He wanted Francescaâ¦
Tony leaned his forehead against the elevator wall, reliving the surprised look on her face when heâd nearly kissed her in the kitchen earlier. What in the world was wrong with him? Thankfully, the doors opened, saving him from reliving that exciting, wonderful, awful moment. Again.
Eyes half-closed, he stumbled to his room, only to curse when he reached into his pocket and found it keyless. He leaned back against his door. Maybe he could just sleep in the hallway. He didnât want to wake anybody up, least of all Francesca, though she was in the room right next door. The sight of her mussed and sleepy eyed would overload his already weak system.
But then a part of his still-functioning brainâand where was that earlier when heâd been gazing at his best friend as if she was a steak and he a vegetarian whoâd fallen off the wagonâreminded him about the key code.
He opened one eye long enough to input his codeâthe day he and Francesca had met in the fourth gradeâand opened the door with a sigh of relief.
In the dark, Tony toed off his shoes, then stripped off his clothes. Little did he know he wasnât aloneâ¦.
Dear Reader,
The idea behind this story wasnât a hard one to come up with-âIâve always wanted to do a story about best friends falling in love. Thereâs something about the level of intimacy already established, the history between close friends that makes falling in love more difficultâand in the end, so much more satisfyingâ¦.
But if my smart, successful heroine was going to fall in love and risk nearly twenty years of friendship, the hero had to be irresistible. So what kind of man could be a more perfect match for her than a rich, gorgeous Italian charmer? Maybe heâs got a few commitment issues, and his list of conquests is organized by zip code, but, hey, thatâs just Tony.
Iâm willing to bet, though, that youâll thoroughly enjoy watching my heroine, Francesca, tame himâ¦.
I love to hear from readers! Visit my Web site at www.wendyetherington.com or write me via regular mail at P. O. Box 3016, Irmo, SC 29063.
Enjoy!
Wendy Etherington
âCHES, hand me a power cord.â
Francesca DâArcy eyed the jeans-clad lower half of her best friend and business partner, Anthony Galini. Not a bad way to start a Tuesday morning, truth be told. The man did have an amazing body, and he was presently defenselessly flat on his back beneath his desk.
She could envision dropping beside him, pulling his snug black T-shirt from his jeans, rolling up the soft cotton to reveal the sprinkling of jet-black hair against his olive-toned skin, his washboard abs, his broad chestâ
Tony nudged her with his bare foot. âChes!â
âWhat? Oh, the cord.â She rummaged through the box of computer supplies sitting on the desk. âUhâwhich one would be the power cord?â
âThe one with three prongs that youâd plug into the wall,â Tony said dryly.
âCookingâs my forte, not computers,â she muttered, yanking out cord after cord in search of the proper one.
âSomebody got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.â
âAt least I got in bed before this morning.â
It seemed even Tonyâs commitment to the resort and winery they were about to open together couldnât compete with his goal of dating every gorgeous blonde in New York before he turned thirty. Sheâd lain awake until two-fifteen this morningâwhen sheâd heard Tony enter his room at the resort, the one right next to hers.
âWhich svelte blonde was it this time? Bambi? Or maybe it was Bunny?â
âIâll have you know Iâve never gone out with anyone named Bambi or Bunny.â He paused. âBut if you want to introduce meâ¦â
As she finally pulled the right cord out of the box, she dropped it on him. Well, more accurately, she threw it on him.
âOw! What is with you today?â
It was ridiculous, she knew, but her resentment at being relegated to âgood ole dependable Chesâ was especially sharp this morning. She hadnât realized her proximity to Tony over the last several months would bring her semi-dormant lust for him roaring to the surface. Lust she planned to do nothing about, of course. With a friendship that had begun in Mrs. Gallowayâs fourth-grade class, sheâd had nearly twenty years to tell him about her attraction, and now, in the most important month of their lives, when the professional and personal pressure was the greatest, she was going to attempt to jump his bones?
Think again, sister.
Think business. All business.
Sheâd sunk every spare penny she had in Bella Luna, the newest brainchild of Tonyâs uncle Joe, the patriarch of the Galini family. The Galinis had tended to grapevines in Europe for over a hundred years, and fifteen years ago Joe had bought the eighty acres here on the North Fork of Long Island and built a successful winery in America. With all the new resorts and spas popping up in the area, Joe had recently decided to jump into a new venture and build his own resort. Unfortunately for Joe, two of his own sons were busy running the vineyard in Italy, and most of Tonyâs other cousins were fairly worthless in the ambition department. They were all content living off their trust funds, playing tennis at their country clubs, skiing in the Alps, and clubbing in New York.