Sleeping with Beauty (38 page)

Don’t Miss

Donna Kauffman ‘s

other fresh and flirty fairy tales for
the modern girl . . .

THE BIG BAD WOLF TELLS ALL
THE CINDERELLA RULES
DEAR PRINCE CHARMING

And coming in
Summer 2006

NOT-SO-SNOW WHITE

The Big Bad Wolf Tells All

“Women everywhere will be taking Big Bad Wolf to bed with them.”
—Janet Evanovich

Tanzy Harrington is the Bay Area’s most-read romance columnist and self-proclaimed love-’em-and-leave-’em artist—and she’s not quite ready to tie herself down to one man. That is, until Riley Parrish lands on the scene.

When Tanzy agrees to house-sit for her eccentric great-aunt, she finds herself sharing close quarters with Riley. At first he seems a bit too much like the “sheep” Tanzy derides in her column—too polite, the classic boring good provider. But when she catches a glimpse of the “wolf” lurking in his eyes, the ultimate alpha female is about to take a fall.

Tanzy Tells All
                                                                                                                                       

S
o I watched my best friend get married for the third time this weekend and I got to wondering . . . does the wedding bouquet lose its matchmaking karma if the marriage doesn’t last? Not that I want to be matched. Well, not for more than a few really good hours. A day or two, tops. In fact, they can keep the bouquet. Why risk it, you know?

I bring this up because it was at that moment that my life-altering epiphany occurred. It all happened when I attempted to dissolve into the crowd of bouquet-catcher wannabes . . . and made the startling discovery that there was no crowd to dissolve into. In fact, upon further observation, I realized I was the only person at the crowded reception old enough to vote and not yet on social security who met the requirements for the Bridal Bouquet Rodeo.

How did this happen? How, at age twenty-nine, did I, Tanzy Harrington, officially become the Last Bridesmaid in a social circle filled with Till-Death-Do-Us-Parters?

Today’s query . . . is honeymoon sex really that fantastic? Or do the participants merely indulge in that fantasy as a way to deal with the dawning realization that this is the only kind of sex they will have . . . ever again?

K
iller column today, Tanz. I like the new tangent you’re off on with this whole wolf/sheep thing.”

Tanzy adjusted her phone headset and hit save. “Thanks, Martin. Let’s just say I was inspired.”

“Apparently. Who knew there were so many Last Bridesmaids out there?”

She snarled silently. “Yeah, I’m thinking of forming a club.” It had been three weeks since her first column commenting on her wedding reception epiphany. Apparently she wasn’t, in fact, the last bridesmaid on the planet. She’d heard from a whole slew of them in the past ten days. Hordes. Somehow, she didn’t feel any less alone. “Listen, I’m getting Saturday’s column in early. I’ve got that Single Santa radio thing this afternoon, then this month’s stint on the
Barbara Bradley Show
is taping tomorrow morning. They’re doing a Single at Christmas show, too.” Hoo boy. She could hardly wait.

“Well, chat up this wolf/sheep thing you mentioned in today’s column. I have a hunch it’s going to play big with the serial solos out there.”

She grinned. “Says the ultimate sheep.”

He chuckled, not bothering to refute it. “Hey, at least I’m the herd leader.” Martin was managing editor of
MainLine,
the hottest online magazine since
Salon
and home to the controversial, much-talked-about “Tanzy Tells All” column for the past four years. Despite being on the cutting edge of publishing technology, though, Martin was still a guy pushing fifty, with a wife of twenty-five years, two kids in college, and a nice house in Pacific Heights. He might as well have “good provider” stamped on his vanity plate.

“Yeah, you da Big Sheep, Marty.”

“Hey, herd member I might be, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a little howl left in me, you know. Did I tell you about the new ride?”

Tanzy rolled her eyes. What was it with middle-aged men and their toys? “Yes, Marty. Candy-apple red, leather interior, nice wheel package, and a whole herd of horses under the hood.”

“Beats a herd of sheep,” he shot back, and she heard the pride of toy ownership in his voice. Or maybe it was just sports car lust.

She did understand a little about that. But you were supposed to drive fast cars when you were young, right? Marty was a sedan guy. Marty had probably been born a sedan guy. Which is what made this whole toy car thing so weird. For him, anyway. Portly, balding, prescription glasses . . . nope, she couldn’t picture him flying down the highway, top down, singing “Born to Be Wild.” She gave a little shudder at the visual. Well, he’d just sent his last kid off to college this fall, so maybe that explained it. She’d heard empty nests made people do odd things. God only knew what Mrs. Marty thought about her husband’s new fixation.

“Any time you want a test drive, you let me know, okay?”

She rolled her eyes. “Will do. I’ll talk to you after I’m done taping Friday, let you know how it went.” She clicked off and stared at her laptop screen, scanning back over what she’d already written, then began to type.

