A special guest post from Adrienne Giordano and her newest release, Man Law, book 2 of the Private Protectors Series!
Book Summary:
Security Consultant Vic Andrews lives by his Man Laws:
Never mess with your
best friend's sister
Never get caught
Never get attached
Never get caught
Never get attached
But he can't deny his irresistible attraction to Gina
Delgado, a young widow with three kids and plenty of strings attached. Even so,
having a physical relationship doesn't mean they're "in a
relationship."
Gina lost her husband to tragedy; she is not getting
emotionally involved with another man in a dangerous profession. Sleeping with
Vic is just stress relief.
Until one of Vic's assignments goes wrong and the target
selects Gina and her kids for revenge. There's nothing Vic won't do to protect
Gina and the children--the family he realizes, too late, he wants. He'll
accomplish his mission but will he have lost his only chance at true love?
Chapter
One
Man
Law: Never mess with your best friend’s sister.
“Ah, shit.” Vic
Andrews, butthead supreme, listened to the churn of the ocean’s waves. Or was
it his life skittering off its axis?
Gina laughed
that belly laugh of hers and he couldn’t help smiling. He extracted himself
from her lush little body and rolled off. The St. Barth sand stuck to his back.
Yep, they’d worked up a sweat. Salty sea air invaded his nostrils and he
inhaled, letting the moisture flood his system.
Jesus Hotel Christ.
What had he been
thinking? He’d been heading back to his room after closing down the resort’s
bar and there she was, the girl—er, woman—of his dreams, crying on the beach.
No condition for her to be in after witnessing her brother’s marriage to the
love of his life.
Vic didn’t
mention the fact it was 3:00 a.m. and she was alone on a secluded beach where
any drunken asshole, like him, could have at her. Although technically he wasn’t
drunk. Buzzed maybe. Big difference. Besides, they’d been at a wedding. Buzzed
was allowed.
Gina moved and
he finally turned toward her. “I’m—”
“No, absolutely
not,” she said. She swiped at her curly mane of dark hair. Her face gave away
nothing, but that meant squat. Gina knew how to hide bad moods.
The whoosh of
the ocean lapping against the shore distracted him and he stared into the
blackness.
“What did I say?”
he asked.
“You were going
to apologize. I don’t want to hear it.”
Apologize? Him? “I’m
not sorry.” He touched her arm. “Are you?”
Please don’t say you’re sorry. Please.
That would be
all he needed. He’d just freakin’ obliterated the sister rule Mike had invoked
nearly a million—maybe two million—times. The sister rule was Man Law, and Man
Laws were about the only rules Vic followed.
He only wanted
to check on her, and before he knew it, voila, the clothes were off, the condom
was on and they were humping like bunnies right there on the beach. At least no
one saw them. All the well-meaning people were asleep.
Gina brushed
sand from her legs and stood to straighten the sliplike dress he’d shoved up
over her hips. The silky fabric glided over her curves, and the activity in Vic’s
lower region made him groan. A thirty-five year-old mother of three, and she
was killing him. He should be ashamed.
Screw that.
She was right
there. Right there. And, because he’d probably never get the opportunity again,
he should grab her and—
“I’m not sorry,”
Gina said. “Not about the sex. I’m sorry about other things, but this, I loved.”
Vic retrieved
his pants and stood. Gina and her honesty. Good or bad, she just put it out
there and didn’t worry about the repercussions. He guessed it came from losing
her husband at the age of thirty-one. She had nothing to lose.
“I need to go,”
she said, watching him with her big brown eyes as the moonlight drenched her
face. He put his shirt on. Did she have to look at him that way? Particularly
when he wanted a replay.
“Aren’t the kids
bunking with your folks?”
“They are, but
you know how Matthew is. He might search for me.”
Fifteen-year-old
Matt, her eldest son, took his job as man of the family seriously.
“Right. Okay.”
Vic motioned toward the resort. “I’ll walk you.”
Gina held up a
hand. “I’ll be fine.”
Nuh-uh. No way. “I
am going to walk you. It’s late and
you shouldn’t go by yourself.”
Hell, she
shouldn’t have been out here alone in the first place, but he knew she’d tear
him a few new ones if he said it.
She stood there,
peering up at him and—God—she was
fantastic. She had a classic oval face with high cheekbones and a nose he knew
she hated. For over two years now he’d imagined running his finger over the
little bump in it, but never dared. Every inch of her seemed perfectly
imperfect.
Blown sister rule.
Gina shoved her
fingers through her curls. “We screwed up. I can’t believe it. We’ve been so
good.”
“We didn’t screw
up. We had a simultaneous brain fart. Again.”
She laughed and
shook her head.
“Anyway, walk me
to the edge of the beach. You can see my room from there and can watch me go
up.”
