Hot for Him

“He’s a giant. And he’s got that big nose and those girly lips,” Claudia said, shaking her head dismissively.

Grace rolled her eyes. “You mean that sexy, masculine Greek nose and those lips that look like they could win Olympic gold in all the important oral events?”

“Sorry, can’t see it,” Claudia said firmly. It was true, too, she assured herself. She’d sat next to him for two hours today and felt nothing but irritation at being hemmed in and imposed upon. “He does absolutely nothing for me.”

“So, what did he say this time?” Sadie asked. She leaned forward, obviously eager for the latest installment in the Leandro Mandalor saga.

Claudia briskly filled in her two best friends and colleagues, feeling warmed when they gasped with outrage at the appropriate points and hooted their approval when Claudia reported her zingers.

“You’re definitely ahead on points,” Grace announced when Claudia had summed up the shin-kicking incident.

“Definitely. He’d have to do something really audacious to beat physical assault,” Sadie said.

Claudia winced. “Put like that, it sounds kind of…childish,” she admitted.

“Never say die, Claud,” Grace said. “And never, ever apologize.”

“Hmm. That’s so interesting, Gracie, because I swear when I picked you up from your place the other day, I heard you say sorry to Mac for using all the hot water in the shower…” Sadie said teasingly.

“Strategy. Mac thinks he’s got me where he wants me, but it’s so the other way around,” Grace said.

Claudia didn’t bother calling her friend on her faux feminist stance. Grace and Mac had long since ironed out the problems in their relationship and had been living with each other for nearly three months now. As for Mrs. Sadie Anderson…the content look behind her eyes was testament to how happy she was with Dylan.

“God, we’d better win tonight,” Claudia said. “If he walks away with that award, I am seriously going to need sedating for a few days.”

“We’ll win,” Grace said confidently.

“You don’t know that,” Claudia fretted.

“Yeah, I do. Mac made that episode look so perfect. And it rated through the roof. Of course it’s going to win,” Grace said.

“Really?” Claudia asked, her pulse surging with excitement as she thought about walking up on stage tonight and accepting a People’s Vote Award on behalf of the show. It would mean so much to her, both personally and professionally. The show hadn’t received a People’s Vote for nearly five years, and to win this year would put the seal on the success of their wedding feature. They already had another feature scheduled for next winter—with the story line very tightly under wraps—but the win would give them the cherry on top that Claudia craved.

The awards show wasn’t televised in prime time like the Emmys or the Oscars, but a cut-down version of the ceremony with highlights would be shown during the day. She wouldn’t be human if she didn’t want her mom and dad to see her on that podium accepting a crystal statuette. It would be a very public vindication of her battle to assert herself and her dreams.

The old sadness welled up inside her as she admitted to herself that she would probably never know if her parents had even seen the show, let alone if they had it in them to be proud of her still…

“We’re going to kick ass,” Sadie said, stretching out languorously.

“What are you going to wear?” Grace asked. “Please tell me it’s not black.”

Claudia threw one of the suite’s heavily tasseled cushions at her friend.

“It’s red, if you must know.” Sadie and Grace teased her a lot about always wearing black. Partly it was because she was too busy to shop, and black always went with black. But partly it was because she felt as though people took her seriously when she was dressed in dark colors. She was small and she was female—she wasn’t about to disadvantage herself further by dressing like a sex kitten or a vamp.

“Gracie?” Sadie asked, switching her attention to the other woman.

“Vintage Dior. Mac bought it for me. That’s all I’m saying,” she said, waggling her eyebrows mysteriously.

“What about you, Sade?” Claudia asked.

“I’m recycling. The black-and-white sheath I wore a few years ago.” She shrugged.

“You know, usually I hate these things, but I have a good feeling about this one,” Grace said, suppressed excitement in her voice.

Claudia met her friends’ eyes and held up both her crossed fingers.

She really wanted to win this award. And not just because it meant she could rub Leandro Mandalor’s big Greek nose in her triumph.

Although that was definitely part of the appeal.

LEANDRO TURNED the shower on, waiting till the water was good and hot before stepping beneath the stream. His old soccer injury was aching after a day of sitting in one position for too long, and he rolled his shoulder for a few minutes, letting the heat work the stiffness out of his muscles. Reaching for the tiny bottles of toiletries supplied by the hotel, he squeezed shampoo into his palm and massaged it into his hair. Immediately, he was surrounded by a scent that was strangely familiar and beguiling. Definitely floral, but with a warm undertone that hinted at something darker and deeper. Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes and tried to think. A vague image swam across his mind’s eye, and then it came to him: Claudia Dostis. The shampoo smelled exactly like Claudia Dostis.

