Spotlight & Giveaway: The Playboy Project by Michele Dunaway

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author Michele Dunaway to HJ!

Hi Michele and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, The Playboy Project!

Hi! I’m delighted to be here celebrating my 30th Harlequin!
 

Please summarize the book for the readers here:

In The Playboy Project, Michael Clayton needs a fresh start. Portland’s most notorious bachelor has made a grave mistake: he’s accidentally kissed someone who wasn’t his girlfriend during a masquerade ball—she and her friends were dressed the same. While he figured it out immediately, the damage is done. Luckily, he’s moving to Beaumont where he’s safe from the gossips. When he meets Ione and realizes she doesn’t know him, he accepts her proposition because he finds he can’t resist. Besides, she’s leaving. It’s one night. For Ione, who has never propositioned anyone, it’s a chance for a reset, a low risk way to see if she’s as terrible in bed as her ex said she was. (Answer, she’s not.) Trouble is, she’s both a scientist and the consultant on his new project. He’s five star hotels all the day. It’s an office romance, opposites attract, taming of a playboy who really wants to do the right thing for everyone, including himself.
 

Please share your favorite line(s) or quote from this book:

His arms spooned her to his chest, and he snuggled his chin into the curve of her neck. “Are we going to sleep?” she asked. His lips found her flesh and nipped gently. “Eventually. Until then, I’m giving you everything you asked for, and more.”

Please share a few Fun facts about this book…

• The story behind the relocation of the eagles nest is based on a real occurrence that happened, which is described in the story.
• Yes, there’s a playlist. You can find that here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/73svjkOopIPlN3H9XA3Hmr
• Beverly Jean is the name of a woman on my Driftwood tour of Ireland, and she said “I want to be in your book.” So I put her name in there, along with her sisters and her niece and nephew. My names usually are Easter eggs. In fact, Beaumont is based on the towns of Washington, New Haven and St. Charles, Missouri, and Beaumont is the name of a Boy Scout ranch.
• Ione’s ghost tour costume description is based on my friend who gives ghost tours in Cincinnati.
• This is the conclusion of the Love in the Valley series that started with What Happens in the Air.

What first attracts your Hero to the Heroine and vice versa?

The story starts at Liam and Lexi’s wedding (Room for Two More, Love in the Valley Book 5) and Michael is at loose ends. Ione is leading a tour. They meet afterward in a bar, and she propositions him. It’s attraction at first sight, and Ione, being scientific, decides to retest the hypothesis that she’s bad in bed, which is what her ex said.

Did any scene have you blushing, crying or laughing while writing it? And Why?

One of my favorite parts of this story is Ione finally realizing the truth about herself. She’s brilliant but awkward, and this encapsulates it:

“At some point you have to let go and take a leap of faith.”
“My mom said something similar. But the universe doesn’t work like that.”
“Stubborn to a fault. What if he loves you?” Cordelia lowered the radio volume. “You are lovable, Ione. I want you to think about that this week when everything feels bleak. I love you. Your mom loves you. Arwen loves you, as do Paris and Roman. I have a feeling Michael loves you, too.”

The end makes me cry, but I won’t spoil that for you.

Readers should read this book….

High stakes, fun tropes, and a fast read featuring two people who don’t need anything until they realize they need each other.

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have in the works?

I am actually at work on two things for Harlequin. I’m debuting a new series called Legacy Canyon in February 2026 and Book 1 is A Texas-Sized Fake Out.

Here’s the blurb: In a high-stakes game of fake it…Will they make it?
Wyatt Larrabee thought adopting twin boys and moving back home to Legacy Canyon, Texas, would be tough. Turns out, fending off unwanted attention from women after a TV interview about his adorable new sons is even tougher. And now a random blind date? Between daddy duty, ranch chores and his job, love is not in the cards for Wyatt.
Pediatrician Madi Brennan agrees to another date to appease her matchmaking grandmother before Madi must eventually return to Boston. But when she meets Wyatt, a plan forms: pretend to date to discourage nosy meddlers. Spending time together to keep up appearances, Wyatt and Madi realize their attraction is very real. With two hearts at stake, will love call their bluff with a full house?

I also just released Conveniently a Fortune (April 2025), which is part of the long-running Fortunes of Texas series. I’m writing another one as well for release in 2026.
 

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

Giveaway: I’ll send one signed copy of The Playboy Project to one lucky winner and signed copies of Conveniently a Fortune to two additional winners. US only for shipping physical books. If winning internationally, you’ll receive an ebook copy.

