Read an Excerpt

ONE
 
“This is pathetic,” Mallory Scott muttered, this being the fact that she was huddled in a corner of the Blue Russian, waiting for Mr. Right. She knew Brunswick, Oregon’s one and only gay bar wasn’t the traditional hunting ground for a straight single female, but she was desperate. Dial-A-Date Escort Service hadn’t panned out. Nor had any of her lonely-hearts ads.
 
And this isn’t gonna either. Hoping to drown her niggling doubts, she gulped the last of her screwdriver, grimacing at the taste.
 
Kyle Brewster laughed at her expression. “I told you to order a Coke.”
 
“Liquid courage.” Mallory’s smile was grim but determined. With just over a week left before her sister Lindsey’s wedding, the search for a hunk-of-the-century escort had assumed a frantic urgency. This meeting Kyle had arranged with his old fraternity brother was her last hope. Her only hope. A feeble hope that was fading fast.
 
Mallory glanced at her watch. The man was already ten minutes late. She slumped forward in defeat, resting her forehead on the table. “He’s not coming.”
 
“Relax.” Kyle gave her shoulder a reassuring pat. “Punctuality has never been Brody’s strong suit.”
 
Slowly she sat up, staring myopically at Kyle over the tops of the glasses that had slipped to the end of her nose. “And patience has never been mine.” She signaled for a refill.
 
“He’ll be here. Don’t worry.” Kyle nudged her wire frames back up to the bridge of her nose. “Maybe you ought to go easy on the booze, though. You’re not used to it.”
 
“I need all the help I can get,” she objected, then sighed heavily. “Correction. What I need is a man. And not just any man, either. A real dream babe. Somebody so completely studly he’ll wipe that smug, pitying expression off Lindsey’s face forever.”
 
Kyle sipped his Chablis. “Don’t worry. Brody Hunter’s twice as sexy as any leading man in Hollywood.”
 
The bartender set a fresh drink in front of her. “Who’s twice as sexy as any leading man in Hollywood, and when are you going to introduce me?” He winked at Kyle.
 
“Sorry, Tim. This one’s spoken for.”
 
“C’est la vie. “The bartender shrugged. Gathering up Mallory’s empty glass and crumpled napkin, he returned to the bar.
 
“You’d better be right about your friend.” Mallory forced herself to swallow a dose of orange-flavored medicinal vodka. “This is not a situation where just any warm body will do. I need a major hunk.”
 
“Drumroll, please. Here comes the hunk of your dreams now.” Kyle nodded toward the entrance.
 
Looking up, Mallory choked on her drink. Kyle considered the man in the doorway a hunk? Hunk of what? Road apple cobbler?
 
“You’re kidding.” With filthy, tattered clothes, heavy-duty black stubble, and long, tangled hair, Kyle’s hunk was about as appealing as the winos who hung out at the bus depot on North Oregon Street. “He’s a bum.”
 
“Undercover cop,” Kyle corrected her. He waved the rough-looking thug over to their table.
 
Mallory held her breath. The man smelled even worse than he looked, and he looked downright terrible. Up close she could see the grime staining his knuckles, the grease matting his uncombed hair. Had he been working undercover or underground? Struggling to maintain a calm demeanor, she shot her friend a quick, nervous glance. This was a joke, right?
 
Kyle stood up, doing his impression of the genial host. “Mallory, this is Brody Hunter, my old fraternity brother. Brody, say hello to Mallory Scott.”
 
Brody Hunter looked like a former fraternity man about as much as Kyle looked like Arnold Schwarzenegger, which was to say, not at all.
 
He shoved his fists in the pockets of his grubby black raincoat. “I’d shake hands, but I took an unplanned detour through the sewer earlier this afternoon. Caught the little creep who’s been mugging senior citizens in the park, though.” The gravelly voice died abruptly.
 
His gaze caught and held Mallory’s, sending a shiver rippling down her spine. Okay, so maybe her first impression was wrong. Maybe there was a little hunk potential buried under all that grime and wild hair. Brody’s eyes were a pale, silvery gray, startling in such a swarthy face. He had a good, strong nose, well-marked brows, and a very nice mouth. Though maybe nice was the wrong word. Sexy was closer. Drop-dead gorgeous closer yet. Mallory drew a shaky breath. He’s gay, she reminded herself.
 
“Have a seat.” Kyle indicated the chair between his and Mallory’s. “The other customers are getting nervous.”
 
Not just the other customers. Mallory hid her trembling hands in her lap.
 
The corners of Brody’s mouth twitched. “Yeah. They’re probably trying to decide whether I’m gonna flash ’em or blow the place to kingdom come. Sorry about the clothes. Things went down in a hurry, but the paperwork took forever. I didn’t have time to change. Hope I’m not ruining your reputation.”
 
“Other than the somewhat pungent aroma, you’re fine. Mallory’s the one who has the clientele agog. They don’t get many females in here.”
 
