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There's not a man Rachel Westover can't tame. Or at least
transform from a sloppy, sports-loving, self-absorbed male
into the perfect mate. Then she meets Garret Kelly, aka
The Wild Man. Talk about a challenge—in a gorgeous
package, no less. Can her behavior-modification
techniques take on a guy this set in his rumpled—and
surprisingly irresistible—ways? Rachel's hormones, er,
ambitions, are jumping at the chance.
If she succeeds in domesticating Garret, she gets her own
TV show. If she fails... Well, failure isn't an option. Sure,
he's more resistant than she expected. And withholding
pleasure as punishment affects her so much, she's
abandoned that strategy. But she's determined one of
them is going to their knees. She just hopes it isn't her!
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
Cindy Myers became one of the most popular people in eighth grade when she and her best friend wrote a torrid historical romance and passed the manuscript around among friends. Fame was short-lived, alas; the English teacher confiscated the manuscript. Since then, Cindy has written more than 50 published novels. Her historical and contemporary romances and women’s fiction have garnered praise from reviewers and readers alike.Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
Why Man Taming Works
Dear Man Tamer:
You are so full of it! I can't believe you're telling all these women they can train a man like a dog. How could you ever believe your so-called methods would work on a real man?
A Real Man
Dear Real Man:
The Man-Taming principles work because they're based on tried-and-true methods of Behavior Modification. Behavior modification has been used successfully for decades for everything from, yes, dog training to helping people quit smoking. And it works for helping men break the bad habits they've developed over the years, too. I have hundreds of letters from satisfied readers to prove it.
The Man Tamer
RACHEL WESTOVER'S second-most favorite thing in the world was chocolate-covered strawberries. Since her most favorite thing wasn't something she could do in public, she was happy to see the strawberries prominently displayed on the buffet table at Denton Morrison's annual brag party. The media mogul and allaround rich guy made it a point to throw a party for himself every year to celebrate his accomplishments and to show off his latest project for the press.
Rachel's plan for the evening was to corral Denton at some point and ask him—again—about her proposal to fill the vacant slot in the afternoon local programming block of KTXK, the television station he owned.After all, as the most popular columnist in the history of Belinda magazine—another Denton Morrison holding—it was time she expanded her audience to television. Chocolate-covered strawberries were the perfect fuel to prepare her for her encounter with "Mr. Money" Morrison.
Anticipating that first luscious bite, she transferred three of the largest berries to her plate. They were the size of eggs and coated in dark chocolate. Yummmmmm.
"Have you talked to him yet? What did he say?" Rachel looked up from the strawberries to her best friend, Moira Stapleton, who was hurrying toward her from the other end of the buffet table. "Did he say yes? Did he give you the afternoon time slot?" Moira asked as she skidded to a stop in front of Rachel. Five foot two inches, with a cloud of dark curls and Bambi eyes, Moira reminded Rachel of a nervous poodle.
"I haven't talked to Denton yet. I'm working up the nerve." She nodded to her plate.
Moira's eyes widened. "Oooh, those look yummy. And fattening." She pressed her lips together, resisting temptation. Moira lived off black coffee, water and sushi, and it showed. She wore a size zero. If she weren't so much fun Rachel might have been tempted to snap her in two like the twig she was.
Moira rose up on tiptoe and scanned the crowd. "Have you seen David? He was supposed to meet me here."
"I haven't seen him, but I just got here myself." David Brewer was an accountant at Morrison Enterprises and Moira's erstwhile boyfriend.
"You don't think he's going to stand me up again, do you?" Deep worry lines formed above Moira's nose.
"He's so absentminded. He'll get to working on his car or watching a game and the next thing you know, he's forgotten all about me."
Rachel thought a man in love ought to be more considerate than that. What did it say about the depth of his feelings if replacing spark plugs or counting touchdowns could make him forget his soul mate? "Have you been trying any of my techniques?" she asked.
The worry lines deepened. "I tried, but I guess I'm not very good at discipline. I mean, he looks at me with those big brown eyes and I melt. I just want to be with him, you know?"
"I know." Rachel patted her friend's shoulder. "But remember, you're the woman. It's up to you to set the tone for the relationship. And those techniques have been proven to work. Do you still have the list?"
"Yes." Moira opened her purse and began digging through it. She came up with a crumpled computer printout. "One, teach by example," she read. "Two, praise good behavior. Three, distract from bad behavior. Four, substitution—replace bad behavior with something else. Five, reprimand bad behavior. Six, withhold affection until he behaves properly. Seven, punish bad behavior. Eight, restrict unwanted behavior. Nine, reward good behavior, and ten, acceptance—a last resort." She looked up at Rachel. "Maybe I'm at number ten. I mean, you can't really change people, can you?"
"Behavior modification isn't about changing him," Rachel said. "Only the way he acts."
"Isn't that the same thing?"
"Of course not. He'll still be the man you love, only better."
Moira stuffed the list back into her purse. "I don't know. I mean, this man-taming stuff may work for some of your readers, but maybe every man doesn't respond to this kind of thing."
Rachel shook her head. "I don't believe that. You just have to keep working at it."
"No offense, but if they work so great, why are you still single?"
Rachel had heard the question so often now she didn't even flinch. "You know why. Since my Man Tamer column became so popular, I can't find a man who'll risk dating me." If she was lucky enough to find a guy who hadn't heard of her column, after a date or two one of his friends tipped him off and he disappeared.
