âYou just have to learn the lingo.â

Nina looked at her friend Lizbeth, puzzled. âLingo?â

âYeah, take this ad,â Lizbeth said, pointing to the magazine. âThis guy wants someone whoâs âcommitment-mindedâ and âindependent.â That means youâd be willing to clean his apartment and you wonât mind spending hours in a bar with his friends watching football on the big screen.â Lizbeth ran her finger down the page. âAll the rest of the stuff in this ad just means the guy will never remember to put the seat down. What you need is a man who enjoys golfing, sailing, theater and working out. That means heâll be self-employed, wealthy, intelligent and buff.â

Nina shook her head, smiling. âCome on, they canât all be that bad. Hereâs one that looks pretty good. âFriendlyâââ she read.

âHorny.â

âLikes to cuddle?â

âWants sex,â Lizbeth translated.

âSo whatâs wrong with that?â Nina quipped. âAt least I know we have something in common.â

Dear Reader,

Iâve always loved to read the personal ads. Even though Iâve never answered one, as a single woman Iâve never given up hope that someday I might come across an ad that just cries out for a response. Perhaps a man from my past is looking for me, or maybe it will be one of those missed connections, where I meet a strangerâs eyes across a crowded freeway.

Thatâs where the idea behind THE PERSONAL TOUCH! came fromâfive different couples brought together through five very different personal ads. In Mr. Right Now, Nina Forrester still holds out hope that thereâs a Mr. Right just waiting for her. And if she isnât meant to meet him yet, sheâll settle for Mr. Right Now. But when she meets dynamic Cameron Ryder, she soon finds out thereâs a third alternativeâfalling in love with Mr. Completely Wrong!

I hope you enjoy my twentieth Temptation novel. And to all my readers whoâve been with me since that very first book in 1993, a special thank-you for your support and enthusiasm.

All my best,

Kate Hoffmann

P.S. I love to hear from my readers. You can reach me c/o Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, M3B 3K9, Canada.

Books by Kate Hoffmann

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

758âONCE A HERO

762âALWAYS A HERO

795âALL THROUGH THE NIGHT

Mr. Right Now

Kate Hoffmann

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Birgit Davis-Todd and Brenda Chin, for their continued encouragement, unerring instincts and editorial wisdom.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

1

âI LIVE IN A CITY of seven million people. Three and a half million of them are men. Of those, there have to be at least a half million who are single. And out of those, there must be a few thousand who are decent guys.â

Nina Forrester leaned over the counter and held her coffee mug under the stream of just-brewed coffee. When her mug was full, she shoved the pot back in its place and took a careful sip, moaning softly as the caffeine seeped into her bloodstream. Though she hadnât had a drop of wine all weekend, she had inhaled a two-pound bag of peanut M&Ms last night and the chocolate hangover was killing her. âWhy canât I meet just one of those guys?â

âBad weekend?â Lizbeth drawled, feigning sympathy.

Nina peered over the rim of the mug at her friend and co-worker, Lizbeth Gordon. Bad weekend? Not if crying through Out of Africa six times, gulping down handfuls of M&Ms, and waxing her bikini line qualified as bad. Sheâd had worse. There was that time she ate an entire frozen Sara Lee triple-layer fudge cake during the first hour of Titanic. And the Saturday she spent rearranging her underwear drawer, first by color, then by fabric, then by age. âI didnât even leave my apartment,â Nina admitted. âAnd Iâm starting to have sexual fantasies about the Chinese restaurant delivery man.â

Lizbeth slipped her arm around Ninaâs shoulders and clucked her tongue. âHoney, donât you think itâs about time you found yourself a nice stallion and went for a little ride? Itâs been a long time since youâve visited the stable.â From anyone else, the suggestion might have sounded ridiculous, but intoned in Lizbethâs lazy Southern accent, it sounded perfectly reasonable.

âWhat is it about you and horses?â Nina asked, pulling away and stalking out of the coffee room toward her office. âLast week you were telling me to get back in the saddle. When did Mr. Ed suddenly become your personal sex guru? According to you, National Velvet and My Friend Flicka are subversive sex manuals.â She stopped at her office door. âThose were my favorite books when I was a kid,â Nina said wistfully. âMy life was all about horses. I didnât even look at boys.â

âHuge, powerful, muscular, well-hung horses,â Lizbeth said, fanning her face with her hand. âGawd, I used to love those books, too.â She giggled and pressed her fingers to her lips. âIf Mama only knew sheâd have burned them all.â

Nina laughed. âYou were perverse even back then!â

âAnd you were flat as a board and had a mouthful of braces.â Lizbeth shuddered, tossing back her dark hair and smoothing her hands over her slender figure. âAdmit it, youâd never want to go back to that time. Me? I was slightly chubby, a little shy and everything I wore was made of a petroleum by-product. Itâs a pure wonder I turned out as well as I did.â

âGee, and I thought you were born wearing a cashmere diaper and silk booties, dressed to seduce every boy baby in the nursery,â Nina muttered.

If they hadnât been best friends, Nina was certain sheâd hate Lizbeth. Any girl would. Lizbeth was stunningly beautiful. Nina wasâ¦cute. Lizbeth had three or four boyfriends dangling on any given day of the month, while the pints of HÃ¤agen-Dazs in Ninaâs freezer lasted longer than most of the men in her life.

And if personal humiliation wasnât enough, Nina had to face her professional inadequacies as well. As the lowly fact checker for Attitudes magazine, Nina spent most of her workday on the Internet or on the phone or at the library, checking the veracity of every article that passed through her office. Lizbeth had charmed her way into an assistant editor position in the fashion department. With Attitudesâ profile as the hot magazine for twenty-somethings, that meant Lizbeth moved in circles that included wealthy designers and hot male models and handsome French photographers.

Whatâs worse, she always looked like sheâd stepped right out of a Calvin Klein ad, sleek and styled, smooth and sophisticated. Nina bought her clothes at vintage shops and thrift stores, favoring funky over fashionable. And the closest she got to styling her long blond hair was twisting it into a knot and securing it with a pencil or two.

But Lizbeth had one quality that made her an indispensable friend. No matter how bad Ninaâs life looked, all it took was one dry, but witty, comment from Lizbeth to put everything in perspective, to make Ninaâs worries dissolve into fits of laughter.

âYou know what your problem is?â Lizbeth asked, following Nina into her tiny, windowless office.

âNo, but Iâm sure youâre dying to tell me.â

âYou havenât had a date in almost six months. Honey, if you donât leave your apartment, how do you expect to meet anyone?â Lizbeth shook her head. âYouâre going to start to getâ¦what do they call that? Angoraphobia?â

âAngoraphobia is a fear of fuzzy sweaters,â Nina corrected. âAgoraphobia is a fear of strangers.â

Lizbeth sighed. âThe fact that you know something so obscure just proves my point,â she said. âSince you broke up with that crazy drummer from that awful grunge band, youâve had no life.â She picked up a framed picture of Ninaâs nieces and stared at her reflection in the glass, fussing with her hair. âYou know, if youâre not married by the time youâre thirty, chances are youâll never find a man.â

âIâm only twenty-five!â Nina said.

âFive years can go by just like that,â Lizbeth said, snapping her perfectly manicured fingers. âBesides, every year after age twenty-five is like dog years.â

Nina didnât bother to ask for further explanation. Sometimes it was better just to let a few of them fly by. Instead, she picked up the latest issue of Attitudes and flipped through it. When she reached the back, her gaze fell on the pages of Personal Touch ads that ran every month. Men seeking women, women seeking men, men and women seeking something a little kinky. âMaybe I should answer one of these ads,â she murmured.

