STEPHANIE BOND

feels she won the lottery in November 1995 – when Mills & Boon bought her very first book! Since then, Stephanie has written over twenty-five books for Mills & Boon, and still loves bringing stories of romance and comedy to her readers all over the world. Stephanie lives in Atlanta, Georgia, with her husband, Christopher. She loves to hear from her readers at www.stephaniebond.com.

Dear Reader,

Have you ever dreamed of winning the lottery? Jane Kurtz regularly plays the lottery with her co-workers, but she never really thinks about winning. Why would she? Everything in Jane’s life is perfectly ordinary – her looks, her car, her life. When she overhears her hot next-door neighbour make a crack about her sad little life, she longs to do something completely wild and unexpected, and then…she and her co-workers have the winning ticket! Jane shocks everyone by going to Vegas for a wild weekend. But Jane herself is shocked when her hot neighbour follows her to make sure she doesn’t get into trouble…with anyone but him!

I hope you enjoy this first of six books in the MILLION DOLLAR SECRETS mini-series. Please share with your friends the great stories that you read between the pages of Mills & Boon® novels! Visit me at www.stephaniebond.com.

Much love and laughter,

Stephanie Bond

SHE DID A BAD, BAD THING

BY

STEPHANIE BOND

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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1

“LISTEN…I’M sorry—what was your name again?”

Jane Kurtz turned off the handheld airbrush machine that was depositing a perfect layer of makeup over the zits of celebutante Casey Campella, today’s guest on Just Between Us. “It’s Jane.”

“Oh…right.” Casey wrinkled her nose. “Listen, I don’t want to look orange on camera. I have a lot of friends and family here in Atlanta, and they’ll all be watching the show.”

Watching for tips on how to make their own home sex tape reminiscent of the one of Casey and her current boyfriend that was making the rounds on the Internet. Jane bit her tongue to keep from saying that as far as Casey appearing on camera looking too orange was concerned, it was too late.

Instead Jane wet her lips. “I promise you won’t look orange, Ms. Campella. But I’m afraid you’ll have to be still in order for me to do the best job possible.”

Casey sniffed and looked away.

Jane turned the airbrush machine on again and continued to apply a flawless application of makeup on the young woman’s face, conceding that what she lacked in skin texture, she made up for in bone structure. The only thing higher than the woman’s cheekbones were her boobs, which allegedly had their own fan club and Website.

When the foundation layer was complete, Jane turned off the machine and proceeded to enhance the woman’s deep blue eyes with strategic applications of false eyelashes, highlighters, shadows, and liner.

Next came the cheeks, which needed only a touch of sparkle, then the biggest challenge—creating the illusion of a pouty, well-defined mouth from pencil-thin lips in a shade of red that would make the woman’s nicotine-stained teeth look as white as possible. All this while Casey talked on her phone with her boyfriend, who, from the one-sided R-rated conversation, appeared to be as immature as the giggling starlet—and very possible masturbating on the other end.

“I had a dream about you last night, baby…no, me first…no, me first…okay, you go ahead…oh, baby-cakes, that’s so hot I can hardly stand it…uhhuh…I want you so bad right now….”

In the midst of her frustration and embarrassment, Jane tamped down a stab of jealousy. What would it be like to have a man so crazy for you that he called you up to say naughty things?

“Five minutes,” an associate producer cued from the doorway, and Casey indicated that she’d heard.

“Gotta run, baby. Be sure to tape the show…we’ll watch it together.” From her throaty laugh, it was clear what they planned to do while they watched her discuss their sex life on the hottest regional talk show around.

Fighting an eye roll, Jane sensed another sex tape in the making.

Casey disconnected the call, then leaned forward in the bright illumination of the mirror to scrutinize her makeup from every angle. Her forehead furrowed in a frown.

“Is there a problem, Ms. Campella?” Jane asked.

“No. In fact, I look…amazing.”

Jane smiled and gave a little nod. “I’m glad you’re pleased.”

“Thank you, uh—what was your name again?”

“Jane.”

“Right.” Casey stood and tore off the paper cape protecting the red trench-coat style mini-dress that Jane had chosen for her from wardrobe. It struck the perfect balance between classy and trashy. The curvy celebrity did a twirl in the full-length mirror, winked at herself, then looked Jane up and down. “I’m just wondering, if you can make other people look this good, why don’t you do something for yourself?”

Jane’s smile dissolved as the woman strode away in the decadent Donald Pliner black stiletto boots that Jane had spent the better part of two days hunting down. A few seconds later, music sounded and the audience burst into wild applause and cheers, indicating that the current “it” girl had blessed them with her appearance.

In a spin that only host Eve Best could put on the eyebrow-raising topic, this episode, she claimed, was for women who wanted to add a little spice to their marriage. To hear Eve tell it, revealing the DOs and DON’Ts of making an at-home sex tape was practically a public service for housewives.

Jane shook her head and expelled a little laugh as she watched the monitor overhead. With the host of the show and today’s guest both looking better than nature intended, her workday was essentially over, although, officially she stayed until the show signed off in the event of a shine-blotting emergency.

She carefully cleaned all the tools and containers she used to cleanse, moisturize, exfoliate, shave and tweeze, plus the appliances to apply makeup and false eyelashes and to fill in the occasional over-plucked eyebrow. As her hands moved automatically, performing the job she’d performed every day for the past three years, her mind wandered back to Casey Campella’s cutting remark.

