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You've Got Male [NOOK Book]


Can you really find the perfect man online?

Avery Nesbitt thought she might have struck online-dating gold—Adrian was perfect onscreen. But as the adage goes, if something seems too good to be true… Before Avery knows it, a flesh-and-blood man calling himself Dixon breaks in to her home. Apparently she's been under surveillance by his agency for some time, and now she's in deep, deep trouble.

Dixon has worked for OPUS for years, and he's wanted...

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You've Got Male

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Can you really find the perfect man online?

Avery Nesbitt thought she might have struck online-dating gold—Adrian was perfect onscreen. But as the adage goes, if something seems too good to be true… Before Avery knows it, a flesh-and-blood man calling himself Dixon breaks in to her home. Apparently she's been under surveillance by his agency for some time, and now she's in deep, deep trouble.

Dixon has worked for OPUS for years, and he's wanted to get his hands on Adrian Padgett for most of them. He assumes that Avery is part of Adrian's criminal pursuits. But could she possibly be as innocent as she's claiming?

One thing's for sure—if Avery agrees to go undercover for OPUS, she and Dixon will be working in very close quarters.…

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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
After two years in the slammer for creating a computer virus and unwittingly turning it loose on the free world, computer genius Avery Nesbitt has turned into an agoraphobic recluse in this spirited tale of romantic suspense from Bevarly (Indecent Suggestion). Even worse, Avery's online addiction has made her a prime target for Sorcerer, an Internet predator and international high-tech criminal. OPUS (Office for Political Unity and Security) agent Dixon is hot on Sorcerer's trail and convinces Avery to help lure him out. The pair, along with Dixon's rookie partner, Tanner, and their surveillance equipment, withdraw to the Nesbitt family's Hamptons estate. If the romance between Avery and Dixon is familiar, the older woman/younger man relationship between Avery's 40-year-old sister, Carly, and 25-year-old Tanner adds spice. Various bits of personal drama presumably await resolution in later installments of what is billed as a trilogy. Agent, Damaris Rowland. (Oct.) Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781460302927
  • Publisher: Harlequin
  • Publication date: 9/17/2012
  • Sold by: HARLEQUIN
  • Format: eBook
  • Edition description: Original
  • Pages: 384
  • Sales rank: 701,584
  • File size: 450 KB

Meet the Author

Elizabeth Bevarly is the New York Times bestselling, award-winning author of more than fifty novels and eight novellas. Her books have been published in nineteen languages and more than two dozen countries, and have been included in Harlequin launches in Russia, China and the Spanish-speaking North American market. There are more than eight million copies of her books in print worldwide.

Although she has claimed as residences Washington, DC, Virginia, New Jersey and Puerto Rico, she now resides back in her native Kentucky with her husband and son, where she fully intends to remain.

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Read an Excerpt

Avery Nesbitt was in love. Madly, passionately,

wildly in love. She was besotted. She was bedazzled. She was befuddled. She was in love as she'd never been in love before.

And it was with a man who went beyond dreamy. He was smart and witty. He was creative and articulate. He was handsome and sexy. He always said what she needed to hear, right when she needed to hear it. He knew her backward and forward, just as she knew him inside and out. And he loved her exactly the way she was. That, more than anything else, had sealed her fate and ensured that her love would last forever. Andrew Paddington made Avery feel as if nothing in her life would ever go wrong again. He was just perfect in every way.

The bastard.

Theirs had been a whirlwind courtship, had come at Avery out of nowhere and swept her into a fantasy worthy of an epic romance. Andrew was in her thoughts and her dreams, in her plans and her performance, in her ego and her id. He filled her days with delight and her nights with pleasure, imbued her with joy that made her downright giddy. And that was no small accomplishment for a woman who was normally pragmatic, cynical and down-to-earth. Although Avery had only met him a month ago, she'd known after that first encounter that their meeting must have been destiny. Fate. Kismet. It was simply Meant To Be.


What difference did it make if they'd never actually met in person? Physical trappings weren't what love was about. Love was a meeting of minds, a melding of souls, a blending of hearts. Besides, they'd exchanged photos, and the ones he'd sent to her depicted him as a sandy-haired twentysomething with the eyes of a poet, the mouth of a troubadour, the handsof an artist and phenomenal pecs. He was an utter, unmitigated masterpiece.

Bastard, bastard, bastard.

Who cared if they'd never actually spoken to each other? Vocal avowals of devotion were as nebulous and inconstant as the wind. Avery had Andrew's love for her in writing. In the loveliest prose she'd ever read, words—feelings—wrought so tenderly, they would move a despot to tears. After only four weeks, she had a file filled with his e-mails to her and she'd logged every chat-room exchange they'd shared in a special folder titled Snookypie. On those nights when she was alone and feeling dreamy and lovey-dovey, she lit candles and opened a bottle of wine, then read over his words again and again, pretending he was right there in her Central Park West condo, murmuring them into her ear.

