He had no business speculating what kind of underwear she wore-especially since Edward was probably wondering as well. Only a pervert would fantasize about the same woman his grandfather wanted to knock knees with. And judging from the few inches of calf Hannah's skirts revealed, Jordan suspected her knees were just as sexy as her feet.

"Maybe he's decided, since you won't procreate for him, he'll try begetting an heir for you himself." Bryce chuckled.

"Then he can stop pressuring me to get married," Jordan muttered. "Gramps has spent a lot of years alone. If he can nail a woman young enough to be his granddaughter, I should be happy for him. I just don't want him to get hurt." He spun his Mont Blanc pen between his fingers like a baton. "In any case, I can't tell you how nice it is to come to the office without worrying if my secretary will have her clothes on."

Bryce glanced over his shoulder at Hannah. "Hiring her will definitely ward off any future doubts from the board about you sexually harassing your employees."

Jordan let his gaze follow his friend's to the outer office where the lights reflected off Hannah's hair, inspiring the mental image of her waves spread out over his pillow.

It was a good thing Bryce couldn't eavesdrop on the impure thoughts his prissy assistant inspired. In seconds flat, his buddy would have Jordan locked in a padded room, wearing a straightjacket.

He was doing it again. Hannah had lost count of the times she'd glanced up from her work in the last two weeks and caught Jordan frowning at her through his open door. The deep fissure in his forehead made the Grand Canyon seem like a drainage ditch.

It didn't make sense. At moments like this, he looked as if he regretted hiring her. Then, every evening, he thanked her and rhapsodized about what a tremendous help she'd been.

He'd made it crystal clear during her interview that he didn't want her mooning over him. Except his constant praise and appreciation made it hard to resist-especially when it came from that James Bond face slapped on a Ryan Reynolds body. She didn't have a prayer of avoiding another stint on unemployment unless she kept her hunk-resistance set to Defcon 1.

"Hey." Callie Harper strolled into Hannah's office. "Are you ready?"

"Sure." The afternoon after Hannah started working for Jordan, he'd asked Bryce Kendall's pretty blonde assistant to show Hannah around and answer any questions she had.

Callie was three inches taller, two years younger, and five pounds lighter than Hannah. And she had the metabolism of a great white shark. In other words, she was the kind of woman one would expect to hate-except her bubbly personality made it impossible not to love her. They'd hit it right off and had been eating lunch together ever since.

"I'm not in the mood for the cafeteria. How do you feel about Chinese food?"

Ever since the night Hannah discovered Kevin was fooling around on her, she'd become nauseated by the idea of eating any kind of Asian cuisine. All at once, she had an overwhelming craving for pork lo mein. "Are you kidding?" She patted her rear end. "I owe my left butt-cheek to egg rolls and dumplings."

"Great. That's a sure sign we're going to become very close." Callie grinned at her. "As you've probably noticed by now, I'm big on following life's road signs."

She'd noticed all right. Her new friend was an eternal optimist and looked for coincidences in everything. "Just let me tell Jordan I'm leaving." Hannah grabbed her purse and stepped partway into his office.

"The way she dresses," Bryce said, chuckling, "no one would ever believe you'd come on to her."

"That's part of what convinced me to hire her." Glancing up, Jordan spotted her standing inside the door, and a guilty pink flush spread up from his collar. "Do you need something, Hannah?"

Her appetite evaporated with the clenching of her stomach. "No, Sir," she whispered. "I simply wanted to tell you and Mr. Kendall that Callie and I are going out for Chinese, so we may be a few minutes late getting back."

"Okay. Take your time. Oh, and skip bringing me lunch today." He rubbed his stomach and smiled. "I ate too many of your cookies this morning."

If she hadn't put so much time and expense into baking them, she'd tell the big jerk to shove those cookies where the sun didn't shine. Except, then he'd know she'd overheard their less-than-flattering remarks.

Hannah dashed out of Jordan's office and through the carved doors to the elevator.

Callie hurried after her. "What's the matter? You look as if you're about to cry."

Half of her felt like it, while the other half wanted to stomp right back and bloody Jordan's movie star face. Hannah held out the calf-length skirt on her silk turquoise shirt-dress, and a volcano of fury erupted inside her. "Those two clowns are poking fun at my wardrobe."

Callie slid her arm around Hannah's shoulders. "I didn't want to say anything since we've only known each other a few weeks, but you have to admit your outfits aren't as trendy as most women's your age."

Hannah punched the down button. "Other women my age aren't trying to camouflage a set of D-cup breasts and Hindenburg hips." It was like trying to hide a couple of rhinos under a blanket. Everyone still knew they were there.

"Come on." Callie waved her hand. "Guys love huge boobs. That's why they hang out at places like Hooters."

