Best Of Makeovers Bundle Part 83

Just as his sorrowful expression was beginning to melt her heart, she noticed the thick satin ribbon tied around his neck.

What in the world...?

She reached across the bed to tug on the red tail-end of the bow. The knot slipped loose and the ribbon-weighted down to a white envelope-fell away from his neck.

Jane pulled out the simple note card. "What has he done now?"

But Trey merely stared back at her.

As she held the card, she couldn't help thinking of the countless fantasies she used to harbor that all started with Reid sending a note to her desk at work.

In a thousand years, she never would have dreamed Reid would one day be sending a note to her bed. Via their dog, no less.

Three months had pa.s.sed since they'd won the Tres Bien account and picked out Trey the dog to celebrate the occasion. Trey was an exceptionally good dog-sweet-natured, well behaved and very patient with the cats, letting Sasha boss him around mercilessly, even though she was a good eight pounds lighter than he was.

Shaking her head at how much her life had changed, she unfolded the note and read the message inside. Scrawled in Reid's masculine handwriting were the words, "Why not walk Trey down for breakfast at Sweetish Hill? I'll meet you there."

She looked back at Trey. "Did you put him up to this?"

Trey merely thumped his tail against the bed.

She dressed quickly, unsure how long Reid had been waiting or how late she'd slept. Luckily the walk down to Sweetish Hill went quickly, with Trey hurrying along beside her, as eager to see Reid as she was.

She found Reid sitting at their favorite table, a newspaper spread out in front of him, an empty coffee mug by his hand, as if he'd been calmly waiting for her for hours.

He stood when she approached. Taking Trey's leash from her hands, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly.

"Been w-waiting long?" she asked when he finally let her up for air.

"My whole life."

Now, especially around Reid, Jane no longer needed the disguise of Sasha. Her stutter was still as much a part of her as it had always been. But it no longer made her uncomfortable. She knew he loved her just as she was.

He looped Trey's leash around the back of his chair and then held out the other chair for her. Only then did she notice the plate waiting at her spot at the table. On it sat a chocolate croissant, and, beside that, a small black velvet ring box.

Her gaze darted to Reid's. "What is this?"

Instead of waiting for him to answer, she reached for the box. Before she could open it, he wrapped her hands in his so that together they cradled the box.

"I know this is soon," he began. "And I know you probably want to wait. But I know already you're the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with."

With her heart pounding and her eyes p.r.i.c.kling with tears, she nodded. "It's not too soon. I know it, too."

And with that, she launched herself into his arms.

This was one time when reality was definitely better than her fantasies. She never could have imagined how much she would love him or how wonderful it was to be loved so completely.

By Kimberly Raye.

Texas Fire.

1.

CHARLENE SINGER STOOD near the rear exit of the Elks Lodge, stared at the man leaning against the b.u.mper of the black 4x4 pickup truck directly in her line of escape and wished with all of her heart that she believed in alien abductions.

She needed a quick escape.

Her day-okay, make that her month-was quickly going from bad to worse. It had started when the queen of the gourmet s.e.x desserts had moved to town and started poisoning the good women of Romeo with the insane theory that the way to a man's heart was through his senses. To add insult to injury, the women actually believed such nonsense. Miss Sweet & Sinful had just preached her message to a lodge full of Juliets-Romeo's local women's club-and had received a standing ovation. The Juliets had practically fallen over themselves to get to the table of hand-outs detailing several explicit recipes for s.e.xual success. s.e.x. As if that were a solid basis for any long-term relations.h.i.+p. Feed him this and tease him with that, and he'll fall hook, line and sinker from this day forward, 'til death do us part.

Yeah, right.

Charlene folded the tip sheet she'd swiped and stuffed it into the pocket of her slim-fit beige skirt. The Juliets had been too enthralled by the advice to notice that Dr. Charlene Singer, Romeo's one and only relations.h.i.+p therapist, had actually attended one of their self-help luncheons. Talk about fuel for Skeeter McBee and his gossip circle down at the diner.

Romeo was the typical small Texas town. And like any typical small Texas town diner, the Fat Cow Cafe had become notorious for its platter-sized chicken fried steak smothered in cream gravy, served up with a generous side of homemade mashed potatoes and a great big scoop of "Didya hear? Willie McIntyre got caught wearing his wife's pantyhose..."