Jane glanced into the mirror that was her customary work environment and acknowledged ruefully that the bouncy celebrity had only voiced what every other person whom Jane worked on probably wondered:

How could a talented and sought-after makeup artist and stylist be so unattractive?

For the most part, Jane avoided mirrors. When she brushed her teeth, for instance, she didn’t stop to analyze the ordinary placement of her unremarkable features—the common pale blue eyes, the standard eyebrows, the average nose, the regular mouth, the unexceptional skin tone, all framed by run of the mill light brown hair of middling length.

All in all, an extremely forgettable face.

She hadn’t been blessed with the natural good looks of her two childhood friends Eve Best and Liza Skinner. Over the years, Jane had settled into her role, living up to the nickname of Plain Jane. She preferred blue jeans and Merrills to dresses and Manolos.

But Jane had enjoyed it when her friends played dress-up, had delighted in using cosmetics to make them even more beautiful. By the time they all were in high school, she was doing their makeup every morning in the girls’ restroom. Jane discovered she had a keen eye for camouflaging flaws and highlighting assets…in others’ faces. The few times she had experimented on her own face had been dismal failures—she had looked as if she were trying too hard to be pretty…as if she were trying to compete with her friends.

Making other people look good had become second nature…and in some cases, her plainness helped those under her ministrations to relax. Most celebrities were so insecure about their flaws, the last thing they wanted was to be at the mercy of a makeup artist who was prettier.

Her plainness had become her trademark, she reminded herself. She had taken the mediocre hand that life that dealt her and bluffed her way to an enviable job…a job that some might even call glamorous, although when Eve had first asked her to come on board, it had been a risk. In the beginning, she and Liza both had done whatever it took to get the show on the air, even if it fell outside their job description. But over the years the skeletal staff had grown to more than forty technicians, office and production staff, and station executives. Now Jane could concentrate on being the show’s stylist and makeup artist. It was challenging and rewarding. It allowed her to rub elbows with the rich and famous. It made up for the social life she didn’t have.

When the pep-talk smile she gave to herself in the mirror fell short of convincing, Jane simply looked away.

While she sterilized every brush and applicator, she watched the television monitor, pleased that both Eve and her guest looked great from every camera angle—somewhere between radiant and matte under the glare of the hot lamps of the set lights.

“So, Casey,” Eve said with the solemnity of someone who was interviewing a political candidate, “what should our viewers know about making their own intimacy video at home?”

It was just the kind of scintillating topic that had increased the show’s viewership by leaps and bounds over the past three years. Just Between Us was now commanding high advertising rates. A feature piece in a national media magazine had put the talk show and Eve on the radar of the major networks. The energy level on the set had increased—along with the pressure to deliver. Everyone seemed on edge lately.

Jane dropped a tray of makeup samples.

Including her.

She crouched to clean up the mess, chastising herself for her clumsiness. It was the uncertainty of the show’s future, she reasoned, that was making her feel so…restless. It had nothing to do with the fact that she seemed destined to stay under life’s radar. People couldn’t even remember her name.

Jane watched Eve work her magic on the unwitting guest and audience and wondered idly if Liza was keeping tabs on the show wherever she was. Flamboyant and volatile Liza Skinner had been the show’s first story producer and was responsible for some of their most successful segments. But a year ago a disagreement over a segment that had gone badly had led to Liza blowing up and walking out on the show. They hadn’t heard from her since. Jane missed her and knew that Eve did, too. And deep down, they both expected Liza to reappear one morning in her office and pick up where she’d left off as if nothing had happened.

Jane thought of her every time they took up money for the Lot O’ Bucks lottery—pooling their money for tickets was a tradition that she and Eve and Liza had started, with each of them choosing two of the six numbers. Since Liza had left, three other employees had joined the pool and contributed what they hoped would be a winning number, but she and Eve had stubbornly held on to one of Liza’s numbers as a gesture of their friendship. They had joked it was like leaving a light in the window. Meanwhile, Jane hoped that their friend was safe.

By the time she stored her tools in their proper places, the show had ended and the director was giving everyone on the set a thumbs-up.

Jane turned down the monitor and took inventory of the shades of foundation, eye, cheek, and lip color. She noted which rows were running low and phoned in replacements orders. Then she did a quick survey of the clothing racks and made a few notes on new spring accessories she wanted to add. From her mail crate, she opened and sorted through dozens of sample products and catalogs that had been sent to her from various manufacturers and retailers. The promising ones went into a large canvas tote for closer scrutiny in her home office.

When she stepped out into the hall, she smiled at Eve who was striding her way. “Great show.”

Eve grinned. “Thanks. I was a little nervous about how Casey would come across, but she did a good job. And her makeup and outfit were perfect, thanks to you. She looked downright credible.”

“Good.”

“But you have your work cut out for you tomorrow. Bette Valentine with the unibrow will be here to talk about unleashing your inner wild child.”

Jane winced. “And those muu-muus she wears are hard to do anything with.”

“You’ll think of something,” Eve said with a wink. “Do you have a hot date tonight?”

“Yeah—with my remote control.” The season finale of her favorite show, Dirty Secrets of Daylily Drive, aired tonight. She was eager to see who had murdered the neighborhood bimbo.

Eve made a rueful noise. “When are you going to start dating again? It’s been months since you and James called it quits.”

