonishment to Mattie to get back in there and get herself a man to go with that money.

Hillary was right about one thing. It had been a while since Mattie had been on date. That didn’t make her a hermit, just—

Okay, maybe it did.

She took in a deep breath and looked again at the mansion. It was only a week. Surely she could last.

And besides, who said she had to fall in love, anyway?

David had watched Mattie Grant’s mad dash from the room with sympathy. If he’d had a choice, he wouldn’t be here, either, sacrificing himself on the reality TV altar, all to save his skin.

Actually, he’d had a choice, more or less. He could have kept his idea—which had seemed so sane at two in the morning when he’d concocted it after watching too many infomercials on how to get rich on hair removal products—to himself. But once he’d shared it with his editor, he’d been left with two choices: get the story or get another job.

Now he wasn’t going to leave. He had too much at stake to back out.

“Well,” Larissa said. “I’m sure she’s just a little nervous. She’ll be back.” Though the hostess didn’t sound as sure as her words.

David hoped Mattie would return. Having the star run out just before the show began would leave it a tad dead in the water. And would totally mess with his own plans to expose the reality show—and its competitors—for the crock of lies they really were. Happy endings and true love between strangers, matched up with an eye on ratings. Yeah, right. In the end, he’d expose the faux lovey-dovey characters as nothing more than people who were focused only on themselves…and the cash prize, of course.

Mattie Grant, however, wasn’t at all what he’d expected. He’d thought he’d be stuck here for a week with some washed-up beauty queen with nothing on her mind but marriage. He hadn’t been looking forward to that.

But Mattie…well she wasn’t a beauty queen. Though she had a killer smile, long blond hair and eyes the color of green gems. Okay, so she was a beauty. Just not a pageant kind of girl. She didn’t even seem the high heels type. And that made her interesting, more so than he wanted to admit.

He’d felt a spark—hell, a jolt—when they’d shaken hands. It was something he’d have to ignore, because involving his heart or any other part of his body in this show was not in the plan.

He wasn’t that kind of guy. He was good at staying uninvolved, uncommitted. In his twenty-eight years David had learned that even the people he thought could be trusted always kept something hidden, some nugget of truth they secreted away from others. It was far easier, he’d discovered, to pour himself into his work—the work of uncovering those lies—than to open himself up to others.

The door opened and Mattie came back in, a little paler than before. “My Jeep won’t start. I need a few tools to clean off the plugs and wires to get it going again, but Stone Man doesn’t seem to be anywhere around.”

A woman who fixed her own car? David gave her a smile of appreciation.

“Stone Man?” Larissa asked.

“The butler.” Mattie swung her backpack onto her shoulder. “You know, forget it. I’ll walk. It’s only seven or eight miles back to my apartment.”

“No, wait. Don’t go,” Larissa said, stepping forward. She seemed to be crafting a plan as she spoke. “You’re already here. Plus, you signed the release when you sent in your application, so you agreed to participate then.”

Mattie put up her hands. “Not on this show. I signed up for Survival of the Fittest. If you people don’t have plans for building a lean-to in the rose garden, then I’m outta here.”

“I don’t think you’re on the wrong show,” Larissa said, coming up and taking her arm. David thought it looked more like a vise grip than a friendly touch. She withdrew a walkie-talkie from the evening bag at her arm and pushed a button. “Get in here. We have a…new twist.”

“There’s no twist,” Mattie said, extricating herself from Larissa’s grasp. “I’m not doing this show. I don’t want to get fixed up or married. I want to prove my survival skills.”

Larissa didn’t give up easily. She draped an arm over Mattie’s shoulders as if they were old friends and confidantes. “Mattie, isn’t that what dating’s all about? Survival of the Fittest?”

When Mattie opened her mouth to protest again, Larissa turned toward David. “Don’t you agree?”

And then he knew for sure what Larissa was doing. Somehow, Mattie had been sent to the wrong address. Rather than try to find the real bachelorette, Larissa was working with what she had—a woman who seemed to truly fit the words Average Jill. Everything from Mattie’s tennis shoes to her backpack fell into that category, and yet there was something about Mattie Grant. Maybe the way she held herself or the defiant spark in her eyes. Mattie was as far from average as a woman could get.

Mattie Grant also didn’t seem the type to follow the rules.

He smiled. He couldn’t have latched on to a better story if he’d tried.

“Well, David?” Larissa prompted, clearly trying to get him to take sides. “Don’t you agree?”

Mattie scowled at him. David lobbed a grin her way, to show her that he had good intentions. She didn’t return the volley. “I agree,” David said to Larissa. “Dating is very much like a game sometimes. Sort of like doing crossword puzzles in ink.”

