“Live the magic,” Quint murmured

Jorgie hadn’t realized Quint had been inching his body closer, but now she felt his thigh pressed against hers and his hand had slipped from her shoulders to her waist. He was reaching up with his other hand to gently stroke her cheek.

He gazed into her eyes. He was going to kiss her. She should move. But Jorgie was caught up in the moment. By the singing gondolier, by the Grand Canal, by the full moon rising over the Venetian sky, by the dark water and the summer breeze and Quint, Quint, Quint.

Slowly she closed her eyes, puckered her lips and waited. And when his mouth touched hers, she understood the true appeal of Casanova.

He made a woman feel cherished and adored.

Dear Reader,

Did you ever have a schoolgirl crush on the cute older guy in your neighborhood? Do you remember the way your heart beat faster whenever you caught a glimpse of him mowing his lawn without a shirt on? And how you spent those long summer nights imagining he was trailing his calloused masculine fingers over your tender feminine flesh? Well, Jorgie Gerard sure did, even though she’d almost forgotten about her teenage infatuation with Quint Mason. That is, until she runs into him in the airport on her way to an erotic, adults-only vacation in Venice, Italy.

What Jorgie doesn’t realize is that Quint has fond memories of her, as well. Nor does she know that he’s really an undercover agent on his way to the same resort destination, posing as a guest lecturer and expert on Casanova in order to catch a criminal. By day he does his job, but by night…oh, the heat of the wicked Venetian evenings spent alone with Jorgie…Quint is beginning to realize this could very well be his last seduction.

I hope you enjoy His Final Seduction. Visit my Web site, www.loriwilde.com, for news on upcoming books and more!

Happy reading,

Lori Wilde

Lori Wilde
HIS FINAL SEDUCTION

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lori Wilde is the author of forty books. She’s been nominated for a RITA® Award and four RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Awards. Her books have been excerpted in Cosmopolitan, Redbook and Quick & Simple. Lori teaches writing online through Ed2go. She’s also an R.N. trained in forensics, and volunteers at a women’s shelter. Visit her Web site at www.loriwilde.com.

Books by Lori Wilde

HARLEQUIN BLAZE

30—A TOUCH OF SILK

66—A THRILL TO REMEMBER

106—PACKED WITH PLEASURE

123—AS YOU LIKE IT

152—GOTTA HAVE IT

175—SHOCKINGLY SENSUAL

230—ANGELS AND OUTLAWS*

260—DESTINY’S HAND*

346—MY SECRET LIFE**

399—CROSSING THE LINE†

411—SECRET SEDUCTION†

423—LETHAL EXPOSURE†

463—THE RIGHT STUFF††

506—ZERO CONTROL

To the staff at eHarlequin, who all work so hard to

get the word out about our books.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

1

Something Sexy in the Air

—Eros Airlines

SEX HAD NEVER LOOKED so intriguing.

Or so scary.

That’s precisely the point. You need to step outside your comfort zone.

Jorgina Gerard closed the glossy brochure, featuring Eros Airlines and Fantasy Resort erotic vacation packages, and fanned herself with it. She was alarmed that her body was suddenly aroused at—of all places—the Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport ticket kiosk. Mentally, she gave herself a shake. What was the matter with her?

Um, could it be because you haven’t had sex since your boyfriend dumped you?

Cringing, Jorgie bit down on her bottom lip. All around her there was bustling activity—business travelers rolling their carry-on bags toward the taxi stands, separated lovers reuniting with heartfelt hugs, harried moms and dads herding ebullient children away from the enticing dangers of escalators and baggage carousels.

What was she doing? Why had she let her best friend since kindergarten, Avery Bodel, talk her into this? Was she insane? Embarking on an exotic itinerary dubbed with the provocative title Make Love Like A Courtesan. She didn’t need sex lessons. She was twenty-five. She watched cable television. She’d been in a serious relationship and…and…

And as Brian had walked out the door he’d tossed the accusation over his shoulder. “You’re just too damned conventional in the sack, Jorgina. Men need variety, excitement, danger.”

Danger? Jorgie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Maybe she wasn’t the problem, maybe it was Brian.