Not all men liked breasts bigger than grapefruits. After all, Kevin had preferred her traitorous ex-roommate's kumquats. And he was welcome to them.

"And your hips are probably smaller than mine," Callie insisted.

"Except, they don't look it if I wear anything fitted."

Not that it was an option, seeing as Hannah had a size twelve chest, a size ten behind, and a size eight middle. "Whenever I wear a blouse tucked in, my hips look like a set of matched bookshelves. For some reason, Mother Nature decided it would be hilarious to stick Dolly Parton's body on Julia Roberts' legs."

Callie shot a dubious look at her.

"Okay, so that's an exaggeration. But it's how I feel." Hannah gathered her dress in at the waist and hitched the skirt above her skinny knees to show Callie her disproportionate figure. "See? Short skirts make me look like I'm a sack tied in the middle, sitting on a couple of chopsticks. The only reason I even top out at five-four is because my legs are so long."

Callie's green eyes became as round as two traffic lights. "Good grief, girl, you're built like the original Barbie doll."

"Exactly. There's a reason the manufacturer changed the proportions on the doll. She was a freak-just like me. You wouldn't understand. Your figure is about as perfect as a woman's body can get."

"Right. Have you looked at my caboose? Hannah, I've never met a woman who's happy with her body. Two hundred years ago, women laced themselves up so tight to get a shape like yours they had fainting spells. It's your perception that's the problem."

No joke. "Tell me something I haven't heard a thousand times. When you have a beautiful, five-foot-nine, perfect size six mother, and people have teased you your whole life about getting a job as a stand-in for Elsie the Cow...." Hannah shrugged. "It made me so damned self-conscious, I freeze up around men. When a good-looking guy talks to me, I break out in a cold sweat and get tongue-tied."

Callie patted her arm. "You just need to change your self-image and build a little confidence. Besides, why do you care what men think?"

"Don't ask me. I just do." Hannah slumped back against the wall in the hallway. "Probably because my mom considers it the height of success to have men worship her."

Ever since breaking her engagement, Hannah's biological clock had been ticking like a time bomb. She'd worked for Kevin for three years before he'd even noticed she was female. "After the way my ex cheated on me, by rights I should be swearing off men. Instead, it's just made me more desperate. I'm pathetic."

"No you're not." Callie insisted. "It's natural to need reassurance that you're still desirable. That's why so many women have serial affairs after they're divorced. What you need is a little down and dirty, meaningless sex with a muscle-bound hunk."

"Right, like that'll happen-especially considering how few men have ever shown an interest in me."

"What about the guys in your night school classes?"

"Most of them are still boys. I just want to meet a nice man, get married, and have a houseful of kids. Is that too much to ask out of life?"

As the elevator's bell rang, Callie grabbed Hannah's hand and dragged her down the hall toward Bryce's office. "Come on. Let's call my sister and make you an appointment."

Hannah dug her heels into the carpet. "A makeover won't fix my problem."

"It will if we make you over from the inside. Diana isn't a beauty consultant." Callie continued yanking her forward. "She has her master's in clinical psychology and is writing a self-help book for women on empowering themselves. She's also a certified hypnotherapist."

"Hypnosis?" Hannah hurried to keep up, peering sideways at Callie. "Do you really think that could help me?"

"I had a friend who broke out in hives every time she had to speak in public. After a couple of sessions with Diana, my friend was able to deliver the eulogy at her uncle's funeral." Callie picked up the receiver from her phone. "Hypnosis helps all sorts of problems. My sister treats people with addictions, phobias, and bad habits. And it's used to boost a person's self-esteem and confidence." She poked Hannah's shoulder. "Which is what you need."

For all Hannah knew, she could get a pink slip in her pay envelope next week instead of the raise she hoped for. Seeing how often she'd caught Jordan scowling at her and after hearing him confess he'd only hired her because she was frumpy, she had no idea if he was satisfied with her performance. "Will I have to hock everything but my toothbrush to pay for it?"

"If I tell her you're a friend, I'm sure Diana will give you a discount." A recording drifted from the receiver, reminding them Callie hadn't dialed. She pressed the button in the cradle to stop the annoying woman's voice. "You'd be amazed at the power of the subconscious. Diana once told me posthypnotic suggestions can even make sex better."

"Oh?" Hannah did a double take and pulled her friend's hand off the button. "Call her, already. I'm so uptight about getting naked with a guy I can't....you know."

"Come?" Callie's eyebrows lifted.

Hannah nodded. "It's probably why Kevin cheated on me. I'm sure I made him feel more like a dud than a stud."

"You're not the only woman with that problem. I've read most sexual dysfunction in women is because they don't relax."

She'd always believed compatibility and love were the most important components to a marriage. But now she was beginning to suspect she only felt sex wasn't that big a deal because she'd never experienced the Big O.

