through her, even though it was entirely possible. The only reason Dexter was having dinner with her right now was because she was paying him to do so. True, he’d paid for the dinner, but for all she knew he could be using money from an expense account. Mrs. Brubaker had told her Studs-R-Us had a commitment to making certain all their customers were completely satisfied.
“So what made you become a publicist?”
She looked up at him, startled from her thoughts by his question. Then she gave a small shrug. “I like people. And I love being able to bring out the best parts of them. So many people have good qualities that they can’t see for themselves. Like you, for instance.”
“Me?”
“You’re very handsome, Harry.”
He gaze dropped to his plate. “Since my makeover, you mean.”
She shook her head. “No, you were handsome before. But you almost seemed to be hiding it. As if you didn’t want the world to know anything about the man underneath the glasses and the three-piece suit.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “That’s who I really am.”
“Is it?”
He set down his fork. “I learned a long time ago that it doesn’t do any good to pretend to be someone else. You’re not only fooling other people, you’re fooling yourself. The one thing I refuse to be is a fool.”
Kylie could hear a strange undercurrent in his tone, but couldn’t place it. Was it anger? Pain? Or just naked honesty. His words made her more confused than ever. Was there really such a thing as an insecure gigolo?
She picked up her wineglass. “I think you’re forgetting that a lot of women are attracted to the strong, shy, silent type.”
“Are you?” he interjected, his gaze fixed intently on her face.
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Admitting that she’d been very drawn to him from the first time she saw him would definitely be crossing the line from professional to personal. And she’d made a vow to herself not to do that anymore. A lesson learned the hard way.
“I’m speaking as a publicist,” she replied at last. “In my experience, women find something inordinately sexy about a man who doesn’t try to flaunt his sexuality.”
He reached for his wineglass. “Or at least they say they do.”
His implied rebuke stung. “And I suppose men are the epitome of honesty when they say they’re looking for a witty, intelligent woman rather than a set of measurements?”
His eyes twinkled. “Can’t we have both?”
She laughed in spite of herself. “You sound just like Adam.”
“Adam?”
“My ex-client. And ex-fiancé.” She reached for her wine, wondering what had induced her to bring him up.
“You were engaged?”
“For a very short time. Adam proposed, but he failed to mention our engagement was merely a publicity stunt.” She took a sip of wine, not quite meeting Dexter’s gaze. Despite the lightness of her tone, she knew he’d be able to see the old pain in her eyes. “Although I learned a valuable lesson. Two, actually. The first one is that romance sells, especially in Hollywood. The press was wild about the story.”
“And the second?”
She put down her wineglass and made herself look at him. “The second was that too many men put themselves and their careers first. Adam loved me in his way, but he loved his image more.”
“Then Adam is an idiot.”
“Agreed,” she said with a smile. “And on that note, I think I’ll say good-night.” She placed her napkin on her empty plate, then pushed her chair away from the table. “We have an early day ahead of us tomorrow.”
He rose quickly to pull her chair out for her. “Thank you for having dinner with me tonight.”
“It was my pleasure,” she replied, wondering why she was blushing.
He escorted her to the door adjoining their rooms. “Good night, Kylie. Sweet dreams.”
“Good night, Harry.” Then she walked into her hotel room, closing the door firmly behind her.
The first thing she saw were the flowers. Half a dozen bouquets of all kinds of flowers spread throughout the room. Puzzled, she walked over to the closest vase and plucked the note card off the holder.
She smiled as she read the message. “Amy told me you like filet mignon, but Gertrude told me you like flowers. I hope I can make this book tour everything you want it to be. Yours truly, Dexter.”
“IT’S TIME TO ROCK IN THE morning on 1240 KROC,” boomed the radio disc jockey who went by the name of Doogie. “And to get your day started right, we’ve got the sultan of sexuality. The high priest of horniness. The lusty ladykiller. That’s right, boys and girls. Author Harry Hanover is here to tell us about his sizzling hot new book, How To Jump-Start Your Love Life.”
Dexter adjusted his headphones, his gut tied into a knot. Kylie had been thrilled about landing an interview spot on the morning show at KROC, but he didn’t share her excitement. Sending flowers and ordering a romantic dinner for two was one thing. Broadcasting his newfound knowledge about romance to thousands of listeners was quite another.
The young disc jockey turned to Dexter. “Okay, Harry, I don’t need any passion pointers. I’ve got the babes lined up at my bedroom door. But what about those pitiful yokels who can’t even turn on a vibrator, much less a woman.”
Doogie was one of those shock jocks so popular on radio talk shows. He reminded Dexter of the loudmouthed jerks in high school who had made themselves feel good by tearing others down. The same jerks who were responsible for christening him with those stupid nicknames. But Dexter wasn’t Frankenbrain today, he was Harry Hanover, official stud. And it was time for him to step into the role.
Fortunately, he’d read Harry’s book a second time last night. Not only had he memorized the title of each chapter, but he’d practiced incorporating Hanover’s automobile references in response to potential questions.
Dexter leaned toward his microphone. “You can’t rev the engine until you warm up the car, Mr. Doogie. So I suggest any men out there who have their eye on a particular lady try to warm her up with small romantic gestures to show her how much he really cares.”
Doogie waggled his hairy eyebrows. “I know all kinds of gestures to make a woman melt right into my arms, Harry. The Doog-Master has all the right moves. In fact, my friends call me the magician because I can make a woman’s clothes disappear.” He snapped his fingers into the microphone. “Voilà!”
“That’s not exactly what I meant by gestures. Men need to…”
“Answer me this,” Doogie interjected, “how many sexy babes have you scored with since you published this book?”
Dexter glanced at Kylie through the Plexiglas window separating the booth from the control room. Her small white teeth worried her lower lip and she kept glancing at the clock. No doubt hoping as much as he that this so-called interview would end soon.
Doogie followed his gaze. “Speaking of sexy babes, who is that hot number you brought with you today?”
“She is not a hot number,” Dexter replied, irritated by way Doogie was ogling Kylie. “She’s a publicist with Handy Press.”
“Well, she could definitely come in handy around here,” Doogie said with a smirk. “I may have an opening in my babe schedule if she’s interested.”
“Sorry, Doogie,” Dexter said wryly. “She only dates men with class.”
“Ouch,” the disc jockey exclaimed. “The Doogster obviously stepped on some testy toes. So what’s