And if Brian was the problem, then she didn’t need to be here, right? She just needed to find some guy who could appreciate conventional.

“You know,” she began, turning to her friend. This week, Avery’s hair was dyed the color of muscat grapes—a deep hue of acrid purple. As a hairdresser, Avery changed her hair style and color as often as most people changed clothes. “Maybe this—”

“Oh, no,” said Avery. She wrapped a restraining hand around Jorgie’s wrist. “You are not!”

“Not what?” Jorgie asked, but her voice came out high and squeaky, giving her away.

“You’re not fooling me. I’ve known you too long. You’ve got that I’m-gonna-run-away-from-fun look in your eyes. Same look you had in eighth grade when we played Spin The Bottle at Miley Kinslow’s birthday party and it pointed to the guy you’d been mooning over.”

“Quint Mason,” Jorgie supplied, wondering if he liked conventional girls.

She’d had a puppy-love crush on Quint for the entire school year and he barely knew she existed. If she squeezed her eyes closed tightly enough, she could still see him as he’d looked then—lanky, medium brown hair, a devilish grin that melted tweenaged hearts. Of course as a tenth grader, he’d never given her the time of day and she’d been far too shy to even say boo to him, but she’d been besotted. Jorgie sighed. She’d been getting it wrong with the opposite sex ever since.

Wonder what ever happened to him? Then she remembered something her brother Keith had told her in passing after his ten-year high school reunion the previous fall. He’d heard Quint had been stationed in Afghanistan, but that he’d recently left the air force and was working for some private airline. That did not sound like a conventional guy.

“Yeah.” Avery tapped her temple with an index finger. “Quint Mason. That’s him. This trip is just like that. You have the chance to grab life by the throat and really live.”

“But is an erotic destination vacation really the answer?”

“Look at this.” Avery snatched the Eros brochure from her hand and shook it under her nose. “Look at all the opportunities you’d be running away from.” Her friend flipped through the pages, reading the copy as she went. “Learn the sex secrets every courtesan knew. Find out how to hold men completely in your thrall. Dance the seductive dance that brought kings to their knees. Become an exotic woman of pleasure.”

Embarrassment heated Jorgie’s cheeks. She snatched the brochure back and stuffed it inside her purse. “Shh, someone will hear you.”

Avery shrugged. “So what? I’m not ashamed.”

“There are kids around.”

“Hey, I’m not their mother. It’s not my job to censor their exposure to life.”

“Maybe not, but you don’t have to announce to the entire airport where we’re going.”

“Seriously,” Avery said, “don’t run away. This is your chance to show that dork Brian that you’re anything but conventional. And where does he get off calling you conventional? You two met at an accountants’ conference, for crying out loud. He’s just as conventional as you, or he was before he—”

“But I am conventional.”

“Conventional is as conventional does.”

“Huh?”

“It’s something my grammie says.”

“Your grammie says ‘conventional is as conventional does’?”

“No, she says ‘pretty is as pretty does,’ I just substituted conventional, but the advice still applies.”

“It doesn’t make sense either way.”

“Sure it does. Act pretty and you’ll be pretty. Act conventional and you’ll be conventional. Act unconventional and—”

“I get your drift.”

“So stop having cold feet. Actually, stop thinking. You think too much, Jorgie.”

“And you don’t ever look before you leap, Avery.”

“But I have a lot more fun than you do.”

Jorgie sighed. True enough. “You know this is just a variation of the same conversation we’ve been having for twenty years.”

“I’m the accelerator…” Avery said, starting the quote their mothers spoke over their heads as they’d played in the sandbox together. Avery was the kid who flung herself headfirst down the slide. While Jorgie was the crying girl who hovered on the top rung of the ladder, too scared to climb back down, too fearful to take the plunge.

“And I’m the brake,” Jorgie finished.

“We balance each other out. It’s the secret to our lifelong friendship.” Grinning, Avery slung her arm over Jorgie’s shoulder.

Avery’s grin bolstered her sagging confidence. The truth was, she didn’t know what she’d do without her. Avery had such a life force. Whenever she was around her, Jorgie felt stronger, braver, more adventuresome. What few risks Jorgie had taken were due solely to her best friend’s influence. Avery was like an exuberant leader, barreling her way through life on her magnetic charm and sheer good luck.

