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  Mr. Virile and the Girl Next Door

  Gwen Hayes

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 by Gwen Hayes. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Edited by Shannon Godwin

  Cover design by Liz Pelletier

  ISBN 978-1-62266-069-8

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition March 2013

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Times Bestseller list, Jerry McGuire, Clark Kent, Macallan Scotch, Armani, Ralph Lauren, Bowflex, Molson, McDreamy, 007, Don Juan, Fonz, the Cunninghams, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Luke Skywalker, Han Solo.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  About the Authors

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Dear Mr. Virile,

  Following your advice, I’ve been really careful not to let the new woman at work put me in the “friend zone” because she’s smoking hot and I want to date her. I’m not sure I’m reading her signals right, though. Sometimes, she flat out ignores me and other times, she can’t carry on a conversation with me at the water cooler without touching me a million times. How do I know if it’s a go or not?

  Sincerely,

  Horny and Confused

  Dear HC,

  Women are mysterious creatures. They say one thing and do another all the time, but the Virile Man knows to look for subconscious cues to let him know when to stop circling the runway and land the plane already.

  A woman can bat her eyelashes at you one moment and gift you with a death glare the next, but she can’t control her pupils. One sure sign of attraction can be found in the windows to her panties…her eyes. Pupils dilate during arousal and attraction, so take a moment to look deep into those baby blues before you give up. She may be sending you mixed signals, but eyes don’t lie.

  …Blog post from Virile.com

  Chapter One

  Dane Martin surveyed his kingdom and was pleased.

  It was only a Tuesday night, but bar business was good—an auspicious sign of a favorable outcome for Dane, though he didn’t own the club or have any financial interest in it. A laugh tinkled in the distance, stirring his blood and reminding him how much he absofuckinglutely loved to be surrounded by women.

  Though not one of the hottest clubs in Port Calypso, Dane liked the ambiance of Felony. The music was never too loud to get a phone number, the lights never too low to spot a woman masquerading herself prettier than she really was, and the top shelf liquor was never watered down. Really, that was all Dane required to get the job done.

  Tonight, the ratio of women to men was a perfect 3:1 thanks to a bachelorette party in progress in the corner. Another fortuitous sign. Women felt more in control when they outnumbered the men in a bar. They enjoyed more freedom and less inhibition. They flirted with abandon. They didn’t feel hunted.

  They still were, of course.

  The less testosterone in a bar, the better, as far as Dane was concerned.

  The volume of squeals from the corner signified that the party was likely on their second round of margaritas. Too soon for a strike in that zone. It would be another two rounds before a guy could begin separating the individuals from the pack. Right now, the ladies were still high on friendship and camaraderie. Girl power and all that. Later, after two hours of boozing and talking about penises, they’d be more amenable to finding one to take home.

  A nod to Marc behind the bar and the man pulled out the eighteen-year-old Macallan they kept below deck for the nights Dane came in. Dane took it neat because he didn’t like complications in his drinks any more than he liked them in relationships. He took it at eighteen years because it tasted better, and though the joke was there, he unwaveringly stayed away from women of the same age as his Scotch. There was nothing uncomplicated about dating barely legal girls. He didn’t have anything to prove, thus didn’t need his women to be barely anything.

  Dane sipped his drink slowly, watching a poor soul make an ill-timed blast at the bridal party. His approach was terrible. From Dane’s perch, he could see that the guy was fronting a confidence he didn’t feel. You don’t just walk up to a table full of women, interrupt their good time, and not have a better plan than a line as tired as, “How you doin’?”

  Three…Two…One…and…shot down, as expected. If the guy was lucky, one of his buddies would send him to Dane’s website, www.virile.com. Sooner than later. Dane provided a much needed service to the single men in the world, which in turn benefited the single women of the world. Dane was almost a humanitarian, really.

  Right on time, his agent, Magdalene Finch, waved at him from the bar entrance. Her shiny blond mane bounced as she strode towards him, smiling the way that makes the male heart grow inside his chest. She was gorgeous, smart, savvy, and completely off limits, though that never stopped Dane from appreciating her charms. He just couldn’t partake in them.

  He reached to kiss her cheek and took a healthy whiff of her hair. Amazing. She always smelled amazing. “Mags.”

  “Dano.” She squeezed his bicep and shook her head ruefully, as if lamenting her bad luck that their professional relationship meant they keep things professional. Mags and Dane would never know each other in the biblical sense. A shame that. “You’re a work of art, my friend.”

  He smiled and got Marc’s attention with a slight inclination of his chin. “My agent tells me I need to keep up my appearance for the book tour. What are you drinking?”

  “Cosmo. And your agent is a genius.”

