âWhy not?â
âBecause youâre not the kind of manââ
âNot the kind of man you should want? God, Sara, youâre dying for a man like me.â
âNickââ
âA man who canât wait to drive you absolutely wild in ways you canât even imagine. You want all those things as much as you want your next breath, Sara. And thatâs exactly what Iâm going to give you.â
Pulling her forward, he smothered her mouth in a kiss. He held her tightly, his kiss raw and hot and possessive; he made her mind go blank and her insides turn to mush.
So this is what itâs supposed to feel like.
Sara thought about the other kisses sheâd experienced over the years, those bland, boring, halfhearted attempts that had been cool and hesitant and had left her dying for more. Dying for this. And now she wondered what other wondrous things might be out there that sheâd been missing all her life.
She had a feeling this man knew every one of them.
Dear Reader,
The moment this story came to mind, I couldnât wait to write it. Nick Chandler is my favorite kind of bad boy, one whose good looks, abundance of charm and killer smile are so disarming that he can talk his way into any womanâs heart.
But what happens when the woman Nick wants is Sara Davenport, a psychologist who has written a book that teaches other women how to resist heartbreakers like him? And what happens when the expert on avoiding the bad boy falls for him herself?
The conflict between the good girl and the bad boy is always such fun to write. I hope you enjoy the story!
Visit my Web site at www.janesullivan.com for news of future releases, or write to me at jane@janesullivan.com. Iâd love to hear from you!
Best wishes,
Jane Sullivan
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
854âONE HOT TEXAN
898âRISKY BUSINESS
960âTALL, DARK AND TEXAN
HARLEQUIN DUETS
33âSTRAY HEARTS
48âTHE MATCHMAKERâS MISTAKE
When He Was Badâ¦
Jane Sullivan
To my editor, Jennifer Green.
Thank you for your enthusiasm about my books, your editorial advice that always improves them, and your sense of humor that makes my life as a writer a whole lot more fun. I love writing for Harlequin, and youâre the reason why.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Heâs a daredevil on a motorcycle, a rebel with his own cause, a careless heartbreaker or an intriguing man of mystery.
Heâs a handsome devil with a buff bod, or a tattooed badass spoiling for a fight. Heâs a seductive charmer who will bring out the best in you.
And the worst.
Heâs a self-absorbed loner, aloof and jealous and tantalizingly possessive, attracting you with enough charisma for ten men; at the same time, he holds you at armâs length.
Caught up in the thrill of the chase, you try to grasp his heart and soul, only to feel him slipping away like sand through your fingers.
And while you know you should resist, with just a crook of his finger and a devastating smile, off you go with him, your mind filled with delusions of taming this enigmatic man. And when he has you melting under his hypnotic gaze, falling so fast your head is spinning, thatâs when he leaves you like a shadow in the night, never to be seen againâ¦
SARA DAVENPORT knew every one of those men inside and out. She could quote their characteristics, chapter and verseâevery nuance of behavior, every game they played, every brand of falsehood that passed their lips. After all, sheâd written the book on bad boys.
Literally.
She took a sip of coffee, then sat back on the sofa in her office and spread her planner out in her lap. Next to her, Karen paged through her own planner, lining out their schedule for the coming week.
âIâve set up book signings for Wednesday and Thursday evening,â Karen told her. âTheyâre here in Boulder, so thereâs no travel involved.â She flipped to another page. âI arranged a phone interview for you with a regional magazine in Charleston. The reporter will e-mail you tomorrow to set up a time. And I booked you for a Friday evening Internet chat with a readerâs group in Spokane.â
Sara made a few notes. âWow. Youâre keeping me busy.â
Karen smiled. âBusy is good. It wonât be long before your name is a household word.â
Sara didnât doubt that. Her friendâs PR wizardry was a big reason the book had been successful so far. Karen knew just which newspapers and magazines to target with advance reading copies to garner the most articles and reviews. Sheâd brought Sara untold numbers of new readers by suggesting she pair a minilecture with book signings. Sheâd gotten her a cameo in Cosmopolitan. All that publicity had put Sara on the fast track to success, but still it was hard for her to believe that sheâd barely turned thirty and already her dream was coming true.
