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      MILLS & BOON

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      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      Lisa Ruff was born in Montana and grew up in Idaho but met the man of her dreams in Seattle. She married Kirk promising to love, honor and edit his rough drafts. His pursuit of writing led Lisa to the craft. A longtime reader of romance, she decided to try to create one herself. The first version of Man of the Year took three months to finish, but her day job got in the way of polishing the manuscript. She stuffed it into a drawer, where it languished for several years.

      In pursuit of time to write and freedom to explore the world, Lisa, Kirk and their cat sailed from Seattle on a thirty-seven-foot boat. They spent five years cruising around Central America and the Caribbean. Lisa wrote romance, but it took a backseat to an adventurous life. She was busy writing travel essays, learning to speak Spanish from taxi drivers and handling a small boat in gale-force winds.

      When she returned to land life, she finally revised Man of the Year and sent it to an agent. Within a year she had a contract from Harlequin American Romance.

      She and her husband are cruising on a sailboat again somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean. When not setting sail for another port, she is working on her next Harlequin romance.

      For Kirk.

       I could not have done it without you.

       Thanks for giving up Maine.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter One

      Samantha took a deep breath and unclenched her fists as she neared the wide blue doors. Relax, it’s just another job. But this was not just another job, at least not like any others she’d had. The doors were closed, but the scent of the locker room slipped past them and wafted around her. Male sweat, liniment and antifungal remedies teased her nose, growing stronger with each step. At the doors, her guide, Peter Brinks, stopped and cleared his throat.

      “Here we are.”

      She answered with a smile she hoped showed cool assurance. Beyond these doors was a male sanctuary where few women ventured. Few were allowed. Samantha was one of the lucky ones. Or unlucky, depending on how things went today. The thought made her fists clench again. She chided herself: it was only a locker room—no big deal. She had seen a man naked before, right? This was her job and going in there was part of the deal. She squared her shoulders and uncurled her fingers, but sweat coated her palms. She had to admit the truth to herself: an entire room full of naked men was a daunting prospect.

      Peter opened one of the doors and poked his head inside. “Hey, guys. Cover up,” he yelled in warning. “I got a lady coming through.”

      The laughter and chatter swelling out of the room ebbed for a moment. Peter waited, his head still around the edge of the blue door. Samantha smothered a laugh. He was as nervous as she was about all those naked bodies she might glimpse. Finally, he stood back, opening the door wide for her.

      “Everything looks decent in there now, Miss James.” Peter chuckled as he ushered her through the door. “At least as decent as it gets in this place. Right this way.”

      Peter led her through a maze of wood benches and metal lockers enameled the same shade of blue as the two front doors. A fine mist hung in the room, courtesy of the hot showers, and the smells were even more pungent inside. The wintergreen of liniment combined with acrid sweat made Samantha’s eyes sting. She tried not to stare as she passed the athletes in various states of undress. It was not easy. They were so large and…and muscular. The steam from the showers glistened on rippling biceps and washboard stomachs. Drops of water slipped down powerful chests and into the curling hair spread there. It was no different from being at the beach, she told herself. But she knew that was a lie. These men were professional athletes. They were paid—and paid well—to keep their bodies

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