The Beauty Queen's Makeover. Teresa Southwick

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