Blog Tour, Excerpt,Giveaway & Review: Dog Collar Knockoff by Adrienne Giordano

Title:                        Dog Collar Knockoff Series:                     Lucie Rizzo Mysteries Authors:                  Adrienne Giordano Release Date:         February 9, 2016 Publisher:               SilverHart Publishing Genre:                     Mystery Format/Source:      E-ARC; Publisher Buy Links:              Amazon / iBooks / Barnes & Noble / Kobo Book Summary Catering to the pampered paws set took Lucie Rizzo from unemployed to entrepreneur. With her dog walking/chic pet accessory business on the verge of success, Lucie’s ready to make a name for herself. One not tarnished by her dad’s mobster rep. When an art deal she brokered between clients turns suspicious, it’s up to Lucie to sniff out the truth. She might not know the difference between Monet and Manet, but Rizzos are no strangers to jail time—and Lucie refuses to be someone’s prison bitch. Unless that someone is a tall, blond and Irish cop. Detective Tim O’Brien certainly knows how to get Lucie hot under the rhinestone collar. And with her on-again-off-again relationship with Frankie Falcone currently off, O’Brien isn’t shy about making her feel wanted, mafia ties and all. Even joining her crack—or crackpot—team on the trail of two paintings with equally shady origins. Excerpt Chapter One – DOG COLLAR KNOCKOFF Lucie paused in front of the Lutzs' garage while the door made its ascent. The heat from the tiny cobblestone driveway scorched right through the bottom of her sneakers, and she rocked back on her heels. For what this brownstone cost, the driveway should have come with air-conditioning. After all, Chicago in August? The humidity alone could suffocate her. Once the door silently halted, Lucie pointed toward the interior door. "Stay alert, Lauren. This is where it gets tricky." The newest part-time member of Lucie's dog walking team studied the door and waited for instructions. Lauren seemed like a nice kid. Well, at twenty, she wasn't really a kid. Lucie was only six years older. Still, Lauren was new to Coco Barknell and needed to understand the intricacies of working with the dogs. Particularly this dog. "The door," Lucie said, "is your friend. Otis is the deadly combination of a jumper and a runner." Lauren scrunched her face. "What?" "When you open the door, you have to do a body block so he doesn't squeeze through. He's an eighty-five pound Olde English bulldog. If you're not careful, you will either A) wind up flat on your butt with Otis on top of you or B) be chasing him around the neighborhood. I've done both and it's not fun. Plus, it'll destroy your schedule." And with the number of clients Coco Barknell serviced in a day, the schedule was the Bible. As happy as Lucie was about the growth of her dog walking and upscale-dog accessory business, she hated turning the dogs over to others. Of course, she'd done a thorough background check on Lauren, but these animals were almost her babies and she couldn't trust just anyone with them. Lucie stepped to the door and planted her feet, weight on her heels. "Are you ready?" "Ready." Lauren smiled and maybe that smile had a bit of lady-you're-a-fruitcake in it, but the first time Otis did one of his Underdog leaps, she would learn. Lucie opened the door and the howling began. "Hi, boy," she said, her voice firm and level, no excitement that would cause a doggie mindmelt. "I'm coming in." Slowly, she inched the door open and slid through with Lauren bringing up the rear. Otis did his normal jumping and Lucie steadied herself for the onslaught. "Off!" Finally, he sat, but he tracked Lauren with his eyes. Then—here we go—unable to withstand the pressure of a new person in his space, he leaped, his long tongue flying in search of a cheek to lick. "Off!" But Lucie would never be Cesar Milan when it came to making Otis understand who the alpha was. That was Joey's specialty. It helped that he was six-foot-four and weighed somewhere in the vicinity of two-thirty. "Sit, Otis," Lauren said, her voice calm, yet assertive in a truly enviable way. Otis sat. Dressed in micro shorts, a tank top, and sneakers, Lauren epitomized the wholesome, yet sexy college co-ed. Her heart-shaped face and long blond hair only added to the morphing of girl-next-door and sexy vixen. If Lucie wasn't careful, the girl might drive Coco Barknell's male clients insane. But the risk was worth it. So