To enter Giveaway: Please complete the Rafflecopter form and Post a comment to this Q: I would love for you to tell me about your experiences with camping or a time you were a fish out of water, or a time you did something that you never thought you’d do. I jumped off a bridge once, and while I wouldn’t recommend it, it was way out of my comfort zone. Or tell me about a time you dared to try something new, even if it’s not something daring.

 
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Excerpt from The Playboy Project:

Birds and bees he could deal with. Michael Clayton knew them well, if the vicious internet gossips plastering his supposed sexcapades online were to be believed. But bats? Real, live, endangered bats a mere three inches long with wingspans of ten to twelve inches? The fact that Michael had bats on the brain was entirely the fault of his environmentally conscious older brother, Liam. Well, his eldest brother, Edmund was also at fault, since it was his abdication of his position as CEO of the family company that had landed Michael here. But mostly it was Liam’s fault for insisting Clayton Holdings work in harmony with nature and not against it.
Michael would have read Liam the riot act—that was, if Liam wasn’t circulating through the crowd of wedding guests there to celebrate his nuptials. In a surprise ceremony, Liam had married Lexi in the solarium of their parents’ house. Even Michael knew he couldn’t interrupt his happily married brother with a small problem of an endangered species, at least not until after the honeymoon.
“You’re frowning,” Eva said as she tipped a champagne flute toward him. The youngest of the four Clayton siblings glittered in her blue sequined gown. Even at a petite five-two, she held her own against her three older brothers. “This is a happy occasion. You should be smiling. You know, use the teeth Mom and Dad paid a fortune to straighten.”
“I was thinking,” Michael snapped.
Eva lifted a perfectly arched dark eyebrow, a movement she’d perfected long ago and used to good advantage. “That can be dangerous where you’re concerned.”
A little dig, and perhaps one Michael deserved, especially after needing his sister to extract him from the latest online gossip. This scandal, however, had not been his fault. Well, not technically. In the court of public opinion, he had done the crime and earned the time. He simply didn’t like the length of his penance, or his self-imposed banishment from the Portland society he’d enjoyed so well.
“Gee, thanks.” He sipped champagne from the full flute he hadn’t touched since Edmund had given the best man’s toast. Edmund’s defection from the family firm six months ago was the entire reason Michael had been named VP of Clayton Hotels, a position that was driving him batty. Pun intended.
Michael still found it hard to believe that his older brother, who’d been the CEO heir apparent his entire life, had forsaken the job for love. But Edmund had, and he and his girlfriend, Lana, were busy traveling the world…well, when not attending family weddings. Because of Edmund’s decision and their father’s edict, Michael found himself more out of sorts than he’d been in years. It wasn’t that he was in over his head. It was more that he never expected to be a VP in the first place. But his oldest brother had acted totally out of character and surprised everyone, including him.
Eva’s red lips parted with a worried sigh. “Okay, what’s wrong? What’s got you hot and bothered, besides the fact you accidentally kissed your now ex’s best friend and got caught in the act a few weeks ago? Are you sad this is a small family affair with no eligible women for you to hit on?”
Michael bristled. “Why does everyone think I jump from bed to bed? I hate that people label me Mr. Love `em and Leave `em. You know that’s not me. I might have been a bit of a wild child once, but I am not the man-whore everyone claims.”
Once sullied, forever stained, and he hated it. His voice, which had vibrated with harshness, caused her gray eyes—the same color as his own—to widen. He softened his tone. “Sorry. Snapping at you was uncalled for. I’m just frustrated. When will it stop? It’s not like I’m a British royal.”
Eva placed a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. The press is merciless, but I suspect what’s bothering you is more than the ‘oh, you’re not my girlfriend Rachel and I’m kissing you’ scandal you found yourself in. Talk to me. Do you miss her? Rachel?”
“I haven’t missed her since we broke up.” A harsh truth that he’d had to face in the bright light of day. Was he as shallow as everyone thought he was? Because the truth was, he didn’t miss his ex. Following that logic meant that, in the time they’d been together, his heart hadn’t been as involved as his mind might have hoped.
“What does that say about me? Are they right? Am I as awful as the gossips portray? A playboy with no morals?” He shrugged off his sister’s hand and took another sip of bubbly.
“Of course not. It’s only the cesspool of social media. You have to let all the negativity go. You are none of those things. You care deeply and have one of the most generous hearts I know.”
“Thanks.” His sister’s words soothed him somewhat, but didn’t quell his anger. “I’m just mad at myself. Who wouldn’t be? I gave you yet another scandal to fix because of my own dumb decisions. When will I learn?”
“I’m not keeping score.”
He rolled his eyes. “You should be. You’ve earned your stripes mopping up my messes.”
As the VP of Communications for Clayton Holdings, Eva handled Portland’s malicious and scandal-loving social media influencers and gossip with a finesse Michael admired and envied. At twenty-six, she was a formidable force, underestimated by many, but not by him.
