Blind Date Disasters & Eat Your Heart Out

Two brand-new stories in every volume…twice a month!

Duets Vol. #57

Popular Jill Shalvis serves up a delightful duo—the disaster-prone Anderson twins and the sexy men they meet!—in a humorous special Double Duets!
Rendezvous
says this author is “fast, fanciful and funny. Get ready for laughs, passion and toe-curling romance.”

Duets Vol. #58

Two talented new writers make their Duets debut this month. Look for Candy Halliday's playful romp about a bad boy who has a soft spot for his pooch—and the gorgeous dog owner next door! Then nurse-turned-writer Dianne Drake will tickle your funny bone and send temperatures rising with a fun story about a small-town medical practice.

Be sure to pick up both Duets volumes today!

“Back off,” Cami said. “You're making my knees weak.”

“Really?” In an odd sort of male way, hearing that pleased Tanner greatly. “Just say you've come down with blind date-itis,” he persisted. “Tell him you break out in hives in restaurants, that you drool when you eat.”

Her shoulders went back. “I never drool.”

“Then say you made a mistake and you already have a date tonight—first come, first served.”

She looked at him, her eyes dark. “But I don't have another date.”

He could drown in those eyes, if she wasn't such a pain in the rear. “I could take you out,” he heard himself say.

“But you don't even like me that much.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Really? What do you like about me?”

“I…” Tanner liked the way she looked wet out of the shower without a towel, but he sincerely doubted that was the correct answer.

Blind Date Disasters: Jill Shalvis

Eat Your Heart Out: Jill Shalvis

Dear Reader,

I've never had quite so much fun torturing my characters as they navigate the tricky waters of love. Cami and Dimi, twins who are equally cursed in love, had decided to not even attempt it, but I managed to convince them otherwise. Cami, the more easygoing, whimsical twin, has a little problem with the word
no
. Which means she wears the proverbial doormat on her head that says “Oh please take advantage of me.” This is how she ends up going on one blind date disaster after another, only to discover love has been right beneath her nose all along.

Love
is a four-letter word in serious twin Dimi's mind. After all, it has never given her anything but grief. As host and chef of a cooking show, she decides food can be her life. That is, until her new producer walks onto her set and turns everything upside down, including her heart.

I hope you enjoy my special Double Duets.

Happy Reading!

Jill Shalvis

P.S. You can write to me at P.O, Box 3945, Truckee, CA 96160. And keep an eye out for my upcoming Temptation Heat,
Aftershock
, in September 2001!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

T
HERE WAS NOTHING
good to say about a Monday, especially a Monday
morning,
except maybe that the weekend was only five days away.

Cami Anderson hated Mondays with the same passion she loved Saturdays, so when the obnoxiously loud alarm clock on her nightstand went off for the third time, she nudged it gently.

Well, not so gently, since it flew right over the edge and crashed to the floor. But at least it went silent.

Sighing, she pressed farther into her soft, warm, comfy bed and tried to ignore the zealous morning sun spearing her in the face. She managed it, too, for one lovely moment, during which time she floated pleasantly in dreamland, which was filled with fattening food and gorgeous men. All the harsh realities of life, such as balancing her un-balanceable checkbook and pleasing her unpleasable mother, vanished.

But then something plopped on her head and
she was suffocating, blinded, held down and…choking on fur.

“Annabel!” Shoving free, Cami sat up, spitting out cat hair. “Yuck!”

Finding herself unceremoniously dumped to the floor, the tabby sniffed. Her tail whipped the air, and after a moment's reflection she leaped onto the bed.

“Meow.” She butted her head against Cami's cheek.

“No, it's not time for food yet.” Thinking she could catch a few more precious moments, Cami flipped over and buried her head beneath her pillow.

Mornings should be illegal. They needed a new law—the day should begin at a more godly hour. Say
noon.

Never going to catch a man lying in bed all day,
her mother always told her. Well, Cami was fairly certain one
could
catch a man doing exactly that—if a woman was any good at it, which apparently, given her marital status and lack of a single prospective date in the near future, Cami was not.

Annabel settled on her tush this time, fortunately a padded area, as she used her paws, claws extended, to knead the spot before settling.

“Ouch!”

“Mew.”

“Later,” Cami muttered, deliciously close to catching a few more Zs. She was past the checkbook, past her mother tsking, past everything and picturing herself on a beach.

A tropical beach.

A faraway tropical beach with really cute guys on it. Yeah, there was a picture. Bronzed and gloriously built. Naked, too, their hands filled with suntan oil, which they rubbed over her body and—

The doorbell rang, ruining that fantasy.

Cami groaned and tried to pretend she hadn't heard it. Doorbells should be illegal, too, she decided. Maybe she'd change her plans and become a politician, just so she could make some new laws.