“Your turn.” Avery elbowed her forward.

Shoulder muscles tensed tight as a wire, Jorgie stepped up to the kiosk and inserted her credit card. Ready or not, this was going down.

“While you’re doing that,” Avery told her, “I’m going up to the ticket counter.”

“Huh? What for?”

“Never you mind. I’ll be right back.” Avery raised her hand over her head and gave Jorgie a backward wave. She sashayed over to the ticket counter, her low-slung jeans and cropped cotton T-shirt revealing a peek at the vivid ink art decorating her lower spine. Jorgie would never ever have the courage to get a tattoo, but as much as Avery’s audacity shocked her, she also admired it.

The ticket kiosk spit out Jorgie’s boarding pass.

It was confirmed. She and Avery were on their way to Venice to learn how to make love like courtesans. Not that Avery needed sex lessons—the woman kept more men dangling on the string than she could count—but her friend could definitely do with a dose of the courtesans’ famed discretion.

Okay, all right, she would do this. She needed this. It was time she stopped playing it safe. Brian was right. She was too conventional. She could do this as long as she had Avery beside her.

Speaking of Avery, where in the heck had she gotten to?

Ticket in one hand and her carry-on clasped in the other, Jorgie spun away from the kiosk. She was so busy searching the crowd for her friend that she didn’t see the man barreling down on her until it was too late. She tried to zigzag, but that only made things worse.

Wham!

They collided in a tangle of arms and legs and rolling leather luggage.

“Miss, are you okay?” His voice was as deep as Phantom Lake, where her parents owned a summer cottage.

His hands were on her shoulders, steadying her. That’s when Jorgie realized she was on the floor and her skirt had flipped up, revealing way too much of her thighs. She yanked her skirt to her knees and darted her gaze to his face. Had he noticed?

The slick, knowing grin said, oh, yeah, he’d noticed.

And she was noticing for the first time just how extremely handsome he was. The stuff of daydreams. Chiseled jaw. Neatly trimmed thick, wavy brown hair. Mischievous cocoa-colored eyes. A slightly crooked nose that told her it had been broken at one time, but that kept him from being too damned gorgeous.

She felt like fleeing. Jorgie gulped, stared. Say something, dummy.

“Hey,” he said. “Don’t I know you?”

It surprised her that he’d use such a tired line. He looked as if he would know all the cutting-edge come-ons. She frowned, shook her head, unable to speak against the weight of his warm, distracting hand upon her shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, sure I do. I used to hang out with your brother Keith, when my family lived in Burleson. It’s Quint, Quint Mason. Remember me?” He extended a hand.

Quint Mason? Was it possible? Here? Now? She stared, stunned by coincidence and the power of his presence.

His hand stayed outstretched, the smile firmly hung on his lips.

She almost laughed. Not because there was anything funny, but to help relieve her nervous tension. What else could she do? She had to accept his help.

His hand was warm and hard and friendly, just like the man himself. Gently, he tugged her to her feet.

She felt oddly absurd, as if she’d stumbled down an Alice in Wonderland rabbit hole. “Umm…umm…” she stammered.

“Janie, is it? No, wait…” He snapped his fingers. “Jorgie. It’s Jorgie, right?”

Happiness flowed over her. Mutely, she nodded. He’d remembered her name.

“You’ve changed,” he said, giving her the once-over with an appreciative light dancing in his eyes. She wasn’t the only one who’d changed. He’d gone from lean and lanky to muscular and broad-shouldered. “No more braces.”

Her body flushed hot at his appraisal. “I got them off when I was a sophomore.”

“No more pigtails.” His hand went to her hair, his fingertips briefly skimming her neck.

Goose bumps set up camp on her forearms, and her breathing grew so shallow she was practically panting. “Left those behind with the private school uniform,” she managed to say.

“You don’t have library books clutched in your arms. Did you lose your love of reading?”

“Nope. Nothing’s changed there, but I’ve upgraded to an e-book reader. Got it stashed in my purse for the plane ride.”

“And you lost the glasses. LASIK or contact lenses?”

“LASIK,” she said.