âNow thereâs an idea,â Lizbeth said. âNot an idea Iâd ever consider, but definitely an idea.â

âWell, you donât have any trouble getting a date. And I know the ads work.â Nina grabbed a file folder from her desk and opened it. âLook at these letters. Four couples who met through the Personal Touch ads this past year, and four marriages!â

âWhere did you get those?â

âEileen in customer service has been saving them for me. Iâm thinking of pitching a story idea to Charlotte.â She picked up one of the letters, this one from the mothers of the happy couple. âNick Romano and Tyler Sheridan. Before Tyler met Nick, she was supposed to marry this other guy who ran out on their wedding and left her a âDear Joanâ ad in our magazine. Nick, whoâs a P.I.âhow sexy is that?âhelped her track down her missing bridegroom and they fell in love. Have you ever heard of anything so romantic?â

âOh, please. That sounds like one of those mushy romance novels!â Lizbeth said.

âYes, it does. And I happen to love romance novels.â Nina picked up another letter. âHereâs one from Jane Dobson Warren. She placed a personal ad in Attitudes for her boss. He was looking for Holly Baskin, an old girlfriend. After Jane placed the ad, she got hit on the head, with a Cupid statue, no less. The concussion made her believe that she was Holly Baskin. And then she and her boss fell in love and got married.â Nina sighed. âIt is just like a romance novel, isnât it?â

âAnd you think those sweet little stories are going to appeal to Charlotte?â Lizbeth shook her head. âYou donât know Charlotte very well, do you.â

Charlotte Danforth was publisher, editor, creative director, and sole stockholder of Attitudes magazine. She ran the publication like her own little fiefdom and she was the media queen. Her wealthy fatherâs money had financed the magazine and though Charlotte couldnât edit her way out of a paper bag or balance a budget, she did have an uncanny knack for hiring talented people. And for spotting trends. And thatâs what Attitudes was all aboutâwhatâs hot and whatâs not.

âIâve got to do something to make Charlotte see me as assistant editor material,â Nina said.

âWell, hon, that necklace wonât help the cause. News flashâWilma Flintstone isnât a fashion icon anymore.â

Nina giggled and stuck out her tongue at Lizbeth as she slipped the letters back into the file. âI still think itâs possible to find love through the personals. These four couples did.â She picked up the magazine and began to scan the ads. âHereâs a man that sounds nice. âNew York State of Mind. Good-looking professional seeks commitment-minded, independent SWF, 24-30. Enjoys motorcycles, the outdoors and NASCAR racing.â I love motorcycles.â

Lizbeth snatched the magazine from Ninaâs fingers. âAllow me to translate, my naive little friend. Good-looking professionalâdecent-looking car salesman. Watch out when they say âpersonable.â Then you can expect Quasimodo to show up at your front door.â

âWhat about handsome?â

âSeriously deluded or completely self-absorbed.â

âHow do you know this? You have answered one of our ads!â

Lizbeth laughed lightly. âDonât be silly. Why would I need to answer an ad? I simply know men and their tendency to overstate their own virtues. You have to learn their lingo.â

âLingo?â

âLike this ad. âCommitment-mindedâ means youâd be willing to clean his apartment. âIndependentâ means you wonât mind spending hours in a bar with his friends watching football on the big screen. And all the rest means the guy will never remember to put the toilet seat down.â Lizbeth pointed to another ad. ââEnjoys gardening, antiquing, and cooking.â Mamaâs boy. What you need is a guy who enjoys golfing, sailing, theater and working out. Thatâs means self-employed, wealthy, intelligent, and a great body.â

âHereâs one,â Nina said. âFriendlyââ

âHorny.â

âLikes to cuddle?â

âWants sex,â Lizbeth translated.

âLoyal?â Nina asked.

âObsessively jealous. The only thing worse is âintenseâ which means âstalker in training.â Youâd be better off placing your own ad, honey. At least then you could screen the candidates.â

âI donât know. Maybe I should just pitch the story about the four couples and their ads.â

âItâs a warm and fuzzy little story, but this isnât Good Housekeeping, Nina. Attitudes is edgy and trendy, and a little outrageousânot unlike that sweater youâre wearing.â

Nina glanced down at the vintage lime-green mohair with the Peter Pan collar. She bought it especially to go with the mod striped mini and green tights from the sixties. And the plastic bead necklace completed the look. âYou donât think Charlotte would like it? The idea, not the sweater.â

âIf you want her to see you as an assistant editor, youâre going to have to do more than pitch a story. Youâre going to have to go out there and experience the Personal Touch. Write your own ad, go on a few dates and tell your story. And the more horrible the experience, the better.â

âI wouldnât know what to say in an ad,â Nina replied. âHow do I advertise for Mr. Right?â

Lizbeth sighed dramatically, then searched the surface of Ninaâs desk until she found a pad of paper. âHoney, you donât have time to look for Mr. Right. Youâre looking for Mr. Right Now. Mr. Right This Minute. Charlotteâs been interviewing for an editorial assistant for the past month. If you get this story done and turn it in, maybe sheâll give you the job.â

âAll right,â Nina said. âIâll do it.â

âAll right,â Lizbeth repeated.

âNancy!â

Nina and Lizbeth looked up to find Charlotte Danforth standing at the doorway of Ninaâs office. As always, she looked like sheâd just tumbled out of bed, though this morning she wore evening clothes, a sexy beaded designer number that probably cost more than Nina made in a year. It was clear Charlotte hadnât been to bed at all, but came right to work from whatever party sheâd attended the night before. Her hair was mussed and she puffed incessantly on a French cigarette. Yet even in such disarray, she was still a force of nature, a human hurricane that left workers weeping in her path.

âNina,â Nina corrected.

Charlotte sniffed, then shrugged. âYes, fine, all right, Nina. I need you to check a fact for me. I need to know what the trendiest spot on the body is for a rather small tattoo. And the most popular subject matter. Check for both men and women, Iâm sure itâs different. And give me a breakdown by age if you can.â

âCharlotte, Iâm not sure there have ever been any studies done onââ

âI donât care if there havenât been studies, Nora!â

âNina,â she reminded. âIs this for an article? Because we did a story on tattoos just a few months ago.â

âI just need the information, Nola,â Charlotte snapped. âItâs personal. By the end of the day?â

With that, she turned and hurried from the door, leaving Nina to wonder how sheâd ever convince Charlotte to give her an editorial position if the woman couldnât even remember her name. âOh, sure. Iâll just call the Census Bureau. Iâm sure I remember answering the tattoo question on the 2000 census. Right hip, tiny rose.â She tossed aside the personal ads and straightened her desk. âI guess Iâm going to be spending the rest of the day on the phone talking to tattoo parlors,â Nina murmured.

Lizbeth smiled. âAnd Iâd guess that Charlotte got herself drunk last night and ended up in one of those 24-hour tattoo parlors in the East Village. And now she wants you to tell her that she didnât make a big fashion faux pas getting that big old butterfly tattooed on her butt.â

Ninaâs eyes went wide. âReally?â At least when Nina had decided on a tattoo sheâd been sober and possessed of good taste, ending up with a tiny flower on a spot that only showed when she wore a bikini.

âAs long as whatever she got is on the top of the list, hon, youâll make her happy.â

âBut how am I supposed to know?â

Lizbeth stood and smoothed her skirt. âLeave it to me. Sheâs bound to tell someone what she did last night. She always blabs when sheâs got a hangover. Five minutes later, it will be all over the office. Iâll feed you the facts and you make up the research.â

âBut that wouldnât be ethical,â Nina protested.

âHoney, you do want the job in editorial, donât you?â

Nina nodded hesitantly. âYes, I do. And while youâre finding out about Charlotteâs new tattoo, Iâm going to work on my ad. Even if it doesnât result in a great story, at least Iâll have something better to do on a Saturday night than polishing my shoes and fishing spare change out of the sofa.â

âThatâs the spirit!â her friend cried. âGet on that pony and ride! Yee-hah!â

Nina smiled at Lizbeth. âAnd maybe, if Iâm very lucky, Iâll find Mr. Right. And if not him, then Mr. Right Now.â

THE AFTER-WORK CROWD HAD settled in at Jitterbugâs, the coffee shop across the street from Attitudesâ Soho headquarters. It was a favorite spot for the staff who gathered regularly to sip lattes and mochas and discuss whatever outrageous request Charlotte Danforth had thrown their way during the day. But Nina had more important things on her mind than commiserating about her quirky and unpredictable boss. Nagging little projects had occupied nearly every minute of her workday and she hadnât had a single moment to get back to her ad for the Personal Touch.