“I mop up everyone’s messes and eat the gossips for lunch. Yours are no worse than Edmund’s. Just different.”
“That still doesn’t excuse my behavior. I didn’t realize that the woman I was kissing wasn’t Rachel until a few seconds in. The bad publicity was well deserved. I did kiss her best friend.”
Eva’s expression softened sympathetically. “How could you have known who it was? You were at a masquerade ball and she told you she’d be dressed as a sexy domino. She didn’t tell you that all of her friends were going to be dressed exactly the same, right down to their wigs and the number of spots on their costumes. You figured it out pretty much the moment your lips touched hers. That matters.”
“It was still a failure on my part.” Something that continued to bother Michael to no end. “What did I think was going to happen? Even if it was Rachel, was I going to back her against a wall in some alcove? I know better!” He resisted the urge to pace or jerk a hand through his hair. “Dad’s right. I’m twenty-eight. I need to grow up.”
“Well, now that you ran yourself out of Portland, you have no need to go back and forth like you were. You can stay here in Beaumont with the rest of us, and get a real chance for a fresh start. Dad’s proud of you for moving the corporate offices earlier than the one-year timeline. Living in Beaumont, as tiny as it is, might be just what you need.”
Michael doubted it. Being in the Midwest, in a town that was a tiny dot on the map of Missouri, was nothing like living in Oregon. “Moving here for good feels claustrophobic, as if we’ve been sucked into small-town Americana.”
“You are majorly out of sorts,” Eva observed, her lips making a worried pucker. “You have six months left ’til you hit the year mark as VP. You know Dad promised Liam he’d reevaluate the roles he gave both of you when Edmund abdicated and went off to see the world with Lana. You make it that far and you’ll be free to do whatever. Especially since you got the corporate office relocated here early, probably faster than Edmund would have done. I know I keep saying that, but it’s true and it’ll let you do what you want once he comes back and resumes his VP spot.”
Not that Michael knew exactly what he wanted to do, anyway. “It’s not that.” The words came easily, as they had for the past hundred and eighty-two days, not that he was counting. “I like the job. Well, minus the endangered bats and the fact they’re making my life miserable.”
“You’re a good VP.”
“I hope so. I’m trying. It’s hard to live up to the fact Edmund did both Liam’s job and mine.” He wanted to be seen as more than a playboy who partied nonstop. He had a head for business, perhaps not as great as Edmund’s or his father’s, but this was his chance to prove himself. He’d mostly succeeded, until one stupid kiss had undone everything he’d worked for. Another flurry of bad press meant no one cared about Michael’s business acumen. No, the gossips were more interested in labeling him a man who couldn’t keep his pants zipped. He’d had a decade of this nonsense and invasion into his personal life. His actual relationships were a fraction of what the internet insisted was his tally.
Eva lifted some lint from the sleeve of his tux. “You know I’m here for you. Always.”
“Thanks.” He gave her a half-hearted smile, one that even he knew didn’t meet his eyes. “Means a lot. I’m admittedly out of sorts. A combination of everything, I guess. I’ll snap out of it. I always do.”
Michael caught sight of Edmund kissing Lana. A pang Michael didn’t want to study rushed through him, and he bit the inside of his lip. He was truly grateful to the universe that his brothers had found happiness with the loves of their lives. At the same time, his accomplished older brothers could sometimes be like mirrors reflecting his deficiencies. Not only had he grown up battling their long shadows, but the fact that they were both settled also made it painfully obvious his own life was missing something. He checked the wistful sigh that proved even noted playboys wanted to find true love.
Not that his brothers had ever been playboys. No, that was Michael’s fate, and at this point in his life, the reputation rankled. While being called a playboy or a heartbreaker might have been cute when he was younger because of the added mystery and angsty rebellion, he’d tired of the label. Being called a playboy in his late twenties was unwelcome weight, a fixed persona difficult to shed. These days he expected more from himself, so why couldn’t others? Why couldn’t everyone focus on the good he’d done, rather than his failed relationships? Simple. Because everyone knew good news didn’t get clicks.
“It’s going to be okay. You and I can be single together for a while,” Eva said. “Don’t get all broody on me. Weddings are hard for any singletons. Let’s drink and make merry. Mom busted out the reserve bubbly, you know, the stuff produced from Dad’s first winery.”
She was trying to make him feel better, but Michael instead released the sigh he’d been fighting. “Do you ever get bored? Like with how things are? Get up, go to work, go out, go home, repeat.” The quick shake of his head sent the black hair that was a gift from their father’s side of the family falling onto his forehead. He shoved the strands back and drained the last of the champagne.
“You’re sounding like a guy who’s having his midlife crisis a few decades early,” Eva observed.
