The Man Tamer
Cindi Myers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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For Becci

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

1

Why Man Taming Works

Dear Man Tamer:

You are so full of it! I can’t believe you’re telling all these women they can train a man like a dog.

How could you ever believe your so-called methods would work on a real man?

A Real Man

Dear Real Man:

The Man-Taming principles work because they’re based on tried-and-true methods of Behavior Modification. Behavior modification has been used successfully for decades for everything from, yes, dog training to helping people quit smoking. And it works for helping men break the bad habits they’ve developed over the years, too. I have hundreds of letters from satisfied readers to prove it.

The Man Tamer

RACHEL WESTOVER’S second-most favorite thing in the world was chocolate-covered strawberries. Since her most favorite thing wasn’t something she could do in public, she was happy to see the strawberries prominently displayed on the buffet table at Denton Morrison’s annual brag party. The media mogul and all-around rich guy made it a point to throw a party for himself every year to celebrate his accomplishments and to show off his latest project for the press.

Rachel’s plan for the evening was to corral Denton at some point and ask him—again—about her proposal to fill the vacant slot in the afternoon local programming block of KTXK, the television station he owned. After all, as the most popular columnist in the history of Belinda magazine—another Denton Morrison holding—it was time she expanded her audience to television. Chocolate-covered strawberries were the perfect fuel to prepare her for her encounter with “Mr. Money” Morrison.

Anticipating that first luscious bite, she transferred three of the largest berries to her plate. They were the size of eggs and coated in dark chocolate. Yummmmmm.

“Have you talked to him yet? What did he say?”

Rachel looked up from the strawberries to her best friend, Moira Stapleton, who was hurrying toward her from the other end of the buffet table. “Did he say yes? Did he give you the afternoon time slot?” Moira asked as she skidded to a stop in front of Rachel. Five foot two inches, with a cloud of dark curls and Bambi eyes, Moira reminded Rachel of a nervous poodle.

“I haven’t talked to Denton yet. I’m working up the nerve.” She nodded to her plate.

Moira’s eyes widened. “Oooh, those look yummy. And fattening.” She pressed her lips together, resisting temptation. Moira lived off black coffee, water and sushi, and it showed. She wore a size zero. If she weren’t so much fun Rachel might have been tempted to snap her in two like the twig she was.

Moira rose up on tiptoe and scanned the crowd. “Have you seen David? He was supposed to meet me here.”

“I haven’t seen him, but I just got here myself.” David Brewer was an accountant at Morrison Enterprises and Moira’s erstwhile boyfriend.

“You don’t think he’s going to stand me up again, do you?” Deep worry lines formed above Moira’s nose. “He’s so absentminded. He’ll get to working on his car or watching a game and the next thing you know, he’s forgotten all about me.”

Rachel thought a man in love ought to be more considerate than that. What did it say about the depth of his feelings if replacing spark plugs or counting touch-downs could make him forget his soul mate? “Have you been trying any of my techniques?” she asked.

The worry lines deepened. “I tried, but I guess I’m not very good at discipline. I mean, he looks at me with those big brown eyes and I melt. I just want to be with him, you know?”

“I know.” Rachel patted her friend’s shoulder. “But remember, you’re the woman. It’s up to you to set the tone for the relationship. And those techniques have been proven to work. Do you still have the list?”

“Yes.” Moira opened her purse and began digging through it. She came up with a crumpled computer printout. “One, teach by example,” she read. “Two, praise good behavior. Three, distract from bad behavior. Four, substitution—replace bad behavior with something else. Five, reprimand bad behavior. Six, withhold affection until he behaves properly. Seven, punish bad behavior. Eight, restrict unwanted behavior. Nine, reward good behavior, and ten, acceptance—a last resort.” She looked up at Rachel. “Maybe I’m at number ten. I mean, you can’t really change people, can you?”

“Behavior modification isn’t about changing him,” Rachel said. “Only the way he acts.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“Of course not. He’ll still be the man you love, only better.”

Moira stuffed the list back into her purse. “I don’t know. I mean, this man-taming stuff may work for some of your readers, but maybe every man doesn’t respond to this kind of thing.”

Rachel shook her head. “I don’t believe that. You just have to keep working at it.”

“No offense, but if they work so great, why are you still single?”

Rachel had heard the question so often now she didn’t even flinch. “You know why. Since my Man Tamer column became so popular, I can’t find a man who’ll risk dating me.” If she was lucky enough to find a guy who hadn’t heard of her column, after a date or two one of his friends tipped him off and he disappeared.

Not to mention so many of the men she met were so, well, bland. They were handsome, professional, with money and manners and plenty of opinions, but with no real spark. Where were the debonair, charming and sophisticated men with polish and personality?

The last guy she’d dated had even accused her of being too cool—but what did he expect when he did nothing to raise her temperature?

“Men don’t want to be tamed,” Moira said. She grinned. “They’re all afraid of you.”

“It’s just the name of my column. It doesn’t mean I go after men with a whip.”

Moira giggled. “You might try it sometime. Some guys really go for that sort of thing.” She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “Your sister’s here.”

Rachel flinched. “Where?” Rhonda Westover MacMillan—Mrs. Harrison MacMillan—could never forget her role as big sister, which to her way of thinking gave her carte blanche to run Rachel’s life.

“Over by the door to the terrace. With that group of men.”

Of course Rhonda was with a group of men. The hairier sex had panted after her ever since she was a toddler in ruffled panties in nursery school, where she would bat her eyelashes and little boys would vie to share their afternoon animal crackers with her.

Rachel studied her sister now as she held court over five men in black suits, like some lounge singer with her backup group. Clinging close to her side was Harrison MacMillan himself, fifteen years older and many times richer than Rhonda. But of course, all that money was Rhonda’s now, and Rhonda made sure plenty of it was spent on keeping up her fabulous face and figure, not to mention endowing numerous charities and throwing lavish parties, all of which served to keep her name in the paper as one of Dallas’s most famous socialites.

Which explained what she was doing at Denton’s big shindig. The two ran in the same circles, though they weren’t exactly friends.

What would Rhonda say when little sister had her own television show? Rachel wondered. The first time a member of the public recognized Rachel before Rhonda, big sister would have to buy out Nieman Marcus to assuage her wounded ego.

Frankly, Rachel couldn’t wait.

“Are you going to go over and say hello?” Moira asked.

Rachel shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt.” Besides, Rhonda was sure to seek her out, if only to offer some bit of sisterly wisdom. Last time they’d met, Rachel had endured a lecture on the evils of cheap shoes. Never mind that they were at a backyard barbecue. Rachel had worn a pair of funky flip-flops, decorated with rhinestones and feathers. Rhonda, teetering on silver high-heeled sandals, swore her little sister was going to ruin her feet or—worse—get a reputation for being tacky. “I’m sure we’ll bump into each other sooner or later.” But not if Rachel could avoid it.

Moira was no longer listening. She was staring toward the door, her expression lightened. “There’s David. I’ll catch up with you later.”

She darted off after her man, leaving Rachel alone with her strawberries. The chocolate had softened a little on her plate, but that would make them all the more decadent.

She lifted a fat berry by the stem and shut her eyes. Her mouth closed over the treat and she took the first bite, sweet juice and velvety cocoa mingling in her mouth. She moaned a little at the positively orgasmic mix of luscious strawberry and rich, smooth chocolate.

“Excuse me, waiter,” said a masculine voice at her elbow. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

Rachel’s eyes snapped open and she stared at the man who’d interrupted her moment of indulgence. Tall and muscular, he managed to look rough-around-the-edges in spite of his tailored blue suit. His gold-streaked brown hair needed a trim and the stubble along his chiseled jaw testified to the fact that it had been a few days since he’d used a razor. He smelled of expensive aftershave and leather, an intoxicating combination even though he obviously wasn’t Rachel’s type. She preferred someone more sophisticated, less…rugged.

Of course, right now rugged didn’t sound so bad. She was a woman who hadn’t had a serious relationship in fourteen months, two weeks and three days. But who was counting?