Nina found her regular table in the corner and tossed her coat over the back of her chair, then dropped her bag on the smooth marble tabletop. She glanced over at the counter and waved at Martha who nodded, a silent agreement to make Ninaâs usualâa double skinny decaf latte with a shot of hazelnut. She sat down and spread her work out in front of herâthe Personal Touch ads from the last four weeks, her notepad, personalized with her name and the name of the magazine emblazoned across the bottom, and a pencil with a brand new eraser. Sheâd also brought a list of attributes sheâd quickly compiled for Mr. Right during her lunch hour.

âCute, considerate, humorous, spontaneous,â she read out loud. âNice hair, kind eyes, andââ

âA fluffy tail and good teeth. Honey, you sound like youâre advertising for a Pomeranian, not a man. If I were you, Iâd stick with the man. He wonât poop on the rug.â Lizbeth flopped down in the chair across from Ninaâs and sighed dramatically. âYou wonât believe the day Iâve had. They sent me size two samples and size six models. Thank God for duct tape. We cut the back seams open and taped the clothes on.â

Nina forced a sympathetic smile. She really wasnât in the mood to hear Lizbethâs tale of woe. Sheâd hoped to spend some time on her own, sipping coffee and carefully composing her ad. It had to be just right and it would take a lot of thought. âIâm just starting on this,â she murmured.

âSo, what do you have so far?â Lizbeth asked.

âActuallyâ¦nothing.â

Lizbeth sighed and shook her head. She pointed to Ninaâs pad. âTake this down.â She paused for a moment, then smiled. âHeadlineâLooking for Mr. Right Now.â She glanced over at Nina and frowned. âI said, take this down.â Nina scribbled as Lizbeth spoke. âAttractive, fun-loving, energetic SWF, 25, seeks adventurous Adonis, 25-35, for wild Saturday nights and lazy Sunday afternoons.â

âDonât you think that last part makes me sound a littleâ¦loose?â

âHoney, the whole thing makes you sound loose. Thatâs the point. What do you think I mean by âfun-lovingâ and âenergeticâ? Likes sex and likes it all the time.â Lizbeth gave her a long look. âYou want someone to answer the ad, donât you?â

Frowning, Nina ripped the top sheet off and crumpled it in her fist, then noticed Martha waving in her direction. âIâll write my own ad, thank you very much.â She pushed back from the tiny table to retrieve her coffee, fully intending to toss Lizbethâs ad in the garbage.

But as she paid Martha, she contemplated her friendâs strategy. Time was running out. Maybe she ought to put off her search for Mr. Right and concentrate on Mr. Right Now. And kissing a few frogs made a lot better copy than finding Prince Charming on the first time out. Nina opened her fist and dropped the wad of paper on the counter, then smoothed it out. She re-read the words as she grabbed her coffee. With a soft sigh, she turned and started back toward her table, making mental edits to the text. She didnât have to sound like a trollop, did she?

She didnât notice the man who stepped into her path, but in the blink of an eye, he was there. With a soft cry of surprise, she ran face first into a tall, broad-shouldered figure. Her coffee mug tipped between them, spilling hot coffee all over his wide chest, his flat belly and hisâ¦lap.

The man jumped back, cursing softly as he brushed the steaming liquid from his finely tailored shirt, his startled gaze taking in the coffee-soaked fabric. It was only then that Nina got a good look at his face. Her breath caught in her throat and, for a moment, she was unable to speak. âAdventurous Adonis,â she murmured.

Even wincing in pain, she could see what a handsome man he wasâstrong features, a chiseled mouth and vivid green eyes. For a long moment, she couldnât speak. Then the words began tumbling out of her mouth. âOhâoh, dear. Iâm so sorry. IâI didnât seeâand when you stepped in frontâthatâs probably a very expensiveâare you all rightâI didnâtââ

âIâm fine,â he muttered, plucking at the soaked fabric of his dress shirt and silk tie. âItâs my fault. I wasnât paying attention.â

Nina reached over his table and grabbed the napkin dispenser, then tugged out a wad of napkins. But as she spun around to hand them to the man, she knocked over the tall mug of coffee on his table. It tumbled to the floor and splashed onto his shiny dress loafers. Half the napkins fluttered to the floor and Nina bent down to pick them up before attempting to wipe the coffee off his shoes. Good grief, he even had handsome feet.

When she glanced up at him, she caught him smiling sardonically. âI donât think Iâve got any coffee on my left pant leg,â he said. âMaybe youâd like to order another cup and finish the job?â

âIâll just get you cleaned up and thenââ She reached up and dabbed frantically at the front of his pants, then realized where she was dabbing and groaned softly. âIâI guess you should probably do that area on your own.â What was she thinking? Nina glanced around to see the entire clientele of Jitterbugâs watching her with amusement. What were they thinking?

He grabbed her elbow, pulling her to her feet. Afraid to look up, Nina halfheartedly wiped at his shirt with the sheet of paper she had clutched in her other hand. When he took it from her fingers and shoved it in his pants pocket, she had no choice but to meet his gaze. An apologetic smile twitched at her lips and she risked a look up. âIâIâm sorry. Sometimes, Iâm so clumsy. Are you all right?â

âIâm fine,â he murmured, his gaze fixed on hers for the first time. âAnd thereâs no need to apologize. It was partly my fault, too.â

Sheâd never seen a greener pair of eyes in her life. Or a sexier smile. Or a straighter nose. Or aâNina swallowed hard. âBut your shirt. Itâs ruined.â

He chuckled dryly. âI never liked this shirt. Gives me a good excuse to toss it.â

For a long moment, they didnât speak. Nina tried to remember if sheâd apologized, but she couldnât recall exactly what sheâd said to him. Maybe it was the eyes, the penetrating eyes that seemed to send every rational thought running from her mind. Or the lips that looked like theyâd been made especially to kiss women, and lots of them. Even the faint stubble of a beard was more than she could bear.

Was this one of those men sheâd been wondering about, the one in a million and a half, the last single decent guy in all of New York City? She glanced at his left hand, looking for the telltale wedding band. There was none. Oh, if he was the one in a million, sheâd certainly made a mess of destiny! âCanâcan I buy you another coffee?â she offered.

He shook his head, his gaze never wavering from hers. âI was just leaving. Iâve got a meeting.â

Her breath caught again and she waited for him to step away, to walk out the door and out of her life forever. For all she knew, sheâd just dumped coffee all over Mr. Right and now he was going to just disappear without another word. âOf course,â she murmured. âAnd look at what Iâve done.â

He glanced over his shoulder and winced. âI really have to go.â He grabbed his suit jacket and briefcase from a chair, then slowly turned and started toward the door. Nina took one step to stop him, but then she noticed the rest of the patrons still watching her.

âI really am sorry,â she called as the door swung shut behind him. âA little cold water and a good non-chlorine bleach will get that stain right out!â She looked around the coffee shop, frowning. âShowâs over. You can all go back to your coffee,â she muttered.

With a flush of embarrassment, she hurried back to her table and sat down. âWas that as bad as I think it was?â Nina murmured. âDid I make a total fool of myself? And was there anyone in this place who didnât hear me giving him laundry advice?â

Lizbeth reached over and patted her hand excitedly. âThat was absolutely perfect!â she cried. âHoney, I didnât think you had it in you, but that move was pure brilliance!â

âWhat move?â

âSpilling coffee all over that stunningly gorgeous man. I donât even think I would have had the courage to do something so outrageous, especially when he had on a handmade French shirt. Those things cost five hundred apiece if they cost a penny.â

âReally?â Nina squeaked. âFive hundred dollars?â

âCouldnât you tell? Oh, honey, the way it hugged his body and nipped in around that waist. It fit him like a second skin. That kind of shirt makes a girl wonder whatâs underneath. Every woman in this place was pea-green with envy of you.â

âIt was an accident,â Nina said numbly.