far she'd been a responsible employee who showed up on time, ready to work. Lucie led her through the kitchen to the utility closet, strategically placed in a nook between the kitchen and the adjoining dining room. Otis’s leash and various other dog supplies—poop bags, treats, shampoo—were all stored there and it made Lucie's life a whole lot simpler. Too bad all her clients weren't this organized. "Whoa. Is this an Arturo Gomez?" Lucie turned and spotted Lauren a few feet away studying the new painting near the dining room entrance. Lucie had seen the painting for the first time last week and marveled at the rich tones. She'd been drawn to the woman's long, auburn hair cascading over her shoulders as she concentrated on the lute in her hands. The deep red of her dress brought out the smoky archway behind her, and Lucie imagined music echoing off the stone on the surrounding walls. They shouldn’t be snooping, but the painting was right there. Plus, Lauren was an art history major and probably couldn't control herself. Lucie decided to let it go. Except the schedule was quickly falling apart. "I don't know who the artist is, but the leash is in this closet." Ignoring her boss, Lauren inched closer to the painting. "I did a paper on Gomez once. Pure genius at Renaissance." "Uh-huh," Lucie said. "It might not even be a Gomez, but it looks like one. I don't think this would be an original though." Lucie rolled her eyes. The only fake thing in Mr. Lutz's world were his wife's boobs. And those had probably cost a fortune. The man never did anything on the cheap. "If this is a copy," Lauren said, "it's amazing." "Lauren, we need to go." The girl straightened up. "Right. Sorry. I've just never seen one in a private collection. I remember something weird about Gomez's paintings and how they were sold. I could be wrong though. I'd love to know where he got this one." Lucie knew exactly where Mr. L. had gotten it. She'd introduced him to Bart Owens, an art gallery owner who was also a Coco Barknell client. Mr. Lutz had mentioned he wanted to invest in art. Lucie connected him with Bart, and next thing she knew, Bart offered her a finder's fee for the sale of the painting. And all she'd done was make an introduction. If the amount of the finder's fee were any indication, that painting was most definitely an original. After that hefty commission, Lucie—a business owner with escalating expansion expenses to deal with—found herself dropping Bart's card off with every client she serviced. Lucie reached into the closet for Otis's leash. “I think it's an original. Here's the leash. Always grab a few of his treats. If he gets loose, it's the only way to lure him back. He's a sucker for peanut butter. Trust me, you don't want him to get loose. He's an animal." At the sight of his leash, Otis leaped, knocking Lucie back a step, but she held her hand out. "Yes, baby. I know. It's Lucie time." When Lucie shoved the leash at her new dog walker, Lauren tore her gaze from the painting. "Sorry. I promise I'm not this flighty. It's like meeting my favorite celebrity. Total fan-girl here. Would you be able to find out the name of this painting for me? Would that be okay?" She looked back at the painting with a wistful longing and something in her expression reminded Lucie of herself at twenty. She'd been at Notre Dame back then and dreaming of a future in banking. She'd worked hard, graduated with honors, and landed a job as Mr. Lutz's assistant at one of the city's top investment banks. During that time, she’d lived her dream of being more than mob boss Joe Rizzo's kid. In the world of investment banking, she'd moved beyond the title of mob princess. For a little while. Being downsized had certainly humbled her. Reminded her, as if she needed reminding, how easily life could change. It had also busted her back to living in her parents' home. That aside, she was now living a different dream. Building her own company. Who would have imagined her little side business of making high-end dog accessories would take off? But take off it did. In a big way. Now Lucie, along with her mother and best friend, Roseanne, had a major department store pressuring them for more dog coats and collars. The faster they made them, the faster they sold and Lucie's panic meter had shot to the red. All in all, a nice problem to have considering she could still be unemployed, but as with any growing business, time