Ian MacPhie might still be looking for his true love if it wasn't for the support and encouragement of some wonderful people. I'd like to thank my husband and children for enduring the terrors of Deadline Hell with me. My critique partners—Vicky, MJ, Vicky, and Sandy—are always there when I need them. My thanks to the West Houston, Northwest Houston, and PASIC chapters of RWA and the fabulous bookstore Katy Budget Books. My thanks also to my agent, Michelle Grajkowski, and my editor, Erika Tsang, and the whole team of professionals at Avon Books. May you all get what you want for Christmas!

The air hummed with bass guitar and rampant lust. He'd come to the right place.

Ian MacPhie strode across the renovated warehouse, his steps falling into rhythm with the pounding drums. The Horny Devils was the best place he could think of for finding a woman. The nightclub was teeming with them. All lovely and all Vamps.

Bright red and blue laser lights zipped here and there, highlighting the ladies' scantily dressed, bouncing bodies as they danced close to the stage. They surged in time with the pounding music like a wild sea at high tide, and he was sucked toward them in a greedy undertow.

One of the red lights zoomed past him, flashing in his face and blinding him for a few seconds. A burst of panic shot through him. What if none of these ladies found him attractive? What if he'd suffered twelve days of agonizing pain to look older and…ugly?