“Me, too.”

“It’s amazing you recognized me at all.”

“Those eyes are the same.” He nodded as if speaking the wisdom of the ages. “So deep blue that they’re almost purple. Like a Colorado mountain stream. Not many people in the world have eyes like that. The minute I looked into them, I knew it was you.”

He remembered her.

She shouldn’t have found the idea so thrilling, but she did. Her junior high crush remembered her. Her heart did a crazy little rumba.

Oh, just stop it. You’re being silly.

“You know,” he said. “I’d love to stop and talk. Catch up on old times…”

What old times? She hadn’t spoken ten words to him the entire year he’d lived in Burleson and hung out with her brother. She’d been far too shy.

“Find out what Keith is up to these days, but…” He glanced at his watch. “I’m late for work. Maybe we could hook up later.” His comment had been mildly made, but it threw her off to think of meeting up with him again.

“Maybe.” She breathed hopefully even as her brain churned cruel taunts. Get a grip. He’s not interested in you. He’s just being polite. Why would a guy like him be interested in you? He’s traveled the world over. Been in the military. Probably been with dozens—maybe even hundreds—of women. He’s seen and done things you could never dream of. You could never hold the attention of a guy like that. If you couldn’t hold on to someone as bland as Brian, you don’t have a prayer with Quint.

He pulled a card from the pocket of his houndstooth sport jacket—he just had to be a snappy dresser, as well as good-looking—and passed it over to her. “Give me a call when you get back in town.”

Yeah, right. She’d find the courage to do that about the same time hell froze over. Still, she palmed the card, clutched it tight.

“See ya.” He picked up his carry-on, raised a hand in farewell and took off.

Stunned, Jorgie felt as if she’d been clipped in a drive-by. What was that?

“Omigod, who’s the hottie?” Avery asked as she sidled up to Jorgie. Simultaneously, they both cocked their heads to watch Quint walk away, the fabric of his slacks molding to his butt. They sighed in unison.

“That,” Jorgie explained, “was Quint Mason.”

“Quint Mason of Spin The Bottle fame? Get outta town.” Avery gave her a playful shove.

Jorgie pointed to her luggage. “I’m working on it.”

Avery giggled. “You know what I mean. This is incredible.”

“How so?”

“Seriously. It’s kismet, fate, serendipity. I mean we were just talking about him and poof…here he is. What are the odds?”

“Well, actually,” Jorgie said, her mathematical accountant’s mind kicking in, “the probability isn’t as slim as you might think, given that Quint works in the airline industry and DFW is the biggest airport in the state. He probably passes through here every morning on his way to work.”

“Yeah, but what are the odds that you’d be standing here when he sauntered by?”

“I could do a statistical analysis if you wanted…”

Avery plastered her palms over both ears. “No, no, please spare me. Numbers make my head explode.”

“It’s really just like that phenomena where you decide to buy a certain kind of car—”

“Spyder, I want a Spyder.”

“You decide to buy a Spyder,” Jorgie played along, “and suddenly everywhere you look the place is crawling with Spyders.”

“Pun intended?”

“You know me. I can’t resist wordplay.”

“You can’t resist anything brainiacish.”

“Anyway…” Jorgie ignored that comment. “If we hadn’t been talking about Quint, then I probably would never have noticed him. He would have walked right on by. Just like if you weren’t dying to own a Spyder, you wouldn’t notice every single one of them that drove past.”

“Except that he didn’t walk right on by, he ran smack-dab into you.”

“You saw that?”

“The whole airport saw it.”

Jorgie winced. She hated being the center of attention and nothing embarrassed her more than public humiliation. Unlike Avery, who courted the spotlight with glee.

“Don’t obsess about it,” Avery said, accurately reading her. “No one cares that your skirt was practically up around your waist.”

Jorgie groaned.

“Look at the bright side. At least you don’t wear thongs. Come on. Let’s get through security before the line gets any longer. Our plane starts boarding in fifteen minutes.”

Avery was right. No point obsessing over something she couldn’t change. She needed to live in the moment. Get fired up about her trip. She was going to Venice. What more could a woman ask for?

By the time they were through the checkpoint and found their gate at Eros Air, boarding was already in progress.

