Man Law Blog Tour

Man Law
Man LawPrivate Protectors, #2

By: Adrienne Giordano

Release Date:              July 4, 2011

Genre:                         Romantic Suspense

Sale Price &Dates:      $0.99 from November 20, 2014 – November 26, 2014

Buy Links:                    Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Carina Press

Book Trailer:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DJf-fhWG-Rk&feature=youtu.be

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?

 

 

About the Author

Adrienne Giordano

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

 

Excerpt:

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.

 

 

Comments Off on Man Law Blog Tour

Filed under Author Spotlights

Comments are closed.