had become scarce. Speaking of... Lucie checked the time on her phone. Eight minutes behind. If they didn't make up some of that eight minutes, by the end of the day, it would be an hour. "Let's hit it, Lauren. Plenty more dogs to see today. I'll ask Mr. Lutz for the title of the painting." Review Dog Collar Knockoff is another amazing book by Adrienne Giordano. I haven't read the first book in the series, but I don’t think it’s necessary to enjoy what's in store in this installment. Lucie and Ro were intent on taking a bite out of crime. There adventures will have you howling with laughter as these amateur sleuths set out to solve the mystery of whether Lucie Rizzo was involved in an illegal art deal. I loved the character development. Ro was an especially fun character. She was flashy and outgoing. She also loved to use her personal assets as a means of distraction. She was simply unpredictable. Lucie was rather reserved. Yet, Lucie was a strong female character. Although she had her flaws, she didn't sit around boohooing while having relationship issues with Frankie. Instead, she worked on achieving her dreams and wouldn't let anyone interfere with what she wanted. Lucie struggled with being known as the daughter of a mob boss and tried to develop her own identity. I Loved the contrast between the two friends. Together, they were an entertaining pair. I liked how Lucie and Ro were both transitioning to a new phase in their life. Lucie and Ro both had relationship issues with their long term significant others. Lucie was kind of unreasonable when it came to her on again off again ex-boyfriend. Especially since she had been responsible for the majority of their breakups. I was happy when she came clean with what was really on her mind. For Lucie, Tim came along. Initially, I didn't really feel their connection, but there was a realistic progression of their relationship. As for Ro she was on a fast track to solving her relationship issues. Nothing seemed to stop her from having a good time. If you love a great mystery with elements of romance and a touch of humor, you'll definitely want to check out this entertaining read. Rating 4.5/5 I received an e-arc from the publisher for this review. * * * About the Author 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 * * * Giveaway Details There are three giveaways on this tour – two $25.00 gift cards and a swag pack. a Rafflecopter giveaway * * * Blog Tour Stops February 8, 2016 Adventures in Writing Read Your Writes Book Reviews Recommended Romance Long and Short Reviews February 9, 2016 Lush Book Reviews Joyfully Reviewed Cricket's Chirps Thoughts of a Blonde February 10, 2016 Reading on the Rocks Amy's Blog February 11, 2016 Harlie's Books Em & M Books So Many Reads Becky on Books February 12, 2016 Romance Junkies Nicole's Book Musings Nerdy Dirty & Flirty February 13, 2016 Brooke Blogs Renee Entress's Blog Romancing the Book StoreyBook Reviews

Blog Tour, Excerpt & Giveaway! The Rebel by Adrienne Giordano

Title:                           The Rebel Series:                       Harlequin Intrigue Authors:                    Adrienne Giordano Release Date:           October 1, 2015 Blog Tour Dates:      October 1, 2015 – October 9, 2015 Genre:                       Romantic Suspense Buy Links:                Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Google Play / Harlequin / Kobo Book Summary Bad to the bone…in all the right ways  A brilliant civil lawyer, David Hennings has always been the outsider—at odds with his wealthy family, shunning relationships, defying convention as a sexy leather-jacketed biker. Which is why sculptor Amanda LeBlanc agrees to his request to reconstruct a skull from a cold case murder. The instant heat between them is scorching.  But once Amanda takes the job and gets too close to the rebellious attorney, her carefully balanced life is upended by a series of methodical attacks. Someone doesn't want her to finish the job. Now David will risk everything not to lose the woman he unknowingly put in jeopardy. * * * Excerpt Chapter One “Come on, boy. Another quarter mile and we’re done.”        Larry McCall whistled for Henry, his black lab, who needed exercise more than Larry, to move along. Sunrise illuminated the sky, streaking it in shades of purple and orange that made even a grisly homicide detective marvel at the beauty of nature on an early fall morning.        