She Did a Bad, Bad Thing

STEPHANIE BOND

feels she won the lottery in November 1995 – when Mills & Boon bought her very first book! Since then, Stephanie has written over twenty-five books for Mills & Boon, and still loves bringing stories of romance and comedy to her readers all over the world. Stephanie lives in Atlanta, Georgia, with her husband, Christopher. She loves to hear from her readers at www.stephaniebond.com.

Dear Reader,

Have you ever dreamed of winning the lottery? Jane Kurtz regularly plays the lottery with her co-workers, but she never really thinks about winning. Why would she? Everything in Jane’s life is perfectly ordinary – her looks, her car, her life. When she overhears her hot next-door neighbour make a crack about her sad little life, she longs to do something completely wild and unexpected, and then…she and her co-workers have the winning ticket! Jane shocks everyone by going to Vegas for a wild weekend. But Jane herself is shocked when her hot neighbour follows her to make sure she doesn’t get into trouble…with anyone but him!

I hope you enjoy this first of six books in the MILLION DOLLAR SECRETS mini-series. Please share with your friends the great stories that you read between the pages of Mills & Boon® novels! Visit me at www.stephaniebond.com.

Much love and laughter,

Stephanie Bond

SHE DID A BAD, BAD THING

BY

STEPHANIE BOND

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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1

“LISTEN…I’M sorry—what was your name again?”

Jane Kurtz turned off the handheld airbrush machine that was depositing a perfect layer of makeup over the zits of celebutante Casey Campella, today’s guest on Just Between Us. “It’s Jane.”

“Oh…right.” Casey wrinkled her nose. “Listen, I don’t want to look orange on camera. I have a lot of friends and family here in Atlanta, and they’ll all be watching the show.”

Watching for tips on how to make their own home sex tape reminiscent of the one of Casey and her current boyfriend that was making the rounds on the Internet. Jane bit her tongue to keep from saying that as far as Casey appearing on camera looking too orange was concerned, it was too late.

Instead Jane wet her lips. “I promise you won’t look orange, Ms. Campella. But I’m afraid you’ll have to be still in order for me to do the best job possible.”

Casey sniffed and looked away.

Jane turned the airbrush machine on again and continued to apply a flawless application of makeup on the young woman’s face, conceding that what she lacked in skin texture, she made up for in bone structure. The only thing higher than the woman’s cheekbones were her boobs, which allegedly had their own fan club and Website.

When the foundation layer was complete, Jane turned off the machine and proceeded to enhance the woman’s deep blue eyes with strategic applications of false eyelashes, highlighters, shadows, and liner.

Next came the cheeks, which needed only a touch of sparkle, then the biggest challenge—creating the illusion of a pouty, well-defined mouth from pencil-thin lips in a shade of red that would make the woman’s nicotine-stained teeth look as white as possible. All this while Casey talked on her phone with her boyfriend, who, from the one-sided R-rated conversation, appeared to be as immature as the giggling starlet—and very possible masturbating on the other end.

“I had a dream about you last night, baby…no, me first…no, me first…okay, you go ahead…oh, baby-cakes, that’s so hot I can hardly stand it…uhhuh…I want you so bad right now….”

In the midst of her frustration and embarrassment, Jane tamped down a stab of jealousy. What would it be like to have a man so crazy for you that he called you up to say naughty things?

“Five minutes,” an associate producer cued from the doorway, and Casey indicated that she’d heard.

“Gotta run, baby. Be sure to tape the show…we’ll watch it together.” From her throaty laugh, it was clear what they planned to do while they watched her discuss their sex life on the hottest regional talk show around.

Fighting an eye roll, Jane sensed another sex tape in the making.

Casey disconnected the call, then leaned forward in the bright illumination of the mirror to scrutinize her makeup from every angle. Her forehead furrowed in a frown.

“Is there a problem, Ms. Campella?” Jane asked.

“No. In fact, I look…amazing.”

Jane smiled and gave a little nod. “I’m glad you’re pleased.”