So, is that why we L.B.’s aren’t willing to settle for sheep like the rest of our social circle? Sheep Sex aside, what’s wrong with a man who puts family first, who maintains a steady job, has college funds set up for his kids, and builds that nest egg for his retirement? Member of the workaday herd, never straying.

Solid, dependable Sheep Guy.

Why can’t I love Sheep Guy?

The Cinderella Rules

“Fun banter and sizzling sex.”
—Entertainment Weekly

“A sexy, spicy romp.”
—Booklist

There’s a little bit of Cinderella in every woman . . . except Darby Landon, or so she thinks before meeting the three fairy godmothers of Glass Slipper, Inc. They guarantee they can bring out the princess in any woman. But they’ll have their work cut out for them with Darby, who’s more comfortable in jeans and cowboy boots than designer gowns. But when she’s called from her Montana ranch to squire her impossible-to-please father’s star client around the D.C. social scene, Darby has to turn into the queen chic . . . and fast.

Between torture-chamber sessions of tweezing and teasing, and horrifying lessons on place settings, Darby finds herself drawn into a fairy-tale romance of the very adult variety with Shane Morgan, the devastatingly sexy (and reluctant) heir to one of the city’s largest companies. But when another Prince Charming arrives on the scene, Darby’s caught between the woman she is and the woman she’s supposed to be, between two very different irresistible bad boys. Now Darby has to choose her own happy ending . . . and with the help of three very unusual fairy godmothers, this modern-day Cinderella is determined to stay dancing way past midnight—no pumpkins required.

A GLASS SLIPPER NOVEL

H
is lips were . . . well, as perfect as the rest of him. And he definitely knew his way around a woman’s mouth. She tried—okay, for about two seconds—to just absorb the kiss without responding, determined not to react, just to see what he’d do. He was far too used to women swooning and sighing over him, and for some perverse reason, she wanted to be the one who didn’t. Except his kiss was as natural as his charm.

And it undeniably went a long way toward taking the edge off the ugly stepsister vibe she’d been carrying around since the moment she saw that glass slipper. Okay, maybe for a while longer than that.

His hand came up, slid beneath her heavy braid, and cupped the back of her head as he moved to take the kiss deeper. Now was the time to casually pull away, show him her studied indifference, maybe a little shrug when he lifted those charismatic brows of his, surprised at her lack of response. But who was she kidding? It had been a long time since she’d been kissed like this. Actually, it had probably been . . . never.

So she let him past her lips, into her mouth, and grudgingly accepted that about the best she could hope for in terms of studied indifference was refraining from moaning wildly and ripping his clothes off. It wasn’t much of an edge, but she clung to it.

And then he was lifting his head, taking his mouth from hers. “Cinderella packs quite a punch, glass slippers or no,” Shane said. The gravelly edge to his voice sent a hot thrill straight through her.

“No regrets, then,” she managed, her own voice a shade rougher than she’d have liked.

He held her gaze so steadily, she forgot where she was, what she was supposed to be doing, even her own name.

“Only one.”

She lifted her eyebrows in question, but he was already reaching for her. And this time when he took her mouth, there was nothing light or casual about it. This was no preliminary exploration, no assuaging of curiosity. If she thought she’d felt his hunger before, now she felt as if she were being consumed. Devoured, even.

Her fingers found their way into his hair. Someone moaned, someone growled. Then he was pulling all five feet eleven inches of her across his lap as effortlessly as if she were . . . well, Pepper. It was a rather defining moment for Darby, yet she couldn’t stop to examine it. She was much too busy being insatiable.

Dear Prince Charming

“Dear Prince Charming
is campy, ridiculous fun. Kauffman’s zippy prose and direct sensibility are a breeze to read. The perfect afternoon read.”
—Contra Costa Times

Workaholic
Glass Slipper
publicist Valerie Wagner needs a prince and she needs him yesterday. Her hard-won career depends on finding a stand-in for the magazine’s wildly popular advice columnist, whose scandalous secret is keeping him out of the limelight for the magazine’s launch. But where is she going to find a guy who understands women—and also just happens to be drop-dead gorgeous?

Enter sportswriter Jack Lambert, a handsome charmer with a devilish smile and a chain of ruined relationships behind him. With Valerie’s help, Jack’s about to pull off the scam of the decade: pretend he knows exactly what women want. But the more time Valerie spends with him . . . the more both of them realize that when it comes to love, they’re going to need a royal dose of advice.

A GLASS SLIPPER NOVEL

A
t age thirty, Valerie Wagner had begun to fear that the fashion career she’d dreamed of since opening her first
Vogue
at age nine was actually a grand and cruel delusion, and that perhaps medical intervention might be required in getting her over it.

Maybe her fourth-grade teacher, Ms. Spagney, had been right all along. She’d sent
Vogue
-enhanced Valerie home from school the following day with strict instructions to never scare the other students like that again. Privately, Valerie had thought Ms. Spagney could use some heavy kohl eyeliner and spiky bangs herself. It would have done much to hide the deep grooves that came from too many years of frowning down at young, independent thinkers like herself.