Since he dumped me, Jane corrected silently. And although she acknowledged that James wasn’t the love of her life, his parting remark still cut to the bone. Gawd, Jane, you’re such a bore. His offhand slight had sent her into a funk that she hadn’t yet recovered from. Her cheeks still burned when she relived the memory.

“I don’t have time to date,” she said, then smirked. “Maybe I should talk to my boss about cutting back my hours.”

“Touché. As soon as we go nationwide,” Eve said, linking her arm with Jane’s and walking with her to the exit, “we’ll both get a life.” Suddenly a serious expression crossed Eve’s face. “You haven’t heard from Liza, have you?”

“No, why?”

“No reason, really. She’s just been on my mind today.”

“Mine, too,” Jane admitted. “Wonder where she is?”

Eve shook her head. “Knowing Liza, she could be on the moon.” She waved. “See you tomorrow.”

Jane waved and watched her friend walk away. Eve, she knew, still had hours of work ahead of her before she could leave the station.

Eve Best deserved to make it big—the woman worked twice as hard as anyone else on the show. Even when they were young, Jane had the feeling that her two friends were destined for great things.

Then Jane worried her lower lip with her teeth. Maybe this emotional slump was simply a phase she was going through. But with Liza gone, she couldn’t help but feel that the big break they were all waiting for would only tear them further apart…

2

PUSHING ASIDE the troubling premonition, Jane left the station and climbed into her old but trusty Civic. Dusk was falling on the chilly spring day and fatigue pulled at her shoulders as she pointed her car in the direction of her condo. On normal days, the commute was manageable—a miracle by Atlanta traffic standards. But today she was behind a minor accident and construction backup on Peachtree Street. At the last minute, she decided to veer off to pick up Chinese food in lieu of cooking. It was already dark by the time she pulled into the parking garage for her building.

When she rounded the corner to her assigned parking spot, she bit back a curse—a little red sports car occupied her place, next to an enormous black SUV that belonged to her new neighbor. She hadn’t yet met him, but she’d heard him moving in yesterday and hoped that he would be settled by tonight. Indeed, it appeared that he already had a guest over and was already violating the building rules. She resented the people who thought living in a condo was like living in an apartment—the man was a home-owner and he’d better start acting like it. Fuming, she parked in the cramped guest parking area and headed inside.

The sooner he was indoctrinated to the rules of condo living, the better.

She stopped in front of her neighbor’s door and juggled her shoulder bag, an armload of catalogs, and the bag of Chinese takeout to ring the doorbell. From behind the door she heard music pulsing with a throbbing bass. She rang the doorbell again and after several long minutes, the door swung open.

The angry words at the back of her throat dissolved.

The man stood well over six feet tall. His hair and eyes were dark, and his jaw sported a couple of days’ worth of scruff. His skin was golden brown, and since he wore only faded jeans, she could see a lot of it. His shoulders were wide and muscled, his chest covered with a mat of black hair that disappeared into the waistband slung low enough to make her wonder if he wore any underwear. From the way he held his long body to the magnetism that rolled off him like a natural cologne, the man appeared to be built for sex.

In a word, he was devastating.

He appeared to be studying her, too, but from the way he tipped up his bottle of beer, he apparently found her slightly less noteworthy. “Can I help you?” he drawled.

“Uh…I’m your next door neighbor. Jane.”

He nodded and flashed a killer smile. “I’m Perry. Nice to meet you.”

“Same here.” She shifted the precarious load in her arms and decided against extending her hand. “Do you drive a black SUV?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s a red car next to it in my parking spot. I thought you might know who it belongs to.”

“Kayla,” he yelled over his shoulder, then took a pull on his beer.

A lush brunette appeared, impossibly tiny and curvy in a Barbie Doll kind of way and sporting a midriff revealing sweater. For some ridiculous reason, Jane was disappointed in the man’s taste, but then what had she expected?

“What, baby?” the girl crooned.

“Did you park in guest parking like I told you?”

She pouted. “The spots were too close together—I didn’t want my car to get dinged, so I parked next to your SUV.”

He looked at Jane and shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, uh—what did you say your name was?”

“Jane,” she said through gritted teeth.

He pointed his finger like a gun and made a clicking noise. “Won’t happen again.”

She opened her mouth to ask that his guest move her car, but the door closed in her face. Jane scowled, hoping the man—to paraphrase Jane Austen—improved upon closer acquaintance. The building housed only forty condos. A few jerks—or one large one—would be enough to cause problems for everyone. And since she and Perry shared a wall and a divided balcony, she would bear the brunt of it.

Heaving a sigh, she unlocked the door to her own condo. Inside, she dropped her load on her desk, then carried the bag of Chinese food to the living room, turning on lights along the way.

The sight of her condo never failed to calm her—she’d purposely decorated in a minimalist style in soothing shades of taupe and sky blue to make the space her own personal haven. Her walls were white, her furniture streamlined. No clutter to distract her, no mess to create more work when she should be winding down.

Jane sighed and felt the stress of the day drain away. She changed into comfy sweats and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. A glance at the clock had her rushing to the kitchen for a bottle of water and a TV tray. Time for her show. Guilty pleasure filled her chest—would Victoria and the cop Nate get together? Or would Nate arrest Victoria for murdering her neighbor?

Settling onto her overstuffed couch, Jane slipped off her shoes and dug her toes into the plush area rug, then clicked on the TV and reached for the bag of takeout. Suddenly the blare of pulsing music invaded her space.