“Yeah, no kidding.” And he didn’t like it. “I’ve got my Portland condo on the market, the hotel division officially relocated months early, I’ve moved to Beaumont and our brothers have found their life mates. Where do I fit in?”
“Hanging out with me? I mean, someone’s got to do it.” Her attempt at humor brought him little cheer.
They both watched as Liam kissed Lexi while gently stroking her stomach, which was round with their twins. Liam and Lexi had met during the opening of the Beaumont Chateau, the premier boutique hotel in the Clayton Holdings portfolio, one Michael oversaw as VP.
Eva sent Michael a wistful smile. “Sometimes it’s painful to see our siblings so happy. Makes me feel like I’m missing something. Then I realize that I like my life just fine. I can do what I want, when I want, with who I want, and that’s exactly what I want right now.”
But what if that wasn’t enough? Michael had everything he wanted. Great job. Plenty of money. As much or as little travel as he wanted, with their family’s network of hotels as his global playground. He’d never had issues finding a willing woman to grace his arm or his bed, although after a while the women he dated had all seemed like carbon copies of each other.
He couldn’t be as shallow as everyone thought. He didn’t want to deserve the Portland Playboy name, as he’d been called by the press. At least in the past six months he’d proved the gossips wrong in their beliefs that he didn’t do “real work.”
As for that work, he’d find a solution to the bats holding up construction of the new hotel. As for the rest? Maybe tonight wasn’t the night to figure out his life, or why he felt so alone and melancholy on such a happy occasion. He blinked and refocused on what Eva was saying.
“Beaumont has been good for both Edmund and Liam. Maybe a small town will be a good change of pace for you, too.” Eva finished her champagne, then swapped her empty glass for a fresh one as the server circled past.
Michael wanted something far stronger. He tilted his head. “Do you think I’m a small-town type of guy?”
Eva mimicked his gesture, one of her diamond studs winking as she pushed the point of her short bob behind her ear. “No. But maybe it’ll surprise you. Besides, St. Louis is forty-five minutes away. And you can always get on a plane. Chris will take you anywhere you need to go, which, frankly, he already does. The question is, where does the VP need to go next?”
“The bar,” Michael told her, lightening the moment by finally giving his sister what she called his Hugh Jackman smile because of the way lines crinkled around his eyes. “There’s a whiskey calling my name.”
But even a drink and two slices of delicious wedding cake didn’t settle his restlessness, and he remained in a funk several hours later when he left his parents’ house and the reception as soon as it was socially acceptable not to be labeled a party pooper. He drove to historic downtown Beaumont, where three days ago he’d moved into a large two-bedroom apartment located over Joe’s Art Gallery on Main Street. He drove slowly toward the two-story building, his teeth rattling as his prized Corvette bumped over the ancient cobblestones that supposedly added to Beaumont’s charm. With winter coming, he needed to store his special-edition sports car and buy an SUV. Add not being able to drive his car to the inventory of Beaumont’s sins. Gritting his teeth against the self-observation that he sounded like a spoiled, poor little rich brat, he parked behind the art gallery in the building’s uncovered lot off the alley. He’d chosen the apartment since its rooftop terrace provided a great view of Beaumont’s riverfront park, especially since he missed the Eliot Tower penthouse, where he’d had mountain views during the day and city lights at night. The Portland Art Museum, Farmers Market, shopping and dining had been right outside his front door. In Beaumont, the shops closed by seven at the latest, minus two weekends in September and the week before Christmas. Instead of being the bustling metropolis Michael was used to, the small town’s eerie silence was occasionally punctuated by a random car horn, the sound traveling over several miles away from the highway bridge over the Missouri River. He’d been born and raised in a city and found the overall quiet somewhat unnerving.
He made his way to the second floor and turned on the 85-inch TV, which hung on the exposed brick of the open-concept living room. He stripped off his tux and tossed it onto a couch picked out by the designer Eva had hired. His personal possessions would arrive in a week or two, depending on if snowy weather across Utah and Nebraska impeded the path of the moving truck. Not that it mattered when the movers arrived. Like his car, most of his things would go straight into storage until he decided where he wanted to live permanently. For now, the apartment was fine. He poured himself a glass of water and glanced at the clock on the microwave. Not even ten, or eight Portland time. In his current mood, he was going to climb the walls if he stayed home.
Unlike Liam, who loved to climb mountains, the only thing Michael liked to climb into was his bed, and it was too early for that. He should work on Clayton Hotels’ bat problem. Instead, he threw on a dark green Henley and blue jeans. Wooden steps thudded under each footfall until he stepped out onto the narrow sidewalk that ran in between his building and the next one, directly to the north. A few steps later he was on Main Street. Beaumont was warmer than normal for Halloween weekend, and no one milled about, minus the group of ghost hunters taking a tour across the street. He walked north, hesitating briefly outside La Vita è Vino Dolce, the self-serve wine bar that he’d visited multiple times… Well, at least until that pretty redhead had gotten the wrong impression and told him she was available.