"Have you ever tried," Callie leaned closer and whispered, "masturbating?"

"Yes, but I have so many hang-ups, it doesn't work for me." Maybe Gina had been right about her being frigid. "I don't want to foul up another relationship." Hannah sighed. "Before I get engaged again, I need to find out what I've been missing. If I could just let a guy know I'm attracted to him and not freeze up, I'd consider the treatment a success."

"I promise you won't be disappointed. Don't you see? The fact we've become friends and I have a sister who's a hypnotherapist is a sign for certain. You're supposed to do this." Callie punched the numbers for her sister's office.

"I guess." The worst that could happen would be that it didn't help. And if nothing else, maybe her sex life would improve-when and if she ever had one again.

Chapter 3.

hyp*no*sis n. 1. An artificially induced altered state of consciousness that resembles sleep, characterized by heightened suggestibility and receptivity to direction.

Treatment one resorts to when all else fails.

Hannah trembled, following Callie's honey blonde sister into her paneled office. In addition to the desk and bookcases, the room contained a therapy couch and several armchairs. "I've never done anything like this. Do I lie down?"

"That's best but not necessary if you're uncomfortable." Diana Harper reached out and stilled Hannah's shaking arm. "The important thing is for you to relax. Hypnosis is a completely painless process. You'll leave here feeling completely refreshed."

"Sorry, Dr. Harper, I'm just nervous."

"I'm not a doctor yet. I'll be defending my dissertation to the committee at the end of this year. To help you loosen up, why don't you just call me Diana? Now, tell me, what're you so nervous about?"

"I'm not sure." She chuckled. "You're not going to get me to rob a bank or anything, right? In the Manchurian Candidate-"

"You've been watching way too many old movies." Diana laughed. "Your subconscious won't let you do anything morally repugnant to you."

"That's good to know." Hannah released the breath she'd been holding and nearly choked on the air she expelled as the image of Laverne and Shirley clucking like chickens in a department store window popped into her head. "How about"-she coughed-"stuff that would embarrass me?"

"Well, that's a different story."

Great.

"But remember, what embarrasses you now, might not when we're through resolving some of your hang-ups."

It wasn't much reassurance, however, the resemblance between Diana and her sister was so extraordinary Hannah couldn't help but trust her. Except for Diana's blue eyes and taller stature, Hannah felt as if she were talking to her friend.

"Callie explained your problem, but before we get started, let's discuss some of your history. What do you think gave you such a distorted self-image?"

A soft snort escaped her. "You mean besides being Cotton Candy Oliver's daughter?"

Diana's eyes widened.

Hannah pointed at the therapist's open mouth. "There-that look is exactly what's made me feel the way I do about myself. Whenever anyone hears who my mother is, it seems like they're comparing me to her."

"I'm sorry. Believe me, I wasn't comparing. I was just surprised you're related to someone so famous."

More like infamous. "We're related, but that's about it. My grandparents raised me. I only saw my mother for two-week visits a few times each year. While I was growing up, we'd never know when to expect her. She'd just pop in and then disappear just as unexpectedly."

"So you could never really rely on her," Diana said more as a confirming statement than a question.

"To be there for me?" Hannah shook her head. "But to embarrass me? Oh, yeah."

"Tell me about the worst time."

The worst? "Hmm, I'd have to say it was when I was sixteen. My teacher assigned me to work with one of the jocks on a research project," she explained, remembering that afternoon like it was just last week. She'd been ecstatic to be paired up with the cutest guy on the track team and even more thrilled when she'd found him waiting on her grandparent's front porch after school.

"Tom," she'd said, gawking at him, feeling as awkward as a bag lady on a fashion runway. "What're you-"

"Hey, Hannah." Tom held out a spiral composition book to her. "I accidentally took your notes in the library today."

"Oh." She accepted the notebook, her heart sinking. "Thanks." She stared at her feet and pulled opened the front door. "It was nice of you to bring it to me."

"No sweat." He headed for the steps. "I was out running, anyway. See ya tomorr-" He turned back and sniffed the air. "Man, your house smells good."

"My grandma probably made cookies."

Tom moved closer to the door and craned his neck, peeking past Hannah into the living room. "It smells like chocolate chips."

"Would you-umm-like some?" she asked, hoping he loved cookies enough to stick around. "We could work on our report some more," she suggested as additional incentive.

Glancing at his watch, he shrugged. "Why not. We've got a meet tomorrow, so I'm only supposed to do two miles today."

When they got to the kitchen, Hannah found a note on the table saying her grandmother was shopping with one of her friends.

Wonderful. She wasn't supposed to let anyone in the house when her grandparents weren't home. Especially a seventeen-year-old boy.

"You know, it's really nice outside." She opened the fridge. "I'll pour us some milk, and we can work at the table on the deck."

"Water for me. I'm lactose intolerant."