Good Guy Heroes Boxed Set

by Julie Ortolon

  He set the milk down and opened his mouth to make some reply, but the phone rang, cutting him short. He hesitated a moment, then snapped up the cordless handset. “Mike’s Magic Shop.”

  She raised a brow. Mike’s Magic Shop? Now that was interesting.

  “Actually, I came up with an idea last night, but we’ll have to coordinate it with makeup,” Mike said, pressing the phone between his shoulder and ear as he poured milk into his bowl. “I’d like to see the skin come off in stages rather than going straight from live action to the animated robot.”

  Kate tried to ignore him as he turned his back to dig in a drawer for a spoon, but all that gorgeous, near nakedness had her temperature rising. How in the world did he maintain a body like that eating such junk? He must spend half his day at the gym and the pool, working on his muscles and his tan. Was that what had him too busy to find his own wife? Why didn’t he simply hook up with a fellow fitness junky? She heard gyms had become pick-up joints, almost as much as singles bars.

  “Hang on. I’ve got some notes downstairs.” He turned to her and whispered, “I’ll be right back,” then spoke once more into the phone. “Who did you say was doing makeup on this one?”

  She scowled as Mike took his cereal and left the room, talking about fireballs, peeling skin, and soot-covered robots.

  “Now why is it,” Jim said in his slow, West Texas drawl, “I get the feeling this Mike fella ain’t exactly thrilled with this here remodeling project?”

  “Don’t be silly.” Kate waved a hand through the air. “He’s dying to have his house remodeled. That’s partly why he hired me.”

  She couldn’t possibly tell him the truth. On top of honestly thinking the house needed an update, halfway through a sleepless night she’d realized a project like this would help Jim. He needed every job he could get with the baby coming. Male egos were a tricky thing, though, and he might not like her giving this to him as a thank you gift for everything he and Linda had done for her.

  “I don’t know…” he mumbled, shaking his head.

  “Trust me, everything will be fine.” When he continued to look doubtful, she searched for a way to reassure him. “Do you remember when you and Linda were dating and you asked for advice?”

  “Yeah.” Color crept up Jim’s neck even as he smiled sheepishly.

  “When I told you to stop being so polite and just toss Linda over your shoulder and carry her off to bed, you trusted me enough to do it, right?”

  “Scariest damned thing I ever did.”

  “But it worked, didn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” His neck got redder. “Of course, you knew all along that’s what Linda wanted me to do.”

  “Not exactly,” she admitted. Her suggestion had been an instinctive guess, but then what woman wouldn’t want some big, sweet guy like Jim to toss her over his brawny shoulder and play a little caveman? “I’m just good at guessing what attracts people to each other. Which is why I’ve made a career of advising people in such matters. This situation is no different, except that Mike came to me in person for advice on how to catch a wife.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Jim’s brows lifted. “Smart guy.”

  “Maybe.”

  “One thing, though.” His frown returned. “How will remodeling a kitchen help him catch a wife?”

  “It just will,” she said, hoping he didn’t press her.

  “It’s not that I doubt you when it comes to giving advice on dating,” he said. “I just don’t get how the two things relate.”

  She pinched her forehead, realizing she had to do some fancy talking to sell this. “Okay. Here’s the deal. In a way, this situation between Mike and me is no different than when you and Linda were dating—”

  “You mean you and he are dating?”

  “No!” She widened her eyes at that conclusion. “I didn’t mean that at all. I meant you just have to trust me.”

  “Uh-huh.” He grinned. “I get it. And here Linda didn’t even tell me you’d met someone. ’Bout time too.”

  “I’m not dating him.” Panic fluttered through her at the thought of starting a relationship with anyone just yet. “I’m not.”

  “Are you saying Linda doesn’t know?”

  “I’m saying there’s nothing to know.”

  He winked at her. “Don’t worry, I can keep a secret. If you don’t want Linda to know yet, she won’t hear it from me.” Turning, he gestured toward the wall. “So, how much of this thing do you want me to take out?”