“Naked guys,” she murmured, hoping to coax her terrific dream back. “With lots of suntan oil—”

The doorbell rang again.

“Mew.”

Darn it!
“Yeah, yeah. I heard it.” She couldn't be faulted for not being a morning person. It was a personality flaw and therefore beyond her control.

“Coming,” she called weakly, staggering naked out of the bed, naked because, no big surprise, she'd once again neglected her laundry.

Who would be calling on her this early—
Oh, boy.
It was almost…she had to blink at the clock for a moment to be sure.
Eleven?
She shot a guilty look at Annabel, whose green, unblinking eyes stared right back, clearly vindicated.

“Okay, maybe it's time for food,” she said, relenting.

“Mew.”
Duh.

Cami's head pounded. Her stomach quivered nervously. Strange, since she was usually healthy as an ox. “Thanks, Dimi,” she muttered, cursing her evil twin sister, who thankfully no longer lived with her. It had been Dimi who encouraged Cami to drink the two little itsy bitsy glasses of champagne in celebration, when Cami was a known lightweight who rarely drank at all. “Come on, Cami, it won't hurt you,” Cami said, perfectly mimicking her sister.

The doorbell shrieked again, and she grated her teeth as the sound reverberated through her head, jangling her brain and hurting her teeth. “Coming!” Tugging her blanket around her, nearly tripping over Annabel in the process, she reached for the door, prepared to blast the visitor to bits.

Assuming it was Dimi. But then again, it was always Dimi, because other than her twenty-six-year-old twin, Cami didn't have much of a life. Neither did Dimi. Sorry state of affairs
that
was for two former Truckee High School beauty queens.

It wasn't for lack of trying. Cami, the clown of the family, had always had a sweet spot for a man with a ready smile and a quick wit. Dimi, the serious twin, preferred a man with the ability to hold down a job. There weren't many to choose from, but they'd done their best.

Being single in today's world was horrible. No matter that they'd both given it the old college try—dating, searching, yearning for Mr. Right.

Neither of them had found him.

Instead, they commiserated with each other on the sad state of the single male population. There was something wrong with every one of them. There was something wrong with society. There was something wrong with life, but the blame couldn't lie with them.

Could it?

Deciding that it indeed could, they'd agreed to
get
lives.

Separate
lives.

So Dimi had moved out of Cami's town house
and into her own…all the way on the other side of the small complex, which constituted an entire fifty-foot walk. Silly, maybe. But at least Cami no longer had to share her razors, and there were always potato chips in the cupboard when she needed them, which was often.

Cami hauled open the door. “Thanks a lot for the hangover—”

Oops.

Not Dimi.

Not even female.

Male. Oh, most definitely male.
Gorgeous
male. “I— You— Um…” Cami let out an unnerved smile and started over. “Hi.”

“Hi,” the magnificent male said, smiling into her confusion. He looked at Annabel, who was leaning on Cami, eyeing him as if he were breakfast. “Hi to you, too,” he said in a voice that could have melted the Arctic.

Annabel, who hated everyone except Cami on sight, left her mistress without a word and rubbed against his legs. They were very fine legs, too, encased in denim. Above those fine legs, were lean hips around which lay a tool belt. Above that was the finest-looking torso she'd ever seen, covered in a blue T-shirt and an unbuttoned plaid work shirt. And that was only the beginning, be
cause then there were wide shoulders, a strong, tanned neck…and his frowning face.

“Do I have the wrong day?” he inquired. “I thought you said Monday.”

“Monday?
Oh!
” Cami gaped at him, then winced and held her head because thinking was a big mistake on a two-glasses-of-champagne hang over. “Oh, no.” It was all coming back to her now. Today. Her life. What she and Dimi had been celebrating last night. “You…you're—?”

“Tanner James,” he said, holding out his big, work-roughened hand.

Oh, God. How could she have forgotten, even for a second, that today was the first day of the rest of her life?

Somehow between the dinner celebration last night and the pounding in her head this morning, she'd managed to forget everything she'd ever wanted was about to come true. She'd truly done it, she'd graduated design school and was officially an interior designer.

At just the thought, she grinned widely. It hurt, because everything anywhere near her head hurt, but she couldn't contain herself. The clown, the screwup, the Anderson everyone was certain would never amount to anything but a good time,
actually had a career right in front of her, a career she wanted with all her heart.

Even if she didn't have any clean underwear.

Now all she needed were clients. And since appearances were everything, she figured she'd start with her own town house, fix it up, make it her own personal showcase. It wasn't a bad place to start. The small complex, which consisted of only four town houses, was in the town of Truckee, right on Donner Lake, a place not only immensely rich in western history but California legend, as well. The structure had been built in the late 1800s, which meant she'd have to deal with the historical society, but that was a minor detail compared to the challenge posed by the browns, greens and hideous yellows of the early seventies that dominated the place.