The ringleader of the gossip? Old Skeeter McBee, the reigning domino champ and leader of the lunch bunch-a handful of retirees who met every afternoon for the daily lunch special.

The Juliets were already questioning Charlene's doctrine. The last thing she needed was for someone to get the idea that she'd jumped s.h.i.+p and was now anxious to try out Miss Sweet & Sinful's recipes herself. Old Skeeter and his cronies would have a field day spreading that around.

Charlene had come strictly to size up the compet.i.tion, and now she intended to make a nice, clean getaway before the meeting officially adjourned and someone singled her out.

Fat chance with her only available out-a beige Lexus she'd bought last year-parked several feet away. On the opposite side of the man and the truck.

From bad to worse to disastrous.

Charlene closed her eyes and fought down a wave of panic. There were only three things in life that made her truly miserable-chocolate, The Bachelor and Mason McGraw.

It wasn't the sweet, rich taste of chocolate that put everything dark, delicious and sinful at the top of her "unbearable things" list. She'd come closer to an o.r.g.a.s.m with a bottle of YooHoo and a box of truffles than with most of the men she'd dated. It was the dreaded "morning after," as in zits, a face full of them that lasted longer than the dehydrated macaroni and cheese her mother had kept in their bad weather emergency kit, along with batteries, bottled water and multiple cans of Spam.

The Bachelor ranked in the top three because of its blatant objectification of women. Sure, there was a lot of blah-blah on the man's part about finding a soulmate with brains and ambition, and Charlene supposed there could be a thread of truth to it. What guy wanted to spend 'til death do us part with a dumb, lazy woman? But it wasn't an issue that any of the bachelors had yet to address. Thanks to the show's casting manager, brains and ambition came wrapped in a drop-dead gorgeous body, preferably with perky b.r.e.a.s.t.s, blond hair and a laser-bleached smile. So much for reality TV.

As for number three on the list...

Her gaze slid to the hot body in question. He'd obviously not heard the rear exit door creak open because his attention remained fixed on the front entrance of the lodge. An all-important fact which allowed her a few blessed moments to breathe, plan and study his profile.

Okay, so forget the breathing and planning. Mason McGraw had been back in Romeo all of two weeks and this was her first up-close look at him.

He wore faded Wranglers that molded to his long, lean legs and cupped the tush which rested on the front b.u.mper of the jacked-up truck. Scuffed, tan Ropers hooked at the ankles, the toes scarred and worn from climbing into one too many saddles. His back rested against the ma.s.sive silver grille, his arms folded. His biceps bulged, stretching the sleeves of his white T-s.h.i.+rt into a tight second skin and a beat-up straw Resistol sat low on his forehead. The brim curled down in the front and s.h.i.+elded his eyes from the blistering noonday sun, the straw edges ragged from years of handling. Dark hair curled out from under his hat and brushed the collar of his cotton T-s.h.i.+rt. The faintest hint of stubble darkened his strong jaw and circled his sensuous mouth. His Adam's apple bobbed and the muscles in his jaw tensed as he chewed at a piece of straw that hung from the corner of his mouth.

Dark, delicious and sinful...Check!

Mason still looked as tempting as the most decadent piece of G.o.diva, which wasn't a problem in and of itself. She'd eyeballed many a good-looking man. But he wasn't just handsome. He had this peel-off-your-clothes grin that made women want to strip now and think later-much later-and Charlene was no exception.

Not that she would sink so low as to hook up with a man who'd made no secret that he liked his women beautiful and dumb. But seeing that grin full-on...Well, it made her at least contemplate the notion for a full five seconds before coming to her senses and realizing that this was the same guy who'd paid a quarter back in the sixth grade to see Lolly Langtree's underpants.

Objectifies women...Check!

It hadn't mattered that Lolly had been as intelligent as a bag of rocks, and about as sensitive. She'd had a pretty face to go with her pretty pink Charlie's Angels panties, and so Mason had been the first in line when Lolly had stepped into the closet to give sneak peeks at Sandra Huckaby's first girl/boy party.

