The Love Laws

By Tamara Larson

Jamie Martin has always been considered just a little bit wild. Especially when compared to her perfectly conservative twin sister, Jessica. As a former exotic dancer, Jamie has lived her life on her terms. Until now. She`s come to the realization that being considered a rebel at twenty was cute. Not so much as she approaches the big three-oh. So now she`s trying to play by the rules for the first time in her life and it`s not going well.

Living down her unconventional past hasn’t been easy but after two years of hard work and determination Jamie is finally a respectable member of the business community. One problem: Hidden Treasures is failing and she’s on the brink of financial disaster.

When a friend from the local newspaper asks her to act as a Love Guru to Vancouver’s lovelorn community Jamie sees an opportunity to save her sinking lingerie store. All she has to do is use her vast experience with men to provide some insight into how they think. How hard can that be? It`s not like men are exactly complicated. All she has to do is invent a few simple yet effective rules and she has a real shot at some priceless publicity. And she may even help a few clueless women while she’s at it. If only she can stay focused and not allow a certain studly true crime writer to distract her from her goal.

Kevin Hall writes about human monsters for a living, and it`s finally getting to him. Somewhere along the line his job has become more than he can handle. As a result, he`s no Prince Charming. He drinks too much and indulges in countless one-night stands with women he barely remembers to distract himself from the horrific fall-out from his job. Soon, he`s spiralling out of control and desperately searching for some stability in his life.

Jamie Martin is everything Kevin wants in a woman. Unfortunately, she seems completely resistant to his awesome powers of seduction. He can`t figure her out and that just makes him want her more. He`s prepared to use all his dirtiest tricks to get Jamie to take a chance on him, but she isn`t convinced he`s capable of giving up his man-whoring ways. What will it take to convince her that The Love Laws don`t always apply, especially when former jerks fall in love?

Warning: Contains mature sexual content, and graphic language. (And the naughty use of a restored Mustang`s back seat.)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tamara Larson
• Release date: Mar 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310338465

Tamara Larson

Tamara Larson is a romance novel and Diet Coke addict. She is a child of the eighties, and has lived all over Canada.Her formal education includes a Bachelor of Arts and a Professional Writing Diploma. But most of her education came from secretly reading books by Linda Howard, Joanna Lindsay, Piers Anthony and Stephen King. (Yes, a weird mix.)Her true calling became evident when she interned at a literary magazine, a tourist magazine, and a newspaper. She didn't exactly make a splash at any of them. So, she began writing what she enjoyed - novels with fun characters, quick dialogue, and steamy love scenes.After a brief hiatus to deal with some health issues, Tamara released her third book in The Kingston Brothers real estate series, "Fair Market Value" in 2014."Mr. Fixer-Upper (Kingston Bros Book 4) is now available.

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The Love Laws

By Tamara Larson

Copyright 2013 Tamara Larson

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Prologue

Jamie Martin sighed, leaned back on her bare elbows, and dug her pink-polished toes deeper into the warm sand. This wasn’t a fantasy. She was actually in the Hawaiian paradise she’d always dreamed of visiting.

All the props were there: a sugary secluded beach beneath her, a Technicolor sunset in front of her, and a positively delectable strawberry margarita balanced precariously on one pale knee. There were even some hard-bodied surfers in the distance to add to the total ambience, and yet she wasn’t content. Even here in modern Eden, she couldn’t stop thinking about her lingerie store, specifically what she would do if business didn’t pick up at Hidden Treasures soon.

She shook her head as if to free it from dismal thoughts. Looking down she noticed that despite her platter-sized straw hat and SPF 50 suntan lotion her skin was definitely turning an alarming shade of pink.

Jamie sighed and attempted to arrange her sarong over her legs, but it was no use, the square of aquamarine cotton barely covered her tiny blue crocheted bikini and that was usually the way she liked it—the more skin exposed the better. Of course, being from Vancouver, third degree burns from sun exposure wasn’t usually a problem.

Jamie wasn’t here in Maui on vacation, at least not really. She was here for her twin sister’s wedding. Jessica Martin had vowed to love, honor, and cherish Detective Duncan Reinhold on this very beach just twenty-four hours ago. It had been a gorgeous, intimate ceremony, and Jamie felt tears gathering in her eyes at the memory.

