Hannah's Hunk

by Sandra Chastain

Genres: Women's Fiction; Romance; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

Fantasies are always sexier when they come alive, as Sandra Chastain proves by pairing two unlikely stars for a scorching hot romance: the models on the cover.
 
As the editor of Fantasy Romance, Hannah Clendening needs a gorgeous, tattooed, musclebound ex-con type for the front cover of her next publication. And what better place to find such a man than an actual prison? When Dan Bailey saunters out of the pen, Hannah knows she’s found the perfect man. So perfect that she even agrees to pose with him for the shoot . . . so perfect that when he wraps Hannah in his arms, he ignites a fire that may just burn out of control.
 
Bad-boy journalist Dan Bailey always gets his story, even if it means putting himself behind bars for three months. But on the day of his release, a blond beauty makes him an offer he can’t refuse—especially since being an impromptu cover model means access to offices and a quiet place to write his expose. But while Dan is under the hot lights and in front of the camera lens, the feel of Hannah’s body against his provides a welcome distraction—and a sizzling kiss leaves him hungry for more.
 
Includes a special message from the editor, as well as excerpts from other Loveswept titles.

Release date: December 9, 2013

Publisher: Loveswept

Print pages: 208

Sample

One
 
“I’m absolutely desperate for a real man.”
 
Hannah Clendening tapped her pencil against her front teeth and leaned back in her office chair, staring at the April rain splattering against her Long Island cottage window.
 
“Absolutely desperate!”
 
“Aren’t we all, honey.” Daisy, Hannah’s motherly assistant, nodded and continued scanning the pages she was reading.
 
“A tattooed, dirt-breathing, muscle-bound man of the earth.”
 
“Well, I don’t know if I’d want to go quite that far.”
 
Hannah came to her feet and strode to the window. “Where is he? In a state the size of New York there must be one man over thirty-five who doesn’t shave, doesn’t primp, and doesn’t look like he’s escaped from one of those weird perfume commercials.”
 
“Sure, check any subway or park bench.”
 
But Hannah refused to take Daisy seriously. “I thought the men on Long Island were real people, Daisy. So far the only men I’ve seen who aren’t here for the summer are the mailman—and he’s fifty—and Joe, the police captain. Maybe looking for a man who isn’t a model is a mistake. If I don’t have a hunk by Monday morning, my name will be Hannah C. Mud, with the emphasis on mud.”
 
“I really don’t understand your problem. You’re the only woman I know who has an all-American male-order wish book and an order blank. Why not just pick one out?”
 
“Daisy, you’re not taking me seriously. They’re all too perfect.”
 
Daisy Benson laid down the proposal she was reading and glared at Hannah. “I’m taking you seriously, boss lady. You’re desperate for a mature hunk with bad breath and B.O.”
 
Hannah swore. Nobody understood how important it was for Fantasy Romances to succeed. It was her concept, and C. C. Lowen, who owned the company, had given her free rein to hire the most creative writers, artists, and production personnel in the industry.
 
Fantasy produced two books each month: one from the heroine’s point of view, which featured a woman on the cover, and the other from the male point of view, using a man on the cover.
 
Though Hannah was the editor and personally bought every book, the covers were also her department. Hannah’s hunks, the models were called, and Hannah sighed over, fantasized about, and gave her personal approval to each of them.
 
The January releases had to be special. It was the first anniversary of the line. The heroine had been selected, but this Hannah’s hunk had to be awesome. So far Hannah had come up empty.
 
Razor Cody, the hero in The Morning After, was what insiders called a wounded hero. To complicate matters, he was an ex-con and a rebel, and he’d come looking for Miss Rachel Kimbel. Hannah understood Razor, his prickly exterior and his need to thumb his nose at the world. He’d been wronged, and he was out for revenge. The man who portrayed Razor had to be special, very special.
 
“So, you’re looking for an ex-con, why not try the police?” Daisy said vacantly. She’d already turned back to the manuscript she was working on.
 
Daisy was right. Hannah wondered what she’d been thinking of. She was trying to cast a hero who was an ex-con, what better place to scout for a real man than a prison?
 
Three days later she was waiting in the parking area of Suffolk County Minimum Security, the country club prison on Long Island.
 
Under other circumstances she would have been worried, but the man she was to meet was expecting her. Joe, the police captain in Port Jefferson, had made the arrangements. He had given his personal assurance that the man was trustworthy.
 
Nothing ventured, nothing gained, was the motto Hannah lived by in business, and so far it had gotten her where she wanted to be.
 
