Men Like This. Roxanne Smith

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      Cover Copy

      Can she trust a man who pretends for a living?

      Horror author Quinn Buzzly knows all about the dark side, but when she meets actor Jack Decker, she’s moved to explore something completely different—at least on paper. With his sexy good looks, intriguing manner, and charming Irish-tinged English accent, Jack is the perfect model for her next hero. Quinn decides to spend one year in London writing a historical romance inspired by him. Until real life butts in…

      Jack’s jealous ex-fiancée sparks a media storm when she accuses him and Quinn of having an affair. But Jack knows how to play this game. At his insistence, Quinn agrees to go along with the faux romance until the chatter subsides. Then they’ll stage a quiet breakup and go their separate ways. Yet Jack is a shameless—and irresistibly convincing—flirt, and Quinn has to remind herself it’s an act. Or is it? If Jack means business, he’ll have to find the words to convince a wordsmith that their love is the real thing…

      Visit us at www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Books by Roxanne Smith

      The Long Shot Romance Series

      Men Like This, Book One

      Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

      Men Like This

      The Long Shot Romance Series

      Roxanne Smith

      LYRICAL PRESS

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Copyright

      Lyrical Press books are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2014 by Roxanne Smith

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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      Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

      Lyrical Press and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.

      First Electronic Edition: April 2015

      eISBN-13: 978-1-61650-689-6

      eISBN-10: 1-61650-689-X

      First Print Edition: April 2015

      ISBN-13: 978-1-61650-690-2

      ISBN-10: 1-61650-690-3

      Printed in the United States of America

      Dedication

      For Janice Lain, mother and biggest fan.

      Acknowledgements

      I’d like to acknowledge my agent, Dawn Dowdle, for taking a chance on me. More than guidance, she provides an education for her authors.

      Chapter One

      Quinn gaped at Richard as if he’d grown an extra appendage in front of her eyes. He might as well have. He was alien to her, despite having known him for many years. “I’m giving you about three seconds to explain.”

      He had the nerve to smile. It showed off the large glaringly white teeth inside his too-perfect mouth on his too-perfect face. “You don’t like it?” His dark gaze wandered, his approval apparent. “I really thought you would.”

      They were at a nightclub called Sabini’s in Hollywood—Quinn deplored Hollywood. A small treasure of a private bar hid deep in the bowels of the rowdy club: quiet, classy, and far from the maddening wump-wump-wump of the dance floor down the hall. Yes, she liked it.

      No, she wasn’t going to admit it.

      She crossed her bare arms, partly from the chill but mostly to show Richard she meant business. “Our relationship demands trust. Why would you lie to me, Richard?”

      He spared a quick glance at her defensive posture. “Cold?” When she didn’t respond, he waved off her concern. “All I’ve done is taken you out. Is that so bad?”

      A jolt of agitation shot through her. Had he lost his mind? Had one too many cocktails earlier? “Yes, I’d say it was! You dragged me across a nasty dance floor wearing a silk ball gown and diamond brooch worth more than your house. You said my sister planned this. I want an explanation, and I want it now.”

      Richard continued to scan the bar, unruffled by her outburst. “I brought you through the front because I left my key to the private entrance at home. I apologize.” He sat on one of the backless cowhide bar stools and lifted a hand for the bartender. “Bottle of champagne, please. Two glasses.”

      The busty young woman who could’ve still been driving on a learner’s permit smiled. Her gaze roamed freely over Richard before she dashed off to fulfill his glamorous request.

      Quinn fought the urge to stick her finger down her throat. Champagne? Who was he kidding?

      He turned back to her and patted the seat beside him as if beckoning her to join him like she were some wayward, spoiled child. “Your feet must hurt.” His eyes were kind, and his smile knowing. “Angie has excellent fashion sense, but you shouldn’t have let her talk you into those heels.”

      He spoke the truth.

      Quinn’s feet throbbed from the towering stilettos she had no business wearing. She planned to set fire to the outrageous instruments of torture the very day they lifted the burn ban in L.A. and fight harder for the ballet flats next time.

      She scowled at Richard for being right but sat anyway. The blood rushing back into her feet made her woozy with relief. With some effort, she refocused on Richard. “Quit stalling and tell me what we’re doing here, or I’m walking out. If I have to call a cab to get home, I swear, I’m taking my next project to someone else.”

      Richard’s dark and impeccably shaped eyebrows shot up. His mouth fell open. Finally, a dent in his smooth surface. “You wouldn’t.”

      He didn’t sound so certain.

      Quinn smiled at having the upper hand. “I damn sure would. Like I said, this is a trust thing. It was odd when you told me Emily wanted to get together in Hollywood, but I told myself you wouldn’t do anything weird. Then you go and order champagne. It keeps getting weirder, and you refuse to tell me what’s really going on. You don’t own a white windowless van, do you? Or have duct tape in your suit pocket?”

      He didn’t appear amused. In fact, he managed to appear unaffected, his impenetrable feathers were back in place. Her show of humor must’ve left him with the incorrect impression she’d be easily managed.

      “You’re over thinking this. We had a successful night at the fund-raiser. You’re gorgeous. I wanted to have an after-party drink with my favorite client. There’s nothing weird about wanting to prolong a nice evening with a friend.”

      He couldn’t