  Kate opened her mouth to make further denials but closed it in defeat. Once Jim got an idea in his bullish head, she knew arguing was futile.

  Instead, she turned her attention to the remodeling project. As she went through her ideas, developing them on the fly, Jim gathered enough measurements to work up a bid. The more they talked, the more her excitement built. Since she and Edward had such opposite taste, trying to find things they both liked had become an exhausting battle. She’d spent years suppressing her creative side.

  In contrast, she had a feeling Mike would give her a great deal of leeway, as long as she stayed away from glass cabinet fronts. Having that sort of freedom thrilled her. She found joy in taking something plain and making it special, as she’d done with the cabin. The pride she’d felt at the end, when she’d stood in a home that exceeded her expectations, had gone a long way toward repairing her battered self confidence. She hoped she could do the same here, even though uncertainty fluttered in her chest. The little edge of doubt made her more determined to do a good job. No, a great job!

  “How long do you think a project like this will take?” she asked a few moments later, eager to see the final result.

  “Shoot, once I get a crew over here, we can knock this puppy out in six or seven days.”

  “Really? That would be great!”

  “Well, barring complications,” Jim said, putting away his tape measure and notepad. They both looked around for signs of Mike.

  “You go on,” Kate said. “I know you have a crew working over by the golf course. I’ll stay and wrap things up here.”

  “Uh-huh.” Jim’s grin held a wealth of sexual innuendo. “I can take a hint.”

  “Jim,” she said with supreme patience, “I am not dating him.”

  “Right.” With a chuckle, he ambled off.

  She rolled her eyes as she closed the door. What in the world had given Jim the idea that she was dating Mike? Oh Lord, had he noticed the way she’d been eating the man up with her eyes?

  Fighting embarrassment, she paced the living room as she waited for Mike to come upstairs. At the opposite end of the house from the kitchen, she caught a glimpse of the master suite. The room had plenty of space, but the furniture left much to be desired. A king-sized water bed, chest of drawers, and big, comfy chair looked even older and more worn out than the battered sofa. Even so, a vision of Mike lying naked in the middle of the water bed sprang a little too easily to mind, so she turned away and resumed her pacing.

  He does plan to come back upstairs, doesn’t he? Maybe she should go looking for him.

  Not at all comfortable snooping through his house, she headed gingerly down the stairs. Before she reached the bottom, she caught the clicking sound of a computer keyboard. It was a familiar, comforting sound—one that often kept her company during the long hours of the night when she worked on her column or answered the endless flood of email she received. She smiled, wondering what Mike would think if he ever found out he’d hired Cupid to help him find a wife—not that she planned to tell him.

  On the bottom floor, she discovered a hall leading to two bedrooms. One was empty, but the other held a jumble of weightlifting equipment. Okay, so that accounted for at least some of Mike’s physique. And if he worked out at home, that explained why he hadn’t simply hooked up with a fellow gym member.

  Closer to the stairs was a large, open room with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on the back patio, glistening swimming pool, barbecue grill, and neglected flower
pots. But the room itself was what drew her attention. It was the only room in the house that didn’t look Spartan. In fact, it looked very lived-in, like a big boy’s dream room. Mobiles of spaceships dangled from the ceiling, while posters from Star Wars, Back to the Future, and Jurassic Park covered the walls. Built-in shelves held an array of detailed models, awards, and books on animation.

  She stared about her, remembering the conversation she’d just overheard. Several of her questions about Mike vanished as she realized he wasn’t a beach bum who happened to have money. He was a special effects artist. A special effects artist who obviously loved what he did enough to ignore the rest of his house.

  The rest of his life.

  She went cold inside at the thought.

  A wife wouldn’t stand a chance against this.