He smiled into the shower spray as he rinsed the lather from his hair. His shin had already turned a pleasing shade of bruise from her well-planted kick a few hours ago, and he knew he should be more pissed than tickled by her display of temper, but he couldn’t help himself. She reminded him of all the best things about his feisty female relatives—full of pluck and opinion and zest for life. She might be one step up from midget status, but she was all energy—a vibrant, dynamic woman who took life by the scruff of the neck and shook it for all it was worth.

Plus he’d always had a thing for short women. Easy to say when he checked in at six feet four inches, since almost every woman was shorter than he was, but Claudia was genuinely on the miniature side. Just like most of his girlfriends since high school. And his soon-to-be-ex-wife, Peta.

Thinking about Peta effectively killed any buzz he’d generated thinking about the feisty Ms. Dostis. He’d had the divorce papers couriered over to Peta last week, but she was still stalling on signing. They hadn’t been married for long enough for the delay to be about the money—they’d both agreed to walk away with what they’d brought to the relationship. The reality was, Peta didn’t need his money. As it turned out, she hadn’t needed his anything. Their marriage had been a joke from beginning to end—a joke perpetrated by his raging hormones and his stubborn belief that he could make their relationship work.

Now he just wanted it to be over. It was bad enough that he was the only member of his large family to have a divorce under his belt. His brothers and sisters had all chosen well when they gave away their hearts. His mama hadn’t stopped telling him that she’d known from the moment she set eyes on Peta that she was wrong for her boy. Too blond. Too skinny. Too ambitious.

While he still didn’t agree with his mother on points one or two, he had to bow to her superior wisdom on three; Peta, it turned out, had cared more about her career as an up-and-coming agent than she did about her fledgling marriage. When she’d opted to use confidential information that he’d shared with her in the privacy of their bedroom to further her career, he’d gotten the message loud and clear. Peta had a fire in her belly—but it wasn’t big enough to warm the both of them. It had only been a matter of time after that before their marriage had died a quiet, painful death.

Turning his back to the shower spray, Leandro planted his hands on the wall opposite and ducked his head, letting the water run down the column of his spine.

Was he bitter? He didn’t think so. More…wary. He still wanted a wife, children. He wanted the warmth and belonging of building his own little family unit. But next time around, he would choose more wisely. No more career women in their stiletto heels and neat little suits. No more business lunches that turned into personal dinners and then something much more personal. This time, he’d use his head as well as his heart and regions farther south when he picked his life mate.

His thoughts flew to the delicious Ms. Dostis again, and regions farther south gave a definite twitch of approval. Yeah, she was hot. A pocket rocket, his brothers would call her—small of frame and stature, but with curves in all the right places. She was all woman, and if she attacked sex with one fraction of the energy she attacked the rest of life, he figured bedtime with her would be a death-defying experience.

Reluctantly, he pushed the tempting thoughts from his mind. She was his competitor, for starters. And even if there wasn’t that major stumbling block to consider, there was the fact that he was about to become a newly divorced man at the age of thirty-six. His days of playing the field were behind him—he wanted to be young enough to kick a soccer ball with his children. There was no time to stop and smell the flowers anymore, even if Claudia was a particularly enticing bloom. He was a man on a mission—meet, mate, procreate.

Exiting the shower, he toweled himself dry and wandered, naked, into the bedroom. His suit was hanging on the back of the closet door and he eyed it with misgiving for a long beat. Monkey suits were the curse of the industry, in his opinion. No matter how well-cut the suit, he always felt as though he was wearing a straitjacket. Shrugging into his shirt, his mind drifted to the night ahead. Speeches, announcements, daytime stars, writers, directors and producers swanning about with too much champagne and too little food. It was going to be duller than dull. There was only one moment of possible interest—the Best Special Feature Award. There were four contenders in the category, but Heartland’s only real competition was Ocean Boulevard.

He was quietly confident they’d pull it off. He’d lavished money, time and effort on their white wedding episode. They’d shot on location in Aspen, bought a couture dress and sprung for extra publicity. True, Ocean Boulevard’s special had just beaten them in the ratings. But Leandro was sure the production values of his effort would tip the balance in their favor.

Slipping on boxer briefs, he pulled his suit trousers on. Claudia would breathe fire when he stood on the podium and accepted the award. Did it make him a cad that he was looking forward to seeing her delicate nostrils flare out in anger yet again?

Just the thought of it brought a smile to his face as he tied his shoelaces.

He couldn’t remember the last time a little friendly rivalry had been so much fun.

LIAR, LIAR, pants on fire.

The words ran across Claudia’s mind as she stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of Leandro Mandalor in full black tie. Good Lord, he looked stunning—a veritable man mountain in elegant black. His hair shone in the discreet lighting of the hotel’s ballroom, and the crisp white of his shirt was the perfect foil for his olive skin.

In contrast to what she’d told her friends earlier, he was a very, very attractive man.

There, she’d admitted it, if only to herself. And she’d be damned if she ever said the words out loud—it was embarrassing enough having the hots for a man so beneath her contempt.