“Gina, what’s
the big deal? Nobody will know we just—” he waved his hand, “—you know.”
“It’ll be better
if you don’t walk me. With his mental radar, Michael is probably waiting by the
door. On his damned wedding night. I swear he’s a freak. He should stay out of
it.”
Oh, boy. She was
getting fired up. Maintenance mode.
His friend needed protection. They were both ex-special ops, but they didn’t
stand a chance against all five foot three of Gina.
“Mike loves you.
He’s trying to protect you.”
From you? You’re
his best friend.”
Vic ran his
hands over her shoulders. “Yeah, but I’m not right for you.”
“The
circumstances aren’t right. That’s true, but he doesn’t have to keep reminding
me.”
“He does it to
me too.”
They strolled to
the edge of the beach, and he squeezed her hand. Don’t go. Just stay for a while. All he wanted was more time with
her. Not a lot to ask.
On tiptoes, she
brushed a kiss over his lips. A little hum escaped his throat. What the hell
was that?
“I had a great
time,” she said. “You were just what I needed.”
“I think a ‘but’
is coming.”
“We can’t do
this again.”
Yep. Not good. “I
know.”
She pulled her
hand from his and hauled ass toward her room. Away from him.
He waited while
she went up the stairs and she stopped in front of the window of the room next
to hers. A minute later the door opened and Matt came out. He turned and,
apparently using his Spidey sense, looked straight at Vic.
And we’re busted.
Chapter
Two
Man
Law: Never get caught.
Six
Weeks Later
“You got me,”
Vic said when Lynx picked up the phone.
Whose number had
he just called? Knowing Lynx, he probably talked some unsuspecting blonde into
letting him use her phone. His old army buddy now worked for the State
Department and was completely paranoid about their calls being traced. When
Lynx wanted to speak with Vic regarding sensitive matters, he sent a fax—a fax for God’s sake—from the FedEx store
down the street from his D.C. office. Vic would call him back from a secure
line—in this case a prepaid cell phone.
“You’re in a
jackpot.”
Vic sat
straighter in his desk chair. “Translate.” Lynx had a flair for drama, and
being in a jackpot could mean a whole lot of bullshit things.
“The job you did
for us last month.”
A car horn
honked from Lynx’s end. He must be outdoors. “The Israel thing?”
“Yeah. The
brother is pissed at you.”
“There’s a
shocker. The sheikh should be pissed at someone.”
Namely Vic, who’d
been hired by a secret U.S. government agency to take out the sheikh’s little
brother, an Osama wannabe. Mike, the CEO of Taylor Security, liked to call them
off-the-books jobs.
“No,” Lynx said.
“He’s pissed at you. Your cover is
blown.”
Vic’s shoulders
went rock hard. He’d need a sledgehammer to get them loose again.
“What the fuck,
Lynx?”
“Hey, I’m just
giving you rumor mill here, but it’s coming from a good source. My contact at
the agency accidentally let me find out. The sheikh threw money at someone who
threw money at someone, and now he’s got your name.”
He shot out of
his chair, every muscle in his body seizing. “Son of a bitch. Who gave me up?
There can’t be six people who knew about that op.”
“Please. With
the kind of money this guy can toss around, anyone can be bought.”
Vic grabbed a
pencil from the desk, snapped it in half. “Did I get set up?”
No. Someone got
greedy.”
“My ass is in
the wind?”
“Yeah. Watch
your six. Gotta go.”
Vic punched the
button to end the call. He’d wipe the phone clean and destroy it later. No harm
in being careful. He stared out his corner office window. Just a businessman
enjoying the June sun while the Chicago lunch-hour crowd swarmed the lakefront
path. People everywhere.
Deep breath. Work the problem. When he’d taken
the Israel job, the agency told him it was a solo mission. He’d sneak into the
country as a tourist using a fake passport, and if he got into trouble, no one
would pull him out.
He didn’t get
into trouble.
He’d completed
his mission.
For his country.
And now his
cover was blown. Sure sounded like a setup.
The hammering in
his ears started, and he stacked his hands on top of his head. This could be
crap. Lynx said it was a rumor.
Vic hustled down
the hall to Mike’s office and found him at his desk. Early in Vic’s army
career, he and Mike were Rangers together and they had a history of saving each
other’s asses.
“I got a
problem,” Vic said as he stormed into the office and shut the door behind him.
He took three deep breaths. Focus.
Mike snapped his
head from his computer and stared. His dark eyes had an intensity that drove
the ladies wild, but these days he was a one-woman man.
“You heard me
right. I got a problem.”
Vic had maybe
uttered those words three times in the fifteen years he’d known Mike. Each
time, someone had been injured or dead. Mike leaned back in his swanky leather
chair. Felix Unger’s contemporary twin could have decorated this place.
