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The Beauty Queen's Makeover
The Beauty Queen's Makeover
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The Beauty Queen's Makeover

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The Beauty Queen's Makeover
Teresa Southwick

Nate WiliamsIt's the quiet ones you have to watch out for! The awkward geek who sat in the last row of every class has become the top defense attorney in town! He's fierce–even unbeatable–in front of a jury. We hear he's even represented a few notorious alumni…Kathryn PriceThe prettiest girl in school in now one of the most photographed women in the beauty business, selling tons of magazines and cosmetics–well, until she mysteriously dropped out of sight last year. Has Katie retired from the jet-set lifestyle she'd always yearned for?

Nate Williams has become one of the most powerful defense attorneys in Boston—I barely recognized him yesterday! He’s polished and professional now, yet still seems haunted by his old sins. Little else seems to have changed about him, particularly his old crush on Kathryn Price. And poor Katie has had her own share of troubles lately—her career has stalled since her accident. She’s been struggling far too long and deserves a chance at happiness.

Those two clearly have unfinished business with each other, but to build a future, Nate will have to face up to his deepest secrets. And Katie will have to stop living in the past, and see Nate for the man he has become….

The Beauty Queen’s Makeover

Teresa Southwick

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

TERESA SOUTHWICK

lives in Southern California with her hero husband who is more than happy to share with her the male point of view. An avid fan of romance novels, she is delighted to be living out her dream of writing for Silhouette Books.

To Katie, the coolest girl in school, and my good friend.

Hey Katie,

You’re a real cool girl and it’s been awesome hanging out with you.

Thanks for the fun times, and good luck with your modeling. I bet you’ll knock ’em dead.

Your

friend,

Nate

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

All she’d wanted was to sit by the pool and feel the sun on her skin.

Today was the first day in a over a year that Kathryn Price had gone out in public without a scarf covering her face. She should have known better. Someone was coming and any second whoever it was would see what she’d been hiding.

If it would help, she’d shout “The British are coming,” since she just happened to be staying at the Paul Revere Inn outside of Boston. But that would only attract the attention she was trying so hard to avoid. The voices on the other side of the hedge told her there was just enough time for a clean getaway. She wasn’t ready to face people and when people got a good look at her face, the feeling was mutual. So she got up from the chaise lounge and headed for the other gate out of the pool area.

It had been a year since she’d been in the media spotlight. Three hundred and sixty-five days since her accident had been the lead story on the nightly news, not to mention magazines and tabloids. It was unlikely anyone would remember her as the model on her way to being the “it” girl. Now she was the poor unfortunate who would never make the swimsuit cover of Sports Illustrated—not with the scars left from repairing that shattered leg. The hardware holding it together would set off metal detectors at the airport. But on the off chance someone recognized her, she wasn’t prepared to deal with curious stares and pitying glances.

As she hurried through the exit, she glanced over her shoulder, then slammed into what felt like a solid brick wall. The collision bounced her backward and she would have landed on her fanny except for the strong hands that reached out and grabbed her. But those same strong hands pinned her arms and she couldn’t secure her oversize sunglasses, which had landed at her feet and left her bare face exposed.

“Whoa, Sparky.” Laughter rumbled through his deep voice. “Where’s the fire?”

Human contact. That was exactly what she’d been escaping from. And this was male human contact, her worst-case scenario. Damn it. Served her right for ignoring her gut feeling to stay in her room. She wasn’t even sure what she was doing here. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Literally she was at this hotel because it was the only decent place to stay near Saunders University. And she was staying because her teacher, mentor and old friend from Saunders had sent out a distress signal.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, stepping away from the stranger. “My glasses,” she said, starting to pick them up.

“Allow me,” he offered gallantly, then leaned over and beat her to it.

Once upon a time she’d been agile enough to make even this tall, athletic-looking man look like the tortoise to her hare. But the accident had changed that. And the fact that he was staring intently made her nervous. She half turned, keeping the left side of her face in shadow.