“Don’t let me stop you,” the man said in a definite Aussie drawl. “I’m quite enjoyin’ the show.”

Rachel managed to swallow the rest of the bite of strawberry and looked for somewhere to stash her plate for safekeeping. Whether it was the warmth of the room, or the heat that had swept through her upon locking eyes with the gorgeous Neanderthal in front of her, chocolate had melted all over her fingers and was running down her hand. “Where are the napkins?” she asked.

“Don’t see any,” the hunk said, not bothering to look around. His blue eyes telegraphed his amusement at the whole situation.

“There have to be napkins somewhere!” She looked around, frantic. The chocolate was in danger of dripping either onto her white silk dress or the white Berber carpeting. But of course there wasn’t so much as a cocktail square anywhere in sight.

She was debating wiping her hands on the white linen tablecloth when the hunk spoke up again. “Might be I can help.”

Before Rachel could protest, he took hold of her wrist and brought her fingers to his mouth. As she gaped at him, he began licking the chocolate from her fingers.

She froze at the first touch of his tongue and stared at him, heart pounding. Was this guy for real? They didn’t even know each other and he was taking these kinds of liberties. Worse, as his tongue caressed her skin she began to feel weak in the knees and seriously turned on.

How pathetic was it that a total stranger could make her this hot? Granted, he was a gorgeous specimen who practically oozed testosterone, but if she hadn’t been so socially deprived of late surely she would have told him where to get off instead of melting into a puddle at his feet like this.

In the meantime he kept licking the chocolate from her fingers. Hot velvety tongue gliding over sensitive nerve endings, sending sparks of sensation traveling through her until her whole body practically quivered. She wanted to steady herself with her free hand on his broad, muscular shoulder, but she was powerless to do anything but breathe hard.

When all the chocolate was gone he released her and they stood staring at each other. He looked almost as dazed as she felt, and as his gaze continued to bore into her she became aware of a warm flush washing over her cheeks. Here was a man who had definitely raised her temperature—too much. She had important business to think about this evening. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by a good-looking stranger—no matter how lust-worthy.

“I—I can’t believe you did that,” she stammered, tearing her eyes away from him and attempting to regain her composure.

“Must be the champagne.” He took a step back and raked a hand through his hair, only succeeding in adding to his sexy, just-rolled-out-of-bed look. “Where’s a decent beer when you need one?”

Rachel eyed the plate of strawberries, wondering if she dared risk finishing them. She really needed chocolate about now. Maybe when Mr. Gorgeous left…. “I think there’s a keg in the corner,” she said.

He made a face. “Not that American piss. I mean a real beer.”

The conviction in his voice almost made her laugh. “Let me guess—you mean an Australian beer.”

“Accent gave me away, did it?” He grinned. His middle upper tooth was slightly crooked, as if it had been knocked loose at some point and never quite fixed in place. Rachel’s stomach fluttered. Since when had crooked teeth been sexy? Obviously, since now.

“Who are you?” she asked. Despite the suit, he didn’t remotely resemble the usual cadre of executives associated with Denton Morrison.

“Name’s Garret Kelly.” He offered his hand. A large, warm hand that engulfed hers. His grin widened. “Oops, feels like I missed a spot.” He held up her hand for inspection. “There it is, right by your thumb.”

Before she could protest, he bent his head low and drew her thumb into his mouth. This time, she did brace herself with a hand to his shoulder. She was dimly aware she was losing it badly—losing her dignity and focus and all those things she prided herself on. But she couldn’t seem to help it. Brash, brawny Garret Kelly—and his amazing tongue—had positively bewitched her.

He was doing more incredible things to her with his tongue when an all too familiar voice boomed in her ear. “I’m glad you two are getting to know each other, but do you think you could contain yourselves until you’re alone?”

Rachel jerked her hand from Garret’s grasp and jumped back, bumping into the buffet table, china and crystal chiming. “Mr. Morrison! This isn’t what you think!”

With his shaved head, single gold earring and suit tailored to hide his paunch, Denton Morrison resembled a genie turned corporate kingpin. Now he was grinning like a genie wacked out on fairy dust. “I think it’s perfect!” he chortled. “The press will love it.”

Rachel’s stomach sank to somewhere around her knees. Not a good sign that Denton was so gleeful. The only thing the billionaire liked better than money was publicity. She didn’t want to think what kind of angle he’d play with her and this Aussie Adonis. She glanced at the plate of strawberries longingly. What she wouldn’t give for another chocolate fix—alone.

Garret kept a grin fixed on his face while stifling a groan. He could blame his impulsive behavior on the champagne, but he’d only had one glass. Part of the credit had to go to the sheila in front of him. If she could be that passionate about a strawberry, imagine what she’d be like in bed.

What could he say? He was a man who had a great appreciation for the female sex. Particularly females with long tanned legs and abundant blond hair and curves in all the right places. Women who tasted of chocolate and smelled of expensive perfume, whose skin slid like satin against his mouth.

He shifted his stance, an inconvenient hard-on making him glad he’d worn fuller-cut trousers.

He glanced at the woman again and noticed the worried look she was shooting at Denton. She was exactly the kind of woman Denton went for, he realized with a frown. He hoped this one wasn’t another of Denton’s trophies, though since she was at his party, odds were she was. She certainly looked guilty enough over being caught with him.

“Rachel Westover and Wild Man Kelly—why didn’t I think of it before?” Denton slapped Garret on the back. The billionaire was grinning like a manic clown. Garret’s bullshit meter was pegged all the way to the right. What was Denton up to?

“Wild Man Kelly?” The woman—Rachel—had regained her poise and now studied him with a new skepticism in her green eyes. Garret’s frown deepened. He detested the nickname Denton had saddled him with, but it had already caught on with the press, so he was trying to learn to live with it.

“You’re looking at the star player on the new Dallas Devils lacrosse team,” Denton announced, slapping Garret on the back again.

Garret glared at Denton. Try that one more time, mate….

“Lacrosse?” Rachel looked puzzled.

“Indoor lacrosse,” Denton said. “Fastest growing sport in the country. The speed and high scoring of basketball, the rough stuff and athleticism of hockey.”

“And your newest acquisition,” Rachel said.

“Lacrosse is going to be big in Dallas,” Denton said. “And Wild Man is going to help make it that way. He was number one in scoring last year, number one in assists and number one in time in the penalty box. He’s a wild man! The fans love him, and so does the press.”

Garret wished he’d lay off. Denton made him sound like some kind of degenerate. “How do you know Denton?” he asked Rachel.

“She works for me,” Denton said before Rachel could answer. “I tell you, the two of you meeting is just perfect.”

Perfect for what? Garret wondered

“Speaking of the press,” Rachel put her hand on Denton’s arm. “I wonder if I might have a few words with you—alone.” She shot a look at Garret.

No one ever said he couldn’t take a hint. He nodded to Rachel. “Pleasure meeting you, Miss Westover.”

“I’m sure you two will be seeing each other again soon,” Denton said.

“Oh, no doubt of that.” Garret could still taste the chocolate on his tongue, still feel the satin of her skin against his mouth. He had every intention of looking her up again when they could be alone and really get to know one another.

TEACH BY EXAMPLE, praise good behavior, distract…substitute…reprimand…withhold…punish…restrict…reward…accept. Rachel’s advice played over and over in Moira’s head like a bad radio jingle. By the time she reached David she was sure the smile she gave him was strained. “Hi, sweetie,” she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I’m glad you made it.”

“Yeah, well, I figured I’d better put in an appearance.”

“You look great,” she said, brushing a bit of lint from the shoulder of his sport coat. The fabric stretched across his muscular body. Though not too tall, he still had the stocky build of the football lineman he’d been in high school. A little heavier around the middle, but still very attractive, she thought.

He accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and started across the floor toward the buffet table, Moira in his wake. “Let’s grab some food and mingle a little, then we can bug out. The Stars drop puck at eight. I’d like to at least get home in time for the second period.”

Hockey. Moira rolled her eyes. Lately, David’s idea of a hot date was an evening on the sofa watching sports. They could cuddle during commercials, but otherwise interruptions were not welcome.