Before he second-guessed himself for not wanting to chance running in to her, he pushed farther north, toward the town’s minuscule bar district. If nothing else, the brisk walk would do him good. Maybe clear his head. Like a beacon, though, a door opened and light and music spilled out of a place he’d never tried. He wasn’t wearing a Halloween costume like the people who exited, but he did like the song. He caught the door in his hand and pushed his way inside.
*
As far as nights went, Ione considered this one a win. Sure, her tour’s guests hadn’t seen the fabled Woman in White, Beaumont’s most famous ghost, but they thankfully didn’t seem to mind. Even better, the rain had held off. The mild weather also meant no one shivered and stamped their feet in an attempt to keep warm. The group of twenty instead laughed among themselves and sipped spiked hot chocolate from thermoses, clearly having a good time despite the lack of paranormal activity. Considering that leading guided tours wasn’t in her wheelhouse, the night could have been going far, far worse.
Following the directions she’d memorized yesterday, Ione paused in front of the Gratiot House, one of Beaumont’s oldest structures. Ione’s hometown, which dated back to the late 1700s and the time of Lewis and Clark, had more than one ghost. As the tour was ending, she’d already told stories about the others. She began the rest of the spiel she’d practiced after agreeing to fill in for her sister, Arwen.
“As I said earlier, over one hundred years ago, all the bodies in the small graveyard on Third Street were moved to a larger cemetery outside of town. Even though the Woman in White, as locals call her, is no longer buried here, she’s still roaming these streets looking for her lost love.” Ione used what Arwen called the conspiratorial whisper, a method of delivery that Arwen had told her would increase the guests’ anticipation and add to their experience.
“Now that we’re by Gratiot House, be sure to be keep watch as we walk. Our town’s most famous ghost likes to make herself known, and she’s been seen not only by the town’s residents, but also by those on this very tour. You might find her as far away as First Street, where she and her husband once had their business.”
Ione pointed dramatically and gave a purposeful shudder. While she wouldn’t win any acting awards, her actions did the trick and guests craned their necks. “Her story is tragic. The Woman in White succumbed to cholera shortly after learning her husband had died while exploring the West, and she’s still looking for him. Men are especially vulnerable to feeling a tap on the shoulder, but when they turn around, nothing’s there!” Ione’s voice rose to emphasize her point.
“That’s so tragic. She lost her love!” A female tourist’s exclamation was accompanied by a full body shiver.
“She did,” Ione confirmed, embracing her tour-guide character. She refused to let her sister down. As the group’s fearless tour leader, Ione had set the stage by wearing Arwen’s costume of black lipstick, heavy black eyeliner, and black clothing. The deep purple felt hat provided a pop of color, although it too was draped in black spider webbing and lace trim.
“She was heartbroken.” Ione worked to sell the tale as well as Arwen did. Since it was Halloween and Arwen was busy with the holiday events, she’d asked Ione to take over when her guide had called in sick. In town for the weekend, Ione had agreed to fill in. Her sister’s husband had left town on business so he couldn’t help.
“Did anyone else feel that?” a guest suddenly cried.
“My EMF reader has something!” another tourist declared, holding out the device so everyone gathered around could see the red and green lights flickering from bottom to top.
“Did it just get colder?” someone else asked.
“I think so!”
“Look over there!”
Ione waited as everyone peered about. She gathered her scarf closer as a blast of brisk air whipped across the cobblestone streets, carrying chatter with it.
“Does anyone see her?”
“Where did that wind come from?”
Ione knew the truth—the wind came from the Missouri River that formed the eastern edge of the town stuck in time. The TV meteorologist had predicted the cold weather would arrive around midnight, with a one-hundred-percent chance of rain tomorrow. For all its technology, science wasn’t perfect. Perhaps the front was arriving early.
Typical of Mother Nature, who, as much as humans tried to predict and control her, always held an ace up her sleeve. This, Dr. Hermione Scott knew well. Ione had a PhD in fish, wildlife and conservation biology from Colorado State University. She loved mountains, forests and streams. The more time she spent outdoors, the better. After a long stint as a wildlife biologist for the US Forest Service, she’d moved into the private sector six months ago, leaving the dark Alaskan winters behind. The shortest amount of daylight in the St. Louis area was nine hours, compared to Fairbanks’s whopping three hours and fifty-seven minutes.
“What’s that?” A tourist pointed up in the air.
“Myotis lucifugus. The little brown bat,” Ione told them. “It’s the most widespread bat in the country. It’s fattening up before it hibernates for the winter.”
“That’s right. Missouri has a lot of caves,” someone added.
“Are we sure it’s not Dracula? It is Halloween, after all,” someone else said, making the group laugh.
Ione shook her head. No point in telling her group that this species of bat migrated between summer and winter habitats on a regional scale.