“Hey,” Avery said, nudging Jorgie in the side. “Isn’t that your guy?”

“What guy?”

“Mr. Handsome over there by the gate attendant.”

Jorgie focused on the jetway. Sure enough, it was Quint Mason getting on the plane. Her plane. To Venice. What was he doing on her plane? Quint had said he was late for work. Did he work for Eros? Was he a pilot, or a navigator, or a flight attendant? But he wasn’t in uniform.

Jorgie frowned and looked at her ticket. “Are we at the right gate?”

“E37. That’s you.”

She focused back on Avery. “What do you mean, that’s me?”

“This is your gate.”

“My gate?” She raised an eyebrow.

Avery shifted her weight. “My gate’s at E34.”

“Your gate?” She sounded like a parrot.

“I decided at the last minute I’d rather go on the Make Love Like A Movie Star tour. I’m going to Hollywood.”

Avery’s statement shocked her so much Jorgie didn’t immediately register what she’d said. “Huh?”

“I’m going to Hollywood,” she repeated.

“That’s what you were doing at the ticket counter? Changing your destination?”

Avery had the good grace to look ashamed. “Yes.”

“And they just let you switch like that?”

“I had to pay a fee, but, yeah.”

Jorgie felt as if she’d been slapped across the face. “What’s going on? Why didn’t you tell me? I would be just as happy going on the movie star tour. Let’s go back and swap my ticket over.”

“Um, I kinda, sorta, wanted to go alone.”

Dismay sucked all the anticipation out of her. “But…but…” Jorgie sputtered. “This whole Eros vacation was your idea. You told me to spread my wings, to claim my sexuality and show Brian that I could be as unconventional as…as…”

Avery placed a hand on Jorgie’s shoulder. “And that’s what you’re going to do.”

“Not without you I’m not.”

“Jorg, we’ve gotta cut the cord sometime. I can’t keep being your id. You gotta learn how to develop your own sense of fun.”

“Well, that sounds all great and everything,” Jorgie said, still stunned by the turn of events. She’d never expected Avery to pull something like this. Sure, her friend was spontaneous and free-spirited and, okay, she could be irresponsible at times, but she’d never betrayed Jorgie before. “But who’s going to be your brake?”

“That’s just it. This time, I wanna freefall. No brakes, no parachutes, nothing to hold me back.”

Jorgie gaped openmouthed. “I…I…never knew you felt this way. I thought we balanced each other out. I thought that was why our friendship worked so well.”

“Listen, it’s not the end of the world,” Avery said in a perky voice as if she wasn’t about to cut the cord with a pair of giant metaphorical scissors. “We’re simply taking separate vacations.”

“I would never have agreed to the trip if I’d known you were going to bail on me.” Jorgie fisted her hands.

“I know.” Avery smiled. “It’s the reason I had to pull a stunt like this. I hope you’ll forgive me for the subterfuge.”

Betrayal had an ugly taste, bitter and hard. “Don’t do this. You can switch your ticket back. I’ll pay for the fee. Please.”

“Time to pull up your big-girl panties, Jorgie.” Avery hoisted her knapsack onto her shoulder. “Ciao.”

“You can’t…You’re not…Avery, don’t leave me.”

“You’re too dependent on me, kiddo.”

Her friend was right. She sounded so desperate. She felt desperate, too. Her life had been unraveling ever since Brian left her and now Avery was leaving her, too. “Please…”

“You can do this. I have faith. We’ll call each other every day and share our experiences.”

“Ave…” Jorgie was finding it hard to breathe. A tumult of emotions clogged her lungs. She felt scared and betrayed and angry and, strangely enough, just a little bit excited. She’d never done anything on her own. She and Avery had roomed together in college, and then afterward she’d met Brian and they’d moved in together. Then after Brian had left, Avery rented Jorgie’s spare bedroom. She’d never lived alone. Never traveled alone.

“Final boarding call for Eros Air flight 692,” said a voice over the loudspeaker.

“Go on.” Avery gave her a gentle shove toward the jetway. “This is for your own good.”