Everything in chrome, with sharp angles and fancy art. One lone stack of paper
sat neatly bundled to the left. Mike didn’t go for mess.
“What’s up?”
“Remember the
job I did last month? Lynx just called. My cover is blown. The sheikh spent big
bucks to find out who I was.”
Mike squinted. “Those
fuckers gave you up?”
“One of them,
yeah.”
“Do you know
who?”
“Hell no. And it’s
too damned bad, because I’d like to break his fucking knee caps.”
Pain shot
through Vic’s jaw and he lightened up on the teeth grinding.
“Okay,” Mike
said. “We can assume they’re gonna come after you.”
Vic stalked the
office. Crap. Sweat beaded down the
sides of his face and he swiped at it. He was losing it. Fear was not something
he allowed himself, but this rattled him. When was the last time that happened?
How about never? The last few months had been this way, though. Something
gnawed at him, eating away his insides.
Five years with
Delta Force ensured he could take care of this problem, but he didn’t want to
do it in a city that had welcomed him when he left the military.
“We got a whole
army of guys here ready to cowboy up,” Mike said. “We could even bring a few
back from overseas.”
They had at
least five hundred men in the Middle East protecting U.S. officials.
“Hell, I trained
most of them and you want to put them on me?
I can take care of myself.”
Fuckin’ A, bubba. Maybe Vic’s ego was getting in
the way, but at thirty-six years old he’d had a whole career of spec ops
training. Offering him protection came as an insult.
Mike shook his
head. “Hey, asshole, did I say you couldn’t? All I’m saying is we put some
muscle around you. Eyes in back of your head.”
Eyes in the back
of his head. Mike had been his eyes for years now. Wasn’t he the one who’d
given Vic a job when he needed one? Now they were partners. Mike handled
high-end security, and Vic handled the civilian contractor assignments. The
neutralizing-terrorists stuff.
“There’s no
credible threat yet. I’m supposed to tie up man power for a maybe?”
Mike shrugged. “But
you think it’s solid, or you wouldn’t have come in here.”
He had him
there, and Vic scratched his head. The hammering in his ears went bye-bye,
leaving behind the wilting end of the adrenaline rush.
“I brought a
shit storm on us.”
Mike rolled his
eyes. “Are we having a moment here or what? Don’t get ahead of yourself. Let’s
see what happens. Meantime, put a team together and I’ll sign off.”
“We may not need
them, but I’ll put something on paper.”
“Right. Let’s
get someone to sweep your car and your apartment building. Just to be safe.”
Vic nodded. “Already
on it.”
“Watch yourself,”
Mike said.
This sucked. He
should fight this alone, but knew if this guy came after him, he’d need a team.
The gut shredding began. People, maybe his friends, were going to die.
And it would be
his fault.
Gina had three
checks for her brother to sign, one of which was for a company credit card
maxed out by an overseas operative. Michael wouldn’t be happy.
A quick stop in
the ladies’ room on the third floor allowed her to freshen up. She never knew
when she’d run into Vic, but it always helped to be prepared. She fluffed her
hair, checked her lipstick and gave herself a once-over in the full-length
mirror. She wore the champagne pencil skirt and matching silk blouse her
sister-in-law picked out. Not bad. Pretty darn good actually.
Roxann liked
helping her choose age-appropriate clothes for the thirty-five-year-old she
was, rather than the coed look she’d gotten used to. Gina liked her low-rise
jeans and T-shirts, but maybe she was in a rut. A deep one. For four years now.
The romp on the
beach with Vic made her realize she needed to make changes. To stop clinging to
the person she’d been before Danny died. That person evaporated when a burning
building collapsed on her husband and destroyed her world. Accepting the new
normal hadn’t come easily, and she’d been fighting it by not altering the
tangible things like wearing clothes Danny liked or hanging his uniform in the
bedroom closet so she’d see it every day. Keeping things the same meant
preserving some part of her cherished husband.
This included
focusing on their children. On making them whole when half the parent base had
disappeared. Putting their needs first and hers last. Wasn’t that what good
mothers did? But somehow Gina the woman got lost, buried under the rubble of a
burning building.
The time had come
to dig out. Enter Roxann and her all-around good taste. Despite her penchant
for classic clothes, Roxann could find things with a little funk to them. She
made for a great sister-in-law, and Gina reminded Michael every day he’d better
not blow it.
With a final
flip of her hair, she left the ladies’ room and headed for Michael’s office.
Vic stepped into the hallway, turned and smiled the slow wicked smile that
always sent her heart into overdrive. Add the green eyes, the messy blond hair
and the oh-so-sexy goatee, and a girl was done for.
Hey, you,” he
said. “What’s going on?”
Gina stopped a
foot or two in front of him. Otherwise, she’d get whiplash trying to look up at
all six foot five of him.
