A March 2006 release in the United Kingdom!

Harlequin Mills & Boon
ISBN 0263845893

The "Lock and Key" trilogy

Hard to Handle Jamie Denton 0-373-79170-4 January 2005

On the Loose Shannon Hollis 0-373-79174-7 February 2005

Slow Ride Carrie Alexander 0-373-79178-X March 2005

When three women go to a "lock and key" party to meet sexy singles, they never expect to find their perfect matches ... in love and in bed!

When Josh discovers that his key fits Lauren's lock, he's not sure if it's a good sign. He doesn't believe you can meet "the one" at a party, after all. But Lauren is unlike anyone he's ever met-she's sexy, smart and knows what she wants. And clearly what she wants is Josh ... in bed!

   "THE NEXT TIME I get the urge for something hot and hard between my legs, I'm going to buy a motorcycle."
   Lauren Massey tossed back the last of the White Knight in her glass and considered heading to the bar for another, then decided against it. The crowd waiting for drinks was four people deep and anyway, she was supposed to be working on a story for her column. With two drinks in a row, she'd be more likely to giggle and flirt and fall over than ask meaningful questions...or else the questions would be way too personal to put into print.
   Her column, "Lorelei on the Loose," ran in a paper called San Francisco Inside Out, a left-wing cross between for-real street reporting and the tabloids you got at the checkout counter. Oh, they didn't report on alien babies and celebrity divorces--unless the celebrities were local or the aliens had agreed to appear on the Channel 4 News. Inside Out was about entertainment, with a little activism thrown in, and for now, it paid the bills.
   In the snarky, no-holds-barred persona of Lorelei, Lauren also ran a weblog, or "blog," connected to Inside Out's website, where she commented live on everything from clothes to politics to local charity events like this one. Her identity was a secret closely guarded by the paper, partly because she had a knack for stirring up controversy, and partly because readers couldn't resist a mystery and were always trying to guess who she was. They also couldn't resist writing in and taking her on in public, which meant that Lorelei got the highest number of hits on the whole of the Inside Out site. You'd think this would make the Queen of Pain give her a raise, but it just made her managing editor demand more content, more trend-setting commentary, more everything.
   So, like any good columnist, tonight Lauren was going to be multi-tasking--doing her part for charity and hunting a story like a basset hound.
   "A vibrator's cheaper." Lauren's foster sister, Aurora Constable, was still smiling over her motorcycle crack. Lauren glanced at the drink on the table in front of her, illuminated by a little Victorian lamp that tried to compete with the colored spotlights and the glittering bling-bling of the twentysomething crowd all around them. Rory would nurse her drink for the next hour on the principle that the calories in it would get burned off in proportion to her activity--which, at this charity event disguised as a key party, could amount to anything from casual conversation to sex in the broom closet.
   "A vibrator doesn't have that 'Mess with me and I'll kick your butt' appeal," Lauren pointed out.
   "Bad date, sweetie?" Michaela Correlli, the middle of the three foster sisters, slid an arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick hug. She was also the clever so-and-so who had slipped Lauren an éclair during their regular Saturday-morning gabfest at Lavender Field last week and when her defenses were down, talked her into coming tonight.
   To survive in the foster care system, Lauren had learned that when life tossed you a lemon, you made lemon chiffon pie and invited other people to eat it. So, even though a key party wasn't her usual scene, she could use it to further her career and help out a good cause at the same time. But she was the lucky one. Poor Rory had had less than a week to come up with the donation of baked goods for five hundred people that Mikki had recklessly promised on her behalf in exchange for the tickets. It was a good thing Rory's minions at Lavender Field, her chain of bakeries, all possessed the California attitude that considered goodies for five hundred a "challenge," never a problem.
   Mikki was good at talking people into challenges. Nobody messed with her. In high school, nobody had messed with Lauren, either, once they'd found out Michaela was her foster sister. Even now, after one look from those merciless blue eyes, deputy D.A.s and social workers alike dropped to their knees, begging.
   For a lot of things.
   "The worst," Lauren replied, over the canned pop music that was playing until the band was ready to start. "Remember that really sweet guy I met online about four months ago? The wealth-planning advisor?"
   "Didn't you show us some of his messages?" Rory asked. "And his picture? I thought he looked nice."
   "Oh, he is nice," Lauren assured them. "His mom told me so during our date."
   Mikki set her diet soda on the table with a clank. "You're at the 'meet the parents' stage already? Is there something you didn't tell us about this guy? Should we be looking at poufy pink bridesmaid dresses?"
   "God forbid. There's a lot of stuff he didn't tell me." Lauren glanced longingly at the bar again, then back to her sisters. "Such as the fact that he isn't a wealth planner at all. He's a finance major at San Francisco State and a permanent student. As in thirty and still living with his mom."
   "So how did she get into this?" Rory wanted to know.
   "He brought her on our date. In fact, she was a lot more interesting than he turned out to be. He writes beautiful e-mails, but in person?" Lauren waved her hand, shooing away the memory of her brief foray into online affairs, which had started out as research for a story and had ended as...well, as dinner with an entertaining fifty-year-old archaeologist. Oh yeah, and her son.
   "As of tonight, I'm going to be like you, Mikki. I'm putting men on hold and focusing on important stuff, like nailing down this story."