Meanwhile, Charlene had stood as far away as possible, not the least bit anxious to have anyone see the white cotton Hee Haw briefs her mom had bought on the clearance rack at the local K-Mart.

As if any of the boys would have given even a nickel to see them.

Charlene hadn't been one of the cool girls-daring divas as they'd called themselves back in junior high school-with their lip gloss and Calvin Klein jeans. Rather, she'd been the tallest girl in the cla.s.s, and the most awkward. Her jeans-whatever brand that happened to be on sale at Sears or Montgomery Ward-had always been an inch too short for her body. Her one attempt at a tube of Lip Smackers had created enough of a glare-can you say Mick Jagger lips?-to temporarily blind the captain of the basketball team and screw up a winning three-pointer during the semifinals. At least that's what Sandra and Lolly and the other "divas" had said. To make matters worse, Charlene had worn thick gla.s.ses and battled monumental zits, and so she'd been snubbed for the most part like all of the other "groupies," also known as geeks.

While Charlene's own mother had been born a groupie-she'd been not only plain and geeky, but poor, as well-she'd managed to turn herself into a daring diva by marrying the mayor's son who'd gone on to become the president of Romeo Savings and Loan. And so Charlene had been invited to Sandra's party because their mothers had run in the same social set and played in the same bridge club. A humiliation in and of itself. Unfortunately, it had only been the first of many that night. Before the evening had ended, she'd become known to every kid at Romeo Junior High as Charlie Horse Underpants.

"Hey, there, Charlie Horse Underpants!"

"Here comes Charlie Horse Underpants!"

"How's it going, Charlie Horse Underpants?"

The memories echoed in her head and her throat tightened. The name didn't matter anymore. And it certainly didn't matter that Bobby Winch.e.l.l down at the local Stop-n-Shop still said "Well, well, if it ain't Charlie Horse Underpants," every time she stopped off for a loaf of bread or a six-pack of Diet c.o.ke.

Despite that some immature people still felt the need to tease her, she wasn't about to burst into tears anymore. She was all grown-up now and she realized that it wasn't about how a woman looked or what she wore that attracted a member of the opposite s.e.x for the long-term. It was her inner being. Her personality.

Be yourself and men-the reliable, 'til death do us part, potential soulmate kind, that is-will flock to you.

That was her motto now, one she preached with complete conviction not only in her private practice as a relations.h.i.+p therapist, but also twice a week at nearby Texas A & M to an auditorium full of enthusiastic sociology majors. Forget the b.o.o.bs and Hair, It's All About Going Bare had become the college's most popular course, and had earned Charlene tenure just this past year.

Tenure, she reminded herself. When most of the other professors her age were still working on their thesis papers and building their credentials.

Charlene had already proven herself.

And her theory?

She'd seen the proof firsthand. Her parents, direct opposites, had had little in common, but they'd been attracted to each other anyway. They'd married, and they'd ended up in divorce court. The l.u.s.t factor simply wasn't enough of a foundation for marriage. A couple needed common interests for that. Similar personalities. A meeting of the minds instead of the bodies. At least that's what Charlene had always believed, up until Miss Sweet & Sinful had come to town.

But after seeing the way the Juliets embraced the woman's preaching, Charlene couldn't help but wonder if Holly Farraday was on to something. Maybe a solid, lasting relations.h.i.+p wasn't built on common interests. Maybe it was just good s.e.x.

And maybe not.

She didn't know. She only knew that she had to make a quick getaway because she wasn't going to risk her reputation on a maybe.

She drew a deep breath, gathered her courage and stepped forward. It wasn't like she had to actually walk in front of Mason. She could go around the rear of the truck and, thereby, avoid a confrontation. The first, in fact, since the night of Sandra Huckaby's party. Sure, she'd seen him since then. While he'd left town over sixteen years ago, right after high school graduation, he'd been back now and then for special occasions and, most recently, for his grandfather's funeral.

But in all the years since Sandra's party, Charlene had never actually talked to him.

She'd tried. The Monday after the underpants incident, she'd actually smiled at him in the hallway, but he'd simply stared past her. So she'd contented herself with l.u.s.ting after him from afar and later, as she'd gotten older, in her most private fantasies.

