Private
Protectors, #2
by Adrienne Giordano
Release
Date: July 4, 2011
Genre: Romantic
Suspense
Book Blurb:
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?
Two Chapters Excerpt from Man Law:
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.
Sale Price &Dates: $0.99 from November 20, 2014 – November 26, 2014
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