Jane frowned in the direction of the shared wall. The previous owner had been quiet—and had traveled often. Hopefully her new neighbor would soon realize that the walls of multi-family-unit buildings could be thin.

Tamping down irritation, she increased the volume of the TV to counter the sound of the music coming through the wall. From the bag she removed a container of crab wontons and another of lo mein.

She unwrapped the chopsticks and had a wonton halfway to her mouth when the sound of a woman’s voice came through the wall.

“Ahh…ahh, yeah, baby, that’s it…yeah.”

Jane stopped and turned her head toward the wall. It wasn’t…they weren’t…

Incredulous, she lowered the volume on the television, only to be treated to a new string of sexpletives.

“Oh, oh, oh…yes! Yes! Do it! Harder! Faster! I-eeeee! Omigod, omigod, omigod, that feels so good! Talk dirty to me—yeah, that’s it…you nasty, nasty boy.”

Jane’s eyes widened. Nasty boy?

A rhythmic banging sounded on the wall and she thought at first that one of them was hitting the wall with a wayward limb…then she realized with the accompanying squeaking noises that it was the man’s headboard that was banging against their shared wall.

“Oh, good grief,” she muttered, feeling a little dirty, like a voyeur, yet curiously unable to stop listening. The woman’s caterwauling escalated in time with the banging noise and was joined by a man’s low voice.

“Now!” she screamed. “I’m coming! Now! Now! NOWWWW!”

From the synchronized clamor, it appeared that they arrived together. Jane sat unmoving, unable to believe what had just transpired, but distantly aware of a heaviness in her breasts and a tingle of desire in her midsection.

Embarrassment swelled in her chest and she grappled with the remote to increase the volume over the music still pounding through the wall. She tried to concentrate on the storyline of the show, but her mind kept returning to the fact that she’d just heard her new neighbor have sex.

As far as neighbors went, that fell under the category of TMI: Too Much Information. Especially since she could visualize his long, muscular body naked and sweaty, tangled in the sheets…And she wondered what kind of nasty things he’d said to the woman that had made her scream as if she’d hung between life and death.

Working her mouth back and forth, Jane studied a crab wonton, then popped it into her mouth. It was the most satisfying thing she would get tonight.

But as her attention continued to wander and she realized that she’d missed huge chunks of the program, her irritation ballooned again. Nasty Boy had foisted his sex life on her and completely ruined her evening. And while she stewed about the man’s crudeness—and rudeness—the rhythmic thumping started up again along with the woman’s commentary.

“Oh, baby, that’s it…that’s it…oh, yeah. Say something nasty…oh, yeah.”

Jane stuck her tongue into her cheek. Not again. She hadn’t even had time to finish her dinner! Worse, she had no idea what was happening on her show.

She stabbed at the lo mein as the movement on the other side of the wall grew more frenetic. Nasty Boy apparently had stamina…and finesse. He knew just where to put it, oh baby, he knew just how to do it, oh yeah.

It was like bad song lyrics.

What was he saying to her? She leaned closer to the wall, but couldn’t make out the low murmurings. With a jolt, Jane realized that she was rocking in time with the couples’ rhythm and she was feeling…warm.

And…moist.

How long had it been since she’d had sex? There hadn’t been anyone since James, and the last few times with him had been a letdown.

Who was she kidding? Every time with James had been a letdown. Every time with every guy—not that there’d been that many—had been a letdown. None of her encounters with men had lived up to the fantasies she’d spun in her head, not one of them had left her feeling like this…with desire coiled tightly in her stomach, aching for release.

Meanwhile, next door, the woman let go with the intensity and the volume of a hurricane, screeching and banging in a clatter that grated on Jane’s nerves like a fire alarm sounding. Unreasonable anger rose in her chest and she pushed to her feet. She would not be subjected to this kind of…exhibitionism in her own home!

Striding out into the hallway, she knocked loudly on Perry’s door, and when he didn’t answer, she knocked again, her ire rising even higher. She had lifted her arm to bang on his door again when it suddenly swung open, revealing her neighbor in his long glory, his hair tousled and wearing the jeans that now were only half-zipped. And she had the feeling that this time, he definitely wasn’t wearing underwear.

He gave her a lopsided smile. “Can I help you, uh…what was your name again?”

“Jane,” she snapped.

“Right. What can I do for you?”

“You can take it down a notch.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you and I share a wall and I can hear your…music.”

“Okay, I’ll turn down the volume on the stereo.” He started to close the door, but she held up her hand. Knowing what he’d done to generate the sheen of perspiration on his chest threatened to tie her tongue in knots, but she reminded herself that she was the victim here. “I can also hear your, um…activities.”

He blinked. “Activities?”

She crossed her arms and gave him a pointed look. “Both times.”

His dark eyebrows shot up, then a devilish smile curved his mouth. “And on a scale of one to ten?”

She gasped, outraged. “I didn’t come over to score you, Mr.—”

“Brewer,” he supplied.

Her mouth tightened. “Mr. Brewer, I came over to ask you as a neighbor to please keep the noise down.”

“I’ll try,” he said cheerfully, “but I can’t make any promises.” Then he stepped back and closed the door.

Jane stood there for a few seconds, feeling like a fool. She slunk back to her condo, furious to see that her show had ended, then paced the living room with pent-up energy. To escape, she poured herself a glass of wine and went out to sit on her tiny balcony that faced west, overlooking the lights of Midtown.