Lizbeth gave her a sly look. âOh, please. You expect me to believe that? So, did you give him your phone number? You know, offer to pay his cleaning bill? Buy him a new shirt?â

âNo. He didnât ask that I pay.â Nina frowned and looked over at the door. âHe said he was going to throw the shirt out. I guess I should have offered. But it was his fault, too.â

âYou didnât give him your phone number,â Lizbeth stated, her voice flat and laced with disbelief. âPlease tell me you at least got his name. Or you gave him yours.â

Nina covered her face with her hands. âNo. I just couldnât think. I mean, there he was, all covered with coffee. And there I was,â she moaned, ârubbing his crotch with napkins.â She moaned again, this time with more emphasis. âI really screwed that up. For a second, I thought it might be destiny, but then he looked at me and my mind just went haywire and my knees went all wobbly.â Nina peered at Lizbeth through her fingers. âHe probably wasnât my type anyway, right? I mean, he was wearing a suit and I never go for businessmen. And he seemed a little uptight.â She drew a shaky breath. âAnd a guy who wears five-hundred dollar shirts is way out of my league. Iâm sure it would never have worked out.â

Lizbeth pushed to her feet, shaking her head. âDid you bother to look at the man? Heâs every womanâs type! Nuns would lust after the guy.â She grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder, then wagged her finger at Nina. âMaybe you should place that ad. Itâs clear that you donât have a chance of getting a gorgeous man the regular wayâby trickery and manipulation. I have to go, I have a date. But I want you to sit here and think about what you did wrong. Weâll discuss it later.â

Nina nodded dejectedly, like a child chastised. âI donât think Iâll be able to put it out of my mind.â

âIâll call you.â Lizbeth turned on her heel and walked toward the door. When it closed behind her, Nina busied herself with picking up her belongings. She grabbed the pad of paper and started to shove it in her bag, but decided against it. Snatching up her pencil, she closed her eyes for a moment, then began to write.

âCoffee Collision,â she murmured, writing the words out in capital letters. âJitterbugâs in Manhattan, March 15th. My latte met your shirt. Call me.â

Nina stared down at the text. Did she really have the courage to place the ad? Chances were remote at best that heâd see it. After all, he wasnât the typical Attitudes reader. With a soft oath, she ripped the page off the pad. But instead of crumpling it in her hand, she carefully folded it and placed it in her jacket pocket.

âForget the guy. Youâre not looking for Mr. Right, youâre looking for Mr. Right Nowâheâs the man who will get you a job in editorial.â

But as Nina tried to compose another ad, she couldnât keep her mind on the task at hand. Her thoughts kept wandering back to the man in the coffee-stained shirt, to the firm set of his mouth when he smiled, to the strong grasp of his fingers on her elbow, to the tremor that raced through her arm and made her head swim the moment heâd touched her.

Sheâd never believed in instant attraction, but that was only because sheâd never experienced it before. Now that she had, Nina wanted to experience it again. Sheâd just have to find a way to make it happen.

âWHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?â

Cameron Ryder stood on the sidewalk outside the coffee shop. He glanced down at his ruined shirt and tie and shrugged. âA little accident with a cup of coffeeâ¦and some crazy woman.â

He looked back over his shoulder. A beautiful, bewitching, crazy woman, he added silently. Now that heâd put a little distance between them, he wasnât quite sure what to think of her. She hadnât really been a woman at all, at least not the kind of sophisticated and overtly sexy woman he usually socialized with. She was sweet and slightly goofy, more a girl than woman. Sheâd been dressed a little oddly, in a hairy chartreuse sweater and a short little skirt that showed off shapely legs.

His mind conjured an image of her, her startling blue eyes and her golden blond hair twisted into a knot with spikes sticking out all over the place. He frownedâand chartreuse legs. In truth, sheâd looked like one of those bohemian girls who spent her days and nights in Soho coffee bars and art galleries, smoking cigarettes and quoting Sartre.

Still, he couldnât deny the current of attraction that had raced through his body the instant their eyes met, the warmth that seeped through his bloodstream when he touched her, the flood of amusement that made him smile when she so earnestly wiped off the front of his trousers.

Unlike most of the women heâd known, this woman lacked the hard, cynical edge that came from living in Manhattan. Her eyes were wide and clear blue, almost innocent. And she had a fresh, unpretentious look about her, unmarred by overdone cosmetics. With any other woman, he might have suspected she dumped the coffee on purpose. But the look of sheer surprise and mortification on her pretty face was enough to tell him differently. Cam laughed softly and shook his head. Good grief, heâd barely been able to get out a word or two, looking into those eyes.

What was this instant fascination he had with a complete stranger? Maybe heâd been working too hard lately. He hadnât had much time for a social life and any woman would appear attractive to a man who hadnât bothered with dating in the past few months. He fought the urge to walk back inside for just one more look, but then Jeff cleared his throat and pointed to his watch.

âWeâve got a half hour before we meet with Charlotte Danforth,â he said. âThereâs probably time to run back to your apartment and change.â

Ever the organized businessman, Jeff Myers was chief operating officer of Cameronâs company, NightRyder. Jeff had been a fellow college student when, ten years ago, Cam had created the Internet site for Gen X entertainment and night life. Heâd been there when the company moved from dorm room to apartment to office complex across the river in Jersey. And heâd been there at their stock offering, when the IPO turned Jeffâs thirty-percent interest into millions of dollars in just a few hours.

âI donât need to change,â Cam said. Though he might be able to make the trip uptown and back to his Riverside Drive apartment, he had no intention of doing so. âIâm not going to the meeting. Youâre my partner and you have my complete trust and authority. I want you to present the offer.â

Cam had been working toward this acquisition for as long as he could remember and now that it was time to make his move, he preferred to stand back and watch. Five years ago, Attitudes was barely a blip on the media radar. No one expected it to succeed, especially with socialite-party-girl Charlotte Danforth at the helm. But her rich daddy was willing to pay a price to get his little girl into the work world and out of his hair. Charles Danforth, one of New Yorkâs wealthiest men, was the magazineâs only investor. Even the headquarters of Attitudes was housed in a Danforth building, probably rent-free.

âI donât know why you want the magazine,â Jeff Myers murmured. âWith all the money the old man has pumped into it, we have no idea what itâs really worth. Sheâs probably never had to prepare a financial statement, so weâre buying blind. Why not buy something else?â

Cameron shrugged. âWell, Rolling Stone would be too expensive. So would Premiere and Entertainment. Attitudes is a weekly, itâs a trend-setter, and their subscription list fits our demographic. Itâs a good match for us,â he said. âAnd I donât care what it costs. I want the magazine and I want you to do everything necessary to get it.â

He smiled to himself. It felt good to say that, to know that when it came to a business acquisition, money was no longer an object. There was a time not so long ago that heâd struggled to make ends meet. Heâd just founded NightRyder, and though hip and trendy New Yorkers visited the site to learn all the latest on movies, music, and entertainment, the Internet was still young. Every penny heâd saved, most of it earmarked for his last year at NYU, had gone into the design. Four years later, when NightRyder had become the most popular Internet site nationwide in the 20- to 30-year-old demographic, the advertisers started coming and Camâs life as an Internet entrepreneur began.

âDonât you think youâre carrying this mystery man thing a little too far?â Jeff asked. âYouâre making too much money to keep your face out of the public eye forever. And youâre the Ryder in NightRyder, Cam. You should be there when we make our offer and Charlotte Danforth accepts.â

Cam chuckled. âSheâs not going to accept.â

âWhat? But she has to. Weâve done our research. Daddy Danforth is just about ready to cut her off, if he hasnât already. Her creditors are hounding her. And sheâs spending more and more time partying with her high society friends than running her magazine. The time is right.â

âSheâs not going to accept,â Cam insisted. âAttitudes is her baby. Besides, weâre only going to offer her half what we think the magazine is worth.â

âBut I thought we decidedââ

âI know what we decided. But I changed my mind. I need some more information before we make a solid offer.â

âCam, itâs a privately held publication. I donât think sheâs going to open up the books and let us browse before we talk money.â

âI know. But we can afford to wait her out, until sheâs a little more desperate. And while we do that, maybe we can get some inside information.â

Jeff nodded. âI suppose that wouldnât be a bad idea. Charlotte Danforth has hired and fired enough people. We could always find a disgruntled employee who might want to talk.â

âThen do it,â he said. âAnd call me after your meeting with Danforth. I want a full report.â

Jeff nodded, then started across the street. Cameron watched as he walked in the front entrance of the ornate cast-iron building, one of the many that lined the streets in this section of Soho. Then he turned and shoved his hands in his pockets, warming them in the chilly evening air.