Jessie had looked so happy, so in love as she’d stared into Duncan’s eyes. The only thing missing had been their parents. Cal and June Martin had died four years before in a fatal car crash and both girls felt their absence keenly. Even their absence couldn’t seem to detract much from Jessie’s day, and for that, Jamie was eternally grateful, and just a wee bit envious.

Duncan, her new brother-in-law, was not only incredibly gorgeous and kind; he was also out-of-his-head, frothing-at-the-mouth, head-over-heels in love with his new bride. Jamie was thrilled for her sister, but it was difficult not to feel just a tad green when she saw the two of them together. Up until two years ago, Jessie had been a hard-core librarian spinster, and Jamie had been the femme fatale. Now it was almost like their roles had switched. Jamie had been so preoccupied with getting the store up and running lately that she really hadn’t had time for romance.

If she was really honest with herself, she hadn’t had the inclination either. She’d spent the two previous years as a burlesque dancer in a high-end gentleman’s club and that experience had pretty much turned her off men—at least temporarily.

Looking out at the waves now, Jamie could feel some of her interest returning. One of the surfers in particular caught her eye. He wasn’t particularly graceful on his board, spending more time being dumped off than balanced on, but he was definitely having the time of his life out there. His deep laugh and flashing white teeth were difficult to ignore, even from a hundred or so metres away.

Glad for the distraction Jamie straightened up and adjusted her oversized sunglasses higher up on the bridge of her nose so she could watch him without being too obvious. Her laughing surfer was straddling the board now, looking for the next wave, and she had an excellent view of the broad expanse of his smooth, golden back. To Jamie there was nothing more irresistible than a man with a fabulous rear-view, but this was the first time in months she’d actually taken the time to admire one. Silently, she prayed that his face didn’t resemble a fright mask.

As Jamie’s gaze skimmed over every inch of his impressive physique, she allowed her sunglasses to slide back down her nose to get a better look. She was staring so intently at his back that she didn’t notice when he turned his head in her direction until their eyes locked and held.

Damn, now he knows I was ogling him, Jamie thought, shifting her focus to a random spot on the horizon to avoid his intent gaze. Two years ago, being caught perusing a strange man would have been just the sort of bold move she’d been known for. Yesterday’s Jamie would have stared back and smiled invitingly. Mr. Surfer would have been out of the water so fast it would have looked like a scene out of Jaws. But she wasn't that girl anymore.

Today’s Jamie, however, was mortified at being caught practically drooling over a truly world-class pair of shoulders. She wanted desperately to abandon her cocktail and make a dash for the nearest ladies room. Instead, she held her ground and stared out to sea, taking a casual sip from her margarita like nothing untoward had occurred.

Her cool demeanor lasted about two minutes. That’s how long it took the surfer to reach the beach. When his feet touched bottom he rose out of the water like some kind of mythological water god, Neptune or Poseidon maybe. Jamie half expected him to be armed with a triton, but the huge yellow surfboard was close enough.

When he’d been out on the water, Jamie had thought he’d dwarfed the four other surfers, but it was difficult to tell from so far away. Within shouting distance, he was a giant—at least several inches above six feet and thickly muscled across his smooth chest and arms. His shoulders looked big enough to block out the setting sun, which they did when he got close enough for Jamie to get a really good look at him.

Completely against her will, Jamie felt her jaw drop. She’d been hoping for a harmless flirtation with a handsome stranger, but her random surfer wasn’t a stranger at all. The water had darkened his golden hair, and she’d had no idea his clothes had hidden such a mouth-watering body, but there was no denying that she’d accidentally stumbled upon her new brother-in-law’s best friend, Kevin Hall. From what she knew of this man, he was exactly not what she was looking for. He was the type of guy that smart women avoided like cheap shoes and discount bikini waxes.

Kevin had arrived late, just in time for the nuptials, and Jamie had felt his gaze on her throughout the entire ceremony. He’d watched her unabashedly, smiling into her eyes whenever he got the chance. There was something both thrilling and irksome in his attentive manner. He looked at her like he owned her even before they’d exchanged the barest of pleasantries.