At the buffet, David filled a plate with food while Moira tried to figure out which of Rachel’s principles to use. She’d already praised him for showing up. Distraction?

“I thought maybe tonight we could do something different,” she said. “There’s a new club over in Deep Elum. The band is supposed to be great. I know you like discovering new music.”

“Yeah, but not on a hockey night.” He scowled at her. “You know me better than that.”

Did she? When they’d first started dating, David had been a fun, attentive companion. He could always make her laugh with his dumb jokes, and he’d proved to be a sensitive lover. But lately he’d taken her for granted. As if he’d grown so comfortable in her presence he no longer had to make any effort to improve their relationship.

“Hey, is that Garret Kelly?”

“Who?” She looked up to find David pointing across the room. “Where?”

“The big guy over there by the keg. That is him. Let’s go meet him.” He grabbed her hand and tugged her across the room.

“Who is Garret Kelly?” she protested, dragged along like a dinghy towed by a yacht.

“Only the best indoor lacrosse player in the country. Led the league in goals last year when he was with the Denver Mammoth.”

Sports again. Moira groaned.

They reached the group by the keg. “Hey, I’m Dave Brewer.” Dave stuck out his hand. “I’m a big fan of yours.”

“Pleased t’ meet you, Dave.” Garret turned his smile on Moira. “And who is this lovely lady?”

Moira stood straighter and resisted smoothing her hair. Talk about a gentleman….

“That’s Moira,” Dave said. He scarcely glanced at her before turning his attention once more to Kelly. “I heard the Dallas Devils signed you. That’s terrific. I can’t wait to see you play.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Garret said. He smiled at Moira again. He had a nice smile. Sexy even, if you liked the big, brawny type. “Moira, do you know everyone here?” he asked.

She shook her head. None of the people in the circle looked familiar to her.

“These are some of the other players on the team. This chap on my left is Bud Mayhew. Next to him is our goalie Tate Maguire and his wife Leslie. Then Guy Clifford, Slate Williams and Peter Rutherford. And of course you know Dave.”

Right. Dave who was all but ignoring her. The others smiled and murmured hello.

“Love those shoes,” Leslie Maguire said. “You’ll have to tell me some good places to shop around here.”

“Don’t do it, I beg you,” her husband said. “I’m already reduced to one little section of the closet.”

“There’s always the spare bedroom,” Leslie said meaningfully.

“Fine, shop all you want,” Tate conceded. “Just don’t make me go with you.”

“I know what you mean.” David inserted himself in the conversation once more. “Moira’s always after me to take her to the mall. Why women think men would be interested in that kind of thing is beyond me.”

Moira frowned at him. She almost never asked David to go shopping with her. In fact, she could think of nothing worse than having a whining man tagging along while she was trying on shoes. She turned to Leslie once more. “I’d love to go shopping with you one day,” she said. “And you should meet my friend Rachel. She’s about your size and has great taste in clothes.”

“Rachel Westover?” Garret Kelly froze in the act of raising a beer to his lips. “You know her?”

“Sure. She’s my best friend.” Moira braced herself for yet another comment about Rachel’s man taming column.

“Just met her tonight. Over by the buffet table.” He took a sip of beer. “Interesting woman.”

“Yes, Rachel is very…interesting.” And she must have made quite an impression on Garret Kelly. Moira subtly checked him out. Nice suit, but no tie. Definitely the rugged, athletic type. Definitely not Rachel’s preferred sort of date, but there was something to be said for a man’s man.

Was he man enough to stand up to the Man Tamer? Moira chuckled to herself. Could be Rachel would finally meet her match. No doubt the battle would be fun to watch—from a safe distance.

2

Men and Sports

Dear Man Tamer:

My boyfriend loves sports. Sometimes I think he loves them more than he loves me. He is always going to games or watching them on television. Our entire social calendar is planned around baseball, hockey, football and basketball season. Now he’s talking about taking up golf! What can I do to save this relationship?

Hates Sports

Dear Hates Sports:

This is a tough one. For many men, sports are like a religion. They identify with teams and players and are invested in the outcome of games. But these are only games and the trick is to show the man in your life how much he is missing of real life—i.e., a relationship with you—by being so involved in sports. I suggest you start by attempting to distract him by planning fabulous evenings alone. Favorite foods and hot sex are usually winning distractions. Some women have had success in learning to love sports and sharing them with their men, but if you do this, I suggest insisting he meet you halfway and learn to love movies or ballet or whatever your passion is. After all, a relationship is a partnership. You shouldn’t do all the work. In the end, you may have to confront him with an ultimatum. Does he choose sports or you? If he chooses sports, your heart may be broken, but at least you won’t have wasted your life on someone who couldn’t give you the love you need. Let me know how it goes!

The Man Tamer

RACHEL WATCHED Wild Man Kelly’s departure. Her fingers still tingled from the touch of his tongue. Her breasts felt heavy and aching, and the dull throbbing in her groin testified to how fully turned on she’d been within mere seconds of first laying eyes on him. He’d had her so under his spell that if he’d suddenly laid her back on the buffet table and begun stripping off his clothes she wouldn’t have protested.

She shifted and squeezed her thighs together, breathless at the thought of herself laid out among the chocolate tarts and cream puffs, a half-naked Garret looming over her.

He’d certainly lived up to his nickname so far. If she didn’t have serious business to discuss with Denton, she wouldn’t have minded getting to know Garret better. Not that he was at all her type, but he would probably be fun for a fling—provided he didn’t get too wigged out by her occupation.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Denton asked. “I haven’t got all evening.”

Denton’s prompt pulled her back to the present. “Have you made a decision on the afternoon slot on KTXK?” she asked.

“No. I’ve got a chance to buy the rights to reruns of Space Cadet Coeds.”

“Space Cadet Coeds?” Was he for real? “I’ve never heard of it.”

“Number one in Japan last year,” he said. “I think it’ll be a big hit.”

“Who’s going to watch a Japanese import when they can have a hometown star?” She drew herself up to her full five feet six inches. “The Man Tamer is the number-one relationship column in the state,” she said. “A Man Tamer television show would draw the coveted twenty to forty-year-old female demographic, plus it would increase readership for my column.”

Denton waved away her words as if he was brushing off a pesky fly. “I’m also thinking about filling that slot with a show all about lacrosse. If would be a great way to build interest for the team.”

“You said yourself lacrosse is already hot. Why would you need a show about it?”

“Lacrosse is something that appeals to both men and women. Especially with a star like Wild Man on the team. Who’s going to watch your show but a bunch of women with man troubles?”

Only every woman in the city, if you put it that way, she thought. In her experience, every man was some kind of trouble. “So what if the show mainly appeals to women?” she asked. “That’s a lot of viewers. Not to mention with my training in psychology and the strong following I already have with the magazine, I could be the next Dr. Phil.”

Denton looked pained. “Rachel, you apply dog-training techniques to handling men. It’s a cute concept for a column, but I just don’t see it translating to television.”

“It’s not dog training!” she practically shrieked. Noticing half a dozen people turn to look at them, she sucked in a deep breath and tried to remain calm. “My columns promote the use of proven behavior modification techniques.”

“Dog training,” Denton repeated.

“Call it what you want, but it works. I have hundreds of letters from satisfied readers who’ve tried my man-taming techniques and transformed their relationships.”

Denton looked thoughtful. “So you’re telling me you can take any man and turn him into the perfect tame boyfriend using your techniques?”

“Of course.”

“Even someone like Wild Man Kelly?”

She glanced toward where Garret was standing by the keg, surrounded by half a dozen admiring men and women. He stood with one hand in his pocket, the other holding a plastic cup, a casual, slouching pose. The too long hair, beard stubble and general demeanor spoke of a quintessential bachelor who didn’t care much about his appearance. No doubt his apartment was a sty and his idea of a balanced meal was a slice of pizza in one hand and a beer in the other. Hundreds of women had written to her about similar men in their lives.

“I’ve seen worse.” Of course, none of those men had managed to reduce her to a whimpering mass of hormones within two minutes of meeting her.

