Jane Myerson crushed the laminated card to her chest, smearing mustard over it from the blob she'd dribbled earlier. She sighed, used a paper towel to clean it before pressing her lips to the warm plastic, uncaring about the stain on her summer dress. ArdentMan was one of her pseudonym's biggest fans. He commented days after each book release and his responses were so passionate that she'd printed out his reviews and had them laminated.

Tipping her face to the sunlight, she basked in its warmth, content to spread her legs out on the picnic blanket. A half-empty bottle of diet soda, a mangled chocolate wrapper, and J.J. Cox's new novel rested beside her. She'd had it printed to do a final read-through before giving the publishers the go-ahead.

Trevor Denton, her boss, hadn't called her since nine this morning and she didn't expect him to when he was on a flight to Uruguay.

Jane grimaced, scooped up the book, and lay down, flicking her sunglasses into place. She didn't want to read the latest saga in her Crossroads Biker series having spent weeks editing it. She longed to discover a new author whose words inspired her and gave her the sexy-vibes when she read.

Tugging her dress down to hide her plump thighs she'd flashed the poor park visitors, she wiggled her backside trying to find a comfortable spot. Nope, something rocklike lay beneath her blanket and she didn't have the energy to remove it.

"Oh, fudgeknuckles." Jane thumped the book down and hoisted herself across, trapping the wrapper under her ass and spiralling the bottle outward. She lunged for it, trying to stop it from rolling downhill toward the pond. With an outstretched hand, as if she had the power of telekinesis, it bounced, leaped and hit someone on their sneaker.

Jane closed her eyes, drawing in a steady breath. She hadn't wanted to speak to anyone, never did, which was why her assistant position to a travelling executive was perfect. Now she would have to get off her ass and interact, thanking them for saving her soda in its bid for freedom.

"Is this yours, miss?" A deep voice rippled along her senses, seductive, husky, promising sweaty nights of unabashed passion which timid her had little knowledge of.

J.J. Cox did and perhaps, in an alternate universe, her pseudonym would be the one sitting in a park and Jane would be the main character in one of her sexually explicit novels.

"Yes, thank you." Grateful for her sunglasses, Jane raised her gaze to the man standing at the edge of her blanket. Her breath caught as she assessed his bulging calves, sculpted muscles in his thighs, up past his jogging shorts to the Adonis belt peeking out. A vest, drenched in sweat, accentuated a barrel chest and mile-wide shoulders.

Her heart fluttered and she dipped her face, as if he could see how much he flustered her. He moved and ice slid down her spine, that he might step onto her blanket, breach her safe zone.

He didn't but dropped to his haunches beside her, bringing blond curls and grey eyes into her line of sight. Blue jelly babies, he was a stunner. His angled jaw to his dimpled chin tempted her to touch him and, if that wasn't enough, those plump lips pulled up at the corner. Oh, miracle of Moses, don't smile, she couldn't take it.

"Is that a J.J. Cox?"

His question stumped her and she scanned the blanket for the discarded book. "I ARC for her." The lie slipped from her tongue like a hot spoon through double-chocolate chip ice cream.

"Wow, I'd love to receive an advanced copy."

Jane paused and lifted her sunglasses to meet his gaze. He knew what an ARC was. She grinned. "I'm impressed. I usually have to explain it, the process behind it, and how crucial advanced readers are for the author." Her focus shifted to the sweat dewing his forehead and trickling down his cheek. His skin looked like soft toffee, the kind you eat with a spoon.

He chuckled, a full smile forming, exploding Jane's heartbeat into a gallop a jockey would have been proud of. She shivered and ran her hands along her forearms, hoping to calm the goosebumps.

"How did you get on the list? Where can I apply?"

Jane didn't expect men to love her stories but the demographics showed their interest was climbing. "Here, take this one." She grabbed the book and thrust it at him, anything for him to leave. Doctors believed oxygen was necessary for life but the way her ribs squeezed her lungs, she would either expire on the spot or prove them wrong.

"Are you sure?" He hesitated, then long fingers wrapped around the book, brushing hers.

She yelped, yanking her hand back. "Sorry, static." Jane held her stinging fingers to her lips, testing the temperature of her burned skin.

"My name's Max and if you can get me on the ARC list, I'd appreciate it." He held out his card and she admired his shorts, wondering where he'd pulled it from. No, she didn't linger on his package, just the angles of his hips, the way the fabric pulled across his tight ass. Then his package, but a glance, nothing more.

Her fingers trembled as she pinched the card between forefinger and thumb. When no lightning struck her, she released her pent-up breath in a whoosh.

"I'm a personal fitness trainer." He paused and when he ran his gaze over her sprawled body, something intense darkened his eyes. "Your curves are beautiful but I'd love to work with you if you want to tone." The tip of his tongue dipped his upper lip. "Free of charge, of course...." He arched a brow, waiting for her name.

"Jane." Whoever said her name wasn't her because that voice sounded breathy, flustered, and drenched with need. So were her thighs and she'd dismiss her reaction to this man by stating it was a hot spring day. Note, without self-recrimination or judgment.