Not that sheâd intended for things to work out the way they had. Sheâd initially envisioned the book as an expansion of her dissertation, a serious examination of the psychological, social and emotional reasons women make poor choices in men. But one year, three edits and a show-stopping cover later, it had become a shorter, slicker book with a pop psychology tone and a title that made her cringe: Chasing the Bad Boy.
Sara was still hiding her face over that, but she couldnât argue with success. The book was heading for its third printing, her editor wanted another book and Saraâs message was getting out in a way that never would have happened through her private psychology practice or her seminars alone.
âOh, yeah,â Karen said. âOne more thing. I called the program director at KZAP this morning.â
Sara came to attention. âWhat for?â
âTo book you on a radio show.â
Sara felt a surge of apprehension. âRadio? No. I donât want to do radio.â
âBut you can reach a lot of people on a radio show. And it has an advantage that advertising doesnât.â
âWhatâs that?â
âItâs free.â
âNo. Radio is unpredictable. Itâs too easy to say the wrong thing and get embarrassed.â
âCome on, Sara. Youâre in front of audiences all the time.â
âRight. Doing seminars. Itâs friendly territory. I have notes, and Iâm in control. I donât like open-ended situations. Theyâre recipes for disaster.â
âYou know your subject, and youâre a great speaker. What is there to worry about?â
âI just donât wantââ Sara stopped short. âWait a minute. KZAP? Isnât that the station with Dr. Frieda?â
âYeah.â
Okay. Now, maybe that wouldnât be so bad. Discussing her book with a medical doctor, maybe getting into the physiological aspects of attraction, taking questions from her listenersâ¦how tough could that be?
âBut I booked you on Nick Chandlerâs show,â Karen said.
For the count of three, Saraâs voice deserted her, and when it finally returned, still she could barely get words out without choking.
âWhat did you say?â
âNow, I knew you were going to freak out. Butââ
âThere is no âbutâ here. Iâm not getting within ten miles of that man.â
âBut itâll be great publicity.â
âPromoting my book on his show? Are you kidding me?â
âOkay. I know it sounds a little weird, butââ
âA little weird? Do you know he once interviewed a man who claimed heâd had sex with a thousand women and has the notches in his bedpost to prove it?â
âWell, yeah, butââ
âAnd a woman who tends bar in a topless club? Topless?â
âYeah, I heard that one. Butââ
âAnd a man who has a Web site dedicated to teaching other men how to score with chicks?â
Karen held up her palm. âI know. I know. Itâs a lot of testosterone all in one place, butââ
âIâve read the gossip columns. I know Nick Chandlerâs reputation in this town.â
Karen shrugged. âSo he gets around a little.â
âA little? The guy with the thousand notches in his bedpost is an amateur compared to him!â
âAnd thatâs exactly the reason I booked you on his show.â
Sara took a deep breath and tried to calm down, but it was a hard-won battle. Publicity was a good thing, but Nick Chandler wasnât. The man was so Neanderthal that his knuckles had to drag the ground. Sara shuddered. He probably had back hair and bad posture and drew pictures of bison on his apartment walls.
âSorry, Karen. Iâm not doing a show like that. Call the producer back and tell him to forget it.â
âEven if Nick Chandler has a hundred thousand listeners?â
Saraâs lower jaw fell halfway to her lap. âAre you telling me that a hundred thousand people tune in to hear that kind of programming?â
âYep.â
âBut none of them are going to want to hear about my book. His audience is all men.â
âHell it is. Thirty-two percent women, demographic eighteen to thirty-five. Thatâs thirty-two thousand women who are going to be tuning in Thursday afternoon whether youâre there or not.â
âWhy? So they can be objectified?â
âSweetie,â Karen said, âthey tune in for Nick Chandler.â
âCome on, Karen! What could a woman possibly find attractive about a man like him?â
âI believe you answered that question in your book.â
âOkay, yes, butââ
âIâm guessing youâve never seen him.â
âNo. I havenât had the pleasure.â
Karen reached down to Saraâs laptop sitting on the coffee table in front of the sofa. She tapped a few keys. A few moments later she turned the computer toward Sara, who looked at the screen and froze.
Holy mother of God.