On one hand, capturing the interest of such an incredibly attractive, eligible man was always good for the self-esteem, but on the other, she couldn’t stand it when men assumed that she was available for whatever fantasy they had in mind just because she’d worked at the Kitty-Kat Lounge for a few years. As a result, Kevin’s best efforts to be charming had been met with a blank stare and outright avoidance on her part. Now, she’d been caught staring at him—a move guaranteed to inflate his already impressive ego.

Do you surf? Kevin asked when he reached her, his deep voice sending involuntary shivers down her spine, making Jamie even more irritated.

No, she said shortly, without any effort at an explanation. Avoiding his topaz gaze, she began gathering up her things.

Why not? He asked, hands on hips, he watched her flustered attempt to get up without spilling her drink or losing her monstrous hat in a sudden gust of tropical wind.

She paused. What do you mean, ‘Why not?’ Is it a requirement or something? She asked, annoyed. Staring up at him through her sunglasses, she tried not to notice how endearing his half-grin was or the way the water molded his knee-length black board shorts to his muscular thighs. Why was this stud-muffin questioning her anyway? Was it any of his business what she did? Definitely not.

Well, if it’s not, it should be. You should really try it out. It’s incredible. The water feels great, he said, giving his head a shake so glittering droplets spread around his head like mist.

Jamie stepped away to avoid the shower and gave an unladylike snort. You should know. It looked like you spent a lot more time in the water than on your board.

So, you were watching me? He asked with a teasing grin and an arch of one golden eyebrow. I thought so. Did you like the view?

I certainly wasn’t looking at you, she said indignantly, mentally crossing her fingers for the lie. At least not how you mean. I just couldn’t help noticing you make a fool of yourself. Honestly, it was like watching Laurel and Hardy out there.

Kevin’s grin widened. I’m pretty sure Laurel and Hardy never surfed. Probably because they were chickens. Like you, he challenged, crossing his arms over his chiseled chest.

I am not scared, she said evenly, ignoring her desire to punch him in the knee for even suggesting she was cowardly. If an overgrown oaf like you can manage it, I’m pretty sure I can handle it, without nearly drowning myself either, I might add.

Fine then. Let’s see how you do. I’ll bet you can’t even manage to stand up on your board. In fact, I think a little wager might make things interesting.

Interesting to whom?

Interesting to me, but you too. If you’re game.

Jamie gave him a chilly look and held up her hand as if to push him and his suggestion away. As tempting as that sounds, I’m definitely not game. Not for anything you have in mind.

Kevin turned the wattage on his grin up to blinding. No woman had ever resisted him like this before. C’mon. You’re in paradise. You should be experiencing all the pleasures the island has to offer, he said, allowing his eyes to wander down to Jamie’s full pink lips.

Jamie stared at him in disbelief, momentarily stunned by his boldness. Ick, did you get that off a tourist pamphlet or something? I thought you were a writer. Couldn’t you come up with something more original than that?

I’m a true crime writer, so I’m pretty sure my particular brand of communication wouldn’t work very well in this situation, but the resort literature has got a point. He began counting those points off on his tan fingers. We’re in a strange place. We’re alone. We’re single…what’s wrong with taking a few chances and experiencing some new things? He looked at her with a wide-eyed innocent look meant to put her at ease.

Jamie rolled her eyes so hard she thought they might just fall right out of her skull. She took off her sunglasses to give him the full benefit of her snapping, cinnamon-colored gaze. Bracing her hands on her hips, she glared up at him and said in her iciest tone: Listen, Mr. Wannabe Lothario, this whole ‘experiencing new things’ approach might work with women without a smidge of intelligence or self-respect, but since I have both, and am not falling down drunk or under medication, let me assure you that however attractive you think you are, you are the only person on this beach who thinks so. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some packing to do. With that she turned away and began stomping up the sand toward the resort in what she thought was a fairly impressive exit, marred only by the loud smacking sound of her pink flip-flops.

Not content to let Jessie’s feisty sister have the last word, Kevin scanned his memory for the most obnoxious reply he could think of.

Wow, that is some temper you have there, he called to her retreating back. No need to check if the rug matches the drapes. You are definitely a natural redhead.

Jamie stopped in her tracks. He hadn’t actually said that, had he? What a complete jerk. Turning slightly, she smiled evilly at him. I can guarantee that you will never, ever get the opportunity to find out for sure, she said, raising her chin, she strode away, giving her hips an extra eat-your-heart-out sway as she did so.