His fingers toyed with a wad of paper in his pocket and he pulled it out, only to find the crumpled sheet the beautiful girl had used on his shirt, the scribblings on it now blurred by the coffee. Part of the paper was still completely legibleâthe Attitudes logo across the bottom and the name on the top.

âFrom the desk of Nina Forrester,â he murmured. âNina.â The name seemed to suit her, light, airy, a name that sounded like a peal of laughter or a twinkle in the eye. âSo thatâs her name.â

It took a few moments for the importance of his discovery to sink in. Nina Forrester worked at Attitudes! And he was looking for someone on the inside, someone to give him insight into the mercurial Charlotte Danforth and the state of her business affairs. His mind instantly began to form a strategy.

Why not go back inside and join her? He could engage her in conversation, bring up the subject of work. Most women loved to talk about their work, especially to a man who appeared interested in what she had to say. But the thought of manipulating her for his own purposes rankled.

Though rising to the top of the Internet world had taken immense technical knowledge, staying on top required a fair bit of ruthlessness. Still, heâd never deliberately deceived anyone to get what he wanted. Wasnât that what he was considering now? He held the paper up to read the rest of the scribbling in the waning light of day, wondering what sheâd been working on.

âLooking for Mr. Right Now?â he read, confusion wrinkling his brow. âAttractive, fun-loving, energetic SWF, 25, seeks adventurous Adonis, 25-35, for wild Saturday nights and lazy Sunday afternoons.â

Cameron reread the words again, simply to assure himself that heâd read them right the first time. âAdventurous Adonis? Wild Saturday nights and lazy Sunday afternoons?â

Usually, he was an excellent judge of character, able to detect hidden agendas and ulterior motives in a single glance. But if Nina Forrester had written this ad, then heâd been completely fooled by her innocent smile. A woman who enjoyed wild Saturday nights and lazy Sunday afternoons would probably have no qualms about dumping her coffee on a single guy sitting in a coffee shop. Maybe heâd been too hasty in his earlier impression. Perhaps she might be able to help him get inside Attitudes magazine.

Cameron started back down the street toward the subway stop, carefully folding the paper as he walked. Heâd never really thought of himself as an Adonisâfar from it. Up until he made his first million, he was just a computer geek, the kid with the thick glasses and the pocketful of pens, the president of the computer club and the chess club, a guy girls did their best to ignore.

Funny how a little power and money seemed to change him in othersâ eyes. It always took him unawares, for inside, there was still a tiny bit of the geek left. Heâd simply gotten a few years older, so that grown-up muscle now covered his once bony body. An uptown haircut and designer clothing had completed the transformation in his outward appearance. Maybe money did make the man.

He turned and stared back at the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop. Though his curiosity was piqued, he wasnât about to go back inside. He knew her name, where she worked, and where she played. He could find her if he needed to.

âBetter to wait,â he murmured with a chuckle. âAfter all, no self-respecting Adonis would be seen with a huge coffee stain on his chest.â

2

âHURRY UP! Staff meeting in the conference room. Charlotte wants everyone there.â

Nina looked up at Lizbeth from the reference books spread across her desk. Sheâd been caught up in finding out the name of the original designer of platform shoes and had lost all track of time. Before that, sheâd been immersed in an idle contemplation of the mystery man sheâd spilled coffee on last night. She still couldnât put him out of her mind, going over every stupid mistake sheâd made.

Why hadnât she offered to send his shirt to the cleaner or pay for a new shirt? Why hadnât she given him her phone number or at least introduced herself? Nina had lived in Manhattan for seven years, since her college days at Columbia, and sheâd never met a man quite as handsome as the man sheâd affectionately dubbed âCoffee Man.â

A more appropriate name would come to her, but Nina was already certain that this man would occupy her fantasies for a long time to come. Besides being incredibly handsome, he was funny and smart and confident, though how she knew all these things she wasnât sure. What she did know was that if she ever saw him again she wasnât going to let him get away a second time.

âNina?â

With a start, Nina glanced up at Lizbeth, drawn from her daydream. âOh, right. The meeting.â She reached up and raked her fingers through her hair. Though Lizbeth looked like sheâd just stepped out of a magazine ad, Nina usually managed to run a comb through her hair on the way down her apartment stairs and dash on mascara and a little lipstick during her bus ride from her East Village apartment. âShe wants everyone there?â she asked.

âBig news,â Lizbeth warned. âI think bad news, too, from the look on Charlotteâs face. Sheâs wearing the same clothes she had on yesterday afternoon, her hair is a mess and sheâs got raccoon eyes from her mascara. I donât think Iâve ever seen Charlotte looking like a roadside rodent. Maybe Daddy Danforth has finally cut the purse strings.â

Ninaâs heart twisted in her chest. If the magazine was having financial problems then the first jobs to be cut would be editorial assistants. Her current position as fact checker was safe as long as Attitudes was still publishing. But her future as an assistant editor with the magazine suddenly looked bleak. âAre you sure she wants me there? Iâm never invited to staff meetings.â

âShe specifically asked that you come,â Lizbeth said.

Nina jumped to her feet, hope springing to life inside her. âDid she ask for me by name?â

âYes,â Lizbeth said. âShe walked in my office, told me about the meeting and requested that I be sure to tell Tina.â

Nina rolled her eyes and cursed softly. âIs my name that hard to remember? Iâve worked for Charlotte for nearly three years! She sees me at least four or five times a week.â She looked down at the bottle-green satin Chinese jacket and flowered skirt she wore. âI donât look like I blend into the furniture, do I?â

Lizbeth considered Ninaâs skirt for a few seconds and put on her best Southern drawl. âMy mama did have some dining room portieres that looked a lot like your skirt.â

Nina strode to the door, pinching Lizbethâs arm as she passed. âYouâre so mean to me. I donât know why youâre still my friend.â

Lizbeth fell into step beside her as they strolled toward the conference room. âBecause Iâm the only one who really appreciates you,â she said with a lazy smile. âAnd your whimsical fashion sense.â She gave her the once-over with her critical fashion eye. âAll right, I love the jacket. There, are you happy?â

One thing Nina was happy about was that Lizbeth had forgotten the events of the night before. The last thing she needed was her best friend chiding her about the mistakes sheâd made. Lizbeth just didnât understand. Sheâd always had boys fawning over her and men falling at her feet. Nina had discovered boys a little later in life, so sheâd been playing catch-up since she was eighteen. She sighed softly, glancing at Lizbeth. No matter how long she worked at it, sheâd never catch up to Lizbeth.

By the time they reached the conference room, all the chairs had been taken by senior staff. Lizbeth and Nina stood against the back wall and watched as Charlotte called the meeting to order. Nina couldnât recall ever attending a staff meeting before. Charlotte preferred to deal with her one-on-one and important news was usually passed on to Nina through office gossip, haphazard memos, or not at all.

âWe have a problem,â Charlotte began. âA huge problem. Iâve called you all in here because, frankly, I donât know what to do.â To Ninaâs surprise, the normally icy Charlotte looked like she was about to cry. âI canât go to Daddy, so Iâm asking all of you for your help.â She sniffed. âI know I havenât always been the nicest boss, but I canât change that now.â Her voice trembled slightly. âYesterday evening I had a visit from a representative of NightRyder, some Internet company with truckloads of cash. They offered to buy the magazine.â

A collective gasp sounded in the silence of the conference room, followed by a low murmur of whispered comments. Lizbeth turned to look at Nina, her eyes wide.