  The clicking of keys started again, making her turn. She found Mike hunched over a computer keyboard. Not that she could see the keyboard for all the papers, books, and computer-oriented whatnot piled on the desk and spilling onto the floor. To his side sat a drafting table with pencil drawings scattered across its surface. More drawings hung from thumbtacks on the wall, creating a cartoon storyboard. Oblivious to the clutter, Mike stared at the massive screen as if in a trance.

  His rapt expression surpassed anything she’d ever seen on Edward’s face. He looked utterly enthralled with the images before him.

  Had she failed this mission before she’d even signed on?

  Battling back defeat, she took a deep breath to keep her voice calm, but strong. “What are you doing?”

  Mike jumped so hard he knocked his cereal bowl off the desk. The remnants of Fruit Loops and milk spilled over a stack of notes. Cursing, he grabbed a T-shirt from the back of his chair to sop up the pastel-colored milk. “Jeez, you could warn a guy when you come into a room.”

  She watched his reaction with a blend of amazement and dread as he confirmed his mind had been in a completely different world.

  “Oh, man.” Mike lifted the once-white T-shirt, which he’d won from his favorite radio station for knowing the answer to the morning movie trivia, and stared at it in disgust. And people wondered why he wore so many Hawaiian shirts. At least with them, stains didn’t show. “I loved this shirt,” he moaned.

  “Do you realize,” she said with forced calm straining her voice, “I’ve been waiting for you upstairs for half an hour?”

  He glanced at the clock readout on his computer screen and wanted to kick himself. “Oh, Kate, I’m sorry. Really. I meant to come right back upstairs, but I needed to get this one email off and—”

  “Sorry?” She pressed the fingertips of one hand to her forehead as if to suppress an explosion.

  “I guess I got sidetracked,” he offered with a grimace.

  “Has it occurred to you that this”—she swept a hand toward the room at large—“might be the reason you aren’t married?”

  He glanced about the room. Most of it looked fine to him, except for the work area, which was admittedly its usual mess. “You mean because I’m a slob?”

  “No.” She gaped at him as if he were shockingly clueless. “Because you’re already married—to your work!”

  “Oh, that.” He breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t said anything about remodeling his workroom. There were, after all, certain lines a man simply could not be expected to cross. His workroom was sacred ground.

  “Okay.” She made a visible effort to collect herself. “If you’re serious about wanting to get married, the first thing you’re going to have to do is adjust your schedule. When a husband continually puts his career first, how can he expect his marriage to last?” Her voice built in volume, and he suspected something other than his workroom fueled the fire. “Nothing can survive that kind of neglect. Nothing! “

  “I realize that,” he ventured cautiously. “But, has it occurred to you that working hard is one of the ways a man shows his family he loves them?”

  “God, I hate that excuse!” Her hands balled and color touched her cheeks. “When a man works eighty hours a week, it doesn’t make his wife feel loved. It makes her feel ignored. And you!” She shook her head. “You’re not even married yet, and you’re already putting your work before your wife. Or did you expect me to do this completely on my own? Just go out and hit some poor, unsuspecting woman over the head, drag her back here, and install her in your bedroom and kitchen while you stayed down here happily playing with your computer?”

  “Whoa. Wait a second.” He held up his hands. “I have no intention of neglecting my wife.”

  “Oh, yeah? Prove it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Prove it,” she repeated. “Right now. Turn off the computer and spend one day, one whole day, without doing any work.”

  “You mean… right now?” When one of her eyebrows arched in challenge, he felt trapped. “I can’t do that.”

  She simply watched him, expectantly.

  “I just promised to email sketches to the director,” he explained. “You have to understand, making a movie is controlled mayhem. I only have a few weeks before we go into final editing. I can’t just take off for the rest of today.”

  “Okay, fair enough. It doesn’t have to be today.” She looked like calm personified, but with that edge of I-so-got-your-number. “When can you give me a day of your undivided attention?”

  In about three months , he wanted to tell her. Maybe.

  One look at Kate’s face, though, and he knew that if he said that, he’d lose any chance he had with her. He could tell her tomorrow, or the next day, but things would only get crazier in the coming weeks.