Right there on the index page of the KZAP Web site sat Nick Chandler, lounging in a chair in the studio, the microphone tugged over to his lips, wearing a warm, open smile that was engaging beyond belief. His rich coffee-brown hair just brushed his collar in the back, and his eyes were such a brilliant shade of blue that gemstones all over the world had to be crying with jealousy. But Sara wasnât fooled. Even as his roguish charm oozed right off the screen, she sensed a hint of overbearing overconfidence that gave away the truth: where women were concerned, he played hard and expected to win.
But although she could tell he was every bit the smooth-talking, women-stalking, commitment-mocking man his reputation said he was, she didnât delude herself. A single glance at him could be hazardous to a womanâs heart.
She looked away. âHeâsâ¦decent-looking.â
Karen slumped against the back of the sofa. âAre you kidding me? Iâd trade every sex toy in my nightstand drawer for fifteen minutes with a man like him.â
âOh, yeah? And what would you have in the sixteenth minute?â
âOne hell of an afterglow.â
Sara rolled her eyes.
âI didnât say I wanted to head down the aisle with him,â Karen went on. âI said I wanted fifteen minutes of wild, outrageous, multiorgasmic sex.â
âFine. But you know the difference between a one-nighter and a lifetimer. Most women donât. They think theyâre going to change the way a man like him thinks about women. About love. About life. And thatâs not going to happen.â
âSo tell them that.â
âAnd have Nick Chandler smack down every word I say?â
âWith luck, thatâs exactly what heâll do.â
âWhat?â
âControversy sells,â Karen said. âIf you go head-to-head with him, we might be able to squeeze all kinds of press out of it. Good girl meets bad boy head-on. Get it?â
âI told you Iâm not interested.â
Karen gave her a sly smile. âWhatâs the matter? Afraid you canât stay on top of a man like him?â
Sara frowned. âSpare me the innuendo, will you?â
âYou wrote that book because of men like him, and now youâre afraid to face him?â
âIâm not afraid to face him.â
âGood. You shouldnât be. You have at least thirty points of IQ on him.â
âHow do you know that?â
âBecause you have at least thirty points of IQ on everyone.â
âThanks for the vote of confidence, but Iâm still not doing that show.â
Karen sat back with a heavy sigh. âSure. Okay. If thatâs the way you want it.â
âThatâs the way I want it.â
Karen tapped her fingers against her planner, then gave Sara an offhand shrug. âI mean, I guess it is a lot safer just to keep on preaching to the choir.â
âWhat do you mean by that?â
âI mean that you can keep on talking to those women who pay big bucks at your seminars to hear you tell them what they already know. Or what theyâre finally ready to hear. Orâ¦â Karen gave her a no-nonsense stare. âYou can rescue the wayward souls from the devil himself.â
Sara considered that for a moment. Karen was right. It was one thing to help women who knew they needed it. But what about opening the eyes of women who didnât?
âYouâre sure he has that many women who tune in to his show?â Sara asked.
âYep. Thirty thousand plus.â
âHeâs exactly the kind of man those women need to stay away from.â
âRight. But if theyâve got the hots for him, it means they need you. Every last lust-filled one of them. Can you think of a better place to talk to your target audience?â
Sara sighed. Going on that show would be a mistake. It had to be, didnât it?
Then again, she had to admit that so far Karen hadnât steered her wrong. Her creativity in promotion knew no bounds.
Neither did her powers of persuasion.
âIâll come along, of course,â Karen said. âTo give you moral support.â
Sara wavered. She really did want to get her book into the hands of as many women as possible. Maybe this was a way to accomplish that.
