CHAPTER 1

I love movies. They're my passion, my great escape. Oh, sure, mylife is okay—decent job, loving parents, friends. But I've alwaysbeen the Joan Cusack character in Working Girl, playing thegood sport and faithful sidekick while the leading lady MelanieGriffith lands the great job, the great man, the great life. I'mthirty-two and pretty enough—if you ignore my big ears—andsmart enough, but all I've ever landed was on my feet. Dull guyswanted to move in. Exciting guys wanted to move on. I couldn'tseem to find my own perfect leading man.

When I met Mickey three weeks ago in Chicago at a nationalbook convention, I liked him right away. He had Al Pacino eyesand a smile as crooked as Ellen Barkin's, and I don't know if youever saw the movie, but when I looked at him I felt like I wassmack dab in the middle of Sea of Love. It's one of my all-timefavorites, full of hot sex and edge-of-your-seat danger, and I had asudden urge to meet him in a grocery store wearing nothing buta raincoat—you have to see the movie, one of Pacino's top three.

On Sunday, during the final long hours of the convention,we were each taking a break. I was sipping coffee standing up atone of those tall, chairless tables common at convention centers.Mickey had perched his sunglasses on his forehead and was talkingon his cell phone when he noticed me. I smiled. He fixed hisgaze on me while he finished his call, then snapped his phoneshut and held out his hand. "Mickey Paxton."

"Annabelle Starkey."

He held my hand a little bit longer than a handshake, andwhen he let it go, he said, "Wow."

"'Wow'? Does that line usually work for you?"

He laughed. "Don't know, never used it before."

"Try another one." I was still smiling.

"How about I tell you that I'm forty and I live in New Yorkand I'm a sales director ..."

"Whoa," I interrupted, "how about instead we start withyour favorite movie."

He frowned. "Hmmm. Not sure. I guess The Year of LivingDangerously."

Now I laughed. "Is that a warning?"

"I hope not." He leaned toward me on the table. "I'd like totake you to Las Vegas with me. Tomorrow morning."

I set my coffee cup down and raised my eyebrows. "Um, youthink I'm an easy pick-up?"

He took a step back. "Oh, look, no, I'm sorry, that's not itat all, I ..."

"Well, I'm not. Buy me a drink first, before we get dangerous."

He smiled, that crooked smile. "You bet."

* * *

We met that evening by the river at a quiet, upscale bar, one withoverstuffed leather chairs and floor-to-ceiling windows. Mickeyarrived first. He was waiting outside in front, on his phone again."Got it. Looks like it will all be wrapped up tomorrow. They canhandle the rest here." Pause. He winked at me. "Roger that. I'llstay under." He dropped the phone in his pocket and put hishand on my shoulder. "Glad you're here."

"You're 'under'?" I asked.

"What?"

"I heard you say that you'll 'stay under'?"

He put his hand back in his pocket. "Oh, that. Yeah, I'munder the gun, so to speak, to make sure some deals go through.You know, sales."

I did know. I was the publicity manager for a San Franciscopublisher of how-to-live-your-life and here's-what-you-should-thinkbooks. But before I could ask him more about these deals,he smiled and directed me to the door, his hand on my back."You look wonderful." We walked into the bar.

By the time we finished that first drink, I was a goner. Thisman was not only gorgeous—piercing brown eyes, thick, darkhair, that mischievous smile—he knew how to listen. I wasnervous and talking so much that I even told him all about mycat, Bonkers, and how he likes to take baths. Mickey had mebelieving that he was interested in everything I had to say.

We left after the second drink. Mickey hailed a cab and Iclimbed in, but he didn't. "I'll pick you up at your hotel tomorrowmorning. Nine sharp. We're going to Las Vegas."

"But what about the gun?"

He flinched. "What gun?"

"The one you're under."

He laughed. "Oh. I can handle that remotely. Cell phone.No problem. See you in the morning. Sleep tight." Then the cabtook off and Mickey walked the other way down the street, whileI watched him out the back window. He hadn't even kissed me.

You should know that I had never done anything this adventurous,ever. Except for the time a few weeks before the Chicagotrip when I called in sick at work four days in a row while I wentto three movies a day. My decision to trust Mickey was mostlya gut thing—though I had never been to Vegas before and hadalways wanted to check it out. Mickey was a true gentleman. Ialready felt comfortable with him. I was ready to step out of mylife and right into A Touch of Mink, hoping things would turnout as well for me as they did for Doris Day, and that my chancemeeting with a stranger would change the course of my life, too.

* * *

My alarm was set for 7:30, but I woke up at 6:00 with a herd ofbuffaloes—right out of any classic western movie you can thinkof—stampeding around my stomach. I am used to them wakingme up when I'm nervous. They're kind of like annoying friendswhose loyalty is so reliable that you overlook the fact that theyusually make you feel nauseous.

I took a shower and washed my hair, dried it, and styled itwith lots of goo and gunk. It's cut pretty short, but not as shortas K. D. Lang's. By the time I finished messing with it, I lookedlike I could be a band member with Kiss if I just applied a lot ofheavy white makeup and black eye shadow. So I took anothershower and washed it again, dried it, and fluffed it up, silkyand natural looking, like a healthy Catholic girl. Then I tookanother shower and let it air dry and put on a hat. I look goodin hats, and this was a cute little cloche, like the one AngelinaJolie wore in The Changeling, only red. It did a good job of hidingmy oversized ears—they're the main reason I have a lot of hats.I've tried longer hair, but it's straight and fine and my ears pokethrough it without any problem at all.

At 8:30, I went downstairs and checked out, then sat downin the hotel coffee shop and ordered a double espresso and acorn muffin and picked up a Tribune someone had left behind.I was reading the funnies when Mickey walked in. He smiled."Nice hat."

* * *

Even now, when I think about Mickey, I have to catch my breath.I told him on the plane to Las Vegas, when he reached over andheld my hand—which, in case you didn't know, is about thesexiest thing a guy can do—that I'm not a woman who suddenlygets on airplanes with handsome men that she's known for lessthan a day. He said, "Hmm! You think I'm handsome!" I mustadmit, though, that I did somewhat keep my head. When wegot to the Chicago airport, I insisted on buying my own ticket.I didn't want to come off as a version of Julia Roberts in PrettyWoman, although she did end up with a great wardrobe, not tomention Richard Gere.

Our plane landed in Las Vegas right on time—which I tookas a good sign, since I had never landed on time anywhere in mylife—and it was a quick cab ride to the Strip. I noticed Mickeychecking his phone a lot, and he looked around at everythingall the time—walking through the airport and standing in thetaxi line. He even looked out the back window of the cab a fewtimes on the way to the hotel.

I touched his knee. "I'm...