Charlotte ran her fingers through her mussed hair and Nina noticed the shadows beneath her bossâs eyes. She had been crying. âDonât worry, the offer wasnât good enough to accept. But the next one might be. And as you all know, this magazine has always operated on aâ¦tight budget. And now that DaddyâI mean, now that my investors have decided to curtail their rather generous funding, the magazine is more vulnerable than ever. We have to tighten our belt, be more efficient andâand do all those other things you people do when we need to save money. Iâm sure you know what they are.â

âLike cutting back on expensive business lunches at the cityâs best restaurants?â Lizbeth murmured. âAnd throwing lavish parties for male models then writing them off against our photo budgets?â

âShhh!â Nina hissed.

âLena, where are you?â Charlotte demanded. Her gaze searched the room, but no one spoke up. The rest of the employees glanced nervously back and forth. âWell, where is my head of research? Lizbeth, I told you to bring her along. Where is Lena?â

Suddenly Nina realized that Charlotte was talking to her. She raised her hand nervously. âIâm here,â she said. âTina, IâI mean, Nina. Nina Forrester.â She groaned inwardly and bit back a curse. Now she couldnât even remember her own name!

âTina, I want you to find out everything you can about this NightRyder company. Itâs owned by someone named Cameron Ryder. Call whoever you call and get me something, anything, on this man. I need to know everything I can about the enemy before I face him again. Oh, and find out if heâs married.â She glanced around the room. âAs for the rest of you, no more spending. Cultivate new vendors who will extend us credit. Sell more ad pages. And thereâll be no more free beverages in the coffee room!â

With that, she swept out of the room, leaving her staff to wonder whether they might be better off with Cameron Ryder at the helm of Attitudes. Nina and Lizbeth hurried out in front of the crowd, anxious to regain the privacy of Ninaâs office. When they closed the door behind them, they both gasped and gaped at each other.

âI suppose we ought to start revising our rÃ©sumÃ©s,â Nina said.

âYou donât actually think Charlotte will sell to this NightRyder guy, do you?â

Nina shook her head. âSheâs not much of a business-woman and the magazine has always struggled. But then, maybe this Ryder isnât much of a businessman.â She reached for her computer keyboard, then looked at the screen. The moment sheâd walked in that morning, sheâd typed up her two adsâthe âcoffee collisionâ ad for Mr. Right and the âAdonisâ ad for Mr. Right Now, still torn between which one to place.

As she stared at the screen, Ninaâs mind again wandered back to her encounter with âCoffee Man.â How many times had she brushed him from her thoughts, trying to convince herself there was probably something seriously wrong with him? Maybe he picked his teeth or burped after dinner. Maybe he hated modern art or detested the theater. He could have all sorts of disgusting flaws. Like all the other men sheâd met, sheâd probably have dropped him sooner or later, so what was the point even wasting brain cells on him?

A soft moan slipped from her lips. But he was incredibly intriguing. She suspected he had a body to match that gorgeous face, hidden beneath his staid attire. And though she usually didnât go for the suit-and-tie type, he wouldnât always be wearing clothes. A delicious shiver skittered up her spine and she couldnât help but smile.

âWell? What have you found?â

Nina blinked, then glanced up at Lizbeth. âWhat? Oh, nothing. Itâll take more than a few seconds.â She shook her head and turned back to the monitor, hoping to hide the warm flush that had crept up her cheeks. âBut Iâll let you know as soon as I do,â she murmured, closing the document that held the two ads.

Lizbeth started toward the door. âGood luck,â she said, the usual light and teasing tone now gone from her voice. âAll of us are counting on you.â

She closed the door behind her, leaving Nina to her own thoughts. Though the business with Cameron Ryder was urgent, she allowed herself just a few more moments to think about her fantasy man. Maybe if she finished up her research for Charlotte early, sheâd go back to the coffee shop after work. Perhaps, heâd be there, hoping that she might return as well.

And this time, she wouldnât be such a dope. Sheâd catch his eye from across the room. And then sheâd smile, a hesitant, but coy smile, with maybe a hint of surprise. Then a little wave, playful but not too aggressive. After all, she didnât want him to think sheâd come looking for him on purpose. No, it was best to play hard to getâbut not too hard to get.

âSo how do I do that?â

She glanced down at what sheâd pulled from her closet that morning. It wasnât exactly conservative, but she thought it was pretty. âMaybe Mr. Right goes for the kind of woman who wears conservative clothes and spends more than a few minutes making herself look pretty in the morning,â she murmured, worrying over a loose thread on her jacket. She tugged on it and a button went flying across the room.

Yeah, she was smooth all right. For all she knew, Mr. Right might have a Ms. Right waiting at home, someone beautiful and sophisticated. He might even be married! Not every man wore a wedding band. Since last night, sheâd spun a whole fantasy around this guy, giving him qualities she wasnât even sure heâd possessed.

âThis is ridiculous,â Nina said. âYour social life is so bad that youâve been reduced to dreaming up a relationship with a complete stranger, turning a few minutes at Jitterbugâs into two kids, a dog and a three-bedroom house in Jersey.â

With a soft oath, she brought up the computer screen that held her two ads. Pounding furiously on the Delete key, she erased her âCoffee Collisionâ ad. It was time to stop dreaming and take control of her life. Mr. Right was a silly fantasy. And Mr. Right Now would have to wait until after this crisis with NightRyder was solved. For the next few days, sheâd have to focus all her time and energy on just one manâthe mysterious and very dangerous Cameron Ryder.

THE MARCH WEATHER had turned brisk again, a cold, damp wind swirling around the city and smelling of a late season snow. Cameron pulled his leather jacket closed as he stepped out of the cab in front of the coffee shop. He stood for a long moment on the sidewalk, trying to decide whether to venture inside. The windows were fogged and the sound of music drifted out every time the door was opened, but he waited.

He wasnât really sure why heâd come. Heâd already decided not to use Nina Forrester for information about Attitudes magazine. Too many complications. Yet, he had still made a simple phone call to the magazine and learned she was a fact checker, a job that probably didnât put her in daily contact with the editor and publisher, Charlotte Danforth, anyway. The information she might be able to provide would be marginally valuable at bestâor thatâs what he chose to tell himself.

âSo why the hell am I here?â Cameron muttered.

Was it curiosity? He couldnât deny that heâd found their little encounter over a cup of coffee surprisingly intriguing. Maybe it was the contradiction, the wide-eyed naif hiding a provocative siren. He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew the ad sheâd written. If he hadnât taken it from her hand, he never would have put the two together. But then, heâd never been a very astute judge of the female mind. For a guy who didnât have a real date until he was a junior in college, Cameron Ryder had been forced to learn fast, leaving several very pronounced gaps in his studies.

There had been women, a fair number of them since heâd started NightRyder, but never anything serious. He thought back to his days in college, to the fantasies of beautiful, sexy women, blond and leggy, with tanned and trainer-toned bodies. They were every misfitâs dream and over the past five years heâd datedâand beddedâa string of them.

But somehow, the reality had never lived up to the fantasy. Though many of the women were nice enough, there was nothing beyond the gorgeous bodies except the desire to capture a wealthy and powerful man. More and more, heâd found himself playing the role theyâd wanted to him play, pretending to be someone he could never be, smooth and sophisticated, yet caught in a series of empty relationships.

So heâd stopped dating months ago, instead putting his energy back into the business. Nina Forrester was the first woman heâd found even remotely interesting in all that time. He exhaled, his breath clouding in front of his face, then pulled the door open. He hadnât been inside more than a few moments before he saw her. She was sitting at a table over in the corner. She turned to look at some papers sheâd spread in front of her and he silently studied her profileâthe pretty nose, the lush lips, the golden hair that framed her face in soft tendrils.

Without thinking, he crossed the room and came to a stop beside her table. Suddenly, he wasnât quite sure what to say. He felt as if heâd been transported back to that awful moment in high school when heâd worked up the nerve to ask the prettiest cheerleader out on a date, only to have her laugh in his face.

