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I just looooove this book! It still makes me laugh! This is one of my favorite scenes.... Enjoy.


Detective ____________ stood in the shadows of the television studio and watched her. She glowed in a proper pink suit jacket that reminded him of frosting on a party cupcake. Her hands were folded primly on the desk in front of her.

That voice, however, came from a full, luscious mouth that was anything but prim and proper, and he listened to the flow of it � honey-smooth, rich, and god-awful sexy. With those lovely lips, she spoke of the best way to remove water spots from glassware, and the detective felt his pulse quicken.

Could it be that here she was at last � the woman of his fantasies, the woman his brothers claimed could not possibly exist? Could it be that this woman under the studio lights was one part Martha Stewart to one part Carmen Electra?

"Unfortunately, the spots may be tiny pits in the glass itself." She smiled sadly, sharing the heartbreak of scratched stemware with her fans. "So if this trick doesn't work, then I assure you, nothing will."

Detective _________ swallowed hard.

With a little tilt of her head and a friendly grin, she held the camera's gaze. "And as always, thank you, viewers, for another wonderful week of handy comments and suggestions."

"And thank you, Helen! We'll have more Homey Helen next Monday. Stay with us, Chicago. We'll be right back after the break."

The anchorwoman flashed a smile until they were off the air, then turned to her guest. "Nice segment, _______. Good luck tonight. Who're you playing?"

"The Sun-Times, and we're gonna kick some serious butt, let me tell you." She unclipped the tiny microphone from her lapel. "What time is it?"

"Five fifty-four."

"Crap!" She popped up from behind the long curved desk, jumped off the platform, and ran across the studio, shouting good-bye to the news anchor and crew. The detective watched as she did a header over a cable and landed flat on her face, giving him ample opportunity to notice that _____________ � "Homey Helen" to the rest of the world � wasn't wearing a skirt with that jacket.

She wore a pair of baggy black soccer shorts, shin guards, thick socks, and cleats.

The detective looked down. OK, so maybe she wasn't exactly the fantasy, but she'd just skidded to a stop spread-eagled, her nose at the tip of his polished tassel loafer, the soccer shorts riding up her rather extraordinary bottom.

"Watch out for that loose wire," he whispered.

__________ let her forehead fall to the floor and closed her eyes, pausing to gather her wits and what remained of her pride. She had a feeling she'd need both when she met the owner of that gravelly, smug voice.

"Need a hand?" He reached for her, and ________ looked up, scanning him from the tips of his fingers, up the long arm, all the way to the green eyes sparkling with suppressed amusement.

The face was just as smug as the voice.

"No thanks." ________ hoisted herself up and gave an indelicate yank on her shorts. With a huff she began to walk past the man, but he placed a hand on her arm.
"Miss _______, I'm Chicago Police Violent Crimes Detective ____________. I believe you were expecting me."

_________’s mouth fell open and she snorted. "But that's a woman's name! They said ________ � I was expecting a woman!"

Detective _______ was unfazed. "Yeah? And I expected you'd be wearing a skirt. We'll call it even."

She blinked at him, stunned, watching as a corner of the policeman's mouth curled up in delight. It was completely involuntary, but she smiled back.

"OK, Mister Detective ________," she said, laughing. "You get twenty minutes, but you have to take a ride with me because I'm late. Can you drive a stick?"

Detective ________ followed the pink suit jacket through the lobby of the WBBS-TV station, but his eyes were riveted to the woman beneath it. Two parts of her, to be exact: the nape of _________’s slender neck, where delicate question-mark curls clung to the damp skin under a neat twist of hair, and the identical globes of her butt, swooshing full and firm beneath the soccer shorts.

They walked through the double glass doors, out onto the sidewalk, and into the sweltering parking lot. She suddenly turned to him, and ___________ got his first real close look at her face.

"Whoa."

"What?"

She looked like she would be nice to touch. Silky. Her hair and her eyes were the exact same shade of rich brown � smooth like milk chocolate or coffee with cream. Her skin was a dark peach, and those lips � Holy God, those lips! � they looked plump and juicy and he bet they tasted like some kind of rich, sweet fruit.

The little pink jacket didn't suit her at all, he decided. She should be in leopard print underwear. In his bed. To hell with spotted stemware.

This is a girl who would wear leopard sandals to a formal event. Sounds like fun!

I have a guess, but I haven't read it.

I have no idea, but I can't wait to find out.

Susan, this story was a lot of fun!! I could read it over and over!

Manda, you must read it!

Kasey, gotta wait until tomorrow! Trust me, it's worth the wait! At least in my opinion!

I have no idea where this is from but I want to read it :))

No clue at all....

The answer is.....

Knock Me Off My Feet, by Susan Donovan

I seriously loved this book! It's one of my all time favorites just because of the amount of laughter involved!

I've never read this one! I'm gonna check it out :)

I am gonna have to add this to my wish list. :)