Kevin watched her for a long time, admiring her curvy form and smiling to himself. No matter what that girl thought, this wasn’t over between them. If he had his way, it was just the beginning.

Chapter One

Three Months Later…

Hidden Treasures was empty and this, unfortunately, was nothing new. Jamie had been completely alone since her lingerie store opened three hours earlier. The provocative window display did nothing to lure customers through the door. The luxuriously appointed interior and colorful tables full of panties, bras, corsets, and robes were wasted because prospective buyers rarely came through the door. It was pretty clear that the store was in big trouble.

She’d tried everything—ridiculously overpriced advertising in all the local newspapers, free giveaways and coupons, open houses, and even a rather risqué fashion show. Nothing worked and she was quickly running out of options. Soon she’d have to face the facts—her dream was dying a slow, painful death with very little hope of resuscitation.

When she’d opened the store the year before she’d known she was taking a risk. The West Hastings location near Vancouver’s downtown was not exactly prime real estate. In fact, it was a bit on the seedy side, but the relatively inexpensive rent had allowed her to use her inheritance and savings to turn the former porn shop into the lush showplace for her creations that she’d always wanted. She’d thought her innovative designs would be enough to attract customers in droves. She hadn’t counted on the saturated lingerie market—between chain outlets and catalogues—she just couldn’t compete.

Jamie walked past the nearest table of silk panties and resisted the urge to straighten them for the third time today. What was the use of ensuring that they were perfectly lined up? No one would see them but her. If things didn’t improve soon no one would have the opportunity to admire the gorgeous high ceilings, watered silk wallpaper or the French Provencal furniture she had so carefully selected to make Hidden Treasures the ultimate luxurious haven for lingerie aficionados either. The tap of her high heels against the hard wood floors echoed loudly in the silent store as she made her way to the blue and gray striped settee closest to the door and sat down with a long, drawn-out sigh.

She felt like such a fool—using her inheritance, not to mention her savings from working at the Kitty-Kat Lounge to create this place. Now it looked like it had all been for nothing. Hidden Treasures was doomed—unless she came up with something brilliant to generate some real publicity…soon.

The muted bell over the door tinkled and Jamie popped out of her dejected pose. She pasted a huge welcoming smile on her face, determined to charm the prospective customer into buying something.

A single sale wouldn’t make a difference to her dismal financial future, but it always cheered her up to share her designs. She loved the idea of people indulging themselves by wearing something she’d created to enhance their bodies and their love lives. It was a small contribution to the world, but she really felt just the act of buying lingerie brought a small dose of fantasy and sensuality to the mundane existence people typically lived. She smiled just thinking about the 75-year-old woman who’d come in last week and left with a racy black merry widow.

The smile faded slightly when she saw her best friend, Clay Wood, and his sister Catherine, enter the store. Jamie adored the handsome blonde, but he wasn’t exactly her target market. Clay managed her sister Jessie’s vintage bookstore, Forgotten Treasures. Working right next store meant Clay could usually be counted on to make frequent visits throughout the day, usually bearing coffee or chocolate to cheer her up as she watched her store go down the tubes.

Catherine was as timid as Clay was flamboyant. She worked as a Proofreader at The Vancouver Star and often met Clay for lunch. Today her mousy blonde hair was loose and hanging down her back in limp shanks and the hem of her oversized overalls dragged on the floor when she walked making a ‘shooshing’ sound with every step.

Jamie had known the girl for more than two years and every time she saw Clay’s sister she itched to give her a complete makeover. She constantly had to fight this impulse into submission because she didn’t want to hurt Cathy's feelings but it was a huge struggle to avoid at least offering to take her shopping for something that fit. Or maybe suggesting that she wear at least the occasional non-neutral color to spice things up. The girl seemed to have a disturbing beige fetish which just added to her tendency to fade into the background.

Jamie liked Catherine but she didn’t usually contribute much to the conversation. Cathy typically smiled, listened and occasionally nodded when she was particularly enthused. Overall, she was just there, observing. It was almost impossible to get a real impression of her personality because she didn't really interact with anyone but Clay.

Good Lord, this place makes my store look like a Wal-Mart on Christmas Eve, Clay looked around and shook his head. Where are all the frustrated housewives buying their thongs these days anyway? Clay asked, running his manicured fingertip over the buff male mannequin’s muscular shoulder.