Bastard squared.

But now the unthinkable was happening. Andrew was cheating on her with another woman. And Avery was finding out about it just as women did on those bad made-for-cable movies. She'd walked in on him and found him in bed with another woman.

Well, okay, figuratively speaking. What had actually happened was that she'd stumbled upon him online, blabbing away with some cheap bit of cyberfluff in, of all places, a Survivor: Mall of America chat room. This after Andrew had assured Avery that he loathed popular culture as much as she did. But what really toasted her melbas was that the cyberfluff he was chatting with, who went by the screen name of—Avery had to bite back her nausea when she saw it—Tinky Belle, was clearly an idiot. But Andrew was agreeing with her that the music of Clay Aiken could, if people would just open their eyes and ears and hearts to it, bring peace and harmony to the entire planet.

Bastard cubed.

Unable to believe her eyes, Avery felt around until she located the chair in front of her desk and clumsily pulled it out. Then she nearly missed the surface of her desk when she set her bowl of Cajun popcorn and the bottle of Wild Cherry Pepsi on top of it. She tugged at her electric-blue pajama pants spattered with images of French landmarks and numbly sat down, adjusting the oversize purple sweatshirt boasting Wellesley College as she did. Then she wiggled her toes in her fuzzy pink slippers to warm them, adjusted her little black-framed glasses on the bridge of her nose, pushed one of two long, thick black braids over her shoulder and studied the screen more closely.

Maybe she was wrong, she thought as she watched the rapid-fire exchange scroll by. She shouldn't jump to conclusions. Surely Andrew wasn't the only guy out there in cyberspace who used the handle Mad2Live. It was a phrase from On the Road, after all. And there were probably lots of Kerouac fans online. Andrew loved Avery. He'd told her so. He wouldn't cheat on her like this. Especially not with some brainless ninny who said things like, "ur 2 kewl mad."

Please, people! she wanted to shout at the screen whenever she saw message-board shorthand. Speak English! Or Spanish! Or French! Or German! Or some legitimate language that indicates you're at least halfway literate! And capitalize where necessary! And for God's sake, punctuate!

Even though she was a computer geek in the most extreme sense of the word, Avery couldn't bring herself to type in anything other than the language she'd learned growing up in the Hamptons. Tony private schools could mess with you in a lot of ways, she knew, but at least they taught you to be well-spoken. That shouldn't change just because your language of choice was cyber-speak.

She watched Mad2Live and Tinky Belle—gag—swap warm fuzzies for as long as she could stomach it and ultimately decided there was no way that this Mad2Live could be Andrew. Andrew would never, ever concede that the Survivor series was, as Tinky Belle claimed, "qualty educatnl programing u cn wach w/ the hole famly."

Oh, yes, Avery thought. It's definitely mus c tv.

She was about to leave the chat room to visit another—she was, after all, supposed to be working—when Mad2Live posted something that made her fingers convulse on the mouse: You, Tinky Belle, are a dazzling blossom of hope burgeoning at the center of an unforgiving cultural wasteland.

Acid heat splashed through Avery's belly when she read that. Because those were the exact words Andrew had used to describe her that first night they met in a Henry James chat room. Except for the Tinky Belle part, since Avery's screen name—at least that night—had been Daisy Miller. There was no way there could be two Mad2Lives on the Internet flirting with women by calling them dazzling blossoms of hope who burgeoned in cultural wastelands. That was Andrew—her Andrew—through and through.

After that it was impossible forAvery to ignore Tinky and Mad's conversation. And as she watched the lines of dialogue on her screen roll past, she read more and more from Mad2Live that was pulled verbatim from some of the e-mails Andrew had sent to her. And she should know, since she'd practically memorized some of them.

Had she mentioned he was a complete bastard?

Eventually Tinky bade farewell to Mad and evaporated from the chat room, and Avery watched in astonishment as he immediately began to flirt with another occupant, this one calling herself Deb2000. But Deb wasn't impressed by any of Mad's cajoling, so, obviously disgruntled, Mad signed out of the chat room.

And Avery followed him.

Luckily she had dozens of screen names she used for her work and she could log in to rooms under several that Andrew would never recognize. And luckily, too, she knew the online community better than she knew even her own Manhattan neighborhood. Because the Internet was where Avery worked every single night. And it was where she played after she knocked off work. It was also where she shopped, where she learned and where she socialized. It was where she found her music, her books, her entertainment and her dinner selections.

Hell, she pretty much lived on the Net. And she knew Andrew almost as well as she knew the online community.