âOkay,â Sara said with a sigh of resignation. âIâll do it.â
âThank God,â Karen said with relief. âYou fell for it.â
âFell for what?â
âYou bought all that âitâll sell booksâ stuff. All I really wanted was an excuse to meet Nick Chandler in person.â
Sara smiled. âWhy? So you can work toward that fifteen minutes?â
âDonât worry. Iâll let you have first crack at him. If you decide you donât want him, just toss him my way.â
âCome on, Karen. Both of us are smarter than that.â
Karen sighed. âYeah, I know. But that doesnât stop me from wishing sometimes that I was a dumb blonde.â She glanced at her watch. âIâve got to go. Thereâs a bar stool at Kellyâs with my name on it.â She zipped her planner, then stood up. âYour appointments are over for the day. Why donât you come along?â
âCanât. I need to head home and do a little brainstorming.â
âBrainstorming?â
Sara sighed. âIâm having a hard time coming up with a concept for my next book.â
âSame subject, different take?â
âYeah. Thatâs what my editor wants, but I just donât know where to go with it.â
âA couple of martinis might break that logjam.â
âIâll pass.â
âCome on, Sara. Whenâs the last time you and I hit a happy hour together?â
âIâve been busy. Youâve kept me busy.â
âHey, Iâm all for working hard. But you need your playtime, too. I think youâre the one who needs to get laid.â
âYou know I donât do casual sex.â
âThen make it a formal occasion. Evening gown, tiara, the whole thing. Personally, I wouldnât want to get that dressed up just to have a man rip it all off, but if it works for you, go for it.â
Sara suppressed a smile. âHow did we ever get to be friends, anyway?â
âYou know how we got to be friends. We suffered through high school hell together. And speaking of high school hell, howâs your mother these days?â
âWe met for lunch a few days ago. Itâs been pretty good between us since she moved back here.â
âSo she really did leave that creep in St. Louis for good?â
âLooks like it. This is going to be a good holiday, Karen. Sheâs coming over for dinner next week on Christmas Eve, and then weâre spending Christmas Day together.â
âGood,â Karen said, with a smile that looked a little phony. âThatâs good.â
Sara recognized the dubious look on her friendâs face. In the past, it would have been justified. But not anymore. âItâs okay, Karen. Itâs been three months. I think my mother has finally seen the light.â
âThatâs what you thought with the other guys, too.â
âI know. But this time she sees the pattern of her behavior and wants to do something about it.â
âHey, youâre the shrink. If you say her brainâs finally unscrambled where men are concerned, I believe you.â She checked her watch. âOops. Happy hour is starting without me.â She rose from the sofa and headed for the door.
âThanks for all your help, Karen.â
âJust stick with me, dahling. Iâll make you a star.â
With a couple of theatrical air kisses tossed Saraâs way, Karen swept out of her office and closed the door behind her. Sara glanced back at her computer screen.
Good Lord, what had she just agreed to?
Nick Chandler seemed to be staring right at her, teasing her, taunting her, daring her to walk right into his lair, where he lay in wait to chew her into a thousand tiny pieces.
He was undoubtedly good at ad-libbing. She wasnât. He knew how to commandeer conversations and steer them in the direction he wanted them to go. She didnât. He had those eyes that could knock her train of thought right off its track, while she had not a single body part that could hope to distract a man like him.
What she did have, though, was a mission, one she had yet to stray from. She hadnât gotten this far in life without facing insurmountable odds, and she wasnât going to stop now. Thirty thousand women would be tuning into his show next Thursday, many of whom were heading down the wrong path. This was her chance to show them the right one.
Nick Chandler wasnât going to get the better of her. By the time that show was over on Thursday, he was going to know heâd met his match.
BY THE TIME Thursday came, Saraâs brain was still holding on to her conviction with the tenacity of a bulldog with a bone. Unfortunately, her stomach wasnât faring so well. For the past hour, it had been doing funny little flip-flops that were making her a little nauseous. On top of that, the snow predicted for that afternoon had come through with a vengeance, snaring her and Karen in traffic. They were now almost late, so Sara didnât have time to stop and compose herself, which meant she was pretty much a nervous wreck.
They walked into the lobby of the radio station and told the receptionist who they were. Sara shook the snow off her shoulders, then took her coat off and held it in front of her in a death grip.
âStop looking so uptight,â Karen said.
Sara squeezed her eyes closed. âI told you I didnât want to do this.â
âJust donât let him see you sweat.â
âI used extrastrength antiperspirant this morning. Think thatâll do the trick?â
âWill you take it easy? Itâs time to let your hair down a little. Get your message out, but have fun with it.â
Fun? She felt as if she were heading to her own execution.
A few moments later, a man came out to the lobby. He was balding, in his midforties, wearing a scruffy pair of khakis and a sweatshirt.