“Then maybe we can make a deal.”

“Huh?” She blinked at Denton, coming out of her lust-induced fog.

“I’ll make you a little bet.” Denton actually rubbed his hands together, a gesture she had never seen outside of a B-movie. “You apply your man-taming principles to Garret Kelly to tame him and if you succeed, you can have your show.”

“That’s fantastic!” In her elation, she almost hugged Denton, but restrained herself just in time. “This will be the easiest bet I ever won.”

“Don’t count on it,” Denton said. “Kelly’s got way too much testosterone in his system to tame.” He chuckled. “I don’t call him Wild Man for nothing. And from what I hear, that applies to both on and off the field.”

She glanced toward Garret again. A short brunette was beaming up at him, her expression telegraphing the message, Take me, I’m yours. So maybe Wild Man wouldn’t be a pushover. No one ever said she didn’t like a challenge.

“I can handle the Wild Man,” she said, a thrill running through her at the thought. Okay, so she’d like to handle him in more ways than one. All in good time….

“Denton, how marvelous to see you!” Rhonda, her timing impeccable as always, descended on them in a perfumed cloud. She offered her cheek to Denton, who obligingly kissed her. Rhonda made a show of just now noticing Rachel’s presence. “Hello, Rachel. I didn’t know you were here.”

“Of course not. Why would you notice little old me?” She took a step closer to Denton, in an attempt to keep him from being completely lured away by Rhonda’s black-belt charm. “Denton and I were just discussing our plans for a television show based on my Man Taming columns.”

She ignored Denton’s frown and kept her gaze fixed on her sister.

Rhonda’s smile vanished, replaced by an expression more appropriate for funerals and firing squads. “Oh no! Please tell me you aren’t going to embarrass yourself—not to mention the rest of the family—by taking these ridiculous ideas of yours public.”

“Hello? I write a monthly column with a circulation of over two hundred thousand. I’d say that’s pretty public.”

“The Man Tamer is one of Belinda magazine’s most popular features,” Denton said. His defense of her pleased Rachel, though she suspected the billionaire just liked pitting the sisters against each other. The socially acceptable equivalent of female mud wrestling.

Rhonda’s expression didn’t lighten in the least. “I suppose reality television and daytime talk shows prove the general public has a taste for sensationalism,” she said. “Still, it’s difficult to accept that a beloved family member would lower herself so.”

Only Denton’s presence and fear of making a public scene saved Rachel from slapping her sister. She forced a saccharine smile to her face. “Just think of it as my way of helping people to get the most out of their relationships,” she said. “I know how interested you are in philanthropy.” Rhonda was on the board of half a dozen Dallas charities—not because she was so interested in the underprivileged, but because it kept her name and face in the spotlight.

“Speaking of charity…” Rhonda latched onto Denton’s arm and fixed him with a dazzling smile. Rachel thought about telling her to lay off the teeth whitening. It was starting to look a little scary. “I wanted to discuss the upcoming fund-raiser for the Children’s Hospital….” Ignoring Rachel, she steered Denton away, a determined tugboat towing a not-so-reluctant barge.

Rachel headed back toward the buffet table and a fresh plate of strawberries—and a pile of napkins. She was going to drown her frustrations in chocolate and plot her next move with Garret Kelly. A positively evil smile shaped her lips as she pictured herself, on Garret’s arm, introducing him to Rhonda. “This is Wild Man Kelly,” she’d say. “The star of the Dallas Devils and my very good friend.” One older husband—no matter how wealthy and socially prominent—wasn’t a match for a muscular hunk with a sexy foreign accent. Rhonda would be positively green. A good color on her, Rachel thought.

“MEN LIKE GARRET KELLY think they’re happy living the way they do, but that’s only because they don’t know what they’re missing.” The following Monday, Rachel stirred sweetener into her iced tea and eyed Moira across the café table. “I can show men like him how to improve their lives.”

“For your sake, I hope it involves regular sex,” Moira said. “That’s something that’s been missing from your life for a while.”

Rachel ignored the dig. “I can’t let myself get distracted by my personal desires,” she said. “This is serious business. If I can prove my man-taming principles work on a he-man like Garret Kelly, I can have a whole new career in television.”

“That’s a big if.” Moira added pepper to her salad. “A man who goes by the nickname ‘Wild Man’ might not respond well to taming.”

“I’m not going to fail.” No matter what Denton or Rhonda or anyone else thinks. “I’m going to devote all my energy to this project. I will have that television show.”

“I guess there’s nothing that says you can’t enjoy yourself while you’re at it,” Moira said. “After all, Garret Kelly is awfully sexy. If you like the big, brawny type.”

The memory of Garret’s mouth wrapped around her fingers made Rachel squirm in her seat. “Yeah. He’s all right.”

“All right? Girl, you should have seen the women drooling over him at Denton’s party. And he asked about you.”

She blinked. “He did? What did he say?”

“I mentioned that I was your friend and he said you were very interesting. But he said it in a way that meant he was interested in getting to know you better.”

“Well, that’s good. It should make my job easier.” If she could keep from getting distracted by her own rampant lust.

“So, are you just going to walk up to him and announce that you’re the Man Tamer, here to transform him?” Moira asked.

She shook her head. “No. Denton’s decided pairing the two of us will make a great publicity stunt. The Wild Man and the Man Tamer—get it? Part of his plan to gain as much press as possible for the Dallas Devils and his new star player.”

Getting Garret to go along with the scheme might be a little tricky, but if anyone could do it, Denton could. The man was a master manipulator. He’d play up the publicity angle and Rachel would pretend to go along. If Garret was like most men, he’d have no clue she was working to tame him. It was part of the beauty of her techniques and one reason they were so successful.

She took a bite of salad and chewed thoughtfully, then, anxious to move the conversation away from her impending transformation of Wild Man to Perfect Boyfriend, she asked, “How are things with you and Dave?”

Moira slumped in her chair. “The man is addicted to hockey, basketball and now lacrosse. There’s some game on almost every night, and of course he has to watch them all. I’d get more attention from him if I painted my body like a scoreboard.”

“Hmm. Maybe he’s taking for granted you’ll always be there. Have you tried ignoring him? Purposely staying away?”

“Would that be ‘withholding affection’?” Moira asked.

“Exactly.”

“I’m afraid he wouldn’t even notice. And where would that leave me?”

Better off? Rachel thought, but she didn’t say it. “Then do you love him enough to resign yourself to being a sports widow?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Moira fiddled with her fork. “I do love him. And I think deep down, he still loves me. But I don’t want to spend the rest of my life being taken for granted this way.”

“Then maybe it’s time to punish his bad behavior,” Rachel said.

“How do I do that? Disconnect his cable?”

Rachel smiled. “That’s one alternative. But I was thinking of bringing another man into the picture. Make Dave jealous.”

Moira’s eyes widened. “I couldn’t do that.”

“Why not? If Dave’s deserted you for professional sports, you can give him a taste of his own medicine by paying attention to someone else.”

“Right.” Moira looked around. “And where are all these men vying for my attention?”

“They’re out there. You haven’t noticed them because you’re giving off ‘taken’ vibes. You just have to make yourself available and someone will show up.”

“Spoken by someone who hasn’t had a steady boyfriend in two years.”

“It’s only been a little over a year. And I didn’t have trouble getting dates before my column became so high profile.” At least, Rachel hoped that was the reason. She hated to think men avoided her because of something in her personality.

“Speaking of high profile, did you know your sister’s on the front page of the Lifestyles section of today’s Morning News?”

“What is it this time?” Rachel said. “The Children’s Hospital fund-raiser or the Junior League tea?”

“She’s the hostess with the mostest for the Winter Fantasy Costume Ball. Apparently it’s a big honor.”

“And so much more socially acceptable than a tacky daytime television show or bestselling magazine column.” Rachel wrinkled her nose. “Well, whoopee for her. I’ll have to call and congratulate her.”

“Don’t let her get to you, Rach.” Moira stabbed at her salad. “You know you wouldn’t trade places with her for anything. I can’t imagine anything more boring than spending your days in meetings and planning sessions with a bunch of other society matrons.”