Or at least she'd thought she knew him that well. But now she was beginning to think him a complete stranger. Because he flitted from one chat room to another, all of them themed around shallow pop-culture subject matter—everything from Pilates to low-carb cuisine—and in every one of them he waited long enough to identify which of the room's inhabitants were female and which seemed to be the least, uh, bright. And then he chose one and began to work on her in exactly the way he had worked on Avery that first night he'd encountered her. And shame boiled within her when she realized that she had capitulated to his pretty words as easily as had women who thought deep-fried pork flesh was an essential part of good nutrition.

How could he do this to her? How could he think she was stupid? She? Avery Nesbitt? She wasn't stupid. She was a criminal genius! Even Time magazine had said so! And even if the criminal part was debatable, once a genius, always a genius. How could he cheat on her this way? And be so obvious about it? He knew how good she was. He knew what she did for a living and how much time she spent online. He knew everything about her. She'd even told him about her past transgressions, and he hadn't flinched. He'd told her her past didn't matter, that anything that had happened before the day he met her wasn't important because he didn't start living until the day he met her.

Oh, he was such a bastard.

Well, she'd fix Andrew. Not only would she dump him faster than you could say, "Survivor: Up Yours," but she'd give him something to remember her by, too. She'd blow off work and stay up all night if she had to to concoct just the right farewell gift.

Of course, being up all night wasn't exactly a sacrifice to Avery, since she pretty much lived her life at night anyway. Nighttime didn't have rules or expectations the way daytime hours did. So when most people were coming home from their jobs and starting to wind down, Avery was rising and revving to go. And when most people's alarm clocks were going off and signaling the beginning of their workday, Avery was pouring herself a scotch and popping a DVD of a Cracker mystery into the player and trying to wind down. Unfortunately, she'd never been as good at winding down as she was at revving up.

Because Avery Nesbitt was what some people—those who claimed an ounce or two of compassion—called "a bit neurotic." She was what other people—those who didn't give a damn about compassion—called "totally whack." Hey, what else could you call a woman who lived in her pajamas on the Internet and never left her apartment unless it was to take her cat to the vet, and even then had to load up on half a bottle of scotch just to get herself over the threshold? What else did you call a woman who bought into the tripe men like Andrew Paddington fed to unsuspecting morons?

But Avery didn't care what anyone thought about her these days, any more than she'd cared when she was a kid. She especially didn't care tonight. Tonight and tomorrow night—and all the hours in between—she had other things on her mind. Her gift for Andrew would take the better part of the next forty-eight hours to create.

Fortunately for Avery, she was totally whack and had nowhere else to go.

"HEY, HOW'S IT FEELING OUT there, Dixon?"

"Like Antarctica. Only without all the warm toastiness."

"Well, we'll see if we can't get you something closer to Greenland next time you're in the field."

"How many times do I have to remind you people—I'm not supposed to be in the field!"

Because the field was cold and harsh and unforgiving. Even with a laptop and a decent cup of coffee.

Dixon tugged the zipper of his leather jacket higher, curled his hands around a quickly cooling cup of espresso and pulled his backward-facing driver's cap farther down over inky black hair that was badly in need of a trim. But that did little to warm him below the waist, and faded blue jeans, though normally his favorite garment, weren't all that effective in warding off the cold.

Even the cold found in the back of a van that was insulated with high-tech surveillance equipment.

He was infinitely more suited to the great indoors, he thought as he switched his attention from the laptop monitor to a television screen that offered a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the area outside the van. Yeah, indoors he could get a hot shower and a hot sandwich and some hot coffee. Life didn't get much better than that. Unless maybe you substituted warmed brandy for the hot coffee and added a hot woman with hot hands to the hot shower. Preferably one with a hot name like Lola or Mimi or Fritzi or—


No, that wouldn't work. That was the name he was going by himself these days. It would get way too confusing. So maybe he could just call her—


"What?" he said, grinding the words out irritably as his hot shower/hot woman fantasy receded to the back of his brain, leaving him even colder than before.

"You need anything?"

He bit back a grumble at the question that came through the earpiece of his headset. Hadn't he just been thinking about that when the other agent rudely interrupted him?

"No, Gillespie," he muttered into the microphone below his chin to the newly minted OPUS agent who'd been assigned to shadow him—more to keep Gillespie out of trouble than anything else, Dixon knew. "I don't need anything." Except for his usual partner to get back from her leave of absence so she could go into the field instead of him, the way she was supposed to. That way Dixon could go back to collecting the information she sent him and find the missing pieces. Indoors. Where he normally worked. Where it was warm.