Adrenaline coursed through her body—anger, embarrassment, frustration. She felt as if she were coming out of her skin, and couldn’t rightly blame all of it on her neighbor’s unwitting intrusion. Maybe she was coming down with something…maybe she was experiencing some sort of chemical imbalance. That would explain this profound restlessness that, in truth, had preceded her breakup with James, but had escalated afterward. She had the strangest sensation that her life was careening downhill, picking up speed, but headed nowhere. It wasn’t anything she could put her finger on, just a feeling of being…unfulfilled.

When she heard the slide of her neighbor’s balcony door opening, her heart sank—with him permeating her living space, her balcony was her last sanctuary. A tall concrete wall separated their balconies, but that wouldn’t keep her from hearing their call of the wild should they decide to move their gymnastics outdoors. She braced herself for more lewd noises.

Instead, the woman’s high-pitched laugh reached her ears. “I can’t believe your nerdy neighbor came over to tell you that she heard us having sex through the walls. How rude!”

Brewer’s laugh was short. “More like a prude.”

Heat rose in Jane’s face and she sank lower in her chair.

“Maybe you should find someplace else to live,” his partner suggested, then she laughed. “Because we’re going to drive her crazy. And then, she’s going to drive you crazy.”

“Why should I leave?” Brewer said. “Because I had the misfortune of moving in next to a homely little geek who’s probably never had a good lay and has nothing better to do than listen to other people get it on?”

Jane inhaled sharply against the pain in her chest. Her skin burned with needles of humiliation…is that how other people saw her? Emotion clogged her throat and tears pricked her eyes. She stood up abruptly, distantly registering the fact that she’d dropped her wine glass, but not caring as she fled inside.

PERRY HEARD the sound of glass crashing on the other side of the balcony wall. He winced, realizing that his neighbor—Jane, wasn’t it?—had been sitting on the other side and had very likely heard what he’d said. Damn.

“What was that?” Kayla asked.

“Nothing,” he said, feeling like a heel as he lifted his beer to drain it. “Maybe you should go—I have to be in court in the morning and I still have some files to go through.”

Kayla pouted. “Okay. When will I see you again?”

“Soon,” he promised, escorting her back inside and toward the door. He lowered a perfunctory kiss on her mouth, and shepherded her out into the hall, sending her off with a wave.

Then he paused and looked at his neighbor’s door, wondering if he should apologize, how he could apologize for calling her a…He squinted to remember.

A homely little geek who’s probably never had a good lay.

He cringed, thinking that no matter how mousy the woman was, she didn’t deserve that kind of put-down. His mother had raised him better than that.

Perry pulled on his chin and vowed to find a way to make it up to Jane what’s-her-name…somehow.

3

THE NEXT MORNING, Jane stepped out into the hallway and set down a bag of garbage so she could lock her condo door. She blinked rapidly to focus on the lock through the sunglasses—ridiculous, but necessary to hide her gritty, puffy eyes. Her new neighbor and his girlfriend would get a good belly laugh if they knew that their offhand remarks about her sad little life had caused her a sleepless night of crying into her pillow. She was quite sure she was so insignificant to them that they wouldn’t even recall what they’d said.

While she struggled to slide the key into the keyhole, her new neighbor’s door opened, to her dismay. She didn’t look up, just stabbed at the keyhole as a flush raced up her neck and face.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Morning,” she murmured, keeping her back to him.

“Having problems?”

“No.” She set her jaw and tried to steady her hand, but she continued to fumble.

Suddenly a large hand closed over hers gently. “Let me.”

She stiffened, but relinquished the key and stepped back from his big body just to escape his touch. She turned, expecting to see his girlfriend loitering nearby, but he was alone, and dressed in a suit as best as she could tell through her dark lenses. His briefcase sat on the floor next to her garbage bag.

The deadbolt clicked. Then he turned and handed her the keys, flashing a smile.

“Thanks,” she muttered.

“Hey, no wonder you couldn’t see,” he said with a laugh. “What’s up with the shades?”

And before she realized what he was doing, he had lifted them from her face. She blinked at the sudden light and grabbed to retrieve the glasses, mortified for him to see her swollen, red-rimmed eyes. If he thought she was homely yesterday, this morning she was downright ugly.

She saw him blanch before she jammed the dark glasses back on her face. “Allergies,” she murmured, then reached for her garbage.

“I got that,” he said, snatching up the bag. “Actually, you can show me where I need to put my trash.”

She didn’t say anything, just nodded, and walked down the hall to the garbage chute. “There,” she said, pointing. “See you later.”

She veered off toward the stairs, thinking he’d take the elevator. Instead, after dropping the garbage, he followed her down the stairs.

“Hey, I’m sorry again about the noise last night,” he said. “I didn’t realize the walls were so thin.”

She didn’t respond—she knew Perry Brewer’s type. He’d throw a few nice words her way, then ask her to be home to sign for his furniture delivery. Jane picked up the pace and managed to reach the parking garage first.

“I didn’t get your last name,” he said a few paces behind her.

She rolled her eyes—as if he remembered her first name.

He caught up to her and gave her a little smile.

“Come on, we’re neighbors—I should know your last name.”