  “All right,” he said slowly, telling himself that one day wouldn’t make that much difference. He could make up one day. Cringing, he hit the keys to save and close the file. Then he picked up the phone and called the director’s mobile. “Hey, Stan, it’s Mike. About those sketches—I’d like to play with them a bit more and get them to you tomorrow.”

  “Is there a problem?” Stan Kelly asked, then hollered at a key grip to move a boom stage left, not stage right. In the background, Mike could hear the special blend of noise unique to a Hollywood soundstage. Hammers banged while crew members shouted and actors ran through their lines.

  “No problem,” Mike said when Stan came back on the line. “I’d just like to smooth out a few rough edges.” As he spoke, Mike glanced at Kate and noticed her wide-eyed look of disbelief. “I’ll be sure and get them off to you first thing in the morning.”

  “Fine. I’ll tell the art department to expect them tomorrow.” Before the line went dead, Stan resumed yelling at the key grip.

  Mike exhaled sharply as he set down the phone. Panic instantly set in at the idea of stepping away from the computer, but he shoved it down. He could do this. Glancing at Kate, he tried to smile. “I guess I’m yours for the day. What are you going to do with me?”

  She blinked once, then her face lit with a grin. “Clothes shopping.”

  “So soon?” He cringed.

  “Absolutely.” She beamed at him. “By the end of today, we’ll have a whole new you.”

  Personally, he didn’t see what was wrong with the old him.

  Chapter 6

  *

  “I WILL NOT buy that shirt.”

  “Mike.” Kate exhaled in exasperation. “There is nothing wrong with this shirt.” Holding it against his chest, she could see it would fit him perfectly, even if the lack of color did make him look a bit bland. Still… “Every man needs at least one white dress shirt.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean, ‘Why?’ ” She imagined how sexy he’d look in a tailored shirt that showed off his trim waist. “A lot of women find dress shirts very sexy. They convey an image of power, success, confidence.”

  “In other words, a man isn’t successful unless he stuffs himself into a monkey suit?”

  She took a slow, deep breath in a bid for patience, then wished she hadn’t as the masculine scent of his soap and
skin filled her nostrils. He’d showered and changed into a short-sleeve shirt and navy slacks before they left his house. While the shirt wasn’t precisely Hawaiian in style, it was a long way from conservative. She had to admit, though, the man looked great in bold colors. Unfortunately, she’d always had a weakness for the bold and dramatic. The fact that they’d driven to the mall in his vintage orange Corvette hadn’t done anything to discourage her libido.

  She forced her mind back to the issue at hand. “You hired me to market you as husband material. It doesn’t take a genius to know that the first step in selling a product is to give it an enticing package.”

  “You’re saying women find stuffed shirts enticing?” His voice rose in disbelief as he stood in a department store, surrounded by racks of conservative gray suits.

  “I’m saying that women are subconsciously attracted to power. Not a pleasant statement, but a true one.”

  “Power meaning money.” He smirked.

  “Sometimes, yes, but not always. For some women, power comes from intelligence or physical prowess or even artistic talent. Trust me on this one, I’m something of an expert.”

  “Part of your training as a Wife for Hire?” He gave her a teasing wink.

  She shook her head. “Actually, one of my many majors in college was anthropology, so I’m basing this on what humans instinctually look for in a mate.”

  “What about you?” He leaned closer. “What kind of power attracts you to a mate?”

  She flattened her hand against his chest to hold him off. A mistake, she realized, since his hard muscles felt entirely too good beneath her palm. “We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about women in general.”

  “I’m asking you, though.” He covered her hand with his. The touch sent tingles down her arm. “What do you look for in a man, Kate?”

  “I’m not looking for a man.” Her heart jolted at the question, so she pulled her hand out from under his.

  “Really?” He scowled. “Not at all?”

  “Not at present.”

  “Okay, let’s say you were. What would you want?”