My love of the movies was a gift from my mother, especially those romantic comedies from the 40's and 50's. Mom was, and still is, a huge movie fan. Forget teen idols like David Cassidy and Donny Osmond. My heroes were the leading men of the silver screen, like Cary Grant, Spencer Tracy and Clark Gable. (I'm still convinced it was the old Hepburn/Tracy Adam's Rib that had me believing for years that I'd become a lawyer.)

When Harlequin asked me if I wanted to write Making Mr. Right for Duets I was thrilled. What could be more perfect for a gal who was weaned on the romantic comedy? Although Making Mr. Right doesn't contain half the zany antics of Cary Grant in Arsenic and Old Lace or Claudette Colbert in It Happened One Night, sexy Simon Hawthorne is the perfect Clark Gableesque straight man for Jaycee Richmond, a heroine with enough spunk and determination that any of the screen legend comediennes would have been eager to play the role.

I really enjoy writing for Harlequin Temptation and the challenge of bringing you this Duets will go down as one of my most memorable writing experiences. I'd love to hear what you think of my first attempt at the lighter side of romance. 

Happy reading,

What was she going to do with Simon? She couldn't let her brother see him, not without explaining the truth, and the truth wasn't an option. Lying was equally out of the question since she was a terrible liar.

"Hide," Jaycee blurted.

He looked at her as if she was nuts. He was closer to the truth than she cared to admit.

"Hide?"

She tugged his hand and pulled him toward the kitchen. "You have to hide." Frantic, she looked around. "There!"

"You want me to hide under the sink?" he asked, his tone incredulous.

She dropped his hand and then snapped her fingers. "I know. Pretend you're looking at the plumbing."

She tried to push him toward the sink, but he resisted. "I don't know anything about plumbing," he argued.

She let out an exasperated sigh. "That's not the point."

"Jaycee? You in there?"

If she hid him in her bedroom . . . No. She didn't want to think about what her brother would say if he happened to find a man lurking around her bedroom. Or worse, what he'd tell her parents!

"Just a minute," she called, then made a noise that sounded a lot like a frustrated wail filled with way too much panic. "Please, Simon. Don't come out until I tell you to, okay?"

He gave her a look that said he planned to demand an explanation, and she supposed she owed him one, but that would have to wait until after she'd dealt with Dane.

She waited until he crouched down in front of the cabinet doors muttering something about preferring to be the phone guy, before she rushed back to the door and swung it open.

"Dane!" she said, plastering what she hoped was a pleasant smile on her face. "What a surprise. What brings you by this morning?"

"When Mother didn't see you at church this morning," he said brushing past her, "she asked me to stop by and check on you."

"Well," she said, slapping her hands together, "as you can see, I'm just fine. I had a late night so I slept in this morning."

Dane shrugged. "Got any coffee?"

"No!" but it was too late. Dane already turned the corner and stopped at the entrance to her kitchen.

"Who's that?" he said in that demanding, big brother voice.

Her plastered-on smile wavered as she peered around Dane toward the sink. Simon lay on his back, the upper half of his torso under her sink, his khaki- covered legs stretched out over the white linoleum. "The plumber?"

Dane tossed one of his worried looks at her as she moved around him to the sink.

"Why didn't you call me?" he asked, moving completely into the kitchen. He helped himself to a mug from the metal tree and poured himself a cup from the carafe still warming on the hot plate of the coffee maker. "I would have fixed your sink for you. Do you know what these guys charge for working weekends?"

"Not enough."

With the edge of her sandal, she pressed her foot firmly against Simon's upper thigh, smiling when he muttered a muffled "ow".

"The homeowners' association pays for it," she told Dane.

"And they pass the cost on to you and the other tenants. Jaycee, if you need something fixed, call me or Rick. You know we'll take care of it for you."

She let out a sigh. "And shall I sit outside under my pretty pink parasol while you fix whatever is broken for helpless little ol' me?"

"We care about you. That's all."

"Did it ever occur to you that I like taking care of myself?"

"I don't know why when you have a family that's more than willing to take on the task."

"Have you looked at a calendar lately, Dane? Do you understand what century it is? Women have been taking care of themselves for a very long time now."

In the face of her brother's patient expression, she felt instantly contrite, something she always did no matter how irritated her brothers made her. "To discuss the plans for Dad's birthday party next month?" At his nod, she added, "Of course I'll be there."

"I'll see you then," he said briskly, then headed toward the front door of her condo.

He really did care about her. She knew that, and he was the least chauvinistic of her family, but that wasn't saying much.

"Dane," she called, as he pulled opened the front door. "Thanks for stopping by."

The look in his eyes softened as he looked down at her. "No problem. Oh, and that plumber is hosing you, Jay. Everyone knows it's easier to unclog pipes if you use actual tools."