Mr. Fix-It Read Online Free Page A

transformed into super sexy.

Chapter 2
    “Men are the weaklings, the cowards, the frauds!
    Women don’t need to be rescued, it’s that men need to be heroes!”
    —from Secrets and Sins by Khela Halliday
    Daphne’s pop-eyed, wide-mouthed reaction to the sight of Carter in his formalwear was nothing compared to Khela’s increasing amazement—and alarm—at his performance as the evening progressed. From the moment he helped her from the limo and onto the red carpet in front of the Harborfront Regency, he had been gracious, charming, and had displayed the manners of a royal consort. He was the first man under the age of sixty that had ever pulled out her chair to seat her for dinner.
    He was too good to be true.
    He was also one of only two men seated at the head table, and the only one of her ten tablemates who wasn’t a romance author.
    Garland Kenny, who wrote lavish medieval historicals for Warrington House under the name Margaux LaPierre, was almost two feet shorter and a hundred pounds heavier than Carter. Garland seemed just as captivated by him as the eight women were.
    “All this industry talk must seem terribly boring to you, Mr…?” Garland ventured halfway through the first course—an endive salad with caramelized onions, apples, spiced pecans, goat cheese and sherry-walnut vinaigrette. “I’m sorry, but Khela neglected to give us your name,” he smiled, revealing two rows of ultra bright capped teeth.
    “Forgive me, Garland.” Khela leaned over her untouched salad. “This is—”
    “Carter Radcliffe,” Carter interrupted smoothly, with a devilish grin at Khela. Her expression of mortification and the reappearance of another ferocious blush made him take one of her hands in both of his and pat it as he undertook an explanation. “When Khela and I first met, she thought Carter was my last name. She called me ‘Mr. Carter’ for years before she realized that Radcliffe is my family name. She still calls me Mr. Carter from time to time. But only when she’s feeling particularly fond of me.”
    Khela quietly cleared her throat and then introduced her other tablemates even as she wondered why Carter had yet to release her hand.
    “Tell me, Carter,” said Martine Kendall, one of Cameo Publishing’s best-selling Regency authors, “are you a writer, too?”
    He chanced a glance at Khela, who was staring resolutely into her salad plate. “No,” he said simply. The rest of the table waited in vain for him to elaborate. He took a bite of his salad instead.
    Khela looked at him, pleased at how relaxed he seemed with nine pairs of expectant eyes boring into him. At fifty-five, Martine was handsome in a dated Alexis Carrington from Dynasty kind of way. Early in her career she had flourished as a mystery writer, and Khela knew that Carter’s unembellished “No” would not keep her at bay.
    “Carter is a jack of all trades,” Khela hurriedly explained. “When people have, uh, problems, they come to him. And he fixes them,” she finished lightly.
    His hand tightened around hers as he rested it on her thigh. “Actually, I handle the operation of—”
    “You’re a troubleshooter!” Garland chimed in gleefully. “A genuine corporate runabout. I should have guessed.” He pointed his fork at Carter. “The cut of the suit never lies. You’re corporate, not creative like the rest of us here!”
    Garland’s guffaws drowned out the polite laughter of the women. Khela was glad to see that Garland’s interruption derailed Martine—so glad, her hand relaxed within Carter’s.
    “Let’s talk about something other than work,” Martine said with a roll of her heavily lined eyes.
    “I had contemplated slipping out for an update on the Red Sox-Yankees game,” Carter said, sitting back and hanging his hand over the back of Khela’s chair. When his thumb brushed softly over the skin between her shoulder blades, her ever-present blush began to burn. “But honestly, Ms. Kendall, I’m enjoying all