“Is that her?” someone called, and Ione stepped back to let the tour search for the Woman in White. Credited with everything good that happened in Beaumont and blamed for everything bad, the Woman in White had become even more popular after award-winning Global Outdoors magazine photographer Shelby Bien Thornton had published her first book of photographs and folklore featuring her hometown. While Ione and Shelby had attended Beaumont High together, they hadn’t been in the same grade. Ten years after a breakup during her senior year, Shelby had married her high-school sweetheart, who’d also been the boy next door.
Ione had no high-school sweetheart or current boyfriend. She had an ex whom she’d left in Alaska, an ex who’d done a number on her. Hence her desire to career-build instead of a starting a new relationship.
The wind swirled the dried leaves, and Ione began ushering the group toward the Blanchette Inn, which was owned by Shelby’s parents. “Both the inn and Mrs. Thornton’s soap shop right next door were once safe spots along the Underground Railroad.” Ione paused in the inn’s front yard. “This marker pays homage to the early 1800s slaves who chiseled the stones forming the inn’s exterior walls and fireplaces. If you listen carefully, you might hear some of their whispers before we go inside, where Mrs. Bien is waiting with hot chocolate and Aunty Jayne’s Cookies.”
As the group made its way onto the wide front porch, boards creaked and rattled. Large wreaths featuring white ghosts adorned the double front doors. Mrs. Bien made each month’s wreaths herself, and she would swap the Halloween theme for a Thanksgiving cornucopia of yellow squashes, tiny orange pumpkins and wooden turkey ornaments. On cue, Mrs. Bien opened the door and welcomed everyone inside.
“Be sure you tell Arwen it was another successful tour,” Mrs. Bien said fifteen minutes later as Ione readied to leave. “The guests can’t stop talking about it.”
“Thank you.” The group had been more than generous with their tips. They’d filled the purple hat with large bills, money she’d give Arwen tomorrow. Her sister had already texted that she was going to bed. “Can I do anything to help clean up?” Ione asked.
“No. You go enjoy yourself.” Mrs. Bien made a shooing motion.
Married to a city-council member and beloved community icon, Mrs. Bien would send those not staying at the inn on their way soon enough. Arwen’s tour company paid both the inn and Aunty Jayne’s Cookies a small portion of each ticket price for their roles in the night’s adventure. What was that old saying? A rising tide raises all boats? Ione didn’t know if that was right, but Beaumont businesses worked to support each other. “Are you doing anything after this?”
“If you don’t need me, I’m off to visit with Cordelia,” Ione told Mrs. Bien, then she slipped out the door. As Ione walked north on Main, she realized she’d missed Beaumont. A self-professed geek, Ione loved the story of the town’s history. The French had been the first Europeans to land on the western edge of the Missouri River, but it had been the wave of German immigrants cultivating grapes who’d later transformed the land now known as Beaumont County. Over two centuries later, area wineries built on that legacy and continued the tradition. Those wineries had caught the attention of the Clayton family, who had purchased almost everything. They’d moved into town, built hotels and brought more tourists into the area, breathing new life into the region.
Ione passed Caldwell’s, a bar that had reopened as a makerspace owned by Shelby’s husband, Luke. Several years ago, the city council had passed an ordinance requiring liquor sales be less than fifty percent of an establishment’s total revenue, and Caldwell’s had closed. Cordelia’s family bar had made the transition, and Ione grabbed the door handle and entered Kaiser’s, a local watering hole popular with the college crowd. Hands out to block random elbows, Ione shoved her way through to the bar where Cordelia was pouring draft beer into multiple glasses. She passed the mugs to a harried server. Seeing Ione slide onto the empty barstool, Cordelia came over.
“Hey, friend, love the outfit,” Cordelia greeted, leaning close so her words could be heard over the raucous din and equally loud band. “Good night?”
Ione shifted and made herself comfortable. “Good tips. Easy to please clients for a shift that Arwen bequeathed to me. Nothing too crazy.”
“That’s great. You were a good sister to help out. Wish I could say the same about this. No idea where this crowd came from. One minute empty, and then poof. Packed.” Cordelia turned, her black wig traveling with her. Like Ione, she had naturally dark blond hair, but Cordelia’s went to the middle of her back. Ione had loose natural curls that remained hard to tame, so she chopped them right at her shoulder, keeping them long enough to pull back and tuck under a hat.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining,” Cordelia said. “We need the revenue. Rent’s going up January first.”
“That sucks.”
“Tell me about it. I’m hoping we don’t have to close.” Cordelia glanced down the bar and shouted, “I’ll be right there” at a man who’d banged his mug with more force than necessary. She gave an annoyed shake of her head. “That’s Barry. He’s a regular. I should cut him off, but he lives on Second Street and walked here. Whatever you do, don’t talk to him. If I have anything to say about it, he’s going home alone.” Cordelia shook a bloodred fingernail at the man. “If you do that again, Barry, I’m kicking you out!”