With Henry busy sniffing a patch of dirt, Larry paused a moment, tilted his head back and inhaled the dewy air. Another two weeks, all these trees would be barren and the city would come in and scoop up the leaves. At which point, his body would make excuses to stay in bed rather than hoof it through ten acres of fenced-in fields on Chicago’s southwest side.        Half expecting Henry to trot by him, Larry opened his eyes and glanced to his left, where the dog always walked. No Henry. Since when had he gotten subversive? Larry angled back and found Henry still at the spot he’d been sniffing a minute ago. Only now he was digging. Hard. Terrific. Not only would he have dirt all over him, but he’d also probably snatch a dead animal out of the ground and drop it at Larry’s feet. Here ya go, Dad.        Not happening. He whistled again. “Leave it,” he said in his best alpha dog voice.        His bum luck was that Henry had alpha tendencies, too, and kept digging. He’d have to leash him and pull him away before a dead squirrel wound up in his jaws.        Years earlier the city had torn down three low-income apartment buildings—the projects—because of the increased drug and criminal activity surrounding the place. All that was left was the fenced-in acreage that made for great walking. Problem was, there could be anything—rodents, needles, crack baggies, foil scraps—buried. Needles. Dammit. Larry hustled back to the dog before he got stuck. Or stoned.        “Whatever you found, Henry, we don’t want any part of. Leave it.”        He snapped the leash on, gently eased Henry back and was met with ferocious barking. What the hell? His happy dog had gone schizo.        “What is it, boy?”        Holding the dog off the hole he’d started, Larry bent at the waist to focus on something white—dull white—peeking through the dirt.        Henry barked and tugged at the leash.        “Okay, boy. Relax. Let me look at it.”        He led a still barking Henry to a tree, secured the leash around it to keep him at bay and walked back to the spot. Using the handkerchief he always carried—yes, he was that old school, so what?—to protect his hands, he cleared more of the loose, moist dirt from the top, and more white appeared. He tapped the surface. Solid. Rock solid. And Larry’s stomach twisted in a way it only did on the job.        Stop. Twenty years of working homicide told him he should. Right now. Don’t go any further; call it in.        Birds chirped overhead, the sound so crisp and incessant it sliced right into his ears. Henry apparently had riled `em good. Still squatting, Larry scanned the desolate area. Beyond the fence at the end of the last quarter mile, the early morning rush began to swell on Cicero.        Henry barked again. Normally calm as a turtle, he wanted to dig.        Larry cocked his head to study whatever peeked through the dirt, and once again his stomach seized. After all these years, only one thing futzed with his stomach.        Crime scene.        But, truth be told, he had a tendency to overthink things. Something else years on the job had done to him. Hell, he could be staring at an old ceramic bowl. And how humiliating would it be to call this in and have it wind up being someone’s china?        Just hell.        Henry barked again, urging him on, and Larry gave in to his curiosity and pushed more loose dirt around. At least until he hit a depression and his finger, handkerchief and all, slid right into it. Gently, he moved his finger around, hitting the outer edges of the depression, and a weird tingling shot up his neck. His breathing kicked up.        What’d this dog find?        He cleared more dirt, his fingers moving gently, revealing more and more of the surface of whatever was buried here. Once again, his fingers slipped into the depressed area and he knew. Dammit.        He’d just stuck his finger into an eye socket. Chapter Two Five Years Later Surrounded by four hundred guests, seven of them sitting at her table in the ballroom of Chicago’s legendary Drake Hotel, Amanda studied a giant photo of a fallen firefighter that had flashed on the screen behind the podium. Without a doubt, she’d botched his nose.        Ugh. How embarrassing. Any novice artist, particularly a sculptor, would see the slight flare of the man’s nostrils. She slid her gaze to the sculpture, her sculpture, a gift to the widow of Lieutenant Ben Broward, who’d died three months ago after running into a crumbling building to save a child.        