Not here, obviously, Jamie said dryly and sat back down on her settee. Can you stop molesting Raoul for a minute and help me come up with something to save this place from being a fond memory?

Clay snatched his hand away from the mannequin’s silk boxers and turned to Jamie. Ah, the smell of desperation is in the air, he said, pretending to take a big whiff. Fear not, My Little Cabbage. Cat and I have come up with a solution to your little problem. He nudged his sister forward. Come on, tell her what we were talking about, he said, nodding encouragingly.

Cathy pushed her glasses up on her nose with a quick jab of her forefinger and brushed some of her stringy blond hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture that almost always preceded her efforts at conversation. Well…it’s just an idea. It’s kind of stupid really. You probably won’t want to hear about it—.

Jamie reached out and pulled Cathy onto the settee with her. Cathy, of course I want to hear it. Whatever you’ve come up with is better than the blank screen going on in my head. Now, spill it, she said as kindly as she could. She wanted to be patient and understanding with Cathy's shyness, but she really didn't have the time or the inclination to coddle the girl at this point. Her future was at stake, along with her pride. If Clay and his sister had a viable rescue plan in mind then she needed to know about it ASAP. Hope was fading fast.

Cathy smiled timidly at her and quickly looked down at the toes of her thick-soled Doc Martens. Well, you know I’ve been trying to convince my boss that I’m ready to try writing features, right?

Jamie smiled in what she hoped was a friendly, supportive manner and patted Cathy’s hand. She couldn't help but notice that Cathy's nails were a mess. They looked like she gnawed on them like a rabid hamster. Sure, Clay mentioned that you want to be a real reporter, not just a Proofreader. Inwardly Jamie thought Cathy might be a bit introverted for the job, but didn’t want to be the one to crush the girl’s aspirations.

Exactly. Cathy beamed for a second and then words began pouring out of her mouth in an uncharacteristic rush. Anyway, I’ve been trying to come up with something that will really grab Mr. Allen’s attention. Then, last week, during a meeting he began talking about someone doing a series about the single life and how difficult it is to find someone to commit to a relationship these days. None of the regular reporters wanted to do it because they thought it was fluff, but I think it would make a great story. Cathy glanced back and forth between Jamie and then Clay, looking for some sign of criticism.

Clay rolled his eyes and put his hands on his hips. Yes, yes, it’ll be fabulous, sweetheart, but Jamie wants to hear what this earth-shattering idea has to do with her and the resurrection of her comatose store.

Cathy gave Clay a small glare. She hated being rushed. I’m getting to that, she snapped at Clay and then turned toward Jamie. We were thinking that you could be the subject of my story.

Your guinea pig, you mean? Jamie asked, raising a speculative eyebrow at Clay.

Cathy reached over and tugged on Jamie’s hand to get her attention. No, not a guinea pig. You’d be a sort of romance guru who invents rules for getting a guy interested and then tries them out. It would be so great. The public would be riveted.

Jamie removed her hand from Cathy’s grip and stood up. Why me? I haven’t been on a date in almost two years. I’d be a complete fraud. You really don't need me at all. You could ask anyone to do it.

Cathy looked up at Jamie beseechingly. Please, Jamie. I need someone who really knows what it's like to be an honest-to-goodness femme fatale. And no one else even comes close.

You are pretty much an erection magnet, Clay interjected, placing his arm around Raoul the mannequin again. This time he gave the life-sized Ken doll's nipple a playful little pinch.

Jamie just shook her head and ignored Clay's mannequin molestation. You two… she said, poking Clay in the side as she walked towards the panty display. …Are laying it on pretty thick. I am not a femme fatale or Dear Abby or a trained professional of any kind. Someone would have to be crazy to listen to me. Why don't you do some research? Contact some life coaches or matchmakers or prostitutes. Interview them about what men like. Or maybe, I don't know, ask some men. Go to the source. Wouldn't that make a lot more sense?

It doesn't matter how much research I do, no one is going to take advice from me? Cathy said, gesturing toward her frumpy clothing and heavy frame.

Jamie gave her an exasperated look and straightened the rainbow of lace thongs for the third time that day. That's not true, Cathy. If you know your facts and do a well-thought-out and entertaining article, then people will read it. And that's all that matters. You don't have to sell yourself along with the article.

