Sometimes pennies, both actual and metaphorical, tumble out of my phone rather than heaven. I like it.
Not too long ago I received a phone call from my new best friend, a wonderful editor at www.eHarlequin.com. She wanted to know if I’d be interested in writing the final installment in the wildly popular, free weekly online read, a continuity series called BEST FRIENDS. I’m not sure, but I probably exhibited my stellar professionalism by immediately responding with, "Well, duh!"

Thankfully, she reserved judgement until after reading SEX AND THE SINGLE STYLIST, the story I’d written for Sunny Jones, a.k.a. Sunshine Buttercups Jones. Sunny is the emotional backbone of "the detention gang" -- five women who formed a lifelong bond after standing up for their shyest member in the tumultuous halls of their high school.

I am so thrilled to have this opportunity to participate in this fun and sexy series with some of Harlequin and Silhouette’s most talented authors. Not to mention having the chance to write the story of a woman who turned her back on her hippy upbringing and earned a Harvard MBA, only to discover she was happiest running her own salon, surrounded by her BEST FRIENDS.

At least until Mitchell “Relentless” Rogers walks through her door...

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"I do not need a man," Sunny Jones pronounced to the group of women comparing engagement rings in the small reception area of Sunny's Beauty Salon.

Pat scoffed. "And none of us needs chocolate, either."

Since there was no arguing with logic like that, Sunny conceded to her best friends this round of the beat-to-death subject and returned her attention to her mail stacked on the receptionist's desk.

"Jeez, not another one," Sunny grumbled the second she caught sight of the logo on the piece of paper she'd just unfolded.

M.J.'s head popped up from the circle of well-coiffed heads bent to admire the ring M.J.'s new fiancé, Daniel Brady, had given her. An ever-present curiosity twinkled in her brown eyes. "Another what?" Just like in high school, the woman had the need to know.

Sunny shook her head. "Are you ever off the clock, girl?"

M.J. winked. "An investigative reporter's work is never done." She nodded at the paper in Sunny's hand. "So what's got you groaning?"

Sunny grimaced at the paper and gave it the same treatment as the others she'd received, folding it into a paper airplane. She'd become quite good at them. "It's another letter from that monster holding company, D.K.B. They suckered me into opening this one by sending it in a plain envelope."

She expressed her opinion of the large conglomerate's actions by launching the airplane. She winced and drew her shoulders up guiltily when the plane lodged in Pat's elegant updo. "Oops."

"Hey!" Pat turned a weak attempt at a glower on Sunny while Kelly, Isabella, and M.J. hooted with laughter. Pat reached up and plucked the paper from the golden swirls Sunny had only moments ago finished pinning into place.

With no more appointments scheduled for the night, Sunny had invited the girls over to try out different hairstyles for Isabella's upcoming wedding. Though she'd been the third of the group to get engaged, Isabella had the least patient fiancé, Marco de Alvarado, of the bunch.

Kelly cocked her dark head. "Why is D.K.B. sending you letters?" Her innate attorney's skepticism showed in her tone.

"Oh, they just want to buy my salon. Or at the very least, the right to franchise it."

There was a moment of stunned silence, then they all erupted with questions.

Isabella said, "That's incredible, Sunny! Are you going to do it?"

Knowing a thing or two about going national thanks to her syndicated column, Pat asked, "Regional, national, or global?"

M.J. raised her eyebrows. "Wow! When did this all start?"

Kelly reached for the paper airplane in Pat's hand. "What sort of terms are they offering?" Though she'd recently started making forays into criminal law thanks to her new fiancé, police officer Jackson Hunter, the firm Kelly ran for her father specialized in corporate and contract law. She would have come in very handy if Sunny had any intention of considering the offer. She didn't.

She'd done the big business, corporate thing, and had been left disillusioned and unsatisfied. But rich. Her time at Everything.com had made her rich enough that her future, and that of her parents living on their little organic co-op in the foothills of the Rockies, was secure. "Look. It doesn't matter, because I'm not interested." Her tone must have been snippy, because they all blinked at her.

She took a deep breath to tamp down the anxieties about her choices that D.K.B.'s interest in her salon had stirred up. "I don't need the money, and I'm happy the way things are. Besides, if I wanted to expand, I certainly wouldn't need the help of some holding company simply looking to jump on my gravy train —"

The electronic bell on the salon's door chimed and drew everyone's attention. Sunny's jaw went slack at the sight of the tall, broad-shouldered man who had just come through the door. Ever since she'd worked her way through school cutting hair, the first thing Sunny noticed about people was their hair, but the man who filled the salon's little waiting area had so much to look at, so much maleness to process, she was momentarily overwhelmed.