“A man who likes a challenge, huh?” Mattie said.

“Always.”

“With crosswords, you’re only competing against yourself. Are you afraid of losing?”

“Never.” David took a step closer to her. “Are you afraid of playing this game?”

Mattie’s direct green gaze met his. “Not at all.”

There was fire in her words—and a fire in his gut that hadn’t been there five minutes ago. David cocked a grin at Mattie. A challenge indeed.

The doors burst open and a chubby guy in a beige golf shirt and khaki pants, wired up to a walkie-talkie ear piece and cell phone, headed into the room. He held a large order of fries in his free hand. Twin globs of ketchup dotted the front of his shirt like crimson buttons. “What’s up, Larissa?” He halted, took a long look around the room, then blinked twice at Mattie. “Hey, who’s this? Where’s Miss Indiana?”

“This is Steve Blackburn, one of the producers for Average Jill,” Larissa explained. The she turned to Steve. “I don’t know where Miss Indiana is, but this,” she said, “is Mattie Grant.”

“Who? What? This is going to totally mess—”

“When I saw her, I realized Mattie is the perfect Average Jill,” Larissa went on, interrupting him. “A lot more perfect than a former beauty pageant winner.”

“Oh, no, I’m not,” Mattie said, backing away. “I told you, I’m supposed to be on Survival of the Fittest.”

Steve withdrew a fry from the bag. “What do you do for a living?”

“I chair the Lawford Girls’ Soccer League and coach two of the girls’ teams. But I do not date fifteen—”

“Nice PR potential with that. Philanthropy angle and all that,” Steve said, wagging the fry at her. Larissa murmured agreement. Then he turned to David. “So, you think she’s pretty?”

“Definitely.” Mattie had a natural beauty, unmarred by makeup or a frou-frou hairstyle. She had an unfettered, what-you-see-is-what-you-get-and-if-you-don’t-like-it-tough look about her.

That interested him. On a purely reportorial level, of course.

“Good. Get over there and stand next to her.” Steve gestured between them, using the fry as a baton. “Go on, she won’t bite. Will you?” He looked at Mattie.

“Of course not! What kind of person do you think I am?”

“I auditioned some of those girls trying out for Survival. They were a little, ah, hard core.”

David crossed to Mattie, as he’d been told. He figured it wasn’t a huge hardship to stand beside her and get a closer look at those bright green eyes. “Looks like we’re a twosome.”

“Not for long.” Mattie scowled.

The producer and Larissa stood together, conferring. “We get a dress on her, she won’t be so bad,” Steve said.

Mattie put up her hands. “I’m on the wrong show. Aren’t you people listening to me?”

The producer’s phone jingled and he answered it, juggling food and electronics and managing to munch as he multitasked. “Yeah. So she’s there now? How’s that going?” He laughed. “That’ll make good TV. Maybe serendipity had better plans than we did. Can you talk her into staying? Yeah we’re set here. Things are working out,” he eyed Mattie, “better than we expected.”

Mattie turned to David. “Ever get the feeling they’re seeing you as the goose who laid a ratings egg?”

“You going to stay?”

“Nope. This isn’t for me.” She swung her backpack over her shoulder.

She was going to bolt again. He needed to do some fast talking if he wanted her to stay, for the sake of his story.

“The prize money is the same, you know,” he began. “And you don’t have to eat bugs.”

“There’s prize money on this show?”

“Yep. Fifty thousand to the Average Jill just for suffering through all the dates and then a hundred-thousand-dollar purse for her to split if she falls in love and gets engaged at the end.”

“Another fifty thousand if she falls in love?” Mattie’s eyes grew wide. For a second David had to remember to breathe. It wasn’t fair that one woman should have eyes that captivating. “With who?”

“With me, of course.”

“You?”

He cleared his throat. Whoa. That hadn’t come out as he’d intended. In fact, he hadn’t even wanted it to come out. He wanted to last to the end of this game, to get the maximum bang out of his story, but he hadn’t planned on broadcasting his strategy to everyone, least of all Mattie.

Besides, he wasn’t here to fall in love. He wanted the story—not the girl. Work was what he’d always focused on, not relationships. Work was permanent, relationships were…not. “I meant with me or any of the other bachelors.”

“Do I have to date all of them?” She pressed a hand to her stomach as if she were going to be ill.

“Do you have something against dating?”

“It’s not something I do much of, as a rule.”

They had that in common at least, though he didn’t say it. “Why not?”

Mattie recovered her composure and parked a fist on her hip. “That’s none of your business.”

He grinned. “Well, it will be. Mine and, very soon, all of Lawford’s.” He gestured toward the doorway, where a cameraman stood, a camera over his arm. “Get ready for your moment in the sun, Miss Grant.”