Ione glanced at her own short nails. “No worries on my end. Not my type. Make that never my type. Not in a million years my type.”
Cordelia laughed. “No one is ever your type, because you’re far too picky.”
“I am not,” Ione protested, knowing Cordelia spoke the truth. “And I prefer the word selective.”
“Exactly, which is why I’m so impressed I made the cut.”
“You always will,” Ione said. She kept a small, tight circle. Friends since kindergarten, she and Cordelia had banded together after realizing they’d both been named after fictional characters, instead of being Emmas, Olivias or Isabellas, the top three names the year they’d been born. Cordelia was named after the character in Buffy the Vampire Slayer. And Ione’s mother had named her after Hermione Granger from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone—the book, not the movie. Arwen’s name came from The Lord of the Rings. Ione, already an outcast for being supersmart and socially awkward, had bonded with tomboy Cordelia for life.
“Besides, who else will put up with me?” Ione grinned.
“Now, you’re being too hard on yourself. Time to get back on the horse and forget Henry, that jerk.”
“Maybe if Will had a brother, I’d break my celibacy streak.”
This time Cordelia did roll her eyes. “Please. One of him is enough of a handful, believe me. That’s why I’m out here and he’s manning the kitchen.” Cordelia planted her hands on her hips, her engagement ring glittering as she watched Ione begin to dig into her pocket. “Don’t even try to pay,” Cordelia warned. “Owning this place has to have some perks for my best friend and future maid of honor. I will work out my financial issues.”
“Fine,” Ione conceded, securing her wallet. “But next time we go somewhere, I’m paying.” She could afford small luxuries. The private consulting firm she worked for paid her handsomely and provided excellent benefits, including generous contributions toward retirement. Being single and on the road most of the time meant she saved most of her money, at least the portion she didn’t use to pay her mom’s medical bills. Thankfully, her mom’s cancer was in remission.
“Tell you what, how about you give me a kick-ass bridal shower next spring in trade?” Cordelia suggested.
“Deal,” Ione said, accepting the drink Cordelia was sliding toward her. She had to remember to request time off for that weekend and secure a full week’s vacation in May for the wedding. She held the drink to the light. “What is this?”
“It’s tonight’s special. I call it Butterbeer Boo-tiful punch.”
While she might have been named for the famous Muggle-born witch, it was Cordelia who loved all things Harry Potter. Ione studied the mug that contained an amber liquid topped with whipped cream. The cream sported gold sugar sprinkles and butterscotch swirls. She took a sip, blinked and held up the glass again. “Whoa. What is in here?”
“The punch is made from cream soda, seltzer and vanilla vodka. The topping is whipped cream mixed with brown sugar, vanilla and butter. Isn’t it great? It’s been so popular that we’ve had to make more than we expected.”
“I can understand why. It’s good. Different.” Ione sipped again, the unique flavor growing on her.
“If you hate it, I’ll grab you a beer or your standard white wine. Just let me know. By the way, some of our former high-school classmates are over by the band. Unless they’ve left.” Cordelia turned and shook her finger. “Yes, Barry! I see you!” Cordelia moved to the other end of the bar, and called, “Don’t make me set Will on you!”
Ione lifted her mug, slid off the stool and made her way toward the band. But she didn’t see anyone she knew, even after circling the bar twice. She ignored the people who did a double take when they looked at her, something she’d done herself once or twice due to people’s Halloween costumes.
After another sip of punch that made her glass half-empty, she jostled her way back toward the bar, often stopping short to allow others to pass. Parting the sea might be easier, she decided. Or perhaps creating a dam like the one she’d consulted on for a state park in Michigan. She fingered the purple felt hat to ensure it remained secured to her dark blond hair. Attempting to make her way again, she progressed a mere two feet when someone staggered backward. The movement clipped her arm as a person fell into her. “Hey!” she called.
But Ione’s warning came too late as the contents of her glass sloshed. The liquid threatened to rise over the edge and splash outward, until a dark green shirtsleeve blocked the drunk. “Steady there,” a deep male voice boomed through the noise as his fingers righted Ione’s glass. The oblivious pirate stumbled toward the bathroom. “You okay? The drink didn’t spill on you, did it?”
He was speaking to her. Ione turned toward the stranger. At five-eleven, she towered over many men, but with him she had to raise her eyes.
“Looks like nothing spilled on you.” His voice was warm and deep, and his smile struck her like a lightning bolt. Her eyes widened. His dark hair swooped toward an eyebrow lifted in inquiry. His gray eyes narrowed in concern. He lifted his hand from her arm, and that stopped the tingles that were traveling to the tips of her toes, which were clad in black boots.
“You’re not in costume.” As the words slipped out, she clamped her mouth shut. Heat flamed across her cheeks. Was his aura so powerful it made her revert to her awkward teenage self? To the girl who’d never known what to say to boys?
“No, I’m not in costume.” His deep, rich voice was like thick chocolate syrup running over vanilla ice cream. Decadent. Her body reacted to his obvious charms.
“I mean, you don’t need a costume. You’re fine just the way you are.”

