Beauty and The Best (Once-Upon-A-Time Romance)

Beauty and The Best

by, Judi Fennell

Published by Judi Fennell

Copyright 2012 Judi Fennell

Cover design by Kimberly Van Meter

All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author. Please contact the author at [email protected] This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

For more information on the author and her works, please see
www.JudiFennell.com

ISBN: 978-0-9854534-1-1

This book is also available in print from some online retailers.

Jolie Gardener's new boss, reclusive widowed artist Todd Best, who hasn't produced anything since the death of his wife two years ago, is a pretty interesting guy. He:

a) shows up buck naked on her first day on the job,

b) asks her to pose for him - in the nude!

and

c) discovers she's an aspiring romance novelist who finds the tragedy of his lost love inspiring, thereby throwing her out of his house, his life...and his heart.

What's a girl to do?

Fall in love, of course!

To my family, as always,

and to Beth Hill of
ANovelEdit.com

for your generosity and friendship
.

Table of Contents

Once Upon A Time

There’s a naked man in my kitchen…

Acknowledgments

About The Author and Other Books

If The Shoe Fits
preview of another Once-Upon-A-Time Romance

Once upon a time…

a long time ago,

there lived a beast of a man,

locked within a castle

with no one to love him.

This is not his story.

This
is the story of another man,

locked within himself,

and the Beauty

who sets him free.

Chapter One

There’s a naked man in my kitchen.

The thought registered just as the terse, “Who the hell are you?” had Jolie Gardener spinning around faster than a figure skater on speed.

He
had the nerve to ask this? He of the broad shoulders, six-pack abs, and other, nice, um, parts...

Really
. A naked man. In her kitchen.

Well,
technically
, she was in a naked man’s kitchen. Even more technically, she was in a naked Todd Best’s kitchen—and there wasn’t one hint of self-consciousness or embarrassment on his part.

Of course with that body, there shouldn’t be. The guy
should
flaunt his nudity for the world to see. Which, at present, consisted of one single, solitary person: Jolie Gardener, aspiring writer and personal chef extraordinaire.

“
Well?” His hands slammed to his hips.

“
You’re naked,” she squeaked, which, really, was the only way to state that kind of obvious.

“
I’m what?” Mr. Six-Pack Abs glanced down.

Jolie tried not to—so unsuccessfully it was pitiful.

“
Shit,” he muttered. “I am. I, uh, fell asleep last night…”

As butter sizzled in the new super-slick omelet pan on the top-of-the-line range, Jolie’s gaze alternated between some rock-hard abs and a scruffy eight a.m. shadow while her fingers danced along the speckled granite countertop in search of a napkin, placemat, oven mitt… something.

Mercifully, they scooped up a thick dishtowel that, in her world, would constitute a very plush, very luxurious hand towel from The Ritz or The Four Seasons, but which, here, apparently, was used to soak up water from designer flatware. She dangled it in the direction of Mr.
Au Naturel
. “Here.”

He placed an empty bottle of Jim Beam on the island countertop with a
clink
, then took the towel with a grunt. “So, who are you, what are you doing in my kitchen, and would you mind turning around?”

She turned. “I’m the new girl the agency sent over.”

“
Hell. There better be some aspirin left,” he muttered beside her, his bare (of course) feet making no sound on the limestone floor.

She peeked over at him.

His eyebrow soared skyward.

Right
.

She turned back to the sizzling butter. Which had started to burn. Sigh.

He rummaged around in one of the drawers as she carried the pan to the sink. Trying to impress the new boss on her first day with his favorite omelet ranchero and she burned the butter. Not good, but then, it wasn’t exactly her fault because nowhere in those papers she’d signed with her employment agency, Domestic Gods & Goddesses, was mention made of an optional dress code. And she didn’t care how much they were paying her, nudity did tend to throw one off. As for the alcohol-before-breakfast debacle, she wasn’t even going to address that. His rudeness said it all.

And here,
she’d
been worried about making a good impression on
him
.