“It’s Kurtz. Goodbye.” She strode past her empty parking spot toward the guest parking area, relieved to be away from him, although she could feel his gaze boring into her back, surveying her chinos, yellow polo shirt, black Skechers sneakers and ponytail. Was he fascinated in her as a geeky specimen?

When she reached her car, she groaned to see a sizable dent in her driver’s side door, obviously caused by the door of another car that was long gone. She removed her dark glasses and bent to run her hand over the dent—her car was old, but she tried to take good care of it. To add insult to injury, she realized suddenly that her back tire was flat, caused, no doubt, by the nail sticking out of it. A handful of nails lay scattered around the back of her car, probably dropped by some maintenance worker who also parked in the guest area.

She blinked back hot tears—she didn’t need this. She’d overslept because she was so tired and was already running late.

At the sound of a car slowing, she turned her head to see the big, black SUV, and Perry leaning toward the lowered passenger side window.

“Need a ride?”

She wiped her eyes and jammed the glasses back on her face. “No, I’ll call a repair service.”

“That could take a while. I can drop you wherever you need to be.”

She massaged her temples—she just wanted the vile man to go away.

“I feel responsible,” he called, then leaned over and opened the passenger side door. “Let me do this.”

Jane stared at the open door. Then she glanced at her watch. It would mean the difference between her getting to work on time or throwing her entire day—and maybe the show—off schedule.

“Come on,” he cajoled. Jane decided it was the least he could do since his girlfriend was the root cause of her current predicament.

She walked over and took the hand he extended to climb into the SUV. His fingers were strong and warm as they enclosed hers. She clambered into the seat with an unladylike bounce, and tugged her hand from his. She closed the door and sat as close to it as possible while she put on her seatbelt. Perry was smiling at her like some kind of gallant knight in training. Even through the dark glasses, she could see he was more handsome in his suit than he’d been half-dressed last night. And she was surprised to discover that Nasty Boy had a professional job.

“Where am I taking you?” he asked.

She tore her gaze from him to stare straight ahead and gave him the street address.

“That’s the cable TV station, isn’t it?”

She nodded.

“What do you do for them?”

Jane squirmed, reluctant to give the man any more ammunition to use against her.

“I work on a local talk show.”

“What’s the name of the show?”

“Just Between Us.”

“Hey, that’s the show with the looker host, right?”

“Eve Best…yes, she’s beautiful.” Jane looked out the window, with the words that he’d said about her own appearance looping in her head. Homely little geek…homely little geek…homely little geek. She inched closer to the door.

“Sounds like an exciting job,” he said, but she didn’t offer any commentary. The silence stretched awkwardly, and she willed the morning traffic to move faster.

His cell phone rang and he said, “Excuse me,” then hit a hands-free speaker button on his visor. “Perry Brewer.”

“You’re late,” a woman’s voice accused.

“Good morning to you, too, Theresa. I’m on my way.”

“You’re due in court in thirty minutes, cowboy. Are you going to make it?”

“I’ll be there,” he said smoothly. “And I have the files I need.”

“I don’t have to tell you what’s riding on this hearing, Perry.”

“No, Theresa, you don’t,” he said, his voice more solemn.

“Good luck. Call me when it’s over.”

“Will do.” He disconnected the call, then glanced over at Jane. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem,” she said. “But it sounds as if I’m making you late. You can let me out here and I’ll get a taxi.”

“No need,” he said easily. “We’re almost there, and I’ll be going against traffic when I leave your office.”

Silence fell between them again, and Jane started to feel rude for not reciprocating his small talk. “So you’re an attorney?”

He cracked a little smile. “That’s what my business card says.”

“And you have a big case today?”

“Bigger than most.”

She pictured him in front of a courtroom and realized that the man was probably good at what he did—he was, after all, charming, convincing…two-faced.

With the requisite small talk out of the way, she concentrated on the bumper of the car in front of them, checked the strap on her shoulder bag and generally fidgeted. The man made her nervous and hyperaware of her appearance. Next to his ultra-feminine girlfriend, she felt like a boy.

And she didn’t like it.

PERRY WATCHED the slender woman next to him out of the corner of his eye, squirming, positioning herself as far away from him as possible. He felt like a jerk. Seeing those puffy eyes of hers this morning was like a punch to his gut—it didn’t take a genius to figure out that his callous words of the night before had upset her…had made her cry all night from the looks of it.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, remorse coursing through him. Words of apology watered in his mouth, but he had a feeling that he’d only make things worse if he brought it up. Still, he had to own up to his bad behavior.

“Listen…Jane,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “I have a big mouth and I have a feeling that you overheard something I said last night that…was unkind.”

She didn’t say anything, but he could tell by the way she stiffened that he was right—she had over-heard him…and her red-rimmed eyes had nothing to do with allergies.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“No need to apologize,” she said quickly, tugging on the strap of her bag. “You have a right to your opinion.”

“But I didn’t mean it. I was in a bad mood and I’d had too much to drink.”

She gave him a little half smile. “It’s okay, Mr. Brewer—I have a mirror. I know that I’m not…exciting.”

The resignation in her voice tugged at his heart. “Jane—”

“That’s my building on the corner. I’ll get out here.”

“I’ll drive you to the front—”

But she was already out of the vehicle, swinging down to the curb.

“Do you need a ride home?” he shouted, strangely eager to do something else for her.

“No, thanks. Good luck on your case.” Then she slammed the door and took off jogging toward the entrance of her building.