“The money she has would be nice, but you’re right—I wouldn’t trade places with her.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she doesn’t envy you,” Moira said.

Rachel laughed. “Oh, you’re wrong there. Rhonda is exactly where she always wanted to be. Why would she envy me?”

“Maybe because you’re younger, cooler and free to do pretty much anything you want—including date hot guys like Garret Kelly.”

Rhonda, envious? The idea was absurd but cheering. “I guess I do have it pretty good,” Rachel said. “Not that Garret and I are dating.” Yet.

“But you are going to be seeing a lot of him,” Moira pointed out. “I take it the two of you are supposed to make public appearances and stuff?”

“Something like that.” Rachel poked at her salad, searching for a chunk of avocado, a shred of cheese or a candied walnut—something besides greens. “Apparently, Garret’s contract obligates him to do publicity for the team, and I’m just going along for the ride.”

“Except you have an ulterior motive.”

She nodded. “Except for that. But Garret doesn’t have to know that. It will probably make it easier on me if he doesn’t. Then he won’t be trying so hard to resist my techniques.”

“What about you? Are you going to resist his techniques?” Moira laughed. “I’m thinking you shouldn’t try too hard.”

“Very funny.” There was no denying the sparks that had passed between her and the hunky athlete at Denton’s party. Who was to say she shouldn’t use that attraction to her advantage? This was serious business, but no one said she couldn’t have fun in the process.

GARRET WAS JUST getting off work Tuesday when his phone rang. “Hullo, mate,” he said as he flipped open the phone.

“Is this Wild Man Kelly?” a feminine voice teased.

“The one and only,” he said, playing the hale-and-hearty chap despite his wariness that some fan had got hold of his private number.

“This is Rachel Westover. We met at Denton Morrison’s party?”

He grinned, uneasiness fleeing. “As if I’d ever forget. Need help with any more chocolate?”

“Um, no. But I was hoping to get together soon.”

The knowledge that she’d remembered him, and sought him out, pleased him no end. “How about tonight? I’m just getting off work, so I’ll need to clean up a bit, but I could meet you at say—” he checked his watch “—six-thirty?”

“Work? Do you mean, practice?”

“No, I mean a real job. Lacrosse players don’t pull in the ready like American football players and such. We have to work for a living like regular blokes.”

“So what do you do?”

“I have my own fire and safety company. We install alarm systems, fire extinguishers, that sort of thing in homes and businesses.”

“Who knew? So do you want to meet for drinks at six-thirty? There’s a club on Fifteenth Street. Tangerine. Do you know it?”

“I can find it. I’ll see you there.”

On the drive to his apartment, Garret thought about Rachel. He knew very little about her beyond her name and that she worked for Denton in some capacity. And that she had amazingly soft skin and a passion for chocolate. Not a bad foundation for a new relationship, he supposed.

He’d heard no more from Denton about whatever publicity stunt he’d been hatching for him and Rachel. Maybe the team owner had had second thoughts about the Wild Man having a girlfriend.

Garret’s contract obligated him to do whatever Denton came up with to promote the team, from making commercials to escorting beautiful models to high-profile events. But what he did on his own time was his business. Rachel Westover was a woman he’d just as soon keep all to himself.

He turned into the lot of his apartment complex, an upscale place owned by Morrison Enterprises. As he was climbing out of his car, Bud Mayhew waved at him from two spaces down. Mayhew was another newcomer to Dallas, as was most of the team. He hailed from Alberta, Canada, and was a pretty quiet guy, letting his skills on the court speak for him.

“Want to come up later and watch the hockey game?” Bud asked, loping over to join Garret.

“Can’t, I’ve got a date.”

“Oh? Who with?”

“Lady named Rachel. Met her at Denton’s party.”

Bud grinned. “Moira’s friend, right?”

“That’s the one.”

“If she’s half as good-looking as Moira, you’re a lucky man.”

Garret glanced at his friend. This was the first time he could remember Bud commenting on a woman. “So you thought Moira was a beauty?” Personally, he didn’t go for the skinny, small type. They looked too fragile for a big guy like him to have anything to do with.

“Sure. She was great. And taken.” Bud frowned. “Though that Dave guy she was with was a real ass.”

“I could get her number from Rachel. You could call her up.”

“No thanks.” Bud took a step back, shaking his head.

“Why not, mate? It’s just a phone call.”

Bud shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the ground. “What would I say? I’d sound like an idiot.”

Garret grinned. “We’re all idiots, mate. Especially when it comes to women. Accept that and you’ll be a lot better off.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not interested in proving it every time I open my mouth.” He took another step back. “Go get ready for your date. See ya around.”

“See ya.” Garret waved at Bud, then took the steps to his apartment two at a time. He could have told Bud that he himself was once the shy, retiring type who had learned to overcome his reticence and get the girl. Of course it would all be ballocks. Garret never found it difficult to talk to people, men or women. The only advice he had for Bud was to get over himself and just do it.

In the past it had been pointed out to him that this wasn’t particularly helpful, so that was the end of his advice giving. And he wasn’t much for taking advice, either.

After all, no one needed to tell him that he and Rachel had started something at Denton’s party. With any luck tonight, they’d keep things going in a very good way.

RACHEL STEPPED INTO Tangerine and let her eyes adjust to the light. There was a good crowd for a Tuesday night, and a DJ was spinning dance tunes from a booth overlooking the smallish dance floor. She spotted Garret at a tall table near the bar and made her way through the crush to him. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I had trouble finding a parking spot.”

“No worries. I haven’t been here long.” He signaled the waitress. “What can I get you?”

“Diet Coke with lime.” She settled into her chair. “I don’t like to drink and drive.” Not to mention she wanted to keep all her wits about her when dealing with him.

“Smart woman. I took light rail so I’m free to get blotto.”

It took half a second for her to realize he was joking. That crooked-tooth grin of his did serious things to her insides. Get a grip, she reminded herself, and looked out over the dance floor. She told herself she needed to evaluate him objectively before she began the actual work of applying her man-taming principles.

She studied him out of the corner of her eye. He was wearing a striped button-down shirt, tails untucked, over a dark green T-shirt. He had shaved. For her? A good sign.

All in all, she decided her initial impression of him was accurate: good-looking, casual attitude toward dress and grooming, masculine and self-confident. And sexy. She couldn’t forget sexy.

His grin transformed into a knowing smile and he winked. “Caught you looking,” he said.

She couldn’t stop the hot flush that engulfed her face. The curse of being fair-skinned, she told herself.

Her drink arrived and she took a long sip, trying to rein in her libido. She had a job to do here. Garret obviously had rough edges that needed smoothing and she was just the woman to do it. Contrary to what Denton thought, the object was not to emasculate the man, only to bring his behavior up to a higher level.

“You look great,” he said. “I’m really glad you called me. I’ve been meaning to ask Denton for your number.”

Did this mean he didn’t know about Denton’s plans for them? “Has Denton talked to you about me?” she asked.

“No.” His smile faded. “Is there something I should know about you and Denton?”

“No! I mean, I’m a writer for a magazine he owns. Belinda magazine?”

“Never heard of it. But then, I don’t pay much attention to that sort of thing.”

Now she was certain Denton hadn’t mentioned his scheme to play the “Wild Man meets the Man Tamer” card in the press. And she wasn’t going to be the one to tell Garret. With luck, Denton would forget the publicity angle, though she fully intended to hold him to the terms of their bet. Better change the subject. “Tell me about Australia,” she said. “How long have you been in the States?”

“A couple of years. I got to know a lot of Yanks when I was doing a tour in Iraq and they convinced me this was the place to be for lacrosse. I played on a good team in Queensland and was able to land a roster spot with the Denver Mammoth. Then Dallas was awarded an expansion team this year and Denton recruited me for that.”

The strains of Vivaldi coming from her purse made her jump. She grabbed for the bag. “Sorry, it’s my phone.”

“Of course.” He made a face but said nothing more.

She flipped open the phone and checked the number. Rhonda. What was she doing calling this time of evening?

