Mr. Virile and the Girl Next Door by Gwen Hayes

Chapter One
    Dane Martin surveyed his kingdom and was pleased.
    It was only a Tuesday night, but bar business was good—an auspicious sign of a favorable outcome for Dane, though he didn’t own the club or have any financial interest in it. A laugh tinkled in the distance, stirring his blood and reminding him how much he absofuckinglutely loved to be surrounded by women.
    Though not one of the hottest clubs in Port Calypso, Dane liked the ambiance of Felony. The music was never too loud to get a phone number, the lights never too low to spot a woman masquerading herself prettier than she really was, and the top shelf liquor was never watered down. Really, that was all Dane required to get the job done.
    Tonight, the ratio of women to men was a perfect 3:1 thanks to a bachelorette party in progress in the corner. Another fortuitous sign. Women felt more in control when they outnumbered the men in a bar. They enjoyed more freedom and less inhibition. They flirted with abandon. They didn’t feel hunted.
    They still were, of course.
    The less testosterone in a bar, the better, as far as Dane was concerned.
    The volume of squeals from the corner signified that the party was likely on their second round of margaritas. Too soon for a strike in that zone. It would be another two rounds before a guy could begin separating the individuals from the pack. Right now, the ladies were still high on friendship and camaraderie. Girl power and all that. Later, after two hours of boozing and talking about penises, they’d be more amenable to finding one to take home.
    A nod to Marc behind the bar and the man pulled out the eighteen-year-old Macallan they kept below deck for the nights Dane came in. Dane took it neat because he didn’t like complications in his drinks any more than he liked them in relationships. He took it at eighteen years because it tasted better, and though the joke was there, he unwaveringly stayed away from women of the same age as his Scotch. There was nothing uncomplicated about dating barely legal girls. He didn’t have anything to prove, thus didn’t need his women to be barely anything.
    Dane sipped his drink slowly, watching a poor soul make an ill-timed blast at the bridal party. His approach was terrible. From Dane’s perch, he could see that the guy was fronting a confidence he didn’t feel. You don’t just walk up to a table full of women, interrupt their good time, and not have a better plan than a line as tired as, “How you doin’?”
    Three…Two…One…and…shot down, as expected. If the guy was lucky, one of his buddies would send him to Dane’s website, www.virile.com . Sooner than later. Dane provided a much needed service to the single men in the world, which in turn benefited the single women of the world. Dane was almost a humanitarian, really.
    Right on time, his agent, Magdalene Finch, waved at him from the bar entrance. Her shiny blond mane bounced as she strode towards him, smiling the way that makes the male heart grow inside his chest. She was gorgeous, smart, savvy, and completely off limits, though that never stopped Dane from appreciating her charms. He just couldn’t partake in them.
    He reached to kiss her cheek and took a healthy whiff of her hair. Amazing. She always smelled amazing. “Mags.”
    “Dano.” She squeezed his bicep and shook her head ruefully, as if lamenting her bad luck that their professional relationship meant they keep things professional. Mags and Dane would never know each other in the biblical sense. A shame that. “You’re a work of art, my friend.”
    He smiled and got Marc’s attention with a slight inclination of his chin. “My agent tells me I need to keep up my appearance for the book tour. What are you drinking?”
    “Cosmo. And your agent is a genius.”
    He ordered her drink and led her to a table. “My agent is also very humble.” He pulled out her chair, seated her, and rounded the table. “But yes, a genius.”
    She batted her