Not to mention so many of the men she met were so, well, bland. They were handsome, professional, with money and manners and plenty of opinions, but with no real spark. Where were the debonair, charming and sophisticated men with polish and personality?
The last guy she'd dated had even accused her of being too cool—but what did he expect when he did nothing to raise her temperature?
"Men don't want to be tamed," Moira said. She grinned. "They're all afraid of you."
"It's just the name of my column. It doesn't mean I go after men with a whip."
Moira giggled. "You might try it sometime. Some guys really go for that sort of thing." She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. "Your sister's here."
Rachel flinched. "Where?" Rhonda Westover MacMillan—Mrs. Harrison MacMillan—could never forget her role as big sister, which to her way of thinking gave her carte blanche to run Rachel's life.
"Over by the door to the terrace. With that group of men."
Of course Rhonda was with a group of men. The hairier sex had panted after her ever since she was a toddler in ruffled panties in nursery school, where she would bat her eyelashes and little boys would vie to share their afternoon animal crackers with her.
Rachel studied her sister now as she held court over five men in black suits, like some lounge singer with her backup group. Clinging close to her side was Harrison MacMillan himself, fifteen years older and many times richer than Rhonda. But of course, all that money was Rhonda's now, and Rhonda made sure plenty of it was spent on keeping up her fabulous face and figure, not to mention endowing numerous charities and throwing lavish parties, all of which served to keep her name in the paper as one of Dallas's most famous socialites.
Which explained what she was doing at Denton's big shindig. The two ran in the same circles, though they weren't exactly friends.
What would Rhonda say when little sister had her own television show? Rachel wondered. The first time a member of the public recognized Rachel before Rhonda, big sister would have to buy out Nieman Marcus to assuage her wounded ego.
Frankly, Rachel couldn't wait. "Are you going to go over and say hello?" Moira asked.
Rachel shrugged. "I wouldn't want to interrupt." Besides, Rhonda was sure to seek her out, if only to offer some bit of sisterly wisdom. Last time they'd met, Rachel had endured a lecture on the evils of cheap shoes. Never mind that they were at a backyard barbecue. Rachel had worn a pair of funky flip-flops, decorated with rhinestones and feathers. Rhonda, teetering on silver high-heeled sandals, swore her little sister was going to ruin her feet or—worse—get a reputation for being tacky. "I'm sure we'll bump into each other sooner or later." But not if Rachel could avoid it.
Moira was no longer listening. She was staring toward the door, her expression lightened. "There's David. I'll catch up with you later."
She darted off after her man, leaving Rachel alone with her strawberries. The chocolate had softened a little on her plate, but that would make them all the more decadent.
She lifted a fat berry by the stem and shut her eyes. Her mouth closed over the treat and she took the first bite, sweet juice and velvety cocoa mingling in her mouth. She moaned a little at the positively orgasmic mix of luscious strawberry and rich, smooth chocolate.
"Excuse me, waiter," said a masculine voice at her elbow. "I'll have what she's having."
Rachel's eyes snapped open and she stared at the man who'd interrupted her moment of indulgence. Tall and muscular, he managed to look rough-around-theedges in spite of his tailored blue suit. His gold-streaked brown hair needed a trim and the stubble along his chiseled jaw testified to the fact that it had been a few days since he'd used a razor. He smelled of expensive aftershave and leather, an intoxicating combination even though he obviously wasn't Rachel's type. She preferred someone more sophisticated, less!rugged.
Of course, right now rugged didn't sound so bad. She was a woman who hadn't had a serious relationship in fourteen months, two weeks and three days. But who was counting?
"Don't let me stop you," the man said in a definite Aussie drawl. "I'm quite enjoyin' the show."
Rachel managed to swallow the rest of the bite of strawberry and looked for somewhere to stash her plate for safekeeping. Whether it was the warmth of the room, or the heat that had swept through her upon locking eyes with the gorgeous Neanderthal in front of her, chocolate had melted all over her fingers and was running down her hand. "Where are the napkins?" she asked.
"Don't see any," the hunk said, not bothering to look around. His blue eyes telegraphed his amusement at the whole situation. "There have to be napkins somewhere!" She looked around, frantic. The chocolate was in danger of dripping either onto her white silk dress or the white Berber carpeting. But of course there wasn't so much as a cocktail square anywhere in sight.
She was debating wiping her hands on the white linen tablecloth when the hunk spoke up again. "Might be I can help."
Before Rachel could protest, he took hold of her wrist and brought her fingers to his mouth. As she gaped at him, he began licking the chocolate from her fingers.
She froze at the first touch of his tongue and stared at him, heart pounding. Was this guy for real? They didn't even know each other and he was taking these kinds of liberties. Worse, as his tongue caressed her skin she began to feel weak in the knees and seriously turned on.
How pathetic was it that a total stranger could make her this hot? Granted, he was a gorgeous specimen who practically oozed testosterone, but if she hadn't been so socially deprived of late surely she would have told him where to get off instead of melting into a puddle at his feet like this.
In the meantime he kept licking the chocolate from her fingers. Hot velvety tongue gliding over sensitive nerve endings, sending sparks of sensation travelingShe wanted to steady herself with her free hand on his broad, muscular shoulder, but she was powerless to do anything but breathe hard.
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Book Description Harlequin, 2007. Mass Market Paperback. Condition: New. Seller Inventory # DADAX0373793278
Book Description Harlequin, 2007. Condition: New. book. Seller Inventory # M0373793278