“Thank you, uh—what was your name again?”

“Jane.”

“Right.” Casey stood and tore off the paper cape protecting the red trench-coat style mini-dress that Jane had chosen for her from wardrobe. It struck the perfect balance between classy and trashy. The curvy celebrity did a twirl in the full-length mirror, winked at herself, then looked Jane up and down. “I’m just wondering, if you can make other people look this good, why don’t you do something for yourself?”

Jane’s smile dissolved as the woman strode away in the decadent Donald Pliner black stiletto boots that Jane had spent the better part of two days hunting down. A few seconds later, music sounded and the audience burst into wild applause and cheers, indicating that the current “it” girl had blessed them with her appearance.

In a spin that only host Eve Best could put on the eyebrow-raising topic, this episode, she claimed, was for women who wanted to add a little spice to their marriage. To hear Eve tell it, revealing the DOs and DON’Ts of making an at-home sex tape was practically a public service for housewives.

Jane shook her head and expelled a little laugh as she watched the monitor overhead. With the host of the show and today’s guest both looking better than nature intended, her workday was essentially over, although, officially she stayed until the show signed off in the event of a shine-blotting emergency.

She carefully cleaned all the tools and containers she used to cleanse, moisturize, exfoliate, shave and tweeze, plus the appliances to apply makeup and false eyelashes and to fill in the occasional over-plucked eyebrow. As her hands moved automatically, performing the job she’d performed every day for the past three years, her mind wandered back to Casey Campella’s cutting remark.

Jane glanced into the mirror that was her customary work environment and acknowledged ruefully that the bouncy celebrity had only voiced what every other person whom Jane worked on probably wondered:

How could a talented and sought-after makeup artist and stylist be so unattractive?

For the most part, Jane avoided mirrors. When she brushed her teeth, for instance, she didn’t stop to analyze the ordinary placement of her unremarkable features—the common pale blue eyes, the standard eyebrows, the average nose, the regular mouth, the unexceptional skin tone, all framed by run of the mill light brown hair of middling length.

All in all, an extremely forgettable face.

She hadn’t been blessed with the natural good looks of her two childhood friends Eve Best and Liza Skinner. Over the years, Jane had settled into her role, living up to the nickname of Plain Jane. She preferred blue jeans and Merrills to dresses and Manolos.

But Jane had enjoyed it when her friends played dress-up, had delighted in using cosmetics to make them even more beautiful. By the time they all were in high school, she was doing their makeup every morning in the girls’ restroom. Jane discovered she had a keen eye for camouflaging flaws and highlighting assets…in others’ faces. The few times she had experimented on her own face had been dismal failures—she had looked as if she were trying too hard to be pretty…as if she were trying to compete with her friends.

Making other people look good had become second nature…and in some cases, her plainness helped those under her ministrations to relax. Most celebrities were so insecure about their flaws, the last thing they wanted was to be at the mercy of a makeup artist who was prettier.

Her plainness had become her trademark, she reminded herself. She had taken the mediocre hand that life that dealt her and bluffed her way to an enviable job…a job that some might even call glamorous, although when Eve had first asked her to come on board, it had been a risk. In the beginning, she and Liza both had done whatever it took to get the show on the air, even if it fell outside their job description. But over the years the skeletal staff had grown to more than forty technicians, office and production staff, and station executives. Now Jane could concentrate on being the show’s stylist and makeup artist. It was challenging and rewarding. It allowed her to rub elbows with the rich and famous. It made up for the social life she didn’t have.

When the pep-talk smile she gave to herself in the mirror fell short of convincing, Jane simply looked away.

While she sterilized every brush and applicator, she watched the television monitor, pleased that both Eve and her guest looked great from every camera angle—somewhere between radiant and matte under the glare of the hot lamps of the set lights.

“So, Casey,” Eve said with the solemnity of someone who was interviewing a political candidate, “what should our viewers know about making their own intimacy video at home?”

