Stephanie Bond - Cover Me

“Just leaving,” I said with a tight smile. It was for my own good. My friends had told me to make a play for the sandy-haired hunk, but it just wasn’t in me to pick up a man in a bar. The girls had bought me a drink for my birthday, given me a ridiculous gift and now it was time to follow their example and head home.

Even though Sam’s shiny brown bedroom eyes made the moisture evaporate from my mouth.

He seemed disappointed by my response, but accepting. “Well, nice almost meeting you.”

I gathered up my present and had turned to go when he called, “Hey. You forgot something.”

I turned back and, to my horror, saw him bending to retrieve the pink sheet of paper containing directions for my present, the “Make Your Own Dildo” kit. The subhead “The Only Set That Lets You Cast It from the Real Thing” seemed to jump off the page. I lunged for the paper, but Sam was too quick. When he lifted his gaze from the sheet, a mischievous smile curved his mouth and his eyes danced. “Looks like fun.”

Hmm. On second thought, maybe I did have one more birthday present coming to me.

Dear Reader,

It’s Harlequin Temptation’s twentieth birthday and we’re ready to do some celebrating. After all, we’re young, we’re legal (well, almost) and we’re old enough to get into trouble! Who could resist?

We’ve been publishing outstanding novels for the past twenty years, and there are many more where those came from. Don’t miss upcoming books by your favorite authors: Vicki Lewis Thompson, Kate Hoffmann, Kristine Rolofson, Jill Shalvis and Leslie Kelly. And Harlequin Temptation has always offered talented new authors to add to your collection. In the next few months look for stories from some of these exciting new finds: Emily McKay, Tanya Michaels, Cami Dalton and Mara Fox.

To celebrate our birthday, we’re bringing back one of our most popular miniseries, Editor’s Choice. Whenever we have a book that’s new, innovative, extraordinary, look for the Editor’s Choice flash. And the first one’s out this month! In Cover Me, talented Stephanie Bond tells the hilarious tale of a native New Yorker who finds herself out of her element and loving it. Written totally in the first person, Cover Me is a real treat. And don’t miss the rest of this month’s irresistible offerings—a naughty Wrong Bed book by Jill Shalvis, another installment of the True Blue Calhouns by Julie Kistler and a delightful Valentine tale by Kate Hoffmann.

So, come be a part of the next generation of Harlequin Temptation. We might be a little wild, but we’re having a whole lot of fun. And who knows—some of the thrill might rub off….

Enjoy,

Brenda Chin

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin Temptation

www.millsandboon.co.uk

I love “fish out of water” stories. There’s no better way to see the kind of stuff a person is made of than to plunk them into a situation where everything they believe to be true not only can’t help them, but sometimes can even get them into more trouble!

Meet Kenzie Mansfield, a label-conscious, career-minded city girl who has to temporarily relocate to a small town to thwart a magazine “cover curse.” Kenzie can handle just about anything—or so she thinks!

I hope you enjoy this story, written from Kenzie’s point of view as she deals with rural mishaps and tries to maintain a professional distance from the handsome veterinarian she is sent to keep an eye on. Too late, Kenzie realizes this cover assignment might leave her caught between her job and her heart!

Happy reading, and don’t forget to tell your friends about the wonderful romantic stories between the pages of Harlequin novels. Visit me at www.stephaniebond.com.

Much love and laughter,

Stephanie Bond

For Brenda Chin, a fearless editor who keeps raising the bar

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

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Epilogue

“I’M ALLERGIC to men,” I announced to my three girlfriends between forkfuls of my wickedly garlicky Caesar salad.

Being accustomed to my somewhat obscure proclamations, their vigorous chewing proceeded unchecked. I looked from face to face to see who would cave first. My gaze stopped on Denise and she gave me an eye roll. I could always count on Denise to nibble at my conversation tidbits, however begrudgingly.

“Okay, Kenzie, I’ll bite. Are you talking allergic in literal terms, or figurative?”

“Literal,” I declared. “I am physically allergic to the male gender.”

Cindy squinted. “Like ragweed?”

“Exactly.”

Jacki shook her head. “You are hopeless. You’re allergic to feathers, mold, pollen, dairy products, rubber and now men?”

“Don’t forget pet dander,” I said.

Jacki pointed with her fork. “Kenzie Mansfield, you are a hypochondriac.”

Admittedly, I was. My copy of Disease and Diagnosis was as dog-eared as were most women’s copies of Kama Sutra. At different times in my life, I had been sure I’d had an enlarged spleen, Tourette’s syndrome and a brain tumor. Even though those ailments had all been disproved by various and sundry tests, my extensive allergies were documented and real, so I clung to them.

“If I’m a hypochondriac, then you are delusional, Jacki,” I said defensively. “You with your theory of choosing men by the shoes they wear.”

Jacki bristled. “Hey, it worked for me. Ted and I have been going strong for two months. Plus Cindy and Denise have both met guys while testing my shoe theory.”

The girls nodded with enthusiasm, and I bit into my lip. I’d missed out on a lot of fun with my friends while working crazy-long hours at Personality magazine. They all had boyfriends with nice footwear. I had no boyfriend and seemed to be developing an itch that I suspected was a result of inadvertent contact with our burly Italian waiter.

Jacki gave me a censoring look. “Besides, my theory is simply an extension of human tastes. I never claimed it was scientific—unlike this cockamamie allergy hypothesis.”

“But me being allergic to men makes perfect sense,” I insisted. “Instead of being attracted by male pheromones, my body now goes haywire. My sinus passages close up, my skin gets all blotchy—both of which are medically recognized clinical reactions, by the way.”

Jacki was unmoved. “Did you develop this allergy before or after James dumped you?”

My back straightened. “I dumped James. But now I think my growing aversion to him was actually the onset of the man allergy.”

One of Jacki’s eyebrows shot up. “Personally, I think your growing aversion to James was the onset of sanity.”

“That, too,” I conceded. “But toward the end, I couldn’t bear the smell of him, even after a shower.” I wrinkled my nose. “And every time he came near me, my neck and chest got all blotchy.”

“Do the men you work with give you a reaction?” Denise asked, clearly humoring me, probably to aggravate Jacki.

But I’d given that topic some thought. “No, but most of the men I work with are gay—I don’t think they’re emitting pheromones directed at me.” I pulled a notebook from my purse and flipped through the pages. “For the past two weeks, I’ve been keeping track of my reaction to all men I come into close contact with—cab drivers, doormen, strangers on the elevator—and it seems that the more macho the guy, the more severe my reaction.”