He wanted Francesca…
Tony leaned his forehead against the elevator wall, reliving the surprised look on her face when he’d 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 didn’t 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 brain—and where was that earlier when he’d been gazing at his best friend as if she was a steak and he a vegetarian who’d fallen off the wagon—reminded him about the key code.
He opened one eye long enough to input his code—the day he and Francesca had met in the fourth grade—and 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 wasn’t alone….
Dear Reader,
The idea behind this story wasn’t a hard one to come up with-—I’ve always wanted to do a story about best friends falling in love. There’s something about the level of intimacy already established, the history between close friends that makes falling in love more difficult—and in the end, so much more satisfying….
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 he’s got a few commitment issues, and his list of conquests is organized by zip code, but, hey, that’s just Tony.
I’m willing to bet, though, that you’ll thoroughly enjoy watching my heroine, Francesca, tame him….
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
Books by Wendy Etherington
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
944—PRIVATE LIES
Are You Lonesome Tonight?
Wendy Etherington
To Jacquie D’Alessandro and Jenni Grizzle, who constantly, through every book, scene and sentence remind me that I can do this.
Contents
1
“CHES, hand me a power cord.”
Francesca D’Arcy 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 chest—
Tony nudged her with his bare foot. “Ches!”
“What? Oh, the cord.” She rummaged through the box of computer supplies sitting on the desk. “Uh—which one would be the power cord?”
“The one with three prongs that you’d plug into the wall,” Tony said dryly.
“Cooking’s my forte, not computers,” she muttered, yanking out cord after cord in search of the proper one.
“Somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”
“At least I got in bed before this morning.”
It seemed even Tony’s commitment to the resort and winery they were about to open together couldn’t compete with his goal of dating every gorgeous blonde in New York before he turned thirty. She’d lain awake until two-fifteen this morning—when she’d heard Tony enter his room at the resort, the one right next to hers.
“Which svelte blonde was it this time? Bambi? Or maybe it was Bunny?”
“I’ll have you know I’ve never gone out with anyone named Bambi or Bunny.” He paused. “But if you want to introduce me…”
As she finally pulled the right cord out of the box, she dropped it on him. Well, more accurately, she threw it on him.
“Ow! What is with you today?”
It was ridiculous, she knew, but her resentment at being relegated to “good ole dependable Ches” was especially sharp this morning. She hadn’t 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. Galloway’s fourth-grade class, she’d 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.
She’d sunk every spare penny she had in Bella Luna, the newest brainchild of Tony’s 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 Tony’s 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.
In truth, Tony had spent a good many years indulging in the same pursuits. Then suddenly, six months ago, he’d called Francesca and asked her if she wanted to run the resort. With construction already underway, he’d sent her building and business plans, estimated