It was a situation that suited her just fine. While she'd entertained erotic thoughts about Mason, he was as far from her soulmate as a man could get, and so she was in no hurry to run into him. Charlene wanted only one thing at this point in her life-to marry the right man, one who shared her interests, and to have a solid, lasting relations.h.i.+p.

She eyed her car. Okay, so maybe she wanted two things. A solid, lasting relations.h.i.+p, and a clean getaway.

The first wish was this close-she'd found the man, a colleague who shared her love of books and her pa.s.sion for opera, and it was just a matter of time before he realized how perfect they were for each other. The second was close, as well, if only she could clear several yards of open s.p.a.ce without making any- Crrrrunch!

The sole of her Prada pump sank into the gravel and her breath caught.

Metal groaned and creaked. The pickup bobbed. More gravel crunched and crackled-sounds that had nothing to do with the tasteful, beige pumps she'd paid an obscene amount of money for during last month's shopping spree, and everything to do with worn boots and strong purposeful footsteps.

"Charlie?" The deep voice slid into her ears and sent a burst of heat through her.

Or maybe it was the sudden memory of her most embarra.s.sing moment that did that.

Either way, she stiffened. Her head snapped to the side and she found herself staring into Mason's deep green eyes just the way she had that night when she'd accidentally left the bathroom door unlocked and he'd walked in on her. He'd had three boys trailing behind him and they'd all gotten a glimpse of her in her Hee Haw panties, her jeans down around her ankles.

But Mason had gotten the first look. The longest look...before the other boys had started laughing and calling her the name that would follow her all the way to her high school graduation and beyond.

"I see Paris, I see France. I see Charlie Horse Underpants!"

"Well, well, if it isn't Charlie-"

"I'm not wearing any underpants," Charlene blurted before he could say the rest of the dreaded name. "I mean, I am wearing underpants, but they're not the Hee Haw ones. I don't wear those anymore. I wouldn't have worn them ever, except my mother had this thing for buying me stuff on sale and I didn't exactly have a choice. But now I buy my own underwear and I usually stick to solid colors. No horses. Not that the Hee Haw ones even had horses. Technically, they were donkeys, but I guess Charlie Donkey didn't have the same ring to it."

Surprise registered in Mason's dark green gaze. He tipped the brim of his hat back, as if to get a better look at her. "That's good to know," he said.

And then he smiled.

No, forget the smile.

He grinned, his lips curving in that slow, s.e.xy tilt that had made him the most sought after boy in Romeo even though he had two identical brothers just as wild and wicked and handsome.

She wasn't sure what she'd expected, but it certainly wasn't the deep, husky, "I'm a plaid man, myself."

The statement cut through her line of defense like a hot knife through b.u.t.ter and stirred an image of him wearing nothing but a pair of plaid boxers and a smile. Her mouth went dry and she licked her lips. "Well, I do have a pair with tiny hearts on them."

His grin widened. "Hearts are good."

Excitement rushed through her. A crazy reaction considering she could care less what he thought. She hadn't bought the hearts for him, or any man for that matter. She'd bought them because they hadn't had any solids in her size and cut and she'd simply felt like splurging. A compulsion that had grown from years of watching her mother budget and save and buy only marked-down merchandise. While her mother had transformed herself into a daring diva, she'd never quite escaped her past or the compulsion to hold on to her money.

Charlene could care less what Mason thought about her undies.

So why are you telling him?

To set the record straight. Because she'd never had a chance all those years ago because she'd never had the nerve to actually speak to him. And because she'd endured too many names all these years and she'd never once fought back. She'd never really had the courage. Until Mason McGraw had been about to say the hated name and she'd had to stop him.

That, and because she was having a major meltdown thanks to the legendary grin.

"I have a master's degree in behavioral science," she heard herself say. Okay, she was still blurting unsolicited information, but at least it had nothing to do with her underwear. "I teach a cla.s.s at A & M on female empowerment. Not at this moment, mind you. We're on summer break, but the cla.s.s is already full for this fall. I'm also a licensed relations.h.i.+p therapist. I have my own practice over near the courthouse."