It was just the kind of scintillating topic that had increased the show’s viewership by leaps and bounds over the past three years. Just Between Us was now commanding high advertising rates. A feature piece in a national media magazine had put the talk show and Eve on the radar of the major networks. The energy level on the set had increased—along with the pressure to deliver. Everyone seemed on edge lately.

Jane dropped a tray of makeup samples.

Including her.

She crouched to clean up the mess, chastising herself for her clumsiness. It was the uncertainty of the show’s future, she reasoned, that was making her feel so…restless. It had nothing to do with the fact that she seemed destined to stay under life’s radar. People couldn’t even remember her name.

Jane watched Eve work her magic on the unwitting guest and audience and wondered idly if Liza was keeping tabs on the show wherever she was. Flamboyant and volatile Liza Skinner had been the show’s first story producer and was responsible for some of their most successful segments. But a year ago a disagreement over a segment that had gone badly had led to Liza blowing up and walking out on the show. They hadn’t heard from her since. Jane missed her and knew that Eve did, too. And deep down, they both expected Liza to reappear one morning in her office and pick up where she’d left off as if nothing had happened.

Jane thought of her every time they took up money for the Lot O’ Bucks lottery—pooling their money for tickets was a tradition that she and Eve and Liza had started, with each of them choosing two of the six numbers. Since Liza had left, three other employees had joined the pool and contributed what they hoped would be a winning number, but she and Eve had stubbornly held on to one of Liza’s numbers as a gesture of their friendship. They had joked it was like leaving a light in the window. Meanwhile, Jane hoped that their friend was safe.

By the time she stored her tools in their proper places, the show had ended and the director was giving everyone on the set a thumbs-up.

Jane turned down the monitor and took inventory of the shades of foundation, eye, cheek, and lip color. She noted which rows were running low and phoned in replacements orders. Then she did a quick survey of the clothing racks and made a few notes on new spring accessories she wanted to add. From her mail crate, she opened and sorted through dozens of sample products and catalogs that had been sent to her from various manufacturers and retailers. The promising ones went into a large canvas tote for closer scrutiny in her home office.

When she stepped out into the hall, she smiled at Eve who was striding her way. “Great show.”

Eve grinned. “Thanks. I was a little nervous about how Casey would come across, but she did a good job. And her makeup and outfit were perfect, thanks to you. She looked downright credible.”

“Good.”

“But you have your work cut out for you tomorrow. Bette Valentine with the unibrow will be here to talk about unleashing your inner wild child.”

Jane winced. “And those muu-muus she wears are hard to do anything with.”

“You’ll think of something,” Eve said with a wink. “Do you have a hot date tonight?”

“Yeah—with my remote control.” The season finale of her favorite show, Dirty Secrets of Daylily Drive, aired tonight. She was eager to see who had murdered the neighborhood bimbo.

Eve made a rueful noise. “When are you going to start dating again? It’s been months since you and James called it quits.”

Since he dumped me, Jane corrected silently. And although she acknowledged that James wasn’t the love of her life, his parting remark still cut to the bone. Gawd, Jane, you’re such a bore. His offhand slight had sent her into a funk that she hadn’t yet recovered from. Her cheeks still burned when she relived the memory.

“I don’t have time to date,” she said, then smirked. “Maybe I should talk to my boss about cutting back my hours.”

“Touché. As soon as we go nationwide,” Eve said, linking her arm with Jane’s and walking with her to the exit, “we’ll both get a life.” Suddenly a serious expression crossed Eve’s face. “You haven’t heard from Liza, have you?”

“No, why?”

“No reason, really. She’s just been on my mind today.”

“Mine, too,” Jane admitted. “Wonder where she is?”

Eve shook her head. “Knowing Liza, she could be on the moon.” She waved. “See you tomorrow.”

Jane waved and watched her friend walk away. Eve, she knew, still had hours of work ahead of her before she could leave the station.

Eve Best deserved to make it big—the woman worked twice as hard as anyone else on the show. Even when they were young, Jane had the feeling that her two friends were destined for great things.