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

An experiment in pleasure…
With the playboy millionaire!

Accused of being a cold fish, wildlife biologist Hermione Scott conducts a sexy experiment—a one-night stand with a gorgeous stranger! But when that stranger turns out to be infamous playboy Michael Clayton, she finds herself with a career-threatening conflict of interest. Michael’s hotel-tycoon father hired her as an environmental consultant, so she strives to keep their connection a secret. But when she’s forced to work with the far-younger man, she falls for his charms…again and again. And Michael seems to see her in a way no other man has. Is she just another notch on his bedpost, or could love be a viable hypothesis?

From Harlequin Special Edition: Believe in love. Overcome obstacles. Find happiness.
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Meet the Author:

In first grade, Michele Dunaway wanted to be a teacher. In second grade, she wanted to be a writer. By third grade, she decided to be both. Now a bestselling contemporary author, Michele strives to create strong heroes and heroines for savvy readers who want contemporary, small-town adventures with characters who discover things about themselves as they travel the road to true love and self-fulfillment. Michele recently retired from an award-winning English and journalism teaching career. She loves to travel, with the places she visits often inspiring her novels. She’s a mom of two grown daughters and several rescue cats. (The cats, of course, completely rule the roost.) An avid baker, Michele describes herself as a woman who does way too much but never wants to stop, especially when it comes to creating fiction, or baking brownies and chocolate chip cookies.
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