Because that was standard operating procedure at Dixon's employer, the ultrasecret Office of Political Unity and Security. Agents worked in teams of two, with one in the field collecting information and the other behind the scenes analyzing it. Assimilate, evaluate, articulate. That was Dixon's three-word job description. He was the one responsible for making sense of the intelligence, not the one who gathered it. He was the one who analyzed and scrutinized, calculated and estimated, and then put everything together. He wasn't the one who sat on his butt in a cold van waiting for something to happen. At least, he wasn't supposed to be.

"Oh, there is one thing, Gillespie," he said, picturing the other agent in his head. Blond, Dixon recalled. Too blond to be taken seriously, really. His dark blue eyes—cool and sharp and distant—were the only thing that had kept the guy from looking like some gee-whiz, what'sfor-supper-Mom, all-American high school football hero.

"What's that?" the other man asked.

"Stop calling me Dixon," Dixon said. "That's not my name."

Gillespie snorted—or something—at the other end of the line. "Yeah, well, my name isn't Gillespie, either, but you have to call me something."

Oh, stop making it so easy, Dixon thought. "I keep forgetting your code name. What is it again?"

"Cowboy," the other man said.

Yee-haw, Dixon thought. He just hoped he could say it with a straight face.

"Besides," Cowboy added, "nobody at my level knows your name. Except for your code name. And you told me never to call you—"

"Okay, Dixon is fine," Dixon hastily amended.

"—that," the other man finished at the same time.

"What? You thought I was going to say your code name out loud? Are you nuts? I'm not nuts. From what I hear, the last guy who spoke your code name out loud is still in the hospital. You're a dangerous man."

Damn straight, Dixon thought. And he wouldn't have it any other way. Except that he'd be a dangerous man out of the cold. Literally if not figuratively.

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4.5
( 9 )
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Sort by: Showing all of 9 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 31, 2014


    "Sure..." Myumi said...leaning down

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 1, 2014


    If we still kiss

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 1, 2014


    Go to res. 17

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 12, 2013

    Not one of her better books.

    The story was ok but the ending was horrible.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 10, 2013

    Great read

    350 + actual book pages. Loved the story line as well as the characters. Looking forward to reading more books from this author!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 30, 2007

    A reviewer

    the most interesting part of this book was tanner and carli's relationship. the rest of the book was okay but not great.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted April 19, 2007

    A must read book!

    I absolutely loved this book. It gets your attention and doesn't let it go. You can't put the book down with wanting to see what happens next. I recommend it to all my friends and am waiting on the next book in the sequence with excitement.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 25, 2005

    You've Got Male

    To stop in internet terrorist's scheme, Dixon masquerades as a grocery delivery man to get inside Avery Nesbitt's home. With her history of virus creation and her tie to said terrorist, she is dangerous. The look Dixon gets of her computer scares him to death. Once she unleashed a virus that shut down the world, and the one he sees being designed is far worse. He has to reel her in, but hadn't counted on the fact that she is agoraphobic. She agrees to help him stop the man who was planning on using her, so she can go home and find peace. What Avery never anticiapated was how much Dixon would disturb her peace and how safe that disturbance would feel. ....................... *** The light that is shone on Avery's affliction makes this a worthwhile read without the compelling plot. However, with the timely plot, it makes it more than worth your time, it makes this book a winner. ***

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  • Posted December 9, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    wonderful romantic suspense thriller

    Former convict Avery ¿Viral Avery¿ Nesbitt suffers from agoraphobia so since she left prison eight years ago she has never ventured outside from her New York condo. The computer genius uses the Internet for everything including on-line relationships especially Andrew until she learns he is cheating on her in other chat rooms. Irate she plans to feed him a virus like none that anyone has seen before. --- Federal Office for Political Unity and Security Agent Dixon realizes that Avery¿s Andrew is the cyber-terrorist the Sorcerer. With her history of creating a computer virus that crippled the Internet ten years ago, he believes she is in cahoots with this brilliant madman. He wants to bring her in but she goes bongos with anxiety. As he forces her out into the real world and uses her as bait to reel in the Sorcerer, Dixon falls in love with the PJ-clad geek, but to persuade her they belong together even if he only sees her in her condo proves to be as tough assignment as he ever tried to solve. --- Avery is a unique heroine, estranged from her family since her conviction while struggling to cope with surviving without going outside. Her phobia is brilliantly handled with dexterity with her savior being the Internet that enables her to live by herself in Manhattan. The story line focuses predominantly on her and her growing relationship with Dixon. A subplot involving her sister whom she has not spoken with in a decade, and Dixon¿s partner is an intriguing opposites-matched with her being much older too hopefully that twist will continue in a follow up tale. Elizabeth Bevarly provides a wonderful romantic suspense thriller starring a fabulous cast. ---Harriet Klausner

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