Just Like a Man (48 page)

February 2005 Avon Romance Superleader

"
Warn
me if you're going to write your name in the snow," she said to break the silence.

"Actually, I'm standing here wondering if I'm going to have to wrestle that snow shovel out of your hands." His warm breath hung in the air between them as he added, "I'm, hoping you'll be nice and hand it over."

Her grasp on the handle tightened a bit more. "Why would I hand it over?"

"Because your grandfather is in there getting all worked up over you doing what he thinks is a man's job."

"Well, that's just stupid. I'm certainly capable of shoveling snow."

He shrugged and slid his hands into the hip pockets of his cargo pants. "I guess that's not the point. He thinks it's a man's job, and you've embarrassed him in front of his friends."

"What?"

"He's in there right now trying to convince everyone that you're…" Rob paused a moment and tilted his head to one side. "I believe his exact words were that you're 'usually a nice, sweet tempered girl.' And then he said something about you being cranky because you don't ever get out with people your own age."

Great. Kate suspected her grandfather's nonsense was directed at Rob and not the other men. Worse, she was sure he suspected it also. The last thing she needed was for her grandfather to interfere in her nonexistent love life. Especially with Rob Sutter. "I'm not cranky."

He didn't comment, but the lift of his brow said it all.

f
Rachel GiWon

"I'm not," she insisted. "My grandfather is just old-fashioned."

"He's a good guy."

"He's stubborn."

"If I had to guess, I'd say you're a lot alike in the stubborn department."

"Fine." She thrust the shovel toward him.

A smile touched the corners of his mouth as he withdrew his hand from the front pocket of his pants and took the shovel from her. He clamped his bare hand over hers. She tugged but his grasp tightened.

She wasn't about to get into a tug-of-war with a man built like the Terminator. "Can I have my hand back?" He relaxed his grip finger by finger, and she pulled free.

"Damn," he said, "I was kind of hoping I'd have to wrestle you for it."

10 Things You Don't Know about Suzanne Enoch

1. She used to attend science fiction conventions, but only dressed up once—as a Colonial Marine from the movie
Aliens.
Okay, she once wore a Han Solo costume, too, when her friends joined her as Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia.

2. She once appeared on national television as a romance expert on
El
as part of the "Star Wars Is Back" special. She had more air time than George Lucas.

3. Her first part-time job was at Cinedome, a movie theater complex. She stayed for two weeks, until the runs of
Raiders of the Lost Ark
and
Star Trek II
ended—the ticket booth didn't have air-conditioning, and without Indy or Spock, it just wasn't worth it.

4. She won't eat anything which could potentially eat her. This includes shark, snake, and members of the squid family—and so far the karma thing has worked out, because she hasn't been devoured.

5. She mows her own lawn with a manual lawn mower. The idea was that it would be good exercise. What she didn't realize was that lawns grow so quickly.

6. She once went on a date with a guy who made props for "Pee Wee's Playhouse." He showed up wearing red-and-white nylon parachute pants and brought her a green popsicle model with a smile embossed on it. If the popsicle had been real, the relationship might have had a chance.

7. She was editor-in-chief of her high school newspaper, which together with her braces and glasses and good grades, put a crimp in her high school social life. She's since recovered, but agrees that she could still probably be considered a nerd.

8. While in college she submitted a script for "The A-Team." The script was under consideration at the time the show was cancelled.

9. Her great-grandfather, Vivian Whitlock, was also a published author. His book was titled
Cowboy Life on the Llano Estacado,
and it's been rumored that he once rustled cattle and rode with Butch Cassidy and the Hole in the Wall Gang.

10. She consulted her Talking Yoda 8-Ball about whether she would be able to sell her first contemporary manuscript. The answer was "Likely, this is." Yoda's always right.

And now a sneak peek at Suzanne's March 2005

Avon Romance Superleader

Flirting With Danger

He
started to take another swallow of brandy, then stopped as the skylight in the middle of the ceiling rattled and opened. With a graceful flip that looked much easier than it had to be, a woman dropped into his office.
The
woman, he noted, re-flexively taking a step back.

"Thank you for getting rid of your company," she said in a low voice. "I was getting a cramp up there."