"Do you have a bicycle?"

His question floored her and she stared at him in a daze.

"One with wheels, not a clotheshorse?"

"It's ancient." Somewhere in the back of her garage was Mom's bicycle. Ancient was an understatement.

"Gym clothes?" He ran his thumb across the fabric gathered at her cleavage and licked the mustard off it. His nostrils flared and he groaned. The gravel sound sent her minding-their-own business-hormones spiraling and the sweet nectar of lust slammed into her. "They do make the best hot dogs here."

Jane trembled, heat bursting across her cheeks and rampaging down to her tingling skin he'd touched a moment ago. She couldn't believe he'd done that. What if it wasn't mustard? She was being an idiot and rightly so. What other condiment was yellow?

"No to the gym clothes."

He frowned. "What do you wear when you exercise?"

Nightmares of lying on a towel in her bedroom trying to do yoga had her grimacing.

"Um, my birthday suit?" Jane gasped and jumped up, throwing items into her bag. Why had she said that? He flustered her, that's for sure and she'd blame him if the government decided to question her. A scenario played out in her mind, the hazards of being a writer. Handcuffed to the chair, Jane would spill the beans before the first nipple clamp. I was powerless against his spicy, intoxicating, addictive scent, officer. Bottle that, see if it will work on female spies. She snorted, she had missed her calling to be in espionage.

"I'll be at the Rose Mall tomorrow at nine. Meet me there and we'll get you what you need."

Meet him? Why? "I don't need to exercise, Max. I'm fine as I am." She yanked the blanket off the ground and tossed it over one shoulder, uncaring that she raised a small dust cloud. Her cell phone rang and she juggled the items to yank it out of the bag.

"Jane speaking." She hadn't checked who the caller was, but the slight lull implied long distance.

"Jane, dearest, glad I caught you." Her agent, Wendy Dumont, rattled on expecting to have a moment of Jane's time.

Max's gaze rested on her as if she hadn't rebuffed his suggestion. Fitness wasn't her thing and never would be. One glance, okay, make that a linger, told her how much health mattered to him.

"So, the book tour is in four months. I'll make all the arrangements from my side but expect to spend three weeks on the road."

"What?" Jane gasped, dragging her focus from the Greek god standing before her.

"It's in your contract, sugar. Don't bother trying to wiggle your way out of it."

"But-" Ice then lava took turns to lambaste her cheeks and she smothered a sob. Wendy had hung up, leaving Jane to stare at the phone, horror squeezing her vision until black circled it. She dropped her things, her world spinning.

Max caught her, cupping her elbows to keep her upright. "Whoa, Janey, breathe."

"Four months," she said, kneeling then sprawling onto the grass uncaring that she looked like a beached walrus in a summer dress. She knew when dizziness struck to go horizontal as soon as possible. No way was she accepting the blame for seismic activity if she hit the ground. Twenty pounds overweight meant she exaggerated the effects of her size on global warming, then again she was lying to herself. Maybe, thirty? Surely not forty pounds?

"Are you all right?" Max leaned over her, his face above hers, and for a moment, as the sun haloed his golden locks, she thought Gabriel himself had come down from heaven. "Bad news?"

"A...work function I can't get out of."

His touch burned where he gripped her waist and before she could warn him that chiropractic appointments were expensive, he hoisted her off the ground.

Jane blinked, finding herself standing, her fingers embedded in his massive biceps. Her mouth parted on a "wow".

"What's so bad about a work function?" He tugged bits of grass out of her hair, his touch gentle.

"I'm a recluse. This is it for me." Jane gestured to the park. "Here and home."

"Well, if we work toward the function, maybe you'll feel more prepared." He wrapped his fingers around her upper arm, as if to steady her. "Nine at the Rose Mall, Janey." He tapped her nose with his fingertip. "Don't keep me waiting."

Jane watched him jog off, his long strides covering the distance to the parking lot. Fudgeknuckles, what the hell had just happened? It sounded like a date but she knew better. He hoped to inspire in her the love of exercise when chocolates, writing and her male characters owned the acreage of her heart. Not even for the Adonis that he was would she grant exercise a square foot of prime real estate.

Sweat trickled between her breasts and she grimaced, bending to collect her things. He did have a point though. Four months to the book tour and not going meant violating her contract. What if he could help her tone a little? If he could boost her self-confidence?

It would be lovely to climb stairs without sounding like an asthmatic cat. Exercising meant getting her out of the house, away from Mom who had it in mind to test out her newfound cougar skills on unsuspecting geriatrics.

Dumping everything into the boot of her car, she squeezed herself behind the wheel. Voluptuous and short meant her breasts could steer. Jane started the engine, and paused, gathering her hair into a ponytail. Out in the sun, it protected her neck but in the car, she needed the air conditioning to cool her.

Between now and nine tomorrow, she expected to change her mind at least a dozen times about meeting Max. She'd bet her last Lindt ball, he wouldn't be seeing her.