   It was clear Michaela was trying not to laugh at the sad state of her love life. "Are you sure you want to do that?" She fingered the white-gold locket on the chain around her neck, a little suitcase-shaped charm identical to the ones worn by Lauren and Rory and half the crowd at this fundraiser. "What if Johnny Depp shows up with the key to your suitcase and you win the getaway for two?"
   "He wasn't invited. But even if he was, I'd swap with you and you could have him, Mikki Mantis. I'm here to mingle and interview people. That's it."
   Mikki swatted her on the arm for using in public the nickname she hated, and while Lauren got the last laugh on her sister, Maureen Baxter pushed aside a burgundy velvet curtain and grabbed the microphone. The music faded, and when she said, "Welcome to Clementine's, everyone," the noise level in the crowded club dropped by a couple of decibels. "I'm Maureen Baxter and I'll be your hostess this evening."
   She paused while the crowd hooted and whistled. Maureen knew everybody here, and if she didn't know you, she had a contact who did. Tall and elegant, with dark hair cut in a bob, her taupe chiffon gown hugged her curves and its sequins caught the spotlights trained on the stage. Mikki and Rory both knew her better than Lauren did. Maureen, too, had been one of the kids at the old house on Garrison Street where Emma Constable, Rory's real mother and Lauren's and Mikki's foster mom, took in the teenage strays and the hard cases from the foster care system.
   Where Lauren had finally found her mismatched but true family.
   "You're probably wondering what the deal is with the keys and lockets you were given at the door. Well, here's how it works. All the men have keys. All the women have locked suitcase charms." Maureen dropped her voice. "Yes, girls, these are white gold, from Deerfield, and we get to keep 'em." More hooting, and some applause. "Guys, your job is to find the woman whose lock fits your key, and I mean that strictly in the practical sense. Every couple who gets a match gets a prize, and a chance at the grand prize for tonight's charity event, a getaway for two. Best of all, you get to meet new people and have some fun."
   Cheering from the crowd. Maureen waved a hand for quiet.
   "And let's not forget why we're really here. Tonight's event is incredibly important to me because it will make the building fund for Baxter House healthy again. So far we have the land, which I inherited, the planning cycle is complete, the foundation has been poured and a couple of contractors--among them a wonderful guy who is actually here tonight--have donated their services."
   Lauren glanced at Mikki and Rory and made an "I'm impressed" face.
   "Good on you, Maureen," Mikki said in the direction of the stage, and then turned to her sisters.
   "With land at a premium around here and contractors booked a year in advance, you've gotta believe she worked her butt off for this."
   "I wonder who the guy is?" Rory said.
   "Our little suitcase charms mean something, as anyone who has ever been in the foster care system knows," Maureen went on. "Sometimes all you have is what fits in a single duffel bag. Your whole life, all your memories, everything that is unique to you, stuffed inside a single suitcase. Some of you here know what I'm talking about."
   The three women glanced at each other again. Some kids came with a lot of stuff. Some came with nothing. Lauren had been one of the one-bag kids--a gangly fifteen-year-old with nothing to her name but a picture of herself as a baby with her parents, a pair of jeans and a couple of T-shirts, and a battered copy of The Norton Anthology of English Literature that she'd lifted from her last school.
   Mikki's face told her she remembered the same thing, and she slid an arm around Lauren's shoulders.
   "Your fifty-dollar cover is not paying for the club, or media coverage," Maureen assured them. "It's going toward the building fund, to purchase rebar and beams and Sheetrock. This may not seem very glamorous, but I can't tell you how much it will mean to an 18-year-old girl who has just been released from the system and has no idea how to go about starting her life other than taking it to the streets. Baxter House will mean a new start for that girl, and I'm grateful to each of you for coming out to support it."
   Maureen grinned at the crowd, and waved behind her at the band, who had been quietly filing onto the stage while she was talking. "But now, we're going to have fun. So go out, find your key partner, and have a good time!"
   The band launched into a dance number with a great beat and Lauren's foot began to tap. Somewhere in the crowded club was a person who had the key that fit her locked charm, but Lauren just couldn't bring herself to go from person to person, allowing them to try out their keys. Some were having a lot of fun with it. She had work to do.
   And she'd better get on with it, before she talked herself right out the door.
   She leaned over to Rory. "I'm going to go talk to people. Are you going to check on your minions in the kitchen?"
   Lavender Field specialized in a dazzling array of breads, rolls and other sinful things. They were so good that rumor had it you could tell how well a company treated its employees simply by the presence of a box with the green-and-lavender logo in the coffee room.
   White gold charms and rolls and pastries from Lavender Field? Maureen knew how to treat her guests--and potential contributors to her project.
   Rory tossed back the last of her drink and draped her lavender shawl over the back of her chair. "Hell, no. I'm going to dance."
   Lauren watched her sister tap someone on the shoulder, and on the pretext of trying out the man's key, invited him to dance. The light from a gold spotlight slid over Rory's graceful, generous body as she passed under it, and then she and her partner disappeared into the crowd on the black-and-white checkered dance floor. Music blasted from the stage, lights flashed and swooped, and from somewhere in the back, a woman screamed with laughter. People laughed and talked over the beat as they danced, the whole crowd bobbing up and down in time with the music.
   Lauren scanned the room for her first victim.