Her personal life was a different story. Nobody knew she’d been a social outcast at two Southern boarding schools where she was supposed to have been turned into a lady. And nobody knew of her brief live-in arrangement with a fellow student at Yale. An even deeper secret was her relationship with her father. She’d been reared by her grandparents and had seen her father only for an occasional lunch or on holidays. Now, because she used her mother’s maiden name, nobody knew that C. C. Lowen, corporate director, was in reality Carl Lowenstein, Hannah Clendening’s father.
 
She scanned the parking lot and frowned. She hadn’t counted on having television crews and reporters there.
 
“I’m Wes Varden, Celebrity mag,” one of the newsmen said as he leaned against her car.
 
Celebrity magazine. Great! she thought, one of the sleaziest tabloids at the checkout stand.
 
“Are you here to get a peak at the Don?” he asked.
 
“The Don?”
 
“Sure, the junk-bond money-man who’s being released today. You’re not a reporter?”
 
“Ah, no. I’m picking up—meeting—someone else. Excuse me, I need to use the air conditioner.” She turned on the engine and closed the window, discouraging more questions. Her reason for being there would make great copy but not the kind of publicity Razor’s book needed.
 
The prison doors opened and three men came through. Leaving the engine running, Hannah got out of the car.
 
A portly man in a silver suit, obviously the Don, drew all the attention. The second man certainly wasn’t her contact; he was nearly sixty. But the third one had definite possibilities.
 
Even in faded jeans and a chambray shirt, he was impressive. Tall, lanky, muscular, he wore a baseball cap pulled low over his forehead, cowboy boots, and a hands-off attitude that was obvious from ten feet away. With a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, he hung back, allowing the other two men to lead the way.
 
He was perfect.
 
Hannah felt a whisper of caution in her stomach flutter to life. No, this wasn’t a flutter, this was a full-fledged protest, the ultimate measure of the man’s appeal. Hannah smiled and gave a little wave.
 
Dan Bailey saw her wave and disregarded it. Where the hell was Pete? Being released early was a welcome surprise. Pete’s being late to meet him wasn’t. Other than the reporters, the only person waiting was a woman. And not just any woman, this one was trouble waiting to happen. The last thing he wanted was to call attention to himself when he was supposed to be on vacation.
 
Ah, angel. Stop looking at me as if I’m the house special of the day and you’re ready to order.
 
He couldn’t imagine who she was there to pick up. Dan turned his head and slid past the reporters. If it had been up to him, he’d have postponed his release a day rather than be recognized as Dan Bailey, the investigative reporter who always got his story, even when it was seldom the one he’d been assigned.
 
Dan’s editor believed that he was in Mexico, relaxing on a sunny beach. Dan had seen the newspaper story about the Don and had thought he was onto something. But he hadn’t been sure, and he didn’t want to take a chance on his editor getting wind of what he was about to do until he’d proved that his suspicions were right.
 
“Take it easy for a while, Dan,” his editor had warned when he’d completed his last assignment. “You need a rest. Take some time off. You have about six months’ vacation coming.”
 
This from the man who’d given Dan an office with a bed and a closet because he stayed in New York too seldom to pay rent on an apartment, Dan thought with a laugh.
 
But Dan had surprised his boss by agreeing. A vacation was just want he needed, a long one. A few telephone calls later, he’d arranged to become an inmate in the prison where the subject of his investigation was residing. His hunch had been right. Now he just had to get it on paper. For that he needed a place to work—away from his office—until he was ready to break his story.
 
Dan knew he’d been walking a fine line recently. He even agreed that he needed a vacation, but once he’d read about the Don, he’d known he had to see it through. He’d almost made it past the waiting newsmen, when one reporter called out, “Hey, aren’t you—”
 
Dan recognized that voice and changed his direction, heading toward the woman leaning against the black car. She had the door open and the engine running.
 
As he strode toward her he watched a breeze catch her hair and sweep it away from her face. He noticed her classic features and wide eyes filled with delight. Because the day was unusually warm for April, she’d removed her jacket, revealing a figure that could never be mistaken for a model’s. It was too lush. Those women in the stocking commercials who were all legs didn’t have a thing on the blond-haired beauty watching his progress as if she were expecting him.
 
For a moment they stood staring at each other, the very air around them charged with anticipation. This couldn’t be happening, Dan thought. It was like an old movie, replaying itself in his head. A chance meeting of two people who were destined to be together, but only for a short time.