"Miss Smith."

She nodded, keeping green eyes on him as she walked to the door and locked it. "Are you sure you're Richard Addison? I thought he slept in a suit, but night before last you had on nothing but jogging sweats, and tonight"—she looked him slowly up and down—"a T-shirt and jeans, and no shoes."

The muscles across his abdomen tightened, and not—he noted with some interest—in fear. "The suit's at the cleaners." Her gloved hands were empty, as they had been the other night, and this time she didn't even carry a paint gun or a pack. Again she was in black—black shoes and black tight-fitting pants and a black T-shirt that hugged her slim curves.

She pursed her lips. "Satisfied I'm not carrying a concealed weapon?"

"I have no idea where you'd keep one, if you were," he returned, sliding his gaze along the length of her.

"Thanks for noticing."

"In fact," he continued, "you seem a bit underdressed compared to the other night. I do like the baseball cap, though. Very fashionable."

She flashed him a grin. "It keeps my long blond hair out of my face."

"Duly noted for my report to the police," he said, his mind still pondering the intriguing thought of where she might carry a concealed weapon. "Unless you're here to kill me, in which case I suppose I don't really care what color your hair might be."

"If I were here to kill you," she returned in a calm, soft voice, sending a glance beyond him at his desk, "you'd be dead."

"That confident, are you?" She wasn't armed; he could rush her, grab her, and hold her for the police. Instead, Richard took a sip of brandy.

"All right, let's say I accept that you're not here to kill me," he said. "Why
are
you here then, Miss Smith?"

For the first time she hesitated, a furrow appearing between her delicate, curved brows. "To ask for your help."

And he'd thought nothing else could surprise him this evening. "Beg pardon?"

"I think you know that I didn't try to kill you the other night. I did try to take your Trojan stone tablet, and I won't apologize for that. But thievery has a statute of limitations. Murder doesn't." She cleared her throat. "I wouldn't kill anyone."

"Then turn yourself in and tell the police."

She snorted. "No fucking way. I may have missed the tablet, but not all the statutes have run out on me."

Richard folded his arms across his chest. She hadn't taken the tablet. Curiouser and curiouser—and it didn't suit him to let her know that someone else had made off with it. "So you've stolen other things. From people other than me, I presume?"

As she glanced toward the skylight, her smooth, devil-may-care countenance shifted a little. It was an act, he realized. Fearless as she seemed to be, she would have to be desperate to drop in on him here tonight. If he hadn't been so accustomed to reading people, looking for weaknesses, he never would have seen it. She was good at what she did, obviously, but that moment of vulnerability caught his attention—and his interest.

"I saved your life," she finally said, her unaffected mask dropping into place again, "so you owe me a favor. Tell them—the police, the FBI, the news—that I didn't kill that guard, and that I didn't try to kill you. I'll deal with the rest on my own."

"I see." Richard wasn't certain whether he was more intrigued by her or annoyed that she expected him to make her error go away. "You want me to fix things so you can walk away from this, without repercussions, owing to the fact that while you've been bad elsewhere, you were unsuccessful here."

"I'm bad everywhere," she returned, with a slight smile that momentarily made him wonder how far she would go in her quest to see herself cleared of any wrongdoing. "Accuse me of attempted theft. But clear me of murder."

"No." He wanted answers, but his way. And not through some sort of compromise, intriguing though she made it sound.

She met his gaze straight on for a moment, then nodded. "I had to try. You might consider, though, that if I didn't set that bomb, someone else did. Someone who's better at getting into places than I am. And I'm good. Very good."

"I'd wager you are." He watched her for another moment, wondering what she'd be like with all of that coiled energy released. She definitely knew how to push his buttons, and he wanted to push a few of hers. "I'll admit you may have something I'm interested in acquiring," he said slowly, "but it's not your theories or your request for aid."

Returning to her position beneath the skylight, she yanked her arm down. The end of a length of rope tumbled into the room. "Oh, Mr. Addison. I never give something for nothing."

He found that he wasn't quite ready for her to leave. "Perhaps we could negotiate."

She released the rope, approaching him with a walk that looked half Catwoman and all sexy. "I already suggested that, and you turned me down. But be careful. Somebody wants you dead. And you have no idea how close somebody like me can get, without you ever knowing," she murmured, lifting her face to his.