  He ordered her drink and led her to a table. “My agent is also very humble.” He pulled out her chair, seated her, and rounded the table. “But yes, a genius.”

  She batted her eyelids in exaggerated flirtation. “Speaking of your tour, I have a friend of a friend who knows someone at KZMY. We got you an interview on their morning news show the day after your book is released. I think you are really going to shoot up the list.”

  The list was spelled with a capital L when his agent said it. He didn’t expect to hit the Times Bestseller list, but Magdalene never once doubted that he would. They’d just have to see this summer.

  “TV sp
ot? Well, then I guess it’s a good thing you told me to keep myself up. Is that why you wanted to meet me tonight, to tell me about a possible TV appearance?”

  Her direct eye contact faltered. Unusual for Mags. She was one of those people that didn’t deal with mixed body signals. She was either all in or all out when it came to conversation. “Not exactly.” Her gaze traveled to the door and she waved at a couple entering the bar.

  The man had his hand on the woman’s lower back as they approached the table. If they were dating, they weren’t into it. Either of them. The woman didn’t lean into the man’s touch, though she didn’t look uncomfortable, just not turned on. Maybe they were married, that would explain the lack of interest. But, no, no rings on either of their hands, either.

  Dane stood automatically to meet them as Mags introduced him first to Mitch Rains, a literary agent from her office. Mitch shook his hand with a hearty grip and introduced Dane and Mags both to his client, Holly Winters.

  Holly Winters. That name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t recall why.

  A prickle of unease hit Dane between his shoulder blades, where he always held his tension until his weekly session with Brigit and her Fingers of Wonder. Yet another woman off limits. He would never do anything to screw up his massage hour.

  Holly Winters was…cute…for lack of better word. Like, Laura Ingalls Wilder in a black cocktail dress. He tried to place her in his memory, but it became frustratingly clear he hadn’t slept with her. He’d have remembered all those freckles. He’d have done a lot of connecting- the-dots.

  She, like her agent, shook hands with an easy confidence and, as Mags introduced him, a momentary cloud passed over her eyes. Was she trying to figure out a connection as well? There was small talk as they stood around the table, but Dane was distracted. Had they gone to school together? Was she somebody’s sister? He placed her firmly in the mid-twenties range based on, well, his experience with women of varying ages. He tried to mentally dress her in different outfits to jog his memory, but all he succeeded in doing was mentally undressing her.

  Not helping.

  It was just that she was curvy. The kind of curves that spilled out of bras, which had him dying to know how low those freckles went. He was sure he could find out, but wasn’t sure he should. He needed to figure out why her name was familiar if her face and body were not.

  “Mitch!” Magdalene gasped, pantomiming a ridiculous amount of agitation. “I just remembered…we’re supposed to be at that office thing, um, meeting right now.”

  Mitch, not nearly as good at feigning surprise, also gasped. “How could we have forgotten? If we hurry, we may still make it on time.”

  A flurry of apologies ensued with both agents talking a mile a minute and making zero sense. A waitress brought over the Cosmo Mags had ordered, and Mags encouraged Holly to take her place or the drink would go to waste. Dane barely had time to protest their leaving when they were just…gone.

  Holly blinked at him a few times, the little crease above her nose furrowing crescents deep into her skin. “Well, that was weird.”

  Her voice sucker punched him. It was low, throaty, and it flipped a switch inside him that was normally reserved for blondes about six inches taller. Holly was cute, but not hot. And she had a nice set, but he was a leg man.

  Usually.

  They’d obviously been set up for some reason, and he was supposed to know something about her that he didn’t. All of these things should make him wary and rational instead of suddenly very, very turned on.

  Dane shook his head and remembered his manners, pulling out a chair. “Weird seems tame, but I agree.”

  Holly took Mags’ seat and held up her new drink in toast when he sat down. “Well, here’s to getting the bottom of it.”

  He tried to come up with a quip or thought or, hell, anything to say, but his tongue couldn’t work around the sandpaper dryness in his mouth. He wasn’t actually nervous was he? He reminded himself that he was twenty-eight years old, not fourteen, but this sensation felt achingly close.

  Dane tried to recall the last time a woman had made him nervous and came up with—too long ago to remember. Well, except for the dominatrix two years ago, but that was a different kind of nervous and, while he enjoyed the experience, it wasn’t one he’d repeat.

  No, this feeling was completely different. He was…anxious. Filled with a sweet anticipation that made all his nerve endings a little raw. He’d been coasting safely on a very scenic highway for many years, but all of the sudden, it felt like he was going off-road for an adventure in pot holes, blind corners and lots of mud. His adrenalin spiked even as he tried to talk himself down.

  “So, Dane, why are we here?” Holly asked without guile.

