One-Click Buy: December 2009 Harlequin Blaze: Starstruck\Texas Blaze\Santa, Baby\Christmas Male\Twelve Nights by Julie Kenner

Author:Julie Kenner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2012-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

2

CARON WAS STILL REELING from her encounter with the ultrasexy Baxter Remington when she hit the backstage area of the show. All around her women were fretting in front of mirrors, while stylists attended to last-minute touch-ups to hair and makeup. The nervous energy in the room was so darn electric, it was contagious. It rushed over Caron and set alight the idea of embracing her persona as Audrey Hepburn for the night.

Her mind raced as she searched for the lead stylist, Betsy, to announce her arrival. Illicit thoughts of living out a fantasy—with Baxter Remington in the starring male role, and she, the sophisticated starlet—took root. She almost laughed at that. She’d met the man in a sweat suit, with no makeup on—a guise that wasn’t uncommon on her days off. It was comfortable. And men like Baxter Remington did not do women like her. Not that she wanted to do him. Or him to do her, rather. She grimaced. Okay. Maybe she did. If she was going to live a fantasy, why not do a man as hot as Baxter? That highly sensual, quite entertaining idea lasted all of two seconds before being smashed nice and flat as she found Betsy.

“I’m here,” she announced, and smiled nervously. “Just in time, right?”

“We already replaced you.” Betsy delivered the message with all the brassy personality that her red hair and bodacious curves suggested. Did so while still managing to stick some bobby pins in the wig of what appeared to be a business owner representing Elizabeth Taylor.

Disappointment washed over Caron, and she whispered, “Replaced me?”

“What’d you expect me to do, sugar?” Betsy challenged. A hand went to her robust hip. “You’re hours late. Not one hour. Hours late. As in plural.” She raked fingers through a mess of wild red curls. “I had to turn one of the makeup girls into Audrey, and that wasn’t an easy task.” She grimaced. “Suzie barely fit her size-eight body into your size-four dress. I worked miracles, I tell you. Miracles.”

“I really loved that dress,” Caron half whispered to herself.

“You weren’t here,” Betsy countered.

“I know,” Caron admitted, feeling the heat of embarrassment and disappointment rush to her cheeks. “I left a message. I had a plumbing problem.”

“And I was in poo up to my neck,” Betsy spat. “This event is televised, and my job is to fill these dresses with starlet look-alikes before those cameras roll.” She motioned to all the craziness around her. “And do I look like I could check messages? I have a show to put on.”

“And a problem to solve,” came a male voice.

Caron, Betsy and Elizabeth Taylor all turned to find Reginald, Betsy’s assistant, holding a blond wig. Betsy grabbed Elizabeth Taylor’s shoulder, and Elizabeth yelped. Betsy quickly apologized, dropping her hand but not the grimace on her face.

“Why are you holding Marilyn’s hair?” she asked, her face redder than Caron’s felt.

Reginald was a tall, black, effeminate man, with better grooming than a lot of the women she knew.

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