MAN LAW
Author: Adrienne Giordano
Release Date: July 4, 2011
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Sale Price &Dates: $0.99 from November 20, 2014 – November 26, 2014
You can purchase here: Amazon / Barnes & Noble
Carina Press
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
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?
MAN LAW Book Trailer:
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.
Connect with Adrienne:Website / Newsletter / Facebook / Twitter / Goodreads / Street Team
Chapter
One
Man
Law: Never mess with your best friend’s sister.
“Ah,
shit.” Vic Andrews, butt head 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 slip like 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.
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