  God, that voice. Even a direct, honest question sounded provocative.

  He’d have to play this one cool. Not usually a problem, but tonight was going to take some concentration. “I’m here meeting my agent for a drink to talk about my upcoming book release.” Though obviously, that wasn’t what Mags had really invited him here for. “You?”

  Those crescents deepened above her nose again. He tightened the grip on his glass to avoid the temptation to smooth her brow gently with his finger. What the hell was wrong with him?

  “Same actually,” she answered.

  “So, you’re a writer?” he asked.

  Jesus, Sherlock.

  “Accidentally, I suppose. I’m a blogger with a book deal.”

  “Well, that explains what we have in common,” Dane replied. “I run a website as well. My book comes out in July. You?”

  “Next year.” She had faint crinkle lines when she smiled and it turned his stomach inside out. Why, he had no idea. “Congratulations. What’s your book about?” she asked.

  Dane tipped his glass and watched the amber liquid move with the motion. He was proud of his website and even prouder of his book, but suddenly it seemed…shallow. His life’s work and he was ashamed to admit it to this woman. “Dating advice for men.”

  Holly sputtered, and her pink drink sprinkled the table. She quickly mopped up the mess with the cocktail napkin in one hand while covering her cough with the other.

  “Uh…” he eloquently expressed. Idiot.

  “I’m so sorry. And embarrassed. And wanting to die,” she said. “It’s just that…oh my God.” She shook her head.

  It occurred to him that he liked the fact that she seemed so human. It seemed like all the women he spent time with were practiced, maybe even a little plastic if he thought about it too hard. This girl with a husky laugh and genuine imperfections like smile lines and freckles felt like a new frontier of some kind. Why did women try so hard to cover them up?

  “You’re going to have to fill me in here, Holly. What has you so flustered?”

  Smoothing the bodice of her dress, Holly tried very hard to repaint some poise over her composure. “I just realized who you must be.”

  Dane felt his eyebrows reaching for his hairline. “And who might that be, exactly?”

  She downed the rest of the Cosmo in one gulp. “You, sir, are the antithesis of everything I hold dear.”

  Dear Girl Next Door,

  I’m at my wit’s end. I’m totally into this guy and we have a great time whenever we are together, but he can’t seem to make a plan and stick with it…and if I call him on it, he tells me that I’m being needy. Like last weekend, we had plans to go out Friday but he didn’t show up until 11 p.m. I asked him why he didn’t at least call me, and he said that he lost track of time, but he was here now so I shouldn’t be mad. Obviously, I was still upset, so he left and told me to call him when I wasn’t feeling so needy all the time.

  What is up with this guy? Are my expectations too high?

  Signed,

  Ain’t No Hollaback Girl

  Dear =/= Holla,

  It’s a trap. When a guy wants you but doesn’t want you on your terms, chances are he’ll pull out all the stops to make it look like you are the unreasona
ble one. If he ever utters the phrase, “You’re too insecure…” it’s time to move on.

  It’s not needy to expect a guy to call or show up when he says he will. It’s not needy to want to know if you have a date this weekend so you can make other plans if you don’t. It’s not needy to expect that if you’re sharing intimacies with someone, you might also want to know a few details about what he’s doing when he’s not inside of you.

  If a guy can’t commit to the basics—following through on his commitment to call you or show up on time—he isn’t going to commit to you period.

  Cut him loose and give another guy a chance to appreciate what you have to offer.

  …Blog post from GirlNextDoor.com

  Chapter Two

  Dane set his drink on the table and smiled what most would consider a friendly smile. She had to give it to the guy. He was smooth. But Holly was not a fool. Everything about Dane Martin was an artifice. From the not-a-single-dark-hair out of place to the Italian shoes polished to a shine, the man was an advertisement of an advertisement. He was the wolf in wolf’s clothing pretending to be a convincing sheep. And Dane Martin was the reason she was able to pay her rent every month.

  How could she not have recognized his name? If she had to guess, she’d been distracted by his eyes. Okay, no, his eyes were nice. Magnetic, really, steel gray rimmed in navy, but it was his lips that drew her gaze. The bottom one made her want to sink her teeth into it. But maybe, if she were being honest, it had been his broad chest that had distracted her, the way it filled out his silky black shirt and the way his torso tapered in a lean line…

  Damn, no wonder he was such a threat to the women of the city.

  Now all her blog hits made a lot more sense. She’d been riding on the popularity wave as if it had been some kind of cosmic fluke, but really, her blog was completely necessary to the safety of women’s hearts everywhere. She was a virtual superhero.

  “I’m the antithesis of everything you hold dear?” Dane repeated. “So I take it this means you don’t like me,” he added dryly.