âThat must be the producer,â Karen whispered. âYouâll be on in a minute. Just be sure to stick to English when you talk.â
âWhat do you mean?â
âWhenever you get nervous, you slip into geek speak.â
âWhat are you talking about?â
âBig words nobody cares about. Just talk to people.â She patted Sara on the arm. âIâll be waiting for you out here.â
Take it easy, keep your cool, stay on message, she told herself. How hard could that really be?
The man introduced himself as Butch Brannigan. He hung Saraâs coat on a nearby rack, then led her down a long hall. As he swung open the door that led to the studio, her heart beat wildly. She thought she was ready for her first glimpse of Nick Chandler. Unfortunately, his photo on the Web site had barely given a hint of the man in the flesh.
He wore jeans. A ragged V-neck cotton sweater over a white T-shirt. Boots that looked as if theyâd been to a war zone and back. He hadnât seen the business end of a razor that morning, or maybe the morning before, either. Few men could pull off the shabby look without appearing unkempt, but Nick merely looked careless and uninhibited. And those eyes. Dear God. In the war between men and women, they were lethal weapons.
He stood up as she came in. âHi. You must be Sara.â
âYes,â she said, extending her hand. âItâs a pleasure to meet you.â
âNo,â he said, his lips easing into a captivating smile. âThe pleasureâs all mine.â
He enveloped her hand in a warm, solid handshake, sending goose bumps crawling all the way up her arm. Then he pulled out her chair. âHave a seat. Weâll be on in just a little bit.â
His deep, resonant voice meshed perfectly with his seductive smile and his incredible good looks, creating a package of pure temptation that could turn a defenseless woman with low self-esteem into a mindless love slave in a matter of minutes. Fortunately, Sara wasnât defenseless, her self-esteem was thoroughly intact and Nick Chandler was going to have to fill the position of love slave elsewhere.
Butch left the room and slipped back into the glassed-in booth that looked into the studio. âThirty seconds, Nick.â
She sat down, and Nick handed her a set of headphones. After putting them on, she folded her hands on the desk in front of her. Then realizing how uptight that looked, she stuck them in her lap instead.
âNervous?â Nick asked.
She whipped around. âNo. Not at all.â
âEver do radio before?â
âNo. This is my first time.â
âAh. A radio virgin.â He smiled reassuringly. âDonât worry. Iâll be gentle.â
Her heart jolted at the mental image that created. âItâs okay. Iâve done a lot of interviews.â She forced a look of indifference on her face. âThis is just one more, right?â
He nodded, still smiling. âRight.â
Pleasant tone of voice. Agreeable expression. Nonconfrontational body language. Everything about him said, You can trust me. So why was she still so terrified?
Because sheâd heard his show before. She knew his point of view. A copy of her book lay on the desk beside him, and she wondered if heâd read anything more than the inside flap copy.
A few seconds later, Nick hit a button and leaned into the microphone. âNext in the hot seat is Doctor Sara Davenport, author of a book called Chasing the Bad Boy. Hi, Sara. Glad you could join us today. You donât mind if I call you Sara, do you? Weâre pretty informal around here.â
She wished she could keep her doctorate wedged between them, along with the title that came with it, but she didnât want to look stuffy. Just have fun with it, Karen had told her.
âOf course you can call me Sara. If I can call you Nick.â
âSweetheart,â he said with a dazzling smile, âyou can call me anything you want to.â
Little prickles of awareness danced across the back of her neck. Stay on your toes.
âWhy donât you give us your book in a nutshell?â Nick said. âThen weâll chat about it.â
She took a deep, silent breath. Here we go.
âWell, the premise of my book is that there are certain men who some women have a hard time resisting. Theyâre the guys they meet at the gym with the incredible bodies who want them for their bodies and nothing else. The mystery men who are here today and gone tomorrow. The amazingly handsome men who sweep women off their feet, then hit on their sisters the moment they leave the room. These men are all very enticing on the outside, but in reality, most of them are immature, reckless and irresponsible, offering nothing to the women who fall for them.â
âWow,â Nick said. âSo how many men do you think are out there who fit that description?â
Sara blinked with surprise. As if she had an actual number? âWell, I donât know exactly. But obviously not all men are like that.â
âSo some of them are pretty good guys.â
âOf course.â
âSo itâs really just a select few who are causing a whole bunch of problems.â
Her heart skipped. âI didnât say there were a lot of problems, justââ
âSara. You wrote an entire book on the subject. Of course there must be a lot of problems. In this country we donât fell trees just for the heck of it, you know.â
Sara just stared at him, her heart thumping. What was she supposed to do now? Defend the logger whoâd cut the trees to make the materials that the printer had bought so he could commit her words to paper?