Rachel shut off the phone and stuffed it back into her bag. “It was my sister. I’ll call her back later.” She shifted in her chair and returned her focus to their previous conversation. “You were in Iraq?” she asked. “As a soldier?”

“No, I was there as a tourist.”

She made a face. “Very funny.” Maybe the war wasn’t a good topic for casual conversation. “Why lacrosse? Why not basketball or rugby or something else?”

He shrugged. “I played rugby in school, but lacrosse was what I was good at.” His grin returned. “It’s a sport that requires you to be very good with your hands.”

“And you’re good with your hands.”

“That I am.” He took a long drink, eyes locked to hers.

If she didn’t know better, she’d have sworn her drink was spiked. How else to explain the tingling in her nerve endings and the flush of heat through her body?

She pushed back her chair. “Let’s dance.”

He shook his head. “No thanks. I don’t dance.”

“Everyone dances.” She grabbed his hand and tugged. It was like trying to move a boulder. “Come on,” she said. “I thought athletes were supposed to be light on their feet.”

“Not this one.” But he let her pull him out of his chair and lead him toward the dance floor. “Don’t come crying to me when your toes are all black and blue.”

“Oh please. There are no steps to this kind of dancing. Just move with the music.”

Two minutes later she was doing her best not to laugh. But she didn’t hide it well enough.

“Don’t think I don’t see that smirk,” he said. He waved his arms in the air like a man trying to flag down a plane. “I told you I wasn’t any good at this.”

“You’re terrible!” she said, bending double with laughter. She had never met anyone with such a lack of rhythm. “I hope you play lacrosse better than you dance.”

“Come to a game and see me. The first one is next week. We’re playing the Calgary Roughnecks.”

“Maybe I will come.” She knew as much about lacrosse as she did bocci ball, but she was willing to make certain sacrifices for the sake of her career.

The music switched abruptly to a slow, dreamy jazz riff. Garret stopped flailing about. “This is more like it,” he said.

The next thing she knew, he was pulling her into his arms. His chest was a hard, warm wall she was pressed against, his arms wrapped securely around her. She told herself she should pull back, put some distance between them. Things were happening too quickly and she needed to think.

But being close to him like this felt better than a full-body massage. Not to mention he was a much better dancer at this speed. They swayed together in a gentle rhythm that made her think of other moves they might make, more intimate rhythms they might respond to.

His hand slid down to the base of her spine. The heat of his touch radiated straight to her groin. She squirmed, letting him know he should back off, but that only succeeded in grinding her pelvis against the hard ridge of his erection. She looked up and his eyes met hers. “See what you do to me?” he said.

“You should keep your hands to yourself,” she said.

“Sorry. I can’t seem to help myself. It’s getting to be a habit where you’re concerned.”

One habit she wasn’t sure she wanted him to break. “Have you been drinking champagne again?” she teased.

“No, I’m intoxicated by you.”

It was a terrible line, but delivered in heated tones, in that sexy voice of his, it made her melt. This wasn’t going at all as she’d imagined.

He bent closer, his mouth very near hers. She shut her eyes and held her breath, anticipating his kiss. She was dying to know what his mouth would feel like. She needed to know.

Instead he pushed her away. She opened her eyes and sighed out her breath in exasperation. And men claimed women liked to tease!

“Song’s over,” he said. But his gaze remained fixed on hers, his eyes dark, intense.

She whirled and started blindly across the floor, intending to find the ladies’ room. She needed to get hold of herself. After all, she was the Man Tamer. She was the one who was supposed to be in charge here!

3

Man-Taming Sex

Dear Man Tamer:

There’s a really hot guy at work that I’m very attracted to. I think he feels the same way about me. I want to ask him out for drinks but I’m afraid where we might end up. Is it ever okay to have sex on the first date?

Hot to Trot

Dear Hot to Trot:

Will you respect yourself in the morning? If you’re secure in yourself, and don’t try to delude yourself into thinking it’s love at this early stage of the game, I say there’s nothing wrong with going for it. If he’s as interested as you say, you could have a great time. Just go in with your eyes open, accepting that he may not call you in the morning. And remember to be safe. Bring condoms in case he doesn’t.

The Man Tamer

SINCE A COLD SHOWER wasn’t readily available, Garret decided he needed a drink. He elbowed his way to the bar and ordered Irish whiskey. Though it would take more than one drink to put out the fire Rachel had started in him.

She returned from the ladies’ room, hair freshly combed, lipstick bright on those lips he’d come dangerously close to kissing. Except he’d been afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop at one kiss, that he’d have ended up embarrassing them both in front of a dance floor full of people.

“What should we do now?” she asked.

His eyes met hers, trying to read her thoughts. But she was doing that thing women do, looking up at him through her lashes, pulling a lacy veil over her thoughts. “You really want to know what I want to do?” he asked.

She blinked. “Of course.”

He set the empty glass on the bar and turned to face her. “I want to take you back to my place and take off all our clothes.”

Her lips parted, though she didn’t make a sound. A rosy flush washed over her cheeks and her eyes darkened. He’d caught her off guard, but he knew an aroused woman when he saw one. The knowledge made him even hotter.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he said. “You’re not that kind of girl. But you are a woman, and the idea turns you on, doesn’t it? Admit it.”

She shook her head. “I’m not admitting anything.”

Which, to his way of thinking, was as good as a yes. “All right then. Why don’t we go someplace quieter and have some coffee. And talk.” Talking wasn’t as good as taking their clothes off, but it could be its own kind of foreplay.

There was a coffee shop around the corner and over coffee drinks that cost as much as his whiskey they talked about their families. A nice, safe, first-date conversation. He learned she was the youngest of four children, the second girl, with two brothers sandwiched between her and her older sister. Her parents lived in Houston and her siblings were scattered around the state. He told her about his mum, who’d raised him and his three sisters on a factory worker’s wages.

“She sounds like an amazing woman,” Rachel said.

He nodded. “She is. But after growing up with all that estrogen, it was nice to get out on my own.”

“Maybe that’s what really attracted you to lacrosse—that it’s such a macho game.”

“Is that what you think? Then you definitely should come to our first game.”

“I wouldn’t have any idea what was going on. I don’t know anything about the game.”

“If you’re going to be hanging out with me, it’s time you learned.”

“And am I going to be hanging out with you?”

Their eyes met and he felt again the rush of blood straight south. “I don’t think there’s any doubt about that, do you?”

She looked away, but a slow smile formed on her lips. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”

“Oh yeah.” This might be one time when he really lived up to his nickname “Wild Man.”

RACHEL WAITED until the next day to return Rhonda’s call. She drummed her nails on the smooth surface of her desk and counted the rings while she waited for her sister to answer. Four…five…“Hello?”

“Finally. What took you so long?”

“I was driving and I had to find a place to pull over,” Rhonda said.

Heaven forbid big sister live dangerously. “That’s what headsets are for,” Rachel said.

“Tell that to all those headset-wearing people with banged-up cars. But I know you didn’t call me to argue about cell phones and driving. What’s up?”

“You called me,” Rachel said. “Last night?”

“Oh, yes. Why didn’t you answer then? What were you doing?”

Engaging in what amounted to verbal foreplay with a very sexy man, Rachel thought. She ought to say just that and shock her big sister, but then Rhonda would probably feel compelled to lecture her on safe sex or the evils of promiscuity or something. Not that Rachel was promiscuous, but she didn’t feel like debating the point with Rhonda. “I was busy,” she said. “What do you want?”

“I want to know if you’ve abandoned this crazy idea of going on television with this whole man-taming thing.”

Of course. Rhonda lived in fear that one of her society friends would learn she was related to the woman who wrote the Man Taming column for Belinda magazine. All that talk about sex—so tacky, don’t you know? “Why would I abandon the idea?” Rachel said. “It’s a great idea and it’s going to be very successful.”

“You could be successful in so many other ways,” Rhonda said. “You don’t have to stoop to this.”

Of course Rhonda saw all this talk about sex as beneath her or her sister. Rachel bit back an angry retort and decided to take a different approach—one that relied on one of her own positive reinforcement principles. “I saw the article about the Winter Fantasy ball,” she said. “Congratulations.”