Cameron swallowed hard. âI owe you a cup of coffee.â

She looked up and for an instant, he thought he saw delight in her pretty blue eyes and a tiny trace of a smile curling her lips. âHi,â she said, her voice breathless with surprise. She stood up quickly, knocking her hip against the table and nearly spilling her cup of coffee in the process. âWhat are you doing here?â

Cameron knew enough about women to play it cool. âI was just passing by and thought Iâd give the coffee another try.â

âOh, right,â she said, a nervous twitch of her lips passing for a smile. âI guess you didnât get much of a taste of it last night.â She paused. âI should buy you a cup.â She motioned to the second chair at her table. âWhy donât you sit down.â Without another word, she hurried off. But a few seconds later, she returned, her face colored with a pretty blush. âHow do take your coffee?â she asked.

âWith just a little cream,â Cameron replied, slipping out of his jacket. He watched her return to the counter, then sat down and waited. When she came back with his coffee, he stood and pulled out her chair. But as she sat down, she caught her elbow on his arm and half the coffee spilled all over her papers.

âOh, no!â she cried.

Cameron grabbed the cup from her hand just as it was about to dump all over his sleeve, then set it down. He handed her a stack of napkins. âYou are a menace with a cup of coffee,â he teased. âMaybe we should stick to tea.â

Nina mopped up the coffee on her side of the table, then glanced up at him, gracing him with one of the most beautiful smiles heâd ever seen. âMaybe we should. Maybe itâs like that movie. Iâm doomed to repeat the same clumsy mistakes over and over, every time we meet.â

âWell, I made sure to dress in brown,â he said, indicating his brown wool trousers and sweater. âSo fire away. Iâm ready.â

When the table was finally cleaned up, they both sat down. The blush still stained Ninaâs cheeks and Cameron still wasnât sure what to say. Heâd have been completely satisfied just to sit across from her and look at her pretty face, but he guessed that she expected a little more. âIs this work?â he asked, pointing to the coffee-stained papers.

Nina nodded. âIt was. Iâve got a special project Iâve been assigned. Iâve been working on it all day.â

âAnd where do you work?â he asked, already knowing the answer. He felt guilty even bringing up the subject of her job, considering his position, but it was a safe subject for two people who barely knew each other.

âIâm the head of research for Attitudes,â she said. âItâs a weekly magazine. Our offices are right across the street.â

He couldnât help but smile at the embellished job title. Still, he was secretly pleased that she was trying to impress him. âAttitudes?â

âHave you ever heard of it?â She forced a smile. âI suppose not. I mean, youâre not really our typeâour readerâI mean, our demographic.â

âAnd why is that?â Cameron asked.

âWell, youâre a little tooâ¦â

He waited as she groped for a polite way to say conservative. âTall?â he asked. Her blush deepened and she shook her head. âToo stubborn? Thatâs always been a problem.â She shook her head again. âOr maybe Iâm too clumsy?â

Nina laughed. âThe word weâd use around the office might be âconservative.â Not that thatâs a bad thing. Itâs just not our demographic.â

âGee, I thought you were about to say I was too handsome or too charming.â

âMaybe I should have,â she murmured, sending him a coy look over the rim of her coffee mug. âSo, what do you do?â

âIâm inâ¦computers,â Cameron said.

âI could have guessed that,â Nina commented. âI mean, from the way you were dressed when we first met. You looked like a businessman.â

A long silence grew between them and Cameron fought the sudden urge to lean across the table and kiss her, simply to see if her lips tasted as good as they looked. Instead, he grabbed the next handiest subject. âTell me about this project youâre working on.â Cameron pointed to the papers. âYou said it was important?â He picked up his mug and took a sip of his coffee.

âThereâs not much to it,â Nina replied. âIâm supposed to find out everything I can about some guy named Cameron Ryder.â

A sudden cough burst from his throat and he sucked in a deep breath, the coffee going down the wrong way. Ninaâs brow furrowed in concern and she reached out and patted him on the shoulder. âAre you all right?â

He nodded. âItâs just a little hot,â he said, his eyes watering. âSo, what have you found out about this guy?â

âI spent all day on the Net, downloading what I could about his company, NightRyder. But the guy who runs it keeps a pretty low profile. If I had to guess Iâd say heâs some hard-hearted, ruthless businessman who buys up companies for sport, putting good people out of work, and he keeps a low profile so none of the employees he puts out of work can run over him with a bus.â

âHe sounds like a real bastard,â Cameron said.

âThis NightRyder, itâs a news and information site. Very trendy, very popular with our magazineâs demographic. He wants to buy Attitudes and turn himself into some media mogul. My boss doesnât want to sell.â

âAnd what else have you learned?â

âNot much. I canât even find a photo of the guy, except for this.â She slid a paper over towards him. âItâs his high school graduation picture. He looks like kind of a geek. But I guess even geeks can turn into bastards given enough power and money.â

Cameron winced inwardly. Damn, he hated when that picture surfaced in the media. Heâd done his best to stay out of the glare of the paparazzi, avoiding photographers like the plague. But for lack of a more current photo, they always trotted out the senior pictureâthe pimply-faced, pencil-necked doofus with the thick glasses. And he was once again faced with a reminder of the first eighteen years of his life.

But there was one advantage to the photo. There was no way Nina Forrester would recognize him. Hell, he barely recognized himself. âHe doesnât look very ruthless to me. He looks like the kind of kid who eats paste and spends most of his day stuffed in a locker. See there,â he said, pointing to the picture. âHeâs got louver marks on his forehead.â

She snatched the picture away from him and put it back in her folder. âIf he buys the magazine, Iâll probably be out of a job.â Nina shook her head. âBut I really donât want to think about that now.â The gloomy look dissolved from her face and she smiled again. âWhy donât we talk about something else? You know, I donât even know your name.â

Cameron opened his mouth, about to introduce himself, then thought better of it. She already believed him to be a ruthless bastard. If he told her who he really was she might just heave the rest of her coffee in his face. âAnd I donât know your name,â he said, surprised with his smooth reply.

âItâs Nina. Nina Forrester.â

She held out her hand and he took it, grasping her delicate fingers with his. A current of electricity shot through his arm, warming his blood. How could a simple touch affect him so strongly? He wanted to lace his fingers with hers and bring them to his lips. He noticed that she was wearing green nail polish to match the deep green of her satin jacket. He liked it, even though it was an odd color. Odd looked good on her. When he felt her gently tug her fingers away, he let go.

âWhat about you?â she asked after a long silence.

âMe? I donât usually wear nail polish.â

Nina giggled and gave him an odd look. âWhatâs your name?â

âOh, itâsâ¦Wright,â he said, taking the first name that came to mind while still completely captivated by her eyes. After all, thatâs who she was looking for, wasnât it?

âRight?â she asked. âLike Mr. Right? R-I-G-H-T?â

He shook his head. âW-R- Like Wilbur and Orville. I think we might even be related.â

Her brow arched. âAnd do you have a first name? Or would you prefer I call you Mister?â

âJack. Jack Wright.â

âItâs nice to finally meet you, Jack Wright.â

Suddenly, he didnât want to talk about her work. He wanted to find out much more about this enchanting woman sitting in front of him. He wanted to listen to her voice and watch the lively play of emotion on her face as she spoke. He wanted to lose himself in her brilliant blue eyes and warm himself beneath her smile. âWould you like to get out of here? Maybe take a walk or get something to eat?â

She smiled and he was certain she was about to accept his invitation, but then she shook her head. âI canât. I have a lot of work to do. My boss expects a report first thing tomorrow morning on this Cameron Ryder and I havenât found anything to give her. Iâm going to have to go back to the office.â

Cameron was tempted to give her everything she wanted just to spend a little more time with her. Heâd tell her about his childhood, his stumbles toward puberty, the awful teenage years and the grind through college. Heâd give her his bankerâs number, his attorneyâs number. Anything she wanted to know, heâd tell her. But Cameron knew that wasnât possible. For now, he was better off hiding behind the guise of Mr. Wright. âIf you canât have dinner tonight, how about lunch tomorrow?â

She stood and gathered up her papers. âAll right. Lunch would be fine.â

Cameron slipped out of his chair and helped her into her coat, allowing his hands to rest on her shoulders for a few minutes. He leaned closer and drew a deep breath. Her hair smelled like fresh air and flowers. Then she stepped away, walking toward the door. Cam tossed a few bills on the table for a tip, then followed her.