He watched her moving away from him, juggling her oversized shoulder bag, her ponytail bouncing like a teenager’s. Dressed like a coed, she looked young…and alone. And she had wished him luck on his case…even after what he’d said about her, she had tried to be nice.

Were there really people like that left in the world?

A horn sounded behind him, jarring him out of his reverie. He hit the gas pedal and told himself to focus—he was facing the biggest case of his career this morning.

Yet all he could think about on the way to the courthouse was the young woman he had wounded with his careless words. And he realized with a start that he’d like to get to know Jane Kurtz better…if only he could convince her to let him.

4

JANE’S SKIN TINGLED with humiliation as she hurried to her office. She wasn’t sure what was worse—knowing what Perry had said about her, or him knowing that she knew.

And him knowing that his words had affected her.

One thing was certain, she realized when she removed her sunglasses in the makeup room and got a good look at her red, swollen eyes—she was going to have to call upon some major concealer today, or she would spend the day fending off questions from her coworkers.

So she sat down in front of a brightly lit mirror and for the first time in a long time, began to apply some of her expertise to her own face. With a practiced eye, she dipped a sponge into a pot of foundation that was a shade lighter than her skin tone, and proceeded to erase the damage of the night’s tears…if only it were so easy to erase the damage of his words cutting into her soul. His apology had only driven the knife deeper.

Worse, she couldn’t figure out why she had let his words get to her. Because they had so directly fed into her own restlessness of late? Because she was worried that she was doomed to be ignored by everyone around her? To be alone indefinitely.

The appearance of her friend Eve Best for her daily makeup application ended Jane’s musings. “Good morning!”

Eve was the most upbeat person Jane knew—just being around her made Jane feel better. “Good morning.”

“Ready for me?”

“Sure.” Jane stood and gestured toward the chair she’d vacated.

“How was your evening with your remote control?” Eve teased as she sat down.

“Interrupted,” Jane said, shaking out a paper cape to tuck around the collar of Eve’s blouse. “My new neighbor is so loud, he disturbed my entire evening.”

“He?” Eve asked with a smile. “Have you met him?”

“Yes. Once to tell him that his girlfriend was parked in my parking place, and once to tell him to keep the noise down. And…I had a flat tire this morning, so he dropped me off here.”

Eve’s eyebrows rose. “Is he cute?”

Jane shrugged. “I guess so. But he’s also a jerk.”

“Gee, he can’t be too much of a jerk if he offered you a ride to work.”

Jane avoided Eve’s perceptive gaze and instead handed her a headband to secure her hair away from her face. “How were ratings yesterday?” she asked, to change the subject.

Eve studied her with a little frown, then said, “The best ever. I need for today’s show to be strong, too, to keep the viewers we captured yesterday.”

“You’ll pull it off,” Jane said, hoping to soothe the concern she heard in her friend’s voice.

Eve smiled at her in the mirror. “Thanks. But lately I’ve been asking myself why I’m doing this.” She gave a little laugh. “My life would be so much easier if I could just win the lottery.”

Jane laughed. “Mine, too.” She checked the date on her watch. “Hey, maybe we’ll get lucky today.” She proceeded to airbrush a layer of foundation on Eve’s lovely face, but this morning Jane’s focus was compromised as she continually blinked her scratchy, sleep-deprived eyes. More than once she had to switch off the machine and correct mistakes manually.

“You okay?” Eve asked suspiciously. “You look tired.”

“I…didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Your neighbor again?”

Jane simply nodded, but spared her friend the gory details.

“Sounds like a fun guy,” Eve said slyly.

Jane didn’t respond, but admitted to herself that some of her tears last night had been due to the fact that Perry Brewer was correct in his assessment of her. Not only was she a homely geek, but listening to him pleasure his girlfriend had struck a chord in her—no man had ever given her that kind of physical satisfaction.

He was right. She’d never had a good lay in her life.

“Uh…Jane? Since when do you use green blush?”

Jane gasped at her ghoulish handiwork. “I’m sorry—I’ll fix it.”

“That neighbor of yours sure has you distracted,” Eve remarked.

“Nothing a pair of earplugs won’t fix,” Jane murmured.

Turning her mind firmly away from Perry Brewer and his correct assumptions, she focused on Eve’s makeup and methodically played up the woman’s eyes, cheeks, and mouth. When she finished, Jane styled Eve’s luxurious hair while they chatted about today’s show.

“I just hope that ‘Unleashing Your Inner Wild Child’ appeals to enough viewers,” Eve said wryly. “It sounds a little like a sexual exorcism.”

Jane laughed and removed the paper cape, then stepped back and surveyed Eve’s turquoise-colored blouse. “I have a necklace that would look great with that outfit.”

From the bureau where she kept stock costume pieces, Jane removed a chunky silver and turquoise necklace and clasped it around Eve’s neck. Eve touched the piece and smiled wide. “It’s perfect. You have such a good eye, Jane.”

Jane smiled. “That’s what you pay me for.”

An assistant producer appeared in the doorway. “Bette Valentine is here.”

Eve glanced up at Jane. “And you’re going to earn your paycheck today.”

The women shared a laugh, then Eve heaved a sigh and pushed to her feet. “See you later.”

“Okay,” Jane said, fighting a yawn.

She had just finished cleaning up the vanity area when Bette Valentine sailed into the room sporting her typical tropical muu-muu, garish makeup, clanging earrings, and teased red hair.