As Brody settled onto the chair its rattan frame groaned in protest. He was a big man, as tall as Kyle, but heavier—broad-shouldered, athletic. A wicked half smile twisted one corner of his mouth. “If anyone asks you later, just tell ’em she was a guy in drag.”
 
Mallory stiffened. “I don’t think that’s funny.”
 
Obviously her companions disagreed. Both men fought to keep their faces composed.
 
“It’s not like I’m the only female in here, you know. Not ten minutes ago I saw a blonde slip into the manager’s office. And unless I’m blind, there are two more ladies at the bar.” Floozies, she’d almost said. There ought to be a law against baring that much cleavage.
 
Kyle and Brody exchanged a look.
 
“What?” she demanded. It took her a second, but she finally got it. “You mean they’re men?”
 
“Transvestites,” Brody said. “Listen, do they serve anything edible in this joint? I’m starving.”
 
Kyle shook his head. “No food. Just drinks.”
 
Brody groaned. “Why’d you set the meeting up here, then? Why not Chico’s? I could really go for one of their chicken chimichangas.”
 
“Truthfully, I was more concerned with anonymity than menu choice. I figured none of the Blue Russian crowd would be invited to Lindsey Scott’s wedding. Whereas if we’d met at Chico’s …”
 
Mallory nodded in agreement. As Brunswick’s unofficial yuppie watering hole, Chico’s was no place to maintain a low profile.
 
“Here.” Kyle shoved the bowl of pretzels across the table. “Chow down on those.”
 
Brody examined his filthy hands dubiously. “Maybe I’d better wash up first.”
 
An excellent plan, in Mallory’s opinion. His fingernails alone looked like they were good for anthrax, typhoid, dysentery, and six varieties of the common cold.
 
“It’s a dirty job,” Brody said, catching her gaze, “but somebody’s got to do it.” Grinning broadly, he headed for the rest room.
 
Maybe Brody Hunter wasn’t soap-opera-star handsome like Evan, her ex-boyfriend[…]”
 
Maybe Brody Hunter wasn’t soap-opera-star handsome like Evan, her ex-boyfriend and soon-to-be brother-in-law, and maybe his sense of humor was a little warped, but he did have a great smile. And he moved well too. Like a dancer. Or an athlete.
 
She sipped her drink and tried to picture the reaction if she showed up at the rehearsal dinner with Brody in tow. Their arrival would undoubtedly trigger her mother’s temper. April Scott made no secret of her hatred of long hair on men. But it might be worth all the flak just to see the look on Lindsey’s face. And Evan’s.
 
Gradually Mallory became aware that Kyle was staring at her, his expression expectant.
 
“What?”
 
“Well, was I right or was I right? Didn’t I tell you Brody was perfect?”
 
Mallory raised an eyebrow. “Define perfect.”
 
“Open your eyes, kiddo. Under that veneer of grime lurks a genuine hunk. Admit it, he’s a giant step up from your recent lonely-hearts disaster, Bobby Ray Hicks.”
 
“And a Paul Bunyan cut above Ramon, the octopus from Dial-A-Date.” She smiled. “You’re right. And besides, this late in the game, I’m in no position to be picky.”
 
“Then here’s to last chances.” Kyle clinked his glass with hers.
 
“Last chances,” Mallory repeated, not sure she liked the sound of that. She took another sip of her screwdriver, shuddering at the taste.
 
“Cold?” Brody asked as he slipped back into the chair next to hers.
 
“No, I …” Glancing up, Mallory caught her breath in surprise. Soap and water had performed miracles.
 
“Do I pass?” A crooked smile lit his face.
 
She blinked, then smiled back. She knew it must be a pretty sappy-looking smile from the startled expression on Kyle’s narrow, intelligent face, but at the moment she was too excited to care whether or not she looked like a brain donor. Good-bye, Mr. Hyde. Hello, Dr. Jekyll. Lindsey, eat your double-crossing, man-stealing heart out.
 
Kyle cleared his throat. “Let’s get down to business.”
 
“Sure,” Brody agreed. “Lay it all out.” He tapped Mallory on the shoulder. “Pass me the peanuts, would you?”
 
“Peanuts?” she echoed, trying to ignore the tingling sensation that lingered in the wake of his casual touch.
 
Kyle gave her a strange look. “Yeah, you know. Little salty edibles. Look sort of like brown jelly beans.”
 
“Oh, right. Peanuts.” She shoved the bowl toward Brody, and he tossed a handful in his mouth.
 
Kyle drummed his fingertips on the table, obviously anxious to get this show on the road. “The thing is, Mallory needs a date for her sister’s wedding.”
 
Brody chewed thoughtfully, studying Mallory.
 
She squirmed around in her chair, feeling like a slide under a microscope.
 
Brody swallowed, then shook his head slowly from side to side. “Maybe I’m being dense, but I don’t get it. Why would a woman like you need to be fixed up?”
 
Mallory felt her cheeks grow warm. “I—” Words failed her. Insults she was prepared for. Teasing she could deal with. But compliments threw her every time.