Then Jane worried her lower lip with her teeth. Maybe this emotional slump was simply a phase she was going through. But with Liza gone, she couldn’t help but feel that the big break they were all waiting for would only tear them further apart…

2

PUSHING ASIDE the troubling premonition, Jane left the station and climbed into her old but trusty Civic. Dusk was falling on the chilly spring day and fatigue pulled at her shoulders as she pointed her car in the direction of her condo. On normal days, the commute was manageable—a miracle by Atlanta traffic standards. But today she was behind a minor accident and construction backup on Peachtree Street. At the last minute, she decided to veer off to pick up Chinese food in lieu of cooking. It was already dark by the time she pulled into the parking garage for her building.

When she rounded the corner to her assigned parking spot, she bit back a curse—a little red sports car occupied her place, next to an enormous black SUV that belonged to her new neighbor. She hadn’t yet met him, but she’d heard him moving in yesterday and hoped that he would be settled by tonight. Indeed, it appeared that he already had a guest over and was already violating the building rules. She resented the people who thought living in a condo was like living in an apartment—the man was a home-owner and he’d better start acting like it. Fuming, she parked in the cramped guest parking area and headed inside.

The sooner he was indoctrinated to the rules of condo living, the better.

She stopped in front of her neighbor’s door and juggled her shoulder bag, an armload of catalogs, and the bag of Chinese takeout to ring the doorbell. From behind the door she heard music pulsing with a throbbing bass. She rang the doorbell again and after several long minutes, the door swung open.

The angry words at the back of her throat dissolved.

The man stood well over six feet tall. His hair and eyes were dark, and his jaw sported a couple of days’ worth of scruff. His skin was golden brown, and since he wore only faded jeans, she could see a lot of it. His shoulders were wide and muscled, his chest covered with a mat of black hair that disappeared into the waistband slung low enough to make her wonder if he wore any underwear. From the way he held his long body to the magnetism that rolled off him like a natural cologne, the man appeared to be built for sex.

In a word, he was devastating.

He appeared to be studying her, too, but from the way he tipped up his bottle of beer, he apparently found her slightly less noteworthy. “Can I help you?” he drawled.

“Uh…I’m your next door neighbor. Jane.”

He nodded and flashed a killer smile. “I’m Perry. Nice to meet you.”

“Same here.” She shifted the precarious load in her arms and decided against extending her hand. “Do you drive a black SUV?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s a red car next to it in my parking spot. I thought you might know who it belongs to.”

“Kayla,” he yelled over his shoulder, then took a pull on his beer.

A lush brunette appeared, impossibly tiny and curvy in a Barbie Doll kind of way and sporting a midriff revealing sweater. For some ridiculous reason, Jane was disappointed in the man’s taste, but then what had she expected?

“What, baby?” the girl crooned.

“Did you park in guest parking like I told you?”

She pouted. “The spots were too close together—I didn’t want my car to get dinged, so I parked next to your SUV.”

He looked at Jane and shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, uh—what did you say your name was?”

“Jane,” she said through gritted teeth.

He pointed his finger like a gun and made a clicking noise. “Won’t happen again.”

She opened her mouth to ask that his guest move her car, but the door closed in her face. Jane scowled, hoping the man—to paraphrase Jane Austen—improved upon closer acquaintance. The building housed only forty condos. A few jerks—or one large one—would be enough to cause problems for everyone. And since she and Perry shared a wall and a divided balcony, she would bear the brunt of it.

Heaving a sigh, she unlocked the door to her own condo. Inside, she dropped her load on her desk, then carried the bag of Chinese food to the living room, turning on lights along the way.

The sight of her condo never failed to calm her—she’d purposely decorated in a minimalist style in soothing shades of taupe and sky blue to make the space her own personal haven. Her walls were white, her furniture streamlined. No clutter to distract her, no mess to create more work when she should be winding down.