I wish that were true, Cathy sighed. But I'm pretty sure all the women at the paper would laugh their collective guts out if I started telling them how to attract a man. This article needs a face with some expertise and that's you. Right, Clay?

He nodded enthusiastically. Our aspiring little reporter has a point. Even if you're as clueless as you say, you know you can talk a good game, even when you're speaking directly from your rectum.

Jamie paused. Clay did have an excellent point. Damn him for knowing her so well. He was completely aware of how much she absolutely adored playing amateur shrink to her friends and family. Whether they asked for her advice or not. Her interference had certainly helped her sister when she was determined to give up on Duncan, so Jamie felt at least partly responsible for their happiness now. She found offering her insight to others very satisfying. Even if it wasn't always appreciated.

Sensing that Jamie was wavering, Cathy went in for the kill. Just think about the publicity for the store, Jamie. You could use the articles to plug Hidden Treasures and give this place the attention it deserves.

Jamie stared at the younger woman for a second and then shook her head, amazed that Cathy was actually attempting to cajole her. She was delighted to see that Clay’s sister had some real spunk underneath that shy exterior, but it didn’t mean she was willing to subject herself to public humiliation. Seriously, it’s a great idea. I think you can actually help a lot of people and entertain the hell out of them in the process. But I’m out of practice. What do I know about men at this point? Not much. Who’d be foolish enough to take dating advice from me, an old spinster?

Cathy shrugged and then said, I don’t know…I probably would. I mean, you’ve got this store and your designs, and you were an exotic dancer for a few years. And Clay said you minored in psychology in college. To the public, that makes you kind of an expert. Maybe not Dr. Ruth, but still, you’re obviously someone who knows what men like. You’re perfect for this.

Jamie just looked at her doubtfully and began straightening the seam on the pale pink corset her female mannequin was wearing.

Clay stepped in, holding up his hands. C’mon, James. I used to go the clubs with you and watch you whip men into a frenzy. Be honest, over the two years you strutted your stuff at the Pitty Pat, how many men fell in love with you? I'm not talking about naughty naked propositions, mind you. Those were too many to count. I'm talking about actual declarations of love and commitment.

Jamie looked sheepish. That's Kitty Kat, you goof. But those declarations don’t count. They were under duress. Most of those guys were drunk, high or horny as hell. Or all three.

Clay crossed his arms over his yoga-perfected chest and gave a cheeky grin. I think that's pretty much standard operating procedure for most declarations of love, but never-mind that. How many?

Thirty-six. Jamie pretended not to notice Cathy’s gulp of surprise.

Thirty-six? In two years? Are you jerking my tail? Clay’s green eyes wide with shock.

Jamie just shrugged and looked down at the floor in embarrassment.

Okay, you actually kept track so don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy playing the game with them. You and I both know it’s what you used to get off on. Torturing those poor hetero bastards.

Well, I’m not that woman anymore, Jamie said in a hard, determined tone. She gestured around at her store. I'm a respectable business woman now and I’m really not interested in whipping anyone into a frenzy of any kind, unless it’s a shopping frenzy.

You don’t miss it at all? Clay asked slyly. You don’t miss the way they used to look at you like you were the last M&M on Earth? How they used to call you and pursue you like you were Vancouver’s answer to Marilyn Monroe or something?

Jamie couldn’t help herself, she grinned at Clay’s blatantly exaggerated description. Hardly. Besides those guys didn’t even know me. All that adoration wasn’t real. It was about my being a dancer—how I used to look. She looked down at her navy pinstriped suit and skyscraper high heels—conservative dress compared to her old exhibitionist style. No one adored me. They just liked the idea of me. I was just a living, breathing fantasy to them. Not a real person.

Clay rolled his eyes in exasperation and held up a hand to ward off anymore of her words. Oh poor you. Spare me the Oprah-speak, please. I know you, James, and you reveled in the attention you used to get from men. Now, what I can’t figure out is why you don’t want to use that God-given talent to save your store. I thought you were desperate.

She came extremely close to stamping her foot in exasperation but restrained herself. I am, she wailed. But telling women how to manipulate men doesn’t seem very ethical. Do I really want to save my store that way?

Dumpling, what choice do you have? Clay asked softly. He was completely