Her Final Fling
The last thing Christine Chandler expects when she takes this job is to be distracted by jet-setting Vito Cesare. She should be focused on the landscaping that could make her company a success.Instead, her gaze constantly strays to Vito's hot bod. And by the sizzling looks he sends her way, he's thinking the exact same thing. Can she give in to this particular temptation and walk away unscathed?Spending time with Christine is doing crazy things to Vito's libido. Yet every time he makes a seductive move, she slips away… until he proposes a fling. No hassle, no strings, just a lot of adult fun. But after just a few steamy kisses, he's breaking those rules and feeling much more than heat for her. Looks as if he has to convince her that this will be her final fling!
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âSo youâre not shy?â
A wicked smile curved Vitoâs lips.
âDefinitely not. I just donât like to jump into anything without weighing the situation carefully,â Christine answered.
âGood. Then you wonât mind if I do this.â With a flick of his finger, her sundress lay in a rumpled pile at her feet. She stood before him clad only in her blue bikini bottoms and matching strapless bra.
His bold gaze raked over her, making her ache for his hands to follow the same path.
âA very good trick, Mr. Cesare.â She backed closer to the shower-stall door. âIs that what you learn over the course of seducing countless women around the globe?â
âHardly.â He reached for his belt buckle and whipped the length of leather out of the loops. âThatâs a trick I was only just inspired enough to try. Donât underestimate the appeal of seeing you naked.â
Oh, he was good. Sexy as hell. Her gaze moved to his hand as he lowered his zipper. She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly too dry.
âI can see the appeal of naked,â she agreed.
Dear Reader,
If you havenât guessed it already, I love writing about men who love sports. That makes sense, since Iâm married to oneâmy husband spent the first ten years of our marriage as a sports editor. During that time I heard a lot about batting averages, NFL draft picks and shots on goal. None of which I find particularly exciting, but I enjoy seeing men get fired up about them. Thereâs something about the male competitive drive that makes my pulse pound!
So it is with this hero, Formula One race car driver Vito Cesare. Vitoâs been in Europe for the past six years. Now heâs back in Florida to prepare for his sisterâs wedding, but he wasnât expecting to find a green-thumb goddess tooling around his yard with a rake and making herself very much at home.
And of course, Christine Chandler has little use for jet-setting bachelor types when her whole life revolves around planting. I hope you enjoy the sparks when these two get together. Please visit me at www.JoanneRock.com to learn more about my future releases!
Happy reading,
Joanne Rock
Books by Joanne Rock
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
863âLEARNING CURVES
897âTALL, DARK AND DARING
919âREVEALED
951âONE NAUGHTY NIGHT*
HARLEQUIN HISTORICALS
694âTHE WEDDING KNIGHT
HARLEQUIN BLAZE
26âSILK, LACE & VIDEOTAPE
48âIN HOT PURSUIT
54âWILD AND WILLING
87âWILD AND WICKED
104âSEX & THE SINGLE GIRL*
108âGIRLâS GUIDE TO HUNTING & KISSING*
135âGIRL GONE WILD
139âDATE WITH A DIVA
For Catherine Mann, my fearless critique partner and wonderful friend who consistently pretends itâs a pleasure to read my work, even when itâs two days before Christmas, the day before out-of-town company arrives, or when sheâs swamped with her own deadlines. Cathy, please know you have my overwhelming and endless appreciation!
Contents
1
âPLEASE TAKE your hands off my fire bush.â Christine Chandler stared down the man taking too many liberties with her delicate red petals.
Was the urge to manhandle somehow tattooed across the Y chromosome?
âExcuse me?â The sexy stranger dressed in a charcoal-gray suit with the jacket unbuttoned and tie undone slid his hand away from the dewy softness of the unfurling bud.
Sighing, Christine nudged past the man whoâd appeared out of nowhere on the Miami property she was currently landscaping.
âThe fire bush is very delicate and I canât afford to disturb the blooms before I transplant it.â She swiped a wrist over her sweaty brow, wondering why she bothered when the man clearly had no business being out here in the sweltering Florida sun. But maybe he was just a nosy neighbor looking out for Mr. Donzinettiâs property. The old Italian eccentric whoâd hired her couldnât have been nicer, so it only made sense heâd have a few friends in the Coral Gables neighborhood. âI need to get back to work before my roots start to dry, but if youâd like to leave your name, Iâll let the owner know you dropped by.â
Christine smiled politely even though her mind was already taking silent inventory of the shrubs she still needed to plant along the rock facing of the sprawling, sixties-style ranch house. She didnât normally make time for too-handsome men wearing flashy gold watches and expensive sunglassesâeven when she didnât look like the Swamp Thing reincarnated.
But she sure as heck wouldnât bother kowtowing to a guy whose suit probably cost more than her last monthâs rent now, when she had ten pounds of dirt under her fingernails. Where were her gloves when she needed them?
She just had to suffer his picture-perfect presence long enough to be sure she didnât offend one of Giuseppe Donzinettiâs friends.
âYou say you know the owner?â Mr. Armani sounded doubtful of the fact as he surveyed the property in the relentless heat of the southern Florida afternoon, then turned his sleek black Wayfarers toward her.