   She needed to decide on a theme for her article. What did it say about society when you could surf for a partner in the same way she surfed TV channels, searching for something that looked good enough to spend some time on?
   Hmm. That would make a good lead. Then she could follow it with--
   "Excuse me," said a baritone voice behind her. She turned, and looked straight into a crisp shirt front. Her gaze traveled up a row of buttons, one by one. Here was the stuff dreams were made on, or it would be if her subconscious ever thought to cast men like this.
   His hair, which was on the long side, flopped into his left eye in a way that should have made him look messy, but instead made him look intriguing and mysterious. He grinned, and she dropped ten years from her first estimate. He had the kind of grin that made a woman do a double take--all little-boy mischief on one hand and pure male appreciation on the other. What was it about dimples in a male cheek that could make a woman's knees go all soft and wobbly? And check out the way the overhead light made hollows under his cheekbones. His eyes were dark as sin, with long lashes that managed to look sexy instead of feminine.
   "May I?" He held up his key.
   A miracle. No tired one-liner. The man was not only yummy, he was so classy he'd achieved originality.
   "Sure." She should be so lucky.
   No, luck was a lady tonight. An old lady with an early bedtime. Luck was not this charmer with the long, sensitive fingers that brushed the shallow curves of her breasts. A frisson of sensation tiptoed across her skin. Not for the first time, she wished she were a little deeper in the keel, like Rory. Enough to make this man focus on her instead of on the little suitcase he held.
   Never mind, Cinderella. You're not at the ball to find a prince. Not unless he's willing to give you a quote.
   He inserted his key in her lock and turned it.
   Snick. The two halves of the suitcase sprang open the way women probably welcomed him all the time.
   Oh, my. Lauren hadn't been expecting anyone to open her lock; she'd kept herself so focused on interviewing people that she'd sidestepped most of the possibilities. It was one thing to ogle this guy and appreciate him the way she did good food and beautiful scenery. But now that he had the key to her lock, she either had to let herself go and enjoy whatever he had to offer, or--or what? Leave?
   Suddenly escape looked much less appealing than it had a few minutes ago.
   "I finally lucked out." He smiled down at her. "I have to admit I was here more for the benefit part than the key part. But now it looks as if the benefit is all mine."
   "We'll have to see, won't we?" Lauren sounded a lot more casual than she felt as she fished out the paper slip her suitcase held. "We turn this little piece of paper in to Maureen and get a prize, then she enters us in the big drawing. But you go ahead. I have to talk to someone."
   "Oh, no. We're in this together."
   He offered her his hand, and instead of murmuring the excuse that fluttered on her tongue, she found herself taking it and allowing him to lead her to the stage. His fingers were warm and very sure as they wrapped around hers.
   "I'm Josh, by the way." He glanced down at her, one eyebrow raised. She'd thought only English actors could pull off that lazy, inquiring brow. It managed to transmit both interest and inquiry in one movement.
   Sigh. No, you have to work tonight. Don't you? "Lauren."
   Since he was already holding her hand, he couldn't exactly shake it. He squeezed her fingers instead. He might have been about to say more, but behind a knot of people, Lauren caught a glimpse of the Alien Bodyguard kid's leather jacket. Aha!
   "Josh, I don't mean to be rude, but I really do need to speak to someone." She tried to disengage her hand. The part of her that loved forties swing music and bought antique clothes wondered why she was giving up a chance with a gorgeous, interested man in favor of a kid who didn't even know who she was. "I'm a journalist, and I'm after that kid over there in the jacket."