The child had survived.        Ben had not.        And Amanda’s gift to his widow and their children was now worthless. At least in Amanda’s mind. Had the flaring nostrils been that obvious on the photos she’d been given? Later, when she arrived home, she’d swing into her studio and check. Just to satisfy herself.        Darn it.        Sitting back in her chair, she eased out a breath and made eye contact with Lexi, her interior designer friend who’d originally suggested she attend this fundraiser and meet Pamela Hennings and Irene Dyce, both politically connected—and extremely wealthy—women. Amanda’s idea to donate the sculpture had come after seeing an interview with Lieutenant Broward’s wife and children. She couldn’t give them the man back, but maybe the sculpture would bring some sort of peace. Not exactly closure because Amanda didn’t buy in to that whole closure thing. What did that even mean? Tragedy was tragedy and she doubted Ben’s family would ever fully recover.        Mrs. Hennings leaned closer to speak over the chatter and the sound of clanging silverware filling the room. “Amazing likeness, dear.”        “Yes,” Mrs. Dyce said from the other side of Mrs. Hennings. “Beautiful work, Amanda.”        “Thank you.”        Not that she believed it after spotting her mistake, but coming from Mrs. Hennings, the wife of Chicago’s most brilliant defense attorney, a woman notorious for her good taste, Amanda, as she always did, graciously accepted the compliment, allowing it to momentarily smother her doubt.        At least until she looked at that nose again. Would the widow notice? Would she see the blunder every time she chose to look at the piece? Would it drive her insane? Gah.        The woman couldn’t spend years looking at a nose butchered by the artist. Amanda couldn’t allow it. She’d redo the piece. That’s all. She’d make time to fix her mistake.        Done.        Over.        Move on.        A waiter slid a slice of cherry cheesecake in front of her. Any other day, she’d happily indulge, which of course wouldn’t help her lose that extra ten pounds, but a girl had a right to sugar. Simple fact. But after the beating she’d just given herself, she wasn’t sure her stomach could handle a rich dessert. Gently, she nudged the plate away, opting instead for a sip of water.       “Evening, Miss LeBlanc.”        She glanced up to where a large, barrel-chested man, late fifties perhaps, stood behind her. “Hello.”        “I’m detective Larry McCall. Chicago PD. Homicide.” He gestured to the vacant chair next to her. “Mind if I sit?”        Oh, boy. What was this?        Whatever it was she was thankful he wasn’t the man who’d been sitting beside her all evening. That man, a financial planner from one of the city’s big banks, had disappeared more than thirty minutes ago after she flatly told him, no, she was not interested in doing “hot” things in his bed. What an idiot. With any luck, he’d found a woman willing to take him up on his offer.        She held her hand out. “Of course. Someone was sitting there, but he’s been gone awhile.”        Hopefully for good.        The detective glanced across the table where Lexi sat with her boyfriend, Brodey, another Chicago homicide detective and also the brother of one of the Hennings & Solomon investigators. Seemed to Amanda that the Hennings clan had a connection to just about everyone in this city.        “Junior,” Detective McCall said, nodding a greeting.        “Lawrence,” Brodey drawled.        And how amusing was this? Clearly these two were in some kind of twisted male peeing match, and Amanda did everything in her power not to roll her eyes.        Detective McCall dropped his bulky frame into the chair beside her. “I’ll move if he comes back. Sorry if I’m interrupting.”        “Not at all. What can I do for you, Detective?”        “I checked out your bust.”        Amanda bit her lip, stifling a smile as the detective replayed in his mind the last seconds—wait for it. There.        He smacked himself on the head, then did it again, but he laughed at himself all the same. Instantly she liked him, liked his ability to find humor in embarrassing situations, liked his acceptance of his blunder without making a fuss.        “I apologize,” he said. “This is what happens when you put a guy like me in a place like this. I insult nice women.”        