As Rachel had hoped, her words threw Rhonda off balance. There was a long silence, then Rhonda cleared her throat. “Thank you,” she said. “I was really honored to be named official hostess.”

Rachel resisted the urge to laugh. After all the money Harrison had donated to the effort, if Rhonda hadn’t been named hostess, heads would have rolled. “I’m sure you’ll do a great job,” she said.

“Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?” Rhonda asked.

Rachel did laugh this time. “What do you mean? You’re my sister. Can’t I be nice to my sister?”

“I get it. You’re just trying to make it up to me for embarrassing me all these months with that column of yours.”

“If you’re embarrassed, that’s your problem, not mine,” Rachel said coolly. “I’m very proud of my work.”

“Oh please. Man taming?” Rhonda lowered her voice. “It sounds so…so slutty.”

Rachel laughed again. “Obviously you’ve never read my column or you’d know that it has nothing to do with sex. In fact, maybe you ought to read it. You might learn something that would help your marriage.”

“My marriage is just fine, thank you very much.” Rhonda’s voice was clipped, conveying her deep offense. Then she responded with a classic Rhonda retort. “At least I have a husband.”

“Never mind that,” Rachel snapped. “I’m sorry if it embarrasses you. You’ll just have to find a way to get over that.”

“I’m not thinking of me right now,” Rhonda said. “I’m thinking of you. No man in his right mind is going to want to be seen anywhere near a woman known as the Man Tamer. You might as well check yourself into a convent this minute.”

“A real man wouldn’t be threatened by the idea.” She tried not to sound defensive, but Rhonda must have heard something in her voice anyway.

“Tell me how many dates you’ve had since that column of yours started running?” Rhonda asked.

Rachel smiled. “I had a date just last night,” she said.

“Who with?”

“None of your business. I’m seeing him again on Friday.”

“You’d better tell me who it is.”

“Why should I?”

“If you don’t, I’ll tell Mom about the time you spent the weekend with that guitarist when you told her you were at the beach with friends.”

“That was five years ago.”

“You think Mom won’t care? She was a virgin when she married Dad, you know.” A fact both girls had heard often in their teen years, much to their deep embarrassment.

“I know.” Rachel hesitated, imagining the lectures she’d have to endure from their mother, who still clung to the fantasy that a woman who had remained single in her late twenties was as pure as a preadolescent milkmaid. “All right, it’s Garret Kelly.”

“Who?” Rhonda was no doubt searching her mental database of socially prominent eligible bachelors and coming up blank. Which meant her sister was dating a nobody. The horror!

Rachel’s smile broadened. “Garret Kelly. Star of the Dallas Devils lacrosse team.”

“Oh. An athlete.” Worse than a nobody to Rhonda’s way of thinking.

“Hey, he’s a great guy and a lot of fun.”

“Just what I want in a serious relationship,” Rhonda said dryly. “You’re almost thirty. You can’t play the party girl forever.”

“I will if it will keep me from acting like someone who sucks lemons for fun,” Rachel said. “Listen, this has been a ball, but I’ve got work to do. Goodbye.”

Before Rhonda could say anything else, Rachel hung up, then sat back and stared at the phone. The two sisters knew just what to say to push each other’s buttons, so that almost every conversation became a verbal duel.

Usually, Rachel enjoyed sparring with Rhonda. Big sister was so predictable. It was fun to poke holes in Rhonda’s inflated sense of propriety.

But today she found little joy in the aftermath of this conversation. She’d secretly hoped that by acknowledging the importance to Rhonda of chairing the Winter Fantasy ball that her sister might extend a similar olive branch and be happy—for once—that Rachel’s career was going great and that she was about to realize her dream of her own television show.

If not that, then couldn’t Rhonda have been more excited about Rachel’s date with Garret Kelly? Couldn’t they have laughed and shared confidences, the way sisters were supposed to do?

She sighed and opened a new file on her computer. Rhonda was Rhonda and there was no sense trying to change her. And she’d never stop trying to change Rachel, but that was a losing battle. Rhonda would never realize that Rachel didn’t want to be respectable and modest. Not when the alternative was so much more fun.

RACHEL CONVINCED MOIRA to come with her to the Dallas Devils game Friday night. “Tell me again why we’re doing this,” Moira said when she met Rachel at the light-rail station. “You hate sports. So do I, for that matter.”

“But you’re my best friend so you’ll come to support me, right?” Rachel fed dollar bills into the ticket machine. The train would drop them right at the stadium, saving the huge hassle of parking downtown.

“You don’t need my support.” Moira accepted her ticket. “Though you must have it really bad for Garret Kelly if you let him talk you into coming to a game.”

“I’m doing this for my career, remember,” Rachel said. Well, mostly for her career. Seeing Garret again was merely a bonus.

“Oh, right. The bet. What does the Wild Man think about that?”

“He doesn’t know. Denton didn’t tell him and I’m certainly not going to.” The train arrived and they climbed aboard.

Moira plopped into the seat beside Rachel and shook her head. “I don’t know. What’s going to happen when he finds out?”

“If he finds out, I’ll laugh it off as another of Denton’s publicity stunts. He’s always coming up with crazy stuff like that.”

“Then why not tell Garret now and get it over with?”

“Because…” She chewed her lower lip. “Because I really like Garret and I don’t want him flipping out over the whole Man Tamer thing.”

“He’s going to find out about your column one of these days. Especially if you take it to TV.”

“But by then he’ll know me better. Plus, I’ll have applied my principles to our relationship and he’ll see how great they’ve been for both of us.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“I know you haven’t had much success with David,” Rachel said. “But I think that’s because you haven’t given my approach time to take effect.” Granted, maybe the man-taming principles didn’t work for everyone. But letters from her readers and her own studies into behavior modification assured her they were effective most of the time.

“One thing I don’t understand is, I thought your techniques were designed for women to use on their boyfriends or husbands. You and Garret hardly know each other.”

“Yes, but that could change.”

“Oh?” Moira leaned toward her, her expression avid. “So I was right when I said he was interested in you, too.”

“You could say that. He asked me to go to bed with him last night.”

Moira laughed. “If every man who wanted to have sex with you qualified as a boyfriend, you wouldn’t have a free night in the week.”

“Maybe, but this was different.” Rachel allowed herself a small smile. “I wanted to go to bed with him, too.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

She sat up straighter. “We’d just met!”

Moira shrugged. “What better way to really get to know a man?”

She had a point, Rachel conceded. The train arrived at their station and they were swept along in the crowd making its way to the arena. They found their seats—center court, front row, thanks to Garret—and settled in. “Looks like a hockey setup without the ice.” Moira pointed to the nets at each end of the court. “Those are the same as hockey, too.”

“How do you know so much?” Rachel asked.

“I guess I picked up a few things from David.”

Just then the arena went dark and an announcer’s voice boomed. “Get ready to welcome your Dallas Devils!” With an explosion of fireworks and the blare of heavy-metal music, a double line of motorcycles raced into the arena. On the back of each was perched a scantily clad dancer. Behind them, heralded by more fireworks, the players, clad in shorts, loose jerseys, gloves and helmets, raced in.

The crowd screamed and whistled, louder even than the music. Rachel wanted to clamp her hands over her ears, but refrained. “There’s Garret!”

Moira pointed to the fourth man in the first row of players—number thirty-six, the name Kelly stitched across the back. Rachel probably wouldn’t have recognized him. The helmet covered his head and the padded jersey made his shoulders even broader. Her gaze shifted to the only part of him that wasn’t covered. “Nice legs,” she said. They were muscular and toned, dusted with brown hair.

“They all have nice legs,” Moira said appreciatively. “Too bad the shorts aren’t tighter, though.”

After the Canadian and American anthems were played, they settled in to watch the game. Rachel’s bottom had barely touched the seat before the crowd roared and surged to its feet again. “Devils’ goal!” the announcer shouted. Lights flashed and music pounded as the players raced to the end of the court.

“What happened?” Rachel asked.

“We scored, I guess.”