“Hello, hello,” the middle-aged woman sang.

“Hello, Ms. Valentine,” Jane said, hoping her smile was stronger than it felt. “I’m Jane.”

“I remember from the last time I was on the show,” the woman said with a smile. “Although I’m not sure why they sent me in here. I did my own makeup already.”

“I’ll just give you a little touch up,” Jane said, gesturing to the chair. “You don’t want to look shiny under all those lights.”

The woman sat down, her bracelets and other jewelry jangling.

“Ms. Valentine, just between us, you might want to remove any jewelry that makes noise. The microphone will pick it up and our viewers won’t be able to hear you.”

“Oh? We wouldn’t want that,” the woman conceded.

“And I think I have a color of eye shadow that will better highlight those gorgeous green eyes of yours.”

One compliment at a time, she tweaked the woman’s appearance to tone down the makeup, extract some poof from the hair, and she even found a silver beaded tassel belt to cinch the voluminous muu-muu.

“That’s nice,” the woman agreed with a nod. Then she angled her head at Jane. “You’re quite pretty, you know.”

Jane blanched, her tongue tied as her mind replayed her neighbor’s brutal assessment of her. “No…I’m not.”

Ms. Valentine laughed and gripped Jane’s hands. “Dear, you’re just the sort of person I’m targeting today. You need to ‘Unleash your inner wild child.’ “

A flush climbed Jane’s neck. “I don’t have…I mean, I’m not—”

“Do you have a man in your life, Jane?”

“No, but—”

“It’s because you haven’t released the passion that lives deep within you.”

Jane squirmed. All this touchy-feely stuff made her nervous.

The woman clasped her hands tighter. “You have a secret. You hide behind your plain clothes and your ponytail because you’re afraid to let men see the wild child in you that’s dying to get out. Yet you grow bored with the men who don’t recognize that about you.”

Jane started to protest, but Bette stared into her eyes with such intensity that for a split second, Jane felt as if the woman had a “third eye,” that she could see something that Jane herself couldn’t even see.

“She’s in there,” Bette said, releasing one of Jane’s hands and tapping her lightly on the chest. “You need to find the courage to unleash her.”

Jane’s heart was hammering beneath the woman’s hand, and she couldn’t speak—wouldn’t know what to say if she could. For some reason, the woman’s words made her want to laugh…and cry. It was as if she had channeled into Jane’s deepest fear lately—that she was doomed to be the girl whose name no one could remember.

“Ms. Valentine,” an assistant said from the door, “you’re on in five.”

The woman gave Jane’s hand one last squeeze. “This one’s for you, hon.”

Jane simply stared after the flamboyant woman, feeling as if she’d been emotionally dive-bombed and blaming some of her vulnerability on her lack of sleep. But as she cleaned her tools and supplies, she turned up the monitor and watched the show with more interest than usual.

Eve introduced Bette Valentine to much applause—the colorful woman was a favorite guest. “Tell us what you mean, Bette, when you say that women should unleash their inner wild child.”

Bette’s voice was hypnotic and she emphasized main points with her elegant hands. “Women are taught from a young age to repress behavior that might seem unladylike or too aggressive, especially when it comes to sex. Some women internalize those behaviors to the point of extreme shyness, but inside, they’re dying to burst out.”

“And these are women we know?” Eve asked.

“Absolutely. Sometimes women whom you would least suspect. The facade they exhibit to the world is one of good-girl obedience, sometimes even submission. They are what everyone around them expects them to be.” Bette leaned in conspiratorially. “But these women have a secret. Deep down, they’re unhappy because they have this longing buried inside to do something wild, something completely unexpected to prove to themselves and to everyone else that there is more to them than what meets the eye.”

Jane went completely still as the woman’s words seemed to penetrate some kind of invisible shield she’d maintained over the innermost workings of her mind…of her heart.

Bette looked into the camera and Jane felt as if the woman were speaking directly to her. “Remember, it is easier to live with rejection than to live with regret. You owe it to yourself to be the authentic you.”

“But some women are happy being demure,” Eve pointed out.

“I’m not talking about the women who are truly happy with their quiet existence,” Bette said. “I’m talking about the woman who is sad…lonely…restless.”

Jane swallowed hard—she was all of those things. This edgy feeling that had been festering inside her since that loser James had dumped her…was it her inner self trying to tell her that she deserved better? That the reason she hadn’t met her soul mate was because she was presenting a false front to the world?

“Okay,” Eve said, “let’s say some of our viewers are out there thinking ‘yes, that’s me.’ What can she do to let out that inner wild child?

“The process is different for every woman—sometimes it’s as simple as giving yourself permission to let that wild child out of the closet. Sometimes it takes more drastic action, such as a makeover, or a change of scenery.”

A change of scenery…that’s what she needed. A place where she could experiment with this wild child theory in private…away from the prying eyes of people who would judge her. A weekend jaunt far away from Atlanta.

Her heart fluttered with excitement, but as her mind fast-forwarded through the details, she realized that her finances were already likely to be strained from repairing the dent in her car…and possibly buying a new tire. Her mouth tightened in renewed anger toward Perry Brewer, then she sighed in resignation.

Financial reality came first.

Jane turned down the volume on the set monitor, reached for the phone and the yellow pages, and reluctantly put plans for unleashing her inner wild child on hold until she had some spare cash. Maybe next month. Or next year…

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