And he had the rough-around-the-edges grit of one of those throwback detectives she liked to watch on reruns of NYPD Blue.        “Well,” she said, “lucky for you I’m not easily offended. And what’s worse is that I figured out immediately you meant the sculpture and not my—” she looked down, circled her hand in front of her chest “—you know.”        “The sculpture. Yeah. It’s really good.”        Aside from the botched nose.        “Thank you.”        “No. I mean it’s really good. I knew Ben. Good guy. Great guy, actually. His wife is the daughter of…” He shook his head, waved it off. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter. The sculpture is…accurate. Scary accurate.”        Hmm… Having been approached by detectives before, Amanda felt the puzzle pieces beginning to come together and she readied herself to ruin Detective McCall’s evening. “I had a few photos from different angles to work from.”        “Yeah, I guess that helps. Listen, do you ever do forensic work?”        And there it was.        As suspected, the detective wanted her help on a case. Probably doing an age progression on a missing child or working with a witness to identify an attacker. Because of budgeting woes and a lack of funds for full-time forensic artists, police departments sometimes hired outside the department.        None of it mattered. She’d have to turn him down. “I’m sorry, Detective. I do have an interest and have taken some classes, but it’s not work I feel comfortable with yet.”        McCall, apparently ignoring her refusal, leaned in. “I’ve got this case...” About the Author 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 * * * Giveaway Details There is a tour-wide giveaway of a $25.00 eGift Card to an online book retailer of winner’s choice and three swag packs. a Rafflecopter giveaway * * * Blog Tour Stops October 1, 2015 Peaces of Me My book Addiction and More HEA Romances With A Little Kick The Reading Café CK Crouch Long and Short Reviews Reading On The Rocks October 2, 2015 Amy Manemann’s Blog The Book Review October 3, 2015 What I’m Reading Harlequin Junkie Romancing The Book Just Romantic Suspense October 4, 2015 A Chick Who Reads Em & M Books Renee Entress’s Blog October 5, 2015 Recommended Romance Urban Girl Reader October 6, 2015 So Many Reads SOS Aloha October 7, 2015 Becky On Books The Romance Dish October 8, 2015 Book Binge Lush Book Reviews Harlie’s Books Adventures in Writing Romance Junkies October 9, 2015 Just The Write Stuff Cricket’s Chirps

Blog Tour, Excerpt & Review: Man Law by Adrienne Giordano

  

Title: Man Law Series: Private Protectors, #2 Authors: Adrienne Giordano Release Date: July 4, 2011 Genre: Romantic Suspense Sale Price &Dates: $0.99 from November 20, 2014 – November 26, 2014 Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Carina Press Book Trailer Book 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? Man Law Excerpt 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. My Thoughts Man Law by Adrienne Giordano was focused more on the romantic aspects than the suspense as Vic seemed to be transforming from this no-nonsense, follow a set of rules kind of guy to one whose rules seemed to be broken around every corner. The fiery chemistry between Gina and Vic resulted in some laws being thrown out the window as they just couldn’t keep their hands off of one another. After Vic became aware that Sirhan was out for revenge, security was put in place but there was still a persistent sense of danger. Gina and her family continued with their everyday routines, which made them an easy target although they had security. So I was kept on edge not knowing when Sirhan would act.  Giordano did a great job of incorporating conflicts associated with dating someone who has children from a previous relationship. As mentioned in the synopsis, Gina had three children. One of which had anger issues. Although there were times when Vic stepped over-the-line when dealing with Gina’s oldest son; it was nice that Vic was depicted as trying to get to know them as a family unit. So even though Man Law didn’t have the back-to-back action that I usually love in romantic suspense novels, it had enough conflicts interspersed throughout to keep me interested until the very end. Rating 3.5/5 I received a copy of Man Law by Adrienne Giordano from the publisher in exchange for an honest review. About the Author 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