“May I have my glasses, please?” If there was a God in heaven, she sounded cool and controlled in a sophisticated sort of way. Not needy, insecure and wishing to be anywhere but here.

“Sorry. Of course. How could I refuse a pretty lady?”

Her? Pretty? Kathryn barely held back a bitter laugh. She used to be. But the accident had changed that, too. Nothing about her life was as it had been.

“Thank you,” she said. “Now I’ll be going and get out of your way.”

She secured the glasses on her nose, and brushed her fingertips along her cheek to make sure everything was covered the way she wanted it. When she was satisfied, she glanced up and did a double take. The man could only be described as drop-dead gorgeous. In her line of work—make that former work—she’d met and posed with People magazine’s sexiest man alive. This guy could win that cover hands down. He was the walking, talking, breathing embodiment of tall, tan, hunky heartthrob.

He was six feet two if he was an inch and his hair was shot with reddish-brown highlights. Brown eyes brimming with warmth and humor studied her from a face that was… Chiseled was a word straight out of a romance novel and probably a cliché. But she’d been out of circulation too long to be up on the current catchy slang and her brain was shouting hubba hubba so loud, she couldn’t think of a better description. So, chiseled worked for her.

His nose was perfectly straight, his jaw square with a hint of an indentation. It was a lean, handsome face—and his body was a perfect match. She knew quality when she saw it and the expensive navy-blue suit was tailor-made, setting off his wide shoulders to perfection. The red power tie was the cherry on top of a very impressive sundae. For a lot of reasons, she wasn’t easily impressed. But he was flawless. It was a lot of information to pick up in a glance, so it must have been the double take. Although it was useless information. She’d never been very good with men and she didn’t need more information to process the fact that this one was way out of her league.

“I have to go now,” she said.

He didn’t move aside. “Don’t tell me. Let me guess. You’re the White Rabbit? And you’re late for a very important date?”

Her? A date? Hardly. If only she could be the Rabbit and escape down the rabbit hole. But escape seemed less urgent somehow. There was something about his voice—a sensation of comfort as the warm richness of it drizzled over her like melted fudge. A memory nipped at the edge of her mind but refused to crystallize. For some weird reason and against all the odds, the urge to flee from this stranger faded.

Finally, she moved from dappled shade into sunlight and looked directly into his eyes. The friendly expression instantly turned to astonishment. “Katie?”

That stunned her. No one had called her that since college. Who was he? And what did he know about her? The mirror had become her worst enemy, but she wished for one now. She’d made very sure the glasses covered everything. Unlike Mr. Perfect, she had a lot to hide.

She studied him intently. “Do I know you?”

He mumbled something that sounded like, “Why should you? No one else does.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He smiled. “More important—I know you. You went to Saunders University. As it happens, I was lucky enough to be there at the same time.”

“Really?”

“I doubt you’d remember me.”

Surely he was wrong. There were things she didn’t want to remember, but someone so good-looking would be hard to forget.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

His gaze slid away almost shyly, but his bearing and confidence didn’t peg him as a shy man. “Nate Williams,” he finally said.

Then he tensed slightly, as if bracing for a reaction. She probably only noticed because it was a habit she’d adopted—waiting for the shock, then the discomfort when a stranger’s glance skittered away. But his name didn’t jog her memory.

She shook her head. “Did we take a class together?”

“I was two years ahead of you and in prelaw.”

“Then probably that’s not how we met. I was never that focused.” She tapped her lip as she thought back to the days that should have been carefree and were anything but. “What kind of activities were you involved in? Maybe we shared the same interest and that’s where our paths crossed.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t have a lot of interests or extra time.”

Which told her precisely nothing, and didn’t help at all in placing him. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember you.”

He smiled. “Don’t worry about it. That was a long time ago. It’s no big deal.”

“But you remember me.”

“How could anyone forget? You were a big deal. The prettiest girl on campus. Voted most likely to wind up a cover girl. And you did. Of course I remember you.”

Oh, God. He knew she’d been a model. Did he know anything else? “I really have to go.”