This was not what she wanted. She’d expected to be in the woods somewhere, in a state forest or on an undeveloped lake, fending for herself with a group of other competitors, using the skills she’d honed over years of Girl Scouts, camping and cross-country bike rides.

She had lived this fancy life a long time ago, until she’d left home, and then her mother’s divorce had taken it all away for good. The mansion. The clothes. The silly focus on one’s self.

She would have preferred to be in the middle of a forest with nothing but a pack of matches and a working brain to rely on. But there was the money to consider. Not to mention the good she could do with it. She didn’t have to fall in love. She’d have fifty grand just for sticking it out.

It was survival, as Larissa had said. Just another kind. And besides, it appeared someone else had been sent to take her place on Survival of the Fittest, leaving her with one option.

Love and the Average Jill.

“Let’s begin.” Larissa moved to the center of the room, a wide, excited smile on her face.

“Already?” Mattie’s voice came out like a squeak.

“Don’t be nervous. You’re perfect. The quintessential Average Jill. So much better than the former Miss Indiana.” Larissa cupped a hand around her mouth and leaned toward Mattie’s ear. “Who was about as average as a hibiscus.”

Mattie wasn’t exactly sure that was a compliment. After all, if the other woman was a hibiscus, what did that make her? A weed? “What do I have to do?”

“Enjoy yourself. The cameramen will follow you around all day but we only show an hour of the day’s highlights each night and broadcast the elimination part live.” Larissa gave her a wide smile. “Stick it out for a week. That’s it.”

“No strings?”

“No, none at all.”

Mattie bit her lip. She glanced at David across the room, now talking to the producer. David hadn’t seemed so bad. If he was the type of guy she had to deal with for the next seven days, she could make it through.

Heck, she could start a fire without a match and concoct a meal out of wild vegetables. How hard could this dating game be?

If she had known they’d be sticking her in a chair and putting makeup on her, she’d have backed out. Two hours later, Mattie found herself surrounded by the show’s dream team—a hairdresser, makeup artist and clothing consultant, all assembled from the show’s “headquarters” in the pool house behind the mansion to take her from average to…

Well, not average.

“Ouch! Don’t do that,” she said. “What are you doing?”

“Tweezing,” the hairdresser, Pepper, said. He hovered over her with the torture implement, his bright-turquoise shirt and floral-pattern jeans a blinding combination. “Most men prefer a woman with two brows, you know.”

“I’m not that bad.”

Pepper took a step back, tweezers at the ready between his fingers, and analyzed her. “Not anymore, honey.”

“Isn’t this supposed to be about an average woman?” she said to Steve. He’d hovered in the corner the entire time, chomping on fast food and offering his input on everything from lipstick colors to heel height. “I’m not average if I’m all made up like this. Besides, this isn’t even me.”

And it hadn’t been, not for a long time. At eighteen, when she’d walked away from the life of Chanel suits and Lancôme makeup, she’d vowed never to return. And now, here she was, starring in a bad sequel of her own past.

“This is TV. No one wants to see the real you.”

“But—” Then she was cut off by Salt, the makeup artist and Pepper’s partner in business, who had honed in on her with eyeliner. “Isn’t this making me the exact opposite?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Mattie, do you think anyone is going to tune in every night over the next week to see some soccer player get hooked up with Adonis? You may be cute in your cleats, but that’s not what builds Neilsens.”

She started to add to her argument, but Salt was coming at her with an eyelash curler, clamping it onto Mattie’s eyelashes and warning her not to move.

She hadn’t bought this many cosmetics in her lifetime, never mind worn them. And the clothes…

She cast a glance at the wardrobe hanging on the silver rod to her right. Some minion of Steve’s had been sent scurrying to the Lawford Mall to come up with a bunch of suitable evening gowns when the producer had realized all Mattie had in her backpack was two pairs of denim shorts, a couple of T-shirts and a plain blue Speedo.

Apparently bachelors didn’t go for women in Speedos. They wanted hot pink bikinis. Strappy gowns. Glittery tops and silky pants.

In other words, everything in Marshall Fields that made Mattie recoil in horror.

She endured Salt’s eye makeover and told herself she could last through this. It was only a week. If she could stick it out until the end of this ridiculous dress-the-Barbie game, she’d get her money and she could finally take care of the people who needed her.

Then her mind went back to David Simpson. He seemed nice. Actually interested in her. As if he might want something more than simply winning the title of best bachelor and half the hundred grand.

Either way, if he, or any of the other guys, got any ideas about rounding any sexual bases, she had a way of taking care of that. When the men came on too strong—

She had a hell of a soccer kick to take them down.

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