âOkay, so letâs narrow it down a little,â Nick said. âWhatâs the biggest problem you see with this situation between good girls and bad boys?â
âWomen think theyâre going to change menâs thought processes. Make them into something theyâre not.â
âSo men are inflexible.â
âSome of them are.â
âBut women arenât.â
âWell, some women areââ
âBut theyâre inflexible about the right things.â
This man was turning her mind to mush. âWeâre talking about men here. Men who have no intention of ever committing, yet women chase them, anyway.â
âBecause they like the challenge?â
âYes. Exactly.â
âBut you donât?â
âWhat?â
âLike a man whoâs a challenge.â
Saraâs nervousness escalated. âThis isnât about me.â
âOf course it is. Youâre a woman, arenât you?â
âWell, yes, butââ
âAre you telling me youâve never fallen for one of those bad boys?â
âOf course not.â
âHmm,â he said. âMaybe youâve just never had the opportunity.â
The words fell from his lips like warm honey in a slow drip. In spite of the fact that Sara knew exactly what kind of man he was, still her heart beat with a primal kind of attraction she just couldnât quell.
Get it together, or heâs going to tear you apart.
âThe basis of the problem lies in womenâs physiological reactions,â she explained. âSome women feel a heightened sense of excitement when theyâre with a man who they know is bad for them. Itâs a kind of thrill-seeking behavior, and theyâre physically drawn to it.â
âPhysically?â Nick said, as his gaze took a slow trip down Saraâs body and back up again. âHmm. Iâm not quite sure Iâm following you.â
That was a lie. He was following every word she spoke, every breath she took, every blink of an eyelash, and she knew why. He was the charming kind of bad boy who seemed innocuous on the surface, even as he used that charm to disarm his victims so he could control every situation. Intellectually, she knew what he was up to. So why was he making her so nervous?
âItâs a physical reaction,â she said. âThey feel a heightened awareness, and thereâs an increase in heart rate.â
Nick nodded, but he looked a little puzzled.
âAnd an accelerated neurotransmitter response.â
His brows pulled together with confusion.
âAnd a dilation of blood vessels. That causes the skin to flush. Then the perspiration glands become overstimulatedââ
Nick held up his palm. âHold on there, Sara. Iâm afraid youâre losing me with all that physiological whatever.â
Geek speak. Hadnât Karen warned her about that? âAll Iâm trying to say isââ
âWhat youâre trying to say,â Nick said, leaning toward her and pulling his microphone along with him, âis that bad boys make women hot. Is that right?â
He focused those gorgeous eyes on hers with the intensity of a laser beam, and all at once Sara felt her heart race, her face flush, her skin prickle and her palms sweat.
She cleared her throat. âIâm merely saying they have a physical reaction when theyâre with such men. One thatâsâ¦uhâ¦hard to ignore.â
He gave her a sinful smile that said, Yes, it is, isnât it?
âThe truth is that good boys will date bad girls,â Sara said, âbut they know who they can take home to Mom. Some women, though, will go to extremes trying to change a man whoâs never going to change. For men, bad girls are flings. For women, bad boys are projects.â
âBut like it or not,â Nick said, âwomen want those bad boys youâre talking about. Oh, they say they donât. They say they want men who will mind their manners and take out the trash without being told and be kind to their mothers.â
âAll very wonderful qualities.â
âBut thatâs not all they want.â He gave her a tempting smile. âThey want a man whoâs exciting. Intriguing. Who keeps them guessing. Who changes from one day to the next and leaves them breathless in an attempt to keep up. A man with an erotic edge who makes them feel alive in a way they never have before. What they want,â he said in a voice as smooth as glass, âis a man whoâs just a littleâ¦bitâ¦dangerous.â