   "Kit Maddox? No problem, I'll wait."
   What circles did he move in that he knew the actor's name? Maybe he was in the movie business. Maybe she should introduce him to Rory. But then, it was a safe bet he wouldn't be there when she got back. Mentally, she kissed the delectable Josh goodbye and headed off across the floor.
   Five minutes and one dance later--did anyone have any idea how hard it was to hold a recorder while someone was dipping you?--she had her celebrity quote. Now she could go home and make Lorelei eat some crow in public about her treatment of his show, Alien Bodyguard, and go into a snit about it, which would make people respond on the chat board, which would make traffic spike, which would make the Queen of Pain happy.
   She detoured around a couple who looked like they were doing gym exercises to "Hot, Hot, Hot," and found Josh standing right where she'd left him.
   The impact hit her under the ribcage. Had he been watching her dance with Maddox? Had he liked what he'd seen? What presence the guy had. He stood there, one hip cocked and one hand in the pocket of his black jeans, in a pose straight out of GQ or Esquire.
   The appealing thing was, he seemed to be completely unaware of both pose and the fact that women were ebbing and flowing around him like a crowd of interested muses. Lauren liked that in a man. Not that she thought everything should be all about her--except when it came to competing for the bathroom mirror.
   He strolled over, parting the disarray with effortless ease. "I saw you caught Maddox. Did you get what you needed from him?"
   He had been watching her, just the way she was watching him. "Yes, and now I need something from you. How do you do that?"
   He looked around, a charming little wrinkle between his brows. "Do what?"
S   he shook her head with a smile. "Never mind." If he didn't know the effect he had on women, all the better. Though why she was thinking about sharing the bathroom mirror at all was something she didn't want to go into at the moment.
   "So tell me what you need from me," he said. "Before I make a few suggestions myself."
   Lauren swallowed. His voice, even with a hint of a rasp around the edges, was as alluring as dark chocolate--and no doubt just as bad for you. But...her research was done and he was here and after all, it had been a long time since a man had looked at her like this.
   "I need--" I need you to go somewhere dark and quiet with me. I need you to unlock my possibilities.
   No, you can't say things like that to a stranger. Mikki can, but not you.
   "I need you to give me an interview," she blurted. "I'm working on a piece about key parties and you're gorgeous. I mean, perfect. I mean, perfect for my demographic."
   Oh, God, could she just die now and get it over with?
   But when he threw back his head and laughed, she realized he wasn't laughing at her. He had the same kind of let-it-all-out humor that Emma Constable, her foster mother, possessed. The kind that drew people to her the way people always walk to a fireplace when they enter a room.
   "Is that all you want me for?" Josh said at last, when his amusement had simmered down to a smile. He smiled with his whole face, eyes included, crinkled at the corners. "I was hoping for a little more than that. Such as a prize. And a drink. And a dance, too. To start."
   The smile took on another dimension, something hot and focused and filled with meaning.
   Whoa. Lauren tried to take a breath and found she had to work at it. "Demanding, aren't you?"
   "Not demanding." His eyes sparkled. "But when a woman tells me she needs me, I like to give her options."
   Oh, there were definitely options here. Excitement and anticipation began to beat in her blood. "Why don't we start with the prize? That's the easy part."
   "And the rest of it's hard?"
   Lauren gave him a sideways glance as she led the way to the stage, a glance filled with humor and invitation. "That depends on you, doesn't it?"