“Not yet. Please?”

Good humor radiated from him and his eyes sparkled with a sincere something she hadn’t seen in a man’s expression for longer than she could remember. So long, in fact, she was surprised she’d recognized the blatant male appreciation. How was it possible to feel so warm and wary at the same time?

“Stay just a little longer. It’s not often a guy like me gets to be this close to the face that launched a thousand lipsticks. And eye shadows, too, if I’m not mistaken.”

Before she could stop him he removed her sunglasses and she gasped. There was no hiding now; he was up close and personal with her face. In front of God and everyone her scars were out there—the half circle groove over her left cheekbone, cut by her glasses in the same accident that shattered her left leg. Maybe now that he could see she was no longer the prettiest girl on campus he would move his larger than life self out of her way and let her go. She braced for his recoil of surprise followed by the poor-Kathryn-Price look.

She saw neither. His pleasant expression never changed. No, she thought, looking closer. It changed slightly with what might have been understanding flickering in his eyes. In spite of that, tension coiled in her belly. After he’d gone overboard about her model’s face, she didn’t dare hope that he would ignore the way she looked now. She wondered if he’d been living under a rock that he hadn’t heard what had happened. He’d want to know the details and offer condolences. Finally he’d insist it was hardly noticeable, which she knew was a big fat lie. She’d only lost partial vision in one eye. She wasn’t blind.

She braced herself again. Okay, she thought, let’s get it over with. Then she could make good on this disastrous escape attempt and retreat to the privacy of her room, which was where she should have stayed in the first place.

She lifted her chin, met his gaze and held out her hand, palm up. Dignity was something the accident hadn’t taken from her. “May I have my sunglasses back?” she asked, forcing a pleasant tone into her voice.

One corner of his mouth curved up. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you guys dig chicks with scars?”

Of all the things he could have said, that was the most unexpected. She blinked at him, then felt a rusty, reluctant smile curl her lips. “No, but I’ve heard chicks dig guys with scars.”

Directness was something she hadn’t prepared for; it completely disarmed her. His quirky question, not ducking the obvious put her completely at ease. And she would never have believed it possible from a guy who looked as if he could be on the cover of GQ or FITNESS FOR FANATICS. How did he know just the right thing to say?

“It’s true,” he insisted. “A tangible sign of character. Guys always look for character.”

“Oh, please. You’re telling me character is the first thing you look for in a woman and not the size of her—” She held her hands out chest high and slid him a wry look.

He grinned. “In all those articles about the top ten things that attract one person to another, isn’t sense of humor at the top of the list?”

“None of my friends store their sense of humor here, yet it’s often where male eye contact starts. And what makes a person laugh is very different from character. I should know. I’ve been on the cover of magazines where those articles appeared. It seems to me looks top the lists.”

“Then, clearly the articles are wrong.”

“I appreciate that you’re trying to make me feel better.”

“Is it working?” he asked, hopefully.

“It would if I had my sunglasses.”

He looked down at the glasses in his hand as if he’d forgotten he’d taken them off and still had them. He met her gaze and sighed dramatically.

“Okay, you can have them back. But only because it’s sunny and squinting will give you crow’s-feet around those beautiful eyes. Certainly not because the prettiest girl on campus has anything to hide.”

“You are so lying,” she said, shaking her head with a tentative smile.

A sudden frown chased the humor from his eyes and he looked almost nervous as he ran his fingers through his short, thick hair.

She put her hand on his arm. “You look like someone made a kite tail out of your favorite tie. That was a joke. Where’s your sense of humor?”

“Joke. Right. I knew that.”

Nate breathed a sigh of relief when she showed no signs of recognition. Although she was right about him lying—a lie of omission. But a lie by any other name was still a lie. He’d only told her his name, not who he really was. He’d never expected to see her again, not in the flesh. Pictures of her in magazines had been his only contact since college and all he could ever hope for. But a little over a year ago he’d lost track of her. Obviously something traumatic had happened to take her out of circulation.