The rest of the game was like that. The action shifted from one end of the court to the other with lightning speed. The Devils scored another goal, then the Roughnecks came back to score three. Thank God for replays or Rachel never would have figured out what was happening.

Even then, she found it impossible to see how anyone could catch a hard rubber ball in a small net at the end of a stick, then run the length of the court with it, all while opposing players whacked at him with their sticks. And then the player with the ball somehow had to fire it past a giant man in pads who stood in front of the net and tried to block the shot. Yet it happened over and over again, on both sides.

In the middle of the second quarter, Garret was sentenced to two minutes in the penalty box. Rachel had no idea why, but the crowd alternately jeered and cheered when the penalty was announced. They cheered again when Garret rejoined the action on the court.

In fact, they spent most of the time cheering. Or waving signs. Or singing along with the loud rock music that blared during every time-out. Rachel had never seen such a rowdy crowd. “These people are scary,” she told Moira. “It’s like a religious revival or something.”

“I think it’s kind of fun,” Moira said. “I might even ask David to take me to a game. This is a lot more exciting than baseball.”

A little more than two hours after it began, the game ended with the score Devils 17, Roughnecks 16. The crowd went wild, then dispersed rapidly. Moira and Rachel stayed courtside to greet Garret.

He spotted them and came over. He’d removed his helmet and his hair, damp with sweat, looked darker than before. The stubble was back along his jaw and his jersey was torn at the neck. But he was smiling, teeth flashing. “Was that a great game or what?” he asked.

“It was great,” Moira said.

“Things certainly happen fast in lacrosse,” Rachel said.

“Never a dull moment. Hey, thanks a lot for coming out.”

“Thanks for getting us the great tickets.” She nodded to the stick in his hand. On one end was an elaborately woven net. “What do they call that stick?” she asked.

“A stick.” He laughed. “How’s that for fancy lingo?”

“Great game, Garret!” Another player, shorter with blond hair, skidded up to them. He grinned at the women. “Can you believe this man? Five goals and three assists.”

“Bud Mayhew,” Garret said. “Bud, you remember Moira. And this is Rachel.”

“Hey.” Bud nodded to them, but said nothing further.

“I remember you,” Moira said. “You were at Denton’s party.”

“Yeah.” He looked around nervously. “Hey, I better get to the locker room. See you around.” He turned and hurried away.

Moira frowned after him. “Not very friendly, is he?”

“Aw, Bud’s a great guy. He’s just shy around women.”

“I don’t know why he would be. He’s cute.” Moira grinned. “Nice legs.”

“I’ll tell him you said so.” Garret turned to Rachel. “Let me get cleaned up and I’ll take you two out to celebrate.”

“I can’t. I have to get home,” Moira said. She patted Rachel’s shoulder. “But you stay.”

Rachel wanted to tell Moira she didn’t have to go out of her way to leave the two of them alone. Part of the reason she’d asked her friend here tonight was to slow things down with Garret. Of course, after their conversation on the train, she was questioning why she should even bother. After all, she and Garret were both single adults. If the attraction between them was so strong, why not act on it?

When Garret returned from the locker room he wore a blue sport coat, tan slacks and a white shirt open at the throat. He’d shaved and he smelled of expensive cologne. Rachel nodded approvingly. “You clean up pretty well.”

“I try.” He ushered her out of the arena, one hand at the small of her back.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“I hear O’Malley’s has good steaks.” He punched his key chain and a black supercab Titan pickup winked its headlights at them. Rachel almost laughed. Of course he drove a truck. This was Texas and real men drove big trucks.

He opened the door for her—give him points for manners—and she slid into the leather seat. When he started the engine, rap music blasted from the stereo. He leaned over and stabbed it off. “Sorry about that,” he said.

“Please tell me you don’t rap along with the radio,” she said.

He grinned. “Only when I’m alone.”

At O’Malley’s they were ushered to a corner table. They ordered drinks and Garret studied her across the table. “Tell me what you thought of the game,” he said.

“It was exciting, but everything happened so fast I still don’t have any idea what was going on. Obviously, the object is to shoot the ball into the opposing team’s net, but I could never keep track of where the ball was. Or how anyone managed to get it past the goalie.”

“That’s the beauty of the game.” He leaned toward her, elbows on the table, and arranged salt and pepper shakers, condiment bottles and glasses onto a “court” defined by their silverware. “Let’s say I get the ball. If I have a lot of defenders on me, I’m going to pass it to a teammate who’s open. If I’m open, I run down the court, cradling the ball in my stick. I’ll either pass it again to an open man or, if I see an opening, I’ll fire it into the net. I may have to shoot low or high to get past the goalie. My teammates try to block so he can’t see it coming.”

“Slow down. What’s cradling the ball?”

“Rocking it back and forth in the pocket of my stick. Like a baby. Think of it like dribbling in basketball. You’re not allowed to just hold the ball.”

She shook her head. “I still don’t see how anyone ever makes a goal.”

“Practice and skill.” He sipped his drink. “I told you, I’m very good with my stick.” He winked, a slow opening and closing of one eye that made her catch her breath and want to fan herself.

I’ll just bet you are, she thought.

The waiter arrived to take their order, then Garret picked up the conversation again. “Now you know all about what I do for a living. Tell me more about your writing. What do you write?”

She hesitated. “I told you I write for a magazine called Belinda. For women.”

“But what do you write? Fashion tips? Investigative reporting? Gossip column?”

She could have found a way to blow him off, or lie, but she really wasn’t “that kind of girl.” She took a long drink of wine, then squared her shoulders and said, “I write a column called ‘The Man Tamer.’I give advice to women on how to deal with their boyfriends or husbands.”

“‘The Man Tamer’?” Garret choked on his drink. “Crikey, that’s rich. You’re serious?”

She nodded. “It’s a very popular column. Probably the most popular feature in the magazine.”

He wiped his mouth on a napkin and sat back, studying her. “And what qualifies you to know how to tame a man?”

“I have a degree in behavioral psychology from Southern Methodist University.”

“But have you had a lot of experience with men?”

The seriousness of his voice and the intensity of his gaze implied much more than the simple words of his question. “If you’re asking, am I a slut, the answer is no.” She raised her chin. “I’m pretty particular about who I date.”

“You must not be too picky, since you agreed to go out with me.”

“Maybe the Man Tamer thinks the Wild Man would be an interesting challenge,” she said.

Did she imagine the spark of interest in his eyes? He said nothing as their meals were set in front of them. He attacked his steak with gusto. Watching a man devour food was not normally high on Rachel’s list of preferred activities, but she had to admit, there was something about the passion with which Garret ate that did funny things to her insides.

The atmosphere of the entire meal was charged, her senses heightened. The food tasted better, the wine was sweeter and she was keenly aware of the man across from her—the scent of his aftershave, the warmth of his leg when it brushed hers, the heat of his gaze on her.

He paid the check and, in silence, they walked to his truck. He stopped before opening the passenger door and turned her to face him. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to do for a while now,” he said. Then he kissed her.

There was nothing tentative or hesitant about this kiss. His lips covered hers, staking a claim, sending a rush of feeling through her. Garret kissed the same way he played lacrosse or ate a steak—with his whole focus and great skill. His tongue teased her, sending molten currents through every limb. One hand caressed her shoulder, gently kneading, while the other hand braced against the trunk. She was caught between the cool metal and the hard heat of his body yet she could think of no place she would rather be at the moment.

She was breathless and light-headed—and very aroused—when he finally broke away. The devilish light in his eyes made her legs even more wobbly. “I should warn you,” he said. “Winning makes me horny.”

She managed a shaky laugh. “I have a feeling breathing makes you horny,” she said.

“Only around you.” He inhaled deeply. “I like your perfume.”

“I’m not wearing perfume.”

“Even better.” He opened the door and touched her elbow. “Want to come back to my place? Just for coffee.”

That hadn’t been a just for coffee kiss but she let it slide. Better to go with the flow tonight. “I’d love that.” Even if they really only had coffee, she wanted to see his place. You could tell a lot about a man from his apartment.

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