A Karma Girl Christmas by Jennifer Estep Page A

smooth leather couch. A big-screen TV took up one wall, while a pool table crouched in the middle of the floor. Dart boards and various other sportslike contraptions filled the rest of the area, but I didn’t really see them. I didn’t see any of it.  
    I twisted the ring on my finger. It wasn’t nearly as big as Joanne James’s was, but it meant the world to me, even now. Travis. My heart squeezed like a dishrag being wrung out.
    “A beautiful bridesmaid alone by herself. What a sad, sad cliché,” a low, cultured voice called out.
    I looked up. A man stood in the doorway. He topped out at just over six feet, with a mane of tawny blond hair that curled around the collar of his impeccable tuxedo. Flashing green eyes contrasted with his golden skin, making him look like a sleek lion in the gathering shadows. He strode into the room, his black suit flowing with easy grace around his perfect figure. It fit him well. Then again, just about anything would have looked good on him.
    My eyes widened. If Sam resembled a male model, then this guy was the Goliath of male models. Yummy.  
    The man stared at me, and his eyes crinkled in amusement. The merriment dancing in his sharp gaze made him look that much better, even if he seemed to be making fun of me. I didn’t like people making fun of me, and I especially didn’t like being looked down on. I got to my feet and tossed my long hair back. With my stilettos, he only had half an inch on me.  
    “I’m not a cliché,” I snapped.
    “Really? You were one of the bridesmaids, right?”
    “Yes.”
    “And you’re sitting here all alone.”
    “Yes.”
    “And you certainly are beautiful.”
    “Oh, yes.”
    Modesty is another one of my nonexistent virtues. On a scale of one to ten, I’m a solid eight and a half. With my blond hair, blue eyes, and up-to-there legs, I’ve got the Barbie look men love down pat. The only problem is they think I’m as dumb as one of the plastic dolls. The same thing goes for my alter ego, Fiera. But more than one ubervillain had gotten badly burned by underestimating me.
    Still, the compliment pleased me. Every woman likes to be told she’s beautiful, but coming from Mr. Model, it sounded . . . better. Truer. Sexier.
    “If all that’s not a cliché, then I don’t know what is.” His voice was deep with a hint of an accent I couldn’t quite place. White teeth gleamed in his tan face, adding to his already staggering sex appeal.  
    I crossed my arms over my chest and flipped through my mental Rolodex of Bigtime society players. No match. He must be new in town. I certainly would have remembered him. My eyes drifted over his suit, which draped perfectly over his broad shoulders and chest. Oh yeah. I would have remembered him.
    I suddenly realized that I was twisting the ring on my finger. Bloody hell. I’d gone from pining over Travis to ogling a complete stranger in the space of a minute. I really did need to get lucky before my hormones made me have a total meltdown. Literally.
    The man continued. “You certainly looked sad and lonely sitting there, staring into space.”
    “I was doing nothing of the sort.”  
    I couldn’t tell him that I’d been looking at the ring my murdered fiancé had given me before he’d died. My pain was my own. I didn’t go blabbing about it to strangers. Besides, no one except the Fearless Five had even known Travis and I were engaged. It was another little secret we’d decided to keep to ourselves.
    “I was just taking a break from the festivities,” I replied in my best, cool, bored society voice. “All that happiness can be a bit grating after a while.”
    “Really? You know we could create our own festivities, you and me.”
    I stifled a laugh. That was one of the lamest lines I’d ever heard. “Really? And how could we do that?”
    “Let me show you.”
    He flashed me a devilish grin, pulled me into his arms, and planted his lips on mine.

Excerpt from JINX,  
    Book Three in the Bigtime