Needing a master carpenter, she'd sent out plans, taken bids and picked a contractor. She'd figured on someone older, someone experienced.

She hadn't figured on one Tanner James, who wasn't old, but who was, with that come-get-me look, most undoubtedly experienced—in making women's knees weak.

Not good. She needed to stay focused here. “Um…”

“You are Cami Anderson, right?”

“Yes.”

“So I have the right place.”

“Yes, but—”

“Good.” He shifted his big body impatiently. “Why don't you show me what you've got?”

“
What?
” She pulled her blanket tighter around the body that had been a curse all her life. Too tall. Too curvy. Too everything. The everything part consisted of five pounds too much fat, which brought her back to the potato chip thing. Actually, it was also a chocolate chip thing. And an ice cream thing. And okay, it might have been
ten
pounds, but who was counting?

“Your town house? The work I bid on?” The man's brow furrowed as he studied her. “You still want it done, correct?”

“Yes.” She let out a little laugh. She was an idiot, thinking he'd even noticed her as a woman. “Yes, of course. The work.”

“Good, then.” His face was carefully bland, as if he was afraid to upset the crazy lady. “Let's get started. I hate getting going this late in the day.”

Alarm bells rang in her head—not good, given her already firmly in place headache. “Just out of curiosity, what would you consider a good start time?”

Noon,
she willed him to say. She'd probably even hug him in gratitude.

“Six.”

She nearly dropped her blanket.
“In the morning?”

“Yep.”

Oh, Lord.
Not only was he damn distracting with all sun-kissed, light doe-colored hair and even more intense doe-colored eyes, but he was a morning person, too?

This was not going well, but she hadn't had any caffeine yet and couldn't cope.

So she led him into the foyer, beyond which was the living room, which had been sorely abused by the previous owner. The walls were puke green and the carpeting puke orange. The windows were in horrible shape, as well, and bare since she'd stripped down the obnoxious shades covering them the day she'd moved in.

And for some unknown reason, there were half walls in three places, turning what could have been a wonderful, huge, open, airy room into a monstrosity.

“Ugh,” Tanner said behind her.

“Yeah. I moved in last year, but I've been swamped with school and work until now.” Self-consciously she tugged at the blanket, making
sure she was completely covered, not that he'd given her a second glance.

As they walked, she caught sight of herself in the tiled mirror hanging in her foyer…and nearly croaked on the spot.

Her hair stood straight up in spots, and yet was matted down in others, where she'd lain on it all night. The right side of her face had a lovely red spot smashed into it, obviously from her pillow. Her eyes were completely void of makeup, and puffy.

The only thing she had going for her was that she wasn't drooling. At the moment, anyway.

Some ex-beauty queen. “I'll…be back in a minute,” she said, amazed he hadn't run from her screaming in horror.

“Take your time.” Clearly distracted, he pulled out the plans she'd sent him when he'd made his bid. “This is far worse than I remembered.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your town house.” He lifted his clipboard, which had a sticker on it that said, Life Sucks, Wear a Hard Hat, and started making notes. “It's horrible.”

Feeling defensive, she halted. “Nothing a little fixing up won't cure.”

“Oh, I know. Beneath your tacky paint job and
ridiculous wall placement, this place has huge potential. Don't worry, I'll see to it.”

“It's not
my
tacky paint job,” she said, wanting to be clear on that, and also feeling a little…jealous at his confidence in his abilities.

“Uh-huh,” he said, not looking up from where he was scribbling furiously on his clipboard.

“And those walls? I had nothing to do with them.”

“Yep.”

She was standing there, practically buck naked, trying to convince the man that she hadn't decorated the place this way, and he didn't care.

She had to laugh at herself. “At least you're honest,” she said to his back.

He didn't appear to hear her, or if he did, didn't feel the need to respond. Hunkering down, he spread the plans on the floor, oblivious to the way his shirt stretched over all his interesting muscles and how his tool belt tugged at his jeans, exposing a good inch of sleek, taut, tanned skin across his lower back.

Contractors were supposed to have beer bellies and too much butt crack showing.

Tanner had neither.

And what was he doing as she ogled him? He appeared to have forgotten all about her.

Wasn't that just the crowning glory on her ego.

Sighing, Cami continued out of the room, thinking maybe it wasn't so bad being single, really. She didn't have to worry about bed head. Or clean clothes. She didn't have to worry about her extra ten pounds. Much.

Besides, if she ever got herself a man—and if her mother had anything to do with it, she would—then she wanted a really great one, who could both laugh
and
think, maybe even at the same time.