“I…”

“Spread your wings, Jorgie. Flout convention. Fly. Go to your destiny.” Then with that parting advice, Avery turned and scurried away. Quickly, the crowd swallowed her up.

Jorgie stood frozen, her heart pounding madly. The gate agent looked at her expectantly, hand outstretched to receive her boarding pass.

She locked eyes with the woman and the life-changing events of the last few weeks washed over her. Getting dumped by Brian for essentially being too timid, getting passed over for a promotion at work because she wasn’t aggressive enough (a direct quote from her boss), the decision to take Avery’s advice and sign up for an erotic fantasy vacation, unexpectedly meeting Quint Mason and then discovering he was on her flight. Was it kismet? Was serendipity at work here? Had the universe converged to plant her in this spot at this time under these conditions for a reason?

Jorgie wasn’t fanciful. She was an accountant. A cruncher of numbers. She liked things that made sense, and this romantic notion of destiny defied logic. And yet, here she was with the cosmic dominoes all lined up. Did she have the courage to knock them down?

“Miss?” the gate agent asked. “Are you boarding?”

It was now or never. Time to prove she could be bold and daring, or forever accept her fate as a shy, conventional woman who could never attract the attention of someone like, say…Quint Mason.

Jorgie raised her chin and slapped her ticket into the gate agent’s hand. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I am.”

2

Keep your heart unfettered and your fingers nimble

—Make Love Like Casanova

WELL, WELL, WELL, little Jorgie Gerard had grown up quite nicely.

From his seat in the back of the plane, Quint Mason watched her board the Eros Air Bombardier CRJ200. She moved up the aisle, her carry-on bag clutched in her hand. His gaze tripped lightly over her lush curves. She hadn’t possessed a body like that thirteen years ago. He would have remembered.

Spellbound, he simply stared. The front of her silky, powder-blue blouse dipped, revealing just a hint of cleavage, but it was enough to cause instant sweat to bead on the back of his neck in the confines of the expensively decorated aircraft. She stopped a few rows ahead of him and looked down to double-check her seat assignment, and then she looked up again.

A ray of sunshine slanted through the open portal window, casting her in a bright surreal splash of yellow. For a whisper of a second, he could have sworn he heard harp music and the sound of angels singing. The woman who used to be his best friend’s shy little sister was bathed in a whole new light.

Her straight, chestnut-brown hair—swept back off her neck in a demure ponytail—glinted with red highlights. His fingers itched to reach up and pull that band from her hair and watch it tumble about her shoulders. She wore a knee-length skirt that was a darker shade of blue than her blouse and blue, matching sandals decorated with pink flowers. She looked like exactly what she was—the girl-next-door all grown up. The kind you took home to meet your parents. Marriage material. He’d do well to steer clear.

But even as the light shifted, dimmed, Quint couldn’t take his eyes off her and he didn’t know why.

Familiarity. She reminds you of a simpler time. That’s all. A missive from your past.

Still, his heart skipped a beat. That was odd. Usually the only time his heart misfired was when he drove his Corvette too fast or danced the tango or made love all night long. She was pretty, hell yeah, but certainly nothing extraordinary. Nothing to make him feel like this.

Still, there was something about the way she carried herself that clutched his gut and narrowed his focus to only her. She possessed a quality that called to something primal inside him. One thought snapped through his head hot as electricity.

Gotta have her.

Stupid, that impulse. It could lead nowhere but to big trouble. Quint lowered his eyelids, smiled slowly.

She sucked in her breath. He heard it all the way down the aisle. Quickly, she turned, reached for the overhead bin. In this private jet the bins were more lavish than on commercial liners, but she struggled to get her suitcase stuffed in.

Quint hopped from his seat. In one long-legged stride he was beside her. “Here, let me help you with that.”

For a second, she looked as if she might argue with him, but when he reached for the handle, she let go just as his fingers touched hers. He caught a whiff of her delicate perfume. And he was jonesing for something sweet.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice soft as a caress.

He was aware of a humming noise inside his brain, fraught with sexual energy. He stared at her lips, full and pink and shiny with gloss. His heart skipped another beat. What was the deal here? Was he developing a heart condition?