A click of plastic bottle cap followed by a shake of the bottle, the fridge opening, a gulp, then Naked Guy sighing punctuated the silence before she turned on the faucet. She cleaned out the pan, all the while the Naughty Girl side of her brain screaming, “Turn around!” with the other, Jolie side, going, “You
want
to keep this job?”

Self-preservation being the backbone of her existence since being dumped into the foster care system, she decided to listen to the Jolie side—no matter how much groaning Naughty Girl did.

Naughty Girl, however, couldn’t resist a peek, and was rewarded with a swish of his longish golden hair, a flex of his well-defined arm, and an accompanying sizzle to her own nerve endings.

So not good. Jolie had known he was a hunk before she accepted this position. Had had quite the crush on him, too. How could she not? The guy had been plastered all over every magazine in the country for years, most especially here in his hometown.

Todd Best.
The
Best, as the media had dubbed him. And rightfully so. The man’s landscape paintings were hanging in every high-end hotel, public library, and courtroom in the country. Even the White House, for Pete’s sake. Not that she had an eye for art, but when a painting looked like the scene down the road and made her think she was standing there, feeling the leaves rustling by, smelling the fresh cut grass, hearing the birds singing in the trees and the ducks quacking on the pond, the whole set-up, that, to her, was talent.

And, of course, there’d been his fairytale marriage. But then, sadly, his wife had died suddenly and he’d moved out of their home, turned the reins of his company over to his brother, and put down his paint brushes.

Yes, Jolie had known
exactly
who she’d be working for. That’d been half the incentive.

“
So, new girl, do you have a name? And what are you doing here today?”

Since he was talking, she assumed it was safe to turn around.

The old adage about making an “ASS out of U and ME” proved true.

Although he was the one with the A-S-S. And what a nice one it was. As was the muscled shoulder leaning against the stainless steel of the microwave above the stove, and the ninety-degree jut of his jaw line, the sculpted cheekbones, a perfectly proportioned brow, the fall of hair over his forehead…

She tore her gaze away from the visual smorgasbord and, traitors that they were, her eyes headed south.

Thank goodness he had the dish towel spread across his nether regions like a loincloth. But a hot guy in a loincloth was just as distracting as a naked hot guy. And she’d seen him in both. Or not in both. Whatever.

She ordered her eyes back on the pan. “Um yes, I do have a name, and as to what I’m doing here, I think that’s obvious—burning the butter for your morning omelet.” She raised the pan to illustrate and managed a quick push with her hip to get him to back away from the stove so she could start cooking again, praying all the while she wasn’t hitting something vital.

Luckily, the guy had quick reflexes—or a good hunch—’cause he stepped out of the way before her hip came anywhere close to anything important, saving them the extreme embarrassment of
that
.

“
How’d you get in?” Mr. Clothing-Optional asked.

Okay, what was the protocol here? How long did one actually have to converse with a buck-naked human being before someone said something about it? Or did a strategically placed dishtowel negate all observances of nudity?

“
Look, um,
Mister
.” What did one call their bare boss? Todd? Sir?
Big guy
? “How ’bout you go freshen up a bit and I’ll make breakfast. We can have our chat when we’re both, um, well, prepared for the day. ’Kay?”

“
Fine. I’ll get dressed. Then we’ll talk.”

“
You do that.”

As he sauntered—okay, maybe that was her overactive imagination, because could one
really
saunter with a Jim Beam-sized hangover?—from the fourteen-foot-ceiling kitchen with its state-of-the-art appliances that looked as if they’d come out of their packing boxes yesterday, so stainless steel shiny she could have used them as a mirror to fix her lipstick—if she’d worn lipstick—and she inhaled enough oxygen to jump-start primordial ooze.

Which posed a whole new set of problems for this job. How was she supposed to focus if she kept getting sidetracked by the physical?

But she would.

She could.

Heck, if she could outwit social workers and manage to keep her teenaged self out of the gutter, not to mention, actually
make
something of her life, she could certainly keep her own libido in check.