He was big in a quarterback kind of way, like Pat's fiancé, Gray Lee, with enough height and bulk to take a hit but lithe enough to move fast. His beige, silky-looking short-sleeve shirt clung to molded, but not bulky, pecs as he moved and his pleated black pants accented a lean waist and long, muscular legs. If he had indeed been a football player in his college days, which guessing by the lines near his striking blue eyes and bracketing his full mouth had been about 10 years ago, his face would be an advertiser's dream come true. A square, clean-cut jaw like his could sell her anything.

When she finally got to his hair, her mouth went dry. It was thick, black, and just begged to have her fingers buried deep in it. A gal could get a serious handhold in hair like that. And it didn't look in the slightest in need of a cut.

She cleared her throat and asked, "May I help you?"

The intensity of his blue gaze when he settled it on her made her skin iron-hot. He strode straight toward her, acknowledging her friends with a slight nod of his head as he drew even with them, but appearing to not really notice them.

"I'm looking for Sunny Jones." His voice was deep and as roughly masculine as he was. It made her shiver in the silliest way. Her mother would be proud of Sunny for finally having such an elemental reaction to a man.

Before she could open her mouth to respond, her wide-eyed friends pointed at her in unison.

She laughed in a stupid, girly way that would have made the shallow divas of her high school, the Four Queens, proud. Clearing her throat again because she was not like the girls who had landed Sunny and her friends in detention and bonded them for life, she said, "That would be me."

He made the oddest rumbling sound deep in his chest, then pronounced, "I need you to cut my hair."

Looking at his gorgeous hair again, noting how it swept perfectly back from his face over his ears to curl under just enough above his collar, Sunny nevertheless flipped open her scheduling book. "Okay. When would you like to come in?" She glanced down at the book, most of the spaces full. Business was hopping. "I have an opening —"

"Right now," he surprised her by cutting in. Then he surprised her still more by leaning on the high, narrow wall that separated the receptionist's desk from the waiting area. All she could think was that his eyes were the color of turquoise spiked with gold.

He leaned in close enough that she could smell him, and her body reacted to his musky scent as if his pheromones had been formulated just for her. "I really need you to do it right now."

Because he put her in the mood for one, she asked, "Hot date?"

"Only if you're free to go out after we're done here."

Fake coughing erupted behind them. Sunny studiously ignored her friends and the unusual heat he generated in her. After all, she'd just told them she didn't need a man. "Hm, well, Mr. —"

"Rogers."

M.J. murmured, "What a beautiful day in the neighborhood."

Sunny flashed a warning glare in their direction. "You see, Mr. Rogers, I don't normally take walk-ins —"

Pat piped up with, "Oh, go ahead, Sunny. Give the poor guy a break."

A sparkle in her dark eyes, Kelly added, "Yeah. We're in no hurry."

Well acquainted with her friends' tenacity where men were concerned, Sunny relented. "Okay. Only a quick trim. No wash." Running her fingers through this guy's dry hair would be sensual torture enough. But if it were wet and slick... Talk about a cheap thrill.

"Fine. As long as I have your attention."

She snorted under her breath at the notion that he ever received less from a woman, and got him settled in the swivel chair at her station, fastening a black cape around his neck. She was incredibly aware of his size. Granted, she was short, but she had to lower the chair as far as it would go to comfortably reach the top of his head. With her scissors and comb in hand, she positioned herself behind him and did her best to ignore the rapt expressions of her friends as they watched in the mirror.

Holding her breath, Sunny slowly slipped her fingers into his hair. It was like taking the first bite of the silkiest, smoothest chocolate in the world. And for the first time in two years since she'd walked away from Alan and all he represented, she found herself wanting to make love to a man. This man.

Damn, she hated when her friends were right.

"So, Ms. Jones." He drew her attention to his reflection in the mirror. "Why haven't you responded to any of my inquiries from D.K.B.?"

Like it? Read more...

From the Title: Sex and the Single Stylist
By: Leah Vale
Imprint and Series: E-Harlequin ™
Date: August 2002
Copyright: 2002
By: Harlequin Books S.A. ™
The excerpt is posted by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.™
For more romance information surf to: http://www.eHarlequin.com

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