Frowning, Quint ripped his gaze from her distracting lips and fell into the pool of her deep blue eyes. He just stood there staring, her suitcase raised over his head, the bag braced against the cargo bin and his forearms.

Snap out of it, Mason. A woman hadn’t left him this thunderstruck since high school.

“Is there a problem?” She lifted a hand to push back a tendril of hair from her face, the pink bracelets at her wrist jangling as they brushed against each other.

“Um…” Do something, don’t just stand there. The aisle was clogging up behind her. Immediate, he shoved her suitcase into the overhead bin and clicked it closed.

“Thank you,” she said, then sat down and snapped on her seat belt. She picked up the in-flight magazine and started flipping through it.

Not knowing what else do, he mumbled, “You’re welcome,” and went back to his seat.

Still feeling a bit off balance by the intensity of his attraction, Quint settled into his seat and mentally pried his mind off Jorgie and put it where it belonged.

On his job.

He was an air marshal on private security detail for the Lockhart Agency. For the last ten weeks, he and his fellow air marshals had been on assignment for Eros Airlines and Fantasy Adventure Vacations. The company’s catchphrase was Something Sexy In The Air, and they specialized in catering to a high-end clientele that didn’t mind spending money indulging their passionate sides.

But over the course of the past several months, the airline’s owner, Taylor Milton, had gotten anonymous threatening letters at the same time someone had been sabotaging her four international resorts. She’d been reluctant to take her problems to the police and risk adverse publicity. To keep things discreet, she’d hired the Lockhart Agency to protect her interests.

The air marshals were undercover, both on the planes and at the resorts. Quint’s cover identity was an instructor at the Venetian resort, teaching a daily course in How To Make Love Like Casanova. This was his third stint at the assignment. Quint had to admit he’d had a helluva good time, instructing men on how to be great lovers and flirting with the ladies to show off his skills. The only major drawback to the setup was the morality clause he’d been obligated to sign. No sex with the guests. For a sensualist like Quint, that was something of a challenge.

The sabotages had been fairly minor, mere inconveniences than anything else, until a month ago when someone had planted a small bomb at the Tokyo resort. The bomb had been found, the resort vacated and the explosive neutralized with no harm done, but clearly, the situation had escalated. Taylor Milton had beefed up security at the resorts and ever since then, there’d been no new occurrences and the threatening letters had stopped. It was eerie, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Quint noticed no one took the seat beside Jorgie, but otherwise, the plane was full. Once they were airborne, he sent a text to his coworker Jake Stewart, who was at this very moment boarding a plane to Los Angeles for Eros’s Make Love Like A Movie Star tour.

Any lookers? he typed into his BlackBerry.

Is that all you think about? Jake returned his text.

Quint laughed. Pretty much.

Casanova fits you to a T.

Get back on the horse, man. Jake had been divorced for over a year and as far as Quint knew he hadn’t dated. He’d been bugging him to let loose and just have a fling, but Jake was one of those Dudley Do-Right types who never broke the rules.

Two words, Jake texted back. Morality Clause.

So, any lookers?

Yeah.

That took him by surprise. Quint smiled. Yeah?

Not my type.

All the better.

Door’s closing. Later.

Chuckling, Quint put his BlackBerry away. The flight attendant was distributing drinks and he heard Jorgie order a Bloody Mary. After she’d been served her drink, he took the bottle of water the attendant gave him and slipped into the seat beside her. “Rough night?”

She looked startled to see him.

He nodded at her drink. “A Bloody Mary is a common hangover cure.”

“No.” She shook her head. “In fact, I rarely drink…”

“Fear of flying?”

“Not at all.”

“The mystery deepens. You don’t seem the type to drink alcohol at nine in the morning.”

“Precisely.”

“I’m not following you.”

“I’m doing things I wouldn’t normally do.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Bad breakup.”

“How do you know that?”

“You’re traveling alone and drinking Bloody Marys and headed to an Eros resort. Common cure for a bad breakup.”

“So you’re saying I’m a cliché?”

He shrugged, grinned.

“I wasn’t meant to be traveling alone. Actually my friend Avery was supposed to come with me, but at the last minute she changed her ticket, hopped on a plane to another Eros resort, leaving me holding the bag. I think I’m due for a