When they reached the sidewalk, an uneasy silence settled between them. This was the time he was supposed to say something incredibly clever or smooth, so sheâd invite him back to her apartment. But Cam couldnât come up with anything except, âCan I give you a ride? We can share a cab.â

Nina giggled. âIâm just going across the street.â

Cameron groaned inwardly. The doofus gene had asserted itself again, just when he thought heâd managed to knock it out of his DNA. âRight,â he said. He rubbed his hands together. âSo, Iâll see you tomorrow for lunch?â

âLunch,â she repeated. âWhere?â

âIâll pick you up at your office.â

She nodded, then took a step toward the curb. As she did, Nina turned back to look at him and all Cam knew at that moment was he didnât want to let her go, not yet. He grabbed her hand and pulled her closer. And then, without even considering the consequences, he brought his mouth down on hers in a soft, but hungry kiss.

Never in his life had he acted so impulsively. But with Nina, it didnât pay to think. The moments flew past so quickly, that he couldnât help but reach out and catch one and hold onto it for a time. Heâd meant only to indulge in a brief kiss, but when she wrapped her arms around his neck, he gently pushed her back until she stood against the brick facade of the coffee shop. Slowly, Cameron explored her mouth, tasting and testing. When he finally found the strength to pull away, he brought his hand up to her cheek and skimmed her silken skin.

She swallowed hard, her eyes wide and dewy. âIfâif I tell you something, will you promise not to take it the wrong way?â

Cameron nodded. âIâll try.â

âI was hoping youâd stop by the coffee shop tonight,â she murmured. âThatâs why I came.â A pretty blush stained her cheeks and her gaze dropped to his chest.

âAnd I was hoping youâd be here.â He reached down and caught a finger under her chin. Then, without a second thought, he leaned forward and brushed another kiss across her lips. âIâll call you,â he murmured, his eyes fixed on her mouth for a long moment.

âYou donât have my phone number.â

âBut I know where you work,â he countered. âWe can decide where we want to go for lunch.â

Nina nodded. âThat would be nice.â Slowly, reluctantly, she stepped out of his embrace. She sent him one last smile, then turned and hurried across the street. Cameron watched until she disappeared through the front door of Attitudes, then he let out a tightly held breath.

With a soft curse, he raked his hand through his hair and shook his head. âI sure hope you figure out what the hell youâre doing, Ryder. Because once she finds out who you really are, sheâs not going to want to kiss you anymore. Hell, youâll be lucky if she lets you live.â

âWHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? Iâve been waiting for you all morning!â Nina called.

Lizbeth hurried through the hallway to the fashion offices, Nina falling into step beside her. âI had a photo shoot,â Lizbeth explained. âIâm just back for a few minutes. HervÃ© insists that we use that silly fedora. He thinks itâs sexyâI just think it looks stupid.â

âBut I have to talk to you. Canât you stay for a few minutes?â

When they reached Lizbethâs office, Nina followed her inside and slammed the door behind her. Unlike her own office, which was neatly filled with books and binders full of useful information, Lizbethâs office looked like a bomb had exploded in a designer showroom. Clothes and accessories were scattered everywhere, hanging from shelves, tossed over chairs, folded on the floor. Nina wasnât sure how Lizbeth kept anything straight since all the clothes seemed to be black.

âIâve got three minutes,â Lizbeth said. âTalk fast.â

âAll right, hereâs the condensed version. I saw him again last night. We kissed, three or four times, I canât even remember. And it was so incredible. And heâs coming here to take me out to lunch.â

Lizbeth looked up. âWhat?â

âThe coffee guy,â Nina explained, âfrom Jitterbugâs. His name is Wright. Can you believe that? Is that too perfect? Jack Wright. W-R, not with just an R. He was in there last night and weââ

Lizbeth held out her hand to stop Ninaâs words, then slowly circled her desk and sat down. âHoney, HervÃ© can do without that hat. Tell me all the details.â

âBut I thought youââ

âI have all the time in the world for your love life,â Lizbeth cried.

Nina sighed, then sat down across the desk from her and began to recount the events of the night before. She made a special point of telling Lizbeth how she refused his invitation to dinner. âThat was good, right? I mean, I didnât want to seem too enthusiastic, or too easy.â

âYou did very well.â

She smiled proudly. âI did. And oh, he just makes me feel so good. I get all warm inside and my knees go a little soft and my brain doesnât seem to work right, andâand I can barely breathe. Do you know that feeling?â

Lizbeth raised an eyebrow. âHoney, I invented that feeling. Now, when is he coming to take you to lunch?â

âIn about fifteen minutes,â Nina said.

She gave Nina the once-over. âThat gives us just enough time.â

âFor what?â

âTo fix you up.â

Nina glanced down at the outfit sheâd so carefully chosen that morning. The little sweater dress was from the sixties, pale melon pink with bugle bead starbursts on the cuffs, collar and hem. She considered it a conservative choice paired with knee-high black boots. Nina had taken special care with her hair, wearing it loose and unbound in soft waves, pushed away from her face by a black headband. âWhatâs wrong?â

âHe was wearing a handmade French shirt and a designer suit, Hugo Boss if Iâm not mistaken. The guy knows fashion.â Lizbeth jumped to her feet and began snatching clothes from around the roomâa long, pencil-thin skirt, a body-hugging sweater, both in black. âThe boots are good, the rest has to go.â

âWhy?â

âHoney, youâve got that whole groovy sixties thing going. Or maybe itâs seventies, Iâm not sure. If he dressed in Nehru jackets or leisure suits, then Iâd say go for it but weâre not playing Austin Powers today.â

Nina reluctantly changed into the clothes Lizbeth had chosen, secretly pleased that she was able to fit into the sample sizes. Though the calf-length skirt nearly reached her ankles, Lizbeth pronounced that length equally fashionable. When she was dressed, her friend pulled her hair back into a sleek ponytail and tied it with an expensive black silk scarf.

Nina stood in front of the mirror that Lizbeth had cleared and looked at herself. The clothes did show her figure to its best advantage. And the black made her look even thinner and more sophisticated. But the outfit didnât have any character or color. It said nothing about the person she was. âNow I look like everyone else that lives in this city. This is like the uniform for young, professional women.â

âWhich is exactly what heâll like.â Lizbethâs phone rang and she picked it up, then smiled at Nina. âYup, sheâs here, and sheâll be right out.â She put the phone down. âHeâs in reception. Would you like me to walk out with you? Never mind, Iâm going to walk out with you. But I wonât act like Iâm going down to see him, Iâll just run across the street and get a cup of coffee.â

They both headed for the reception area on the ground floor of the building. When they stepped out of the elevator, Nina saw him, sitting in an overstuffed leather chair near the window. He was focussed on the most recent issue of Attitudes, his brow furrowed, his expression dubious. Instead of a suit, he was wearing faded jeans that hugged his long legs and a canvas jacket that hid a T-shirt. âSee,â Nina said. âHeâs not wearing a suit.â

âYum,â Lizbeth breathed. âWhat a hottie!â She turned and straightened Ninaâs collar. âRide âem, cowgirl.â

Her friend kept walking, right out the door, and Nina stopped in front of Jack. âHi,â she said, unable to stop a smile from curling the corners of her lips.

He looked up. Surprise colored his expression as he rose to his feet, taking in her appearance. He reached out and took her hand, a gesture that seemed so natural but sent her heart racing. And when he bent and brushed a kiss on her cheek, she truly thought she might swoon. âHi. For a minute there I didnât recognize you.â His gaze slowly raked her body. âYou look a little different.â

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