“I have checks
for Michael to sign.”
He glanced
toward Michael’s office, then back at her. Something was off. She searched his
face, took in the rigid jaw, the crease between his brows and—bam—his eyes. Missing today was the
twinkling mischief that promised a girl he’d put a smile on her face but wouldn’t
relinquish his emotional armor while doing so.
“Are you okay?”
she asked. “You seem distracted.”
He smiled the
player smile this time. Like that would work on a woman raising three children.
Puh-lease. Surely she’d lost her mind thinking he’d admit something to her. “Forget
I said anything. If you need to talk, let me know.”
She stepped
around him, but he reached for her and a zing
shot through her arm. Damn. After
that glorious night on the beach he couldn’t touch her without her body
betraying her. Not that he’d touched her since then. On the contrary, he
usually acted like she had a skin rash.
“I’m sorry,” he
said. “You’re right. I am distracted. No big deal.”
“Fine. Just know
my offer stands.” She held up the checks. “I need to get these to Michael.”
He pushed a curl
from her cheek. What was with him today?
“Look at you.”
“What?”
Vic shrugged. “You
look…different.”
Different? What
the heck did that mean? “New outfit. Rox helped me with it.”
“Ah.”
Enough of this
already. Because, really, she didn’t have time. She was getting nowhere with
him when all she wanted was to get somewhere.
And then he went and did it. He tilted his head and parted his lips just so
slightly and a burst of heat exploded inside her. Suddenly, the hallway seemed
tight. Closing in as his stare filled the space. At any second, it would occur
to him that he should attempt to mask his feelings. The idiot hadn’t yet
realized his ability to hide from her dissolved two years ago in her basement.
That had been the first time she’d noticed the
look and it still tortured her. Damn him for bringing it all back.
Her fingers
twitched at the memory. Kneeling on top of the dryer battling the water that
had shot from the pipe and doused her. And Vic staring at her in a way that
made her miss having a man to curl up with.
“Holy shit,” he
had said.
The words cut
through the sound of gushing water and penetrated her focused struggle with the
valve. “The handle is stuck.”
His gaze
traveled along the ceiling, darting along the pipelines. Slow. Considering.
“Idiot,” she
screamed, “the valve is here.”
He stepped
around the large puddle forming on the cement floor and stormed to the back
corner of the basement. “No kidding, but I’m not getting wet when I can cut the
main supply.”
“The main
supply?” What?
And suddenly, the
river slowed to a trickle. She stared at the pipe, gave it a whack with the
wrench. Bastard pipe.
For two years
she’d been living as a single mom, dealing with appliances that failed,
shoveling snow, getting the car serviced. Never mind raising three kids whose
moods shifted like swings in the wind. She been doing it all, hadn’t she?
Without a man.
Until the
flipping water valve got stuck. With Michael not around, she’d been forced to
call Vic when all she wanted was to take a bat and smash that stupid valve to a
million little bits. Just destroy that piece of crap. She pounded her fists on
the washer because she didn’t need this evil, blasted, hateful valve making her
feel like she needed a man.
Vic stood a few
feet from her, hands on his hips. Did his
lips quirk? She swore they did. No, sir.
She flicked the
wrench at him. “Don’t you laugh. I’ll come down there and beat you to death.
You will be bloody if you laugh at me.”
He remained
silent. One of his better choices, because she was just mad enough to let him
have it. She tossed the wrench down, pushed her saturated hair from her face. “I’m
sorry I called you an idiot. That was mean.” She held her hands wide. “Look at
me! I’m soaked.”
“Oh, I’m
looking.”
The rumble in
his tone drew her attention and she found him, head tilted, lips slightly
parted, eyes focused on her…chest.
The one encased
in a soaking-wet tank top.
A white one.
With a sheer
lace bra underneath. Lovely. Her very own wet T-shirt contest. She gasped and
spun away because…well…Vic. Never before
had he done this, and heat poured into her cheeks.
Two years she’d
been without a man’s hands on her. Two long
years without passion. Without sex that left her loose limbed and quivering.
And he had the nerve to look at her like he wanted nothing more than to put his hands on her.
Wait a second.
Why not? She deserved attention. Didn’t she?
Besides, he had
great hands. Big hands that let a girl know he’d take care of her.
And then she
lost her mind.
Copyright
© 2011 by Adrienne
Giordano
Permission
to reproduce text granted by Harlequin Books S.A.
About
the Author
USA Today bestselling author Adrienne Giordano writes romantic suspense and mystery. She is a Jersey
girl at heart, but now lives in the Midwest with her workaholic husband, sports
obsessed son and Buddy the Wheaten Terrorist (Terrier). She is a co-founder of
Romance University blog and Lady Jane's Salon-Naperville, a reading series
dedicated to romantic fiction.
Blog
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