Jane sighed and felt the stress of the day drain away. She changed into comfy sweats and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. A glance at the clock had her rushing to the kitchen for a bottle of water and a TV tray. Time for her show. Guilty pleasure filled her chest—would Victoria and the cop Nate get together? Or would Nate arrest Victoria for murdering her neighbor?

Settling onto her overstuffed couch, Jane slipped off her shoes and dug her toes into the plush area rug, then clicked on the TV and reached for the bag of takeout. Suddenly the blare of pulsing music invaded her space.

Jane frowned in the direction of the shared wall. The previous owner had been quiet—and had traveled often. Hopefully her new neighbor would soon realize that the walls of multi-family-unit buildings could be thin.

Tamping down irritation, she increased the volume of the TV to counter the sound of the music coming through the wall. From the bag she removed a container of crab wontons and another of lo mein.

She unwrapped the chopsticks and had a wonton halfway to her mouth when the sound of a woman’s voice came through the wall.

“Ahh…ahh, yeah, baby, that’s it…yeah.”

Jane stopped and turned her head toward the wall. It wasn’t…they weren’t…

Incredulous, she lowered the volume on the television, only to be treated to a new string of sexpletives.

“Oh, oh, oh…yes! Yes! Do it! Harder! Faster! I-eeeee! Omigod, omigod, omigod, that feels so good! Talk dirty to me—yeah, that’s it…you nasty, nasty boy.”

Jane’s eyes widened. Nasty boy?

A rhythmic banging sounded on the wall and she thought at first that one of them was hitting the wall with a wayward limb…then she realized with the accompanying squeaking noises that it was the man’s headboard that was banging against their shared wall.

“Oh, good grief,” she muttered, feeling a little dirty, like a voyeur, yet curiously unable to stop listening. The woman’s caterwauling escalated in time with the banging noise and was joined by a man’s low voice.

“Now!” she screamed. “I’m coming! Now! Now! NOWWWW!”

From the synchronized clamor, it appeared that they arrived together. Jane sat unmoving, unable to believe what had just transpired, but distantly aware of a heaviness in her breasts and a tingle of desire in her midsection.

Embarrassment swelled in her chest and she grappled with the remote to increase the volume over the music still pounding through the wall. She tried to concentrate on the storyline of the show, but her mind kept returning to the fact that she’d just heard her new neighbor have sex.

As far as neighbors went, that fell under the category of TMI: Too Much Information. Especially since she could visualize his long, muscular body naked and sweaty, tangled in the sheets…And she wondered what kind of nasty things he’d said to the woman that had made her scream as if she’d hung between life and death.

Working her mouth back and forth, Jane studied a crab wonton, then popped it into her mouth. It was the most satisfying thing she would get tonight.

But as her attention continued to wander and she realized that she’d missed huge chunks of the program, her irritation ballooned again. Nasty Boy had foisted his sex life on her and completely ruined her evening. And while she stewed about the man’s crudeness—and rudeness—the rhythmic thumping started up again along with the woman’s commentary.

“Oh, baby, that’s it…that’s it…oh, yeah. Say something nasty…oh, yeah.”

Jane stuck her tongue into her cheek. Not again. She hadn’t even had time to finish her dinner! Worse, she had no idea what was happening on her show.

She stabbed at the lo mein as the movement on the other side of the wall grew more frenetic. Nasty Boy apparently had stamina…and finesse. He knew just where to put it, oh baby, he knew just how to do it, oh yeah.

It was like bad song lyrics.

What was he saying to her? She leaned closer to the wall, but couldn’t make out the low murmurings. With a jolt, Jane realized that she was rocking in time with the couples’ rhythm and she was feeling…warm.

And…moist.

How long had it been since she’d had sex? There hadn’t been anyone since James, and the last few times with him had been a letdown.

Who was she kidding? Every time with James had been a letdown. Every time with every guy—not that there’d been that many—had been a letdown. None of her encounters with men had lived up to the fantasies she’d spun in her head, not one of them had left her feeling like this…with desire coiled tightly in her stomach, aching for release.