Jesus.
She practically gave off sparks. He could feel the hairs on his arms lifting. "I would know," he returned in the same low tone, taking a slow step closer, daring her to make the next move. If she did, he was going to touch her. He wanted to touch her, badly. The heat coming off her body was almost palpable.

She held where she was, her lips a breath away from his, then with another fleeting grin slid away to grab the rope again. "So you weren't surprised tonight, were you?" With a fluid coordination of arms and legs, she swarmed up through the skylight. "Watch your back, Addison. If you're not going to help me, I'm not going to help you."

"Help me?"

She vanished, then ducked her head back into the room. "I know things the cops would never have a clue how to find out. Good night, Addison." Miss Smith blew him a kiss. "Sleep tight."

Richard stepped forward to look up, but she had already disappeared. "I was surprised," he conceded, taking another swallow of brandy. "And now I need a cold shower."

10 Things You Don't Know about Karen

1. Karen once caught her house on fire while trying to kill a large, hairy spider. Every plastic glass in her kitchen sink and the handles to two pans melted completely before the fire was extinguished. The spider was, of course, unharmed.

2. Due to an Unfortunate Meatloaf Incident in '04 that resulted in a trip to the emergency room and stitches, Karen now avoids all forms of cooking and has perfected the art of "the dial-in order." Due to the amount of tips she'd paid thus far, seven pizza delivery drivers have graduated from junior college and two have named their oldest children in her honor.

3. Karen's favorite motto: If you can't afford a housekeeper, have children. There's a reason the word "CHoREs" and "CHildREn" have not one, but FOUR of the same letters. Coincidence? She thinks not.

4. Karen's biggest writing challenge is ignoring her dog, Duke, a large, fluffy golden retriever who possesses the World's Saddest Stare. His Sad Stare has earned him countless table scraps, numerous pity-induced doggie treats, and thousands of consolation ear scratches. When Karen is writing, Duke will pin his penetrating Sad Stare on her until she stops what she is doing and takes him outside to play in the park.

5. When Karen sold her first book in 1998, she was working on her PhD in political science. On receiving "the call" that an editor at Avon wanted to buy her work, Karen did what all dedicated students would do—she burned her stats book on the front lawn while dancing about in crazed abandon. She has never once looked back.

6. Karen is a confirmed Anglophile and revels in All Things English, especially the hunky British Prime Minister Tony Blair. She has a T-shirt, two posters, one life-sized cutout, and a set of coasters with his picture on them. If you'd like a set of coasters for your own viewing pleasure, contact Karen Hawkins, President of the Tony Blair Fan Club, at their website
www. WeDroolforTonyB. com.

7. To increase her writing output, Karen has developed a Reward System. One month, every time she wrote ten pages, she gave herself $10 toward the purchase of a new pair of shoes. Another month, she got to buy a dozen chocolate covered, creme-filled Krispy Kremes. This time, she rewarded herself every ten pages with a shot of tequila. Needless to say, though she met her quota every day for two weeks, she was unable to keep any work after page thirty and now attends WAA (Writers Against Alcohol) meetings twice a week.

8. Last year, Karen's daughter reached the amazing age of sixteen and now has her driver's license. After two tickets, three fender-benders, a hefty new insurance payment, and many harrowing hours waiting by phone, Karen has hired a new hairdresser good at "covering up the white." She will report back on the results.

9. Unknown to many of her family and friends, Karen is a master-level bass fisherwoman. She's never caught anything, but she looks good in her Lucky Fishing Hat and has a lovely tan. She also has a heck of a cast and can untangle her own lines from trees, shrubs, and even an occasional goose's neck.

10. Unknown to many of her fans, Karen is a shoe addict. She is especially addicted to shoes on sale. She owns more than eighty pairs, many of which she has never worn, including a pair of thigh-high glossy black leather boots and some strappy sandals in an unlikely color combination of deep purple and orange sherbet. Like most addicts, even while standing in line at Payless, Karen refers to her addiction as "a little problem" and says, "I can quit any time I want. No. Really. I can. Do you take Visa?"