“Sorry. Time’s up.” Pivoting, she ran from the room.
“Sunny! Wait!”
She heard him following her and panicked. She’d left with some measure of dignity, but she’d taken as much as she could. He must not see these hot, renegade tears spilling down her cheeks, but where could she go?
Lord, tell me what to do.
In front of her were glass double doors marked with red letters. The message read Exit, and that’s what she did.
Chapter One
Eight months later
Sweat trickled down Pete Maguire’s back as he stood behind a pulsing neon heart and listened to the studio audience applaud the last contestant’s entrance. It was the last time his little sister would catch him coming to her rescue. If Meggy couldn’t handle her new job as a Dream Date production assistant, she could broil burgers somewhere. Setting him up to appear on national television was the last straw.
He shifted his shoulders and tried to get comfortable in the clothes she’d provided when she dragged him out of the house as a last-minute replacement. He’d have to talk to her about her taste in ties. Real men did not wear grapes and leafy things.
With his heart pounding as loud as it was, he barely heard the show’s host say, “The last of our contestants is a guy named Pete.” That was his cue to go on, and he’d do it if his body would cooperate. Someone shoved the middle of his back and he stepped into blinding bright light.
“Pete, a carpenter by trade, says he’s looking for a girl just like Mom.”
A carpenter. If they only knew. Well, it was true enough once. And more accurate than anything else these days, unless you wanted to count rich, worthless beach bum. Though nearly blinded, he headed toward the one unoccupied chair on the set. A spontaneous scream from the women in the audience startled him. For his sister’s sake, he tried to look pleased and threw the audience a wave. They screamed again. Man, Meggy owed him big.
“Welcome, Pete! It’s going to be a great show, folks!” the host proclaimed. “After we break for commercial, we’re going to match one lovely lady with one lucky guy and send them on their very own Dream Date! Don’t go ’way.”
Pete settled into his leather chair and checked out the group. The guy next to him was a regular weight lifter. If the sleeveless T-shirt showcasing massive biceps didn’t give him away, the tree-trunk neck did.
The other guy had longer hair than most women, holes in his jeans, a dangly earring and a soulful look. Two bucks said he played a guitar and screamed into a mic.
Pete fingered his ugly tie. He could have worn what he wore at the beach and felt less out of place here. Leave it to a woman to overdress a guy.
The three female contestants were knockouts. The lush blonde was giving him the eye, and the petite brunette looked unbelievably interested, as well. Pete wondered which they liked best—his new nose, cheekbones or chin.
He still wasn’t used to The Face, as he’d come to call it, or women’s reaction to it. He doubted if he ever would be. No matter how much the guys with knives changed his looks, he was the same Pete Maguire he’d been for thirty-two years.
There’d been a time he’d have appreciated two babes checking him out. Shoot, he’d have been tickled with one. You’d think a guy whose wife had dumped him for his best friend would be happy with the attention, but that wasn’t the way it worked. Not when he knew it wasn’t him that turned them on—just The Face.
The redhead across from him seemed preoccupied with covering long, gorgeous legs with a skimpy black leather skirt. From the way she flipped that mane of coppery curls, he’d say she’d give a lot to be just about anywhere else. Edgy, that’s what she was. Real edgy. And indifferent to him. Good for her.
Signaling the end of the commercial, the stage manager pointed to the show’s host who smiled at a camera and said, “It’s time for our guys and gals to share their responses to our Dream Date questionnaire. When a gal’s answer matches a guy’s, they get a matchmaker point. Everybody understand?”
Pete understood the questionnaire was a big deal, but Meggy said she’d completed his with such crazy answers he couldn’t possibly win. Thirty minutes, she’d said, and it would be over.
“Okay, here we go,” the host said. “Remember, the couple with the most points at the end of the show shares a fabulous Dream Date. Then in a couple of weeks they’ll return to rate their date. Will it be a dream…or a nightmare? Everybody ready?”
Pete hadn’t dated since high school and wasn’t about to start now. He leaned forward in his chair, the better to concentrate on losing.
“The first category,” host Mike Michaels enthused, “is ‘Food on a First Date.’ On their bios, contestants were asked to state where or what sort of food they would enjoy on a Dream Date. Cheryl,” he said to the blonde with the low neckline, “let’s start with you. What’s your choice in food?”
“Well, Mike, I like really nice restaurants. Romantic places with gourmet food and fine wine. Oh, and valet parking.”
The audience chuckled, and Pete smiled at the idea of turning his old pickup over to a parking attendant. ELEGANT DINING popped onto the board behind the woman. Mike moved on to the brunette. “Jacy, how about you?”
“Sushi, Mike. Can’t get enough sushi. I like to head down to the marina and spend some time there.”
As SUSHI appeared on the electronic board behind Jacy, Pete wondered if either the weight lifter or the longhair were more willing to eat raw fish than he was.
Mike turned to the redhead. “Sunny, what’s your preference?”
Sunny glanced at the studio audience where a dozen or so teenage girls chanted, “Do it. Do it. Do it.”
Taking a deep breath, she turned back to the emcee and said, “Mike, I like to stay home and cook for my dates.”
Looks could be deceiving, but Pete would have bet his pickup that this woman didn’t know a whisk from a blender.
The board faithfully registered HOME COOKING, and the host looked at the redhead with awe. “We don’t get too many women choosing to cook. Bet you’re real popular, Sunny.”
The redhead grinned and shrugged her shoulders. Personality sparkled in her pretty brown eyes.
It was only a little twinge Pete felt. A little zing in the gut. But it took him by surprise. It had been so long since it happened that a moment passed before he recognized the feeling. Attraction, he guessed you’d call it. Man, it had been a while.
Even in the old days he’d never been attracted to redheads, yet he felt the impact of this one’s smile right down to his socks. What was her name? Sunny? She sure was when she smiled. The smile was beautiful. In fact, spectacular.
She caught him staring at her. Her eyes were huge, the warm color of butternut, and uneasy. Rather pointedly, she turned toward the host. He had to smile. She didn’t know it, but she didn’t have to worry about him coming on to her. Any interest he had in her was purely analytical.
“Kevin,” Mike said to the longhair, “on your questionnaire you stated that you prefer ethnic food. Right?”
“Mostly Mexican and Thai. The hotter the better,” Kevin claimed in a dark, sultry voice, dramatically swishing his hair as ETHNIC FOODS registered.
Pete was fairly sure he’d have trouble relating to Kevin.
“Frank, our fireman from the LAFD…”
“Firefighter,” the weight lifter corrected politely.
“Frank the firefighter,” the emcee repeated goodnaturedly, “says he prefers pasta and salad. Looks good