âNo! You cannot have my pants,â
Hal protested, determined to make his final stand. Shannon had already decimated his entire wardrobe, and he wouldnât let her take these with her. âThis is my favorite pair of jeans and youâre not getting them off my body.â
Shannon rubbed her hands together evilly. She raised an eyebrow. âWhat if I made it worth your while?â
âWhat do you mean by that?â
âWhat would you like me to mean?â
Was she offering him sex if he took off his pants for her? He grew hard at the thought. âWell, a guy can always fantasize,â he said before he could stop himself.
âSo can a girl,â she purred. âBut the reality is so much more satisfying, donât you think?â Then she whipped off her top.
Dear Reader,
Have you ever despaired over something that your boyfriend was wearing? And worse, you were unable to stop him from wearing it out of the house?
When you subtly tried to tell him that something else might look better, he just shrugged and said he didnât care, right? Or when you told him flat out that his clothes would embarrass you, he got mad, and wore them just to spite you.
I have been in this situation many times! And of course itâs led to fantasies of smoking the offending clothing on the barbecue grill, or tossing the guyâs entire wardrobe into the garbage. While Iâve never actually done this, I decided that it was high time I wrote a character who didâ¦and gave her justification for her actions by making them part of her job.
I hope youâll enjoy Shannon making over Halâand the sizzling results. Making a guy âcoolâ has never gotten Shannon so hot!
Be sure to look for Open Invitation?, the next book in THE MAN-HANDLERS series.
I love to hear from readers, so feel free to contact me at [email protected] or write to me c/o Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd., 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.
Happy reading,
Karen Kendall
SHANNON SHANE FIRED into her office like a bullet and ripped through her appointment book. âOh, thank God itâs tomorrow, not today.â She fell into her bright yellow leather office chair, her long legs sprawled in front of her.
Jane OâToole, her business partner, followed her in and said dryly, âLast time I checked, today really is today. Tomorrow never comes.â
Shannon turned, pulled aside the blond curtain of hair hanging over her face and rolled her eyes at Jane. âFunny. Not. I meant my appointment with Doris Rangel. Iâve misplaced my Palm Pilot somewhere, and I couldnât remember. Whew. Sheâs the new junior senator from Norwich, and weâve got several wardrobe and media-training sessions set up.â
Jane walked into the common area of Finesse, their business, opened the drawer of the reception deskâa somewhat useless accoutrement since they couldnât yet afford to hire a receptionistâand pulled out the missing personal organizer.
âShan, you are no longer allowed to put anything down while you set the office alarm. It never makes it out the door with you, whether itâs sunglasses, keys or a Palm Pilot.â
âYeah, I know,â Shannon said ruefully. âGive me that, thanks. I need to chain it to my wrist.â She stuck the device on her desk and blew out a breath. âDo we have coffee?â
âYes. Lilia made some. If youâre nice to her and say please, she might give you a cup.â Adorable, but excruciatingly proper Lilia London was their third business partner in Finesse, a training center for personal and career enhancement.
Jane, benign control freak that she was, excelled at the job of CEO. She also did counseling and employee management consulting. Lilia, their resident Miss Manners, handled business and social etiquette. And Shannon herself was their image consultant and media trainer.
âHey, Iâm always nice,â she said. âIâm your little ray of sunshine around here.â
âWell, youâre definitely a breath of fresh airâ¦â Janeâs voice trailed off as she inspected Shannonâs ensemble for the day: hot-pink suede pants, black spike-heeled boots and a short, black leather jacket over a lacy camisole. âHon, you live in Connecticut now. You have left Rodeo Drive. It rains here, itâs gray seventy percent of the time, and New Englanders donât wear pink pants.â
âThis one does,â Shannon said firmly. âItâs April, therefore itâs spring. Pink is perfect for the season. And you can wear all the gray and khaki you want, but I refuse. Itâs boring.â
Jane adopted a resigned expression as she looked beyond the tasteful reception area, furnished with antique reproductions, an oriental rug and traditional paintings, and into Shannonâs office. She closed her eyes against the tangerine-colored walls, the movie posters, the strange contemporary art.