Colleen Collins - Building a Bad Boy

The gesture grabbed Nigel’s attention, sharpened the pull between them. Following the bad-boy rules she had set out earlier, he moved slowly across the bar toward her, stopping directly in front of her chair.

She looked up, her lips parted as though to speak. Instead, she fluttered her fingers to the top button on her blouse.

He shifted closer, his knee brushing hers. The accidental touch triggered small fires over his skin. And from the flush on her cheeks, he could see she felt it, too. The unspoken desire in her eyes made him bold. He slid one arm around her waist and pulled her to him, feeling her swollen breasts against his body. She shivered.

In his best bad-boy tone he leaned forward and whispered hotly into her ear, “I want you.”

Dear Reader,

Many of you have asked about the hunky, former professional wrestler Nigel—aka “The Phantom” with the body of The Rock and the heart of E.T.—who loved to bake brownies for the heroine in Joyride (Harlequin Temptation #867, February 2002).

Well, Nigel’s back and he’s bad.

Make that almost bad. In Building A Bad Boy, Nigel has decided he’ll never win the woman of his dreams by sitting next to the phone, so he signs up with a dating agency whose owner, Kimberly Logan, enrolls him in her “How To Make a Bad Boy” program. After all, women love bad boys, right?

What Kimberly is totally unprepared for is the impact her coaching has…on her!

This is one of my last books for Harlequin Temptation, and I’ll miss the line as both a reader and writer. My history with this series goes back to 1992 when, as an unpublished author, my story placed second in their fifth annual Harlequin Temptation contest. I finally sold to Harlequin four years later.

I hope you enjoy Building A Bad Boy. To check out my upcoming books and enter my monthly contests, please visit my Web site, www.colleencollins.net.

Happy reading!

Colleen Collins

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

867—JOYRIDE

899—TONGUE-TIED

913—LIGHTNING STRIKES

939—TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT

977—SWEET TALKIN’ GUY*

HARLEQUIN DUETS

10—MARRIED AFTER BREAKFAST

22—ROUGH AND RUGGED

30—IN BED WITH THE PIRATE

39—SHE’S GOT MAIL!

108—LET IT BREE CAN’T BUY ME LOUIE

Building A Bad Boy

Colleen Collins

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To the Temptresses

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

KIMBERLY LOGAN PUSHED OPEN the polished mahogany door with the stenciled words Life Dates… where you’re coached along the path to love. The buzz of Las Vegas traffic faded as she stepped inside and clicked the door shut behind her. She paused to catch her breath while eyeing the recent renovation of her waiting room from cheery yellow to seductive dusty rose. The new color scheme was infinitely more stimulating, exciting…precisely the environment Kimberly wanted for her clientele who came seeking love ever after and lust evermore.

The air-conditioning seemed a tad cool, though. Even in February, she liked to keep it humming on a low setting. Most dating service first-timers were anxious. Cool air helped soothe them. Too chilly, however, would only add to their nervousness.

I’ll ask Maurice to adjust the temperature ASAP. Kimberly headed to his desk—her high heels clicking across the polished parquet floor until she stepped onto the thick Oriental rug—and halted at a teak desk.

Behind which sat Maurice, his tanned face creased by his I’m-not-happy-with-you look. Despite his attitude, he looked natty as usual. Khaki pants, pink polo shirt. Gay men sure knew how to dress.

She glanced at her office door, which was closed. “I know,” she demurred, meeting her office manager’s gaze. “I’m late.”

“Kimberly,” he said crisply, “you must stop making appointments for 9:00 a.m. and not showing up until—” with a flourish of his wrist, he checked the time “—9:38. Worse, this guy showed up fifteen minutes early, so he’s been cooling his heels in your office for almost an hour. Fortunately he has the patience of a saint, unlike that guy two weeks ago who copped a ’tude and used your Waterford bowl for an ashtray—”

“It’s those weekly Chamber of Commerce breakfast meetings,” she said on a release of breath. “People arrive late, speakers talk too long. I’m on time for all my other meetings.”

“When you’re here, not cavorting about in your Beemer, doing networking things.”

“You’re right. I’m still reacting to Great Dates opening up one of their national offices two blocks away. I keep thinking if I don’t do everything to promote Life Dates, especially as it has such a similar name, they’ll cut into our business.”

“Kimberly, what you offer is unique. No global dating agency can begin to cater to Vegas clients the way you do. They’re like Hershey’s chocolate, you’re like Francine’s Gourmet Bonbons.”

Francine, a local high-end chocolatier, had a loyal following who thought nothing of shelling out twenty-four dollars for a dozen homemade, hand-dipped bonbons.

“Thanks,” Kimberly murmured.

It offered some comfort that Life Dates was the most successful dating agency in Vegas, although she had a lot on her plate running the business as well as being its resident “success coach”—a marketing term she’d coined four years ago when she opened the doors. As a success coach, she didn’t just play the same boring connect-the-dots and match up person A with B, like Great Dates did, she personally coached her clients—from picking out their clothes to helping them practice the fine art of dating and, ultimately, seduction.

“If it makes you feel any better,” said Maurice, “I set up a meeting next week with Barnet and Owens.”

“The advertising agency?”

“Yes. They’re going to pitch a local TV campaign idea for us.”

“Great idea.” She plucked a jelly bean from the jar on his desk.

“You didn’t eat at the breakfast meeting, did you?”

“No time.”

He handed her a clipboard with a form secured underneath a silver clamp. “Here’s his application.”

She quickly scanned it. “His first name’s Nigel.”

“So Noel Coward, isn’t it? You know, I should fill that candy bowl with soy nuts instead of sugar. No wonder you’re always motoring a thousand miles an hour.”

“Nigel Durand.”

“A little English, a little French.” Maurice lowered his voice. “Shame he’s straight.”

She peeked at Maurice over the clipboard.

He raised a hand in mock protest. “I’d never flirt with any of your clientele.” He feigned a shudder. “I might be gay, but I’m no masochist.”

Kimberly offered a small smile.

“It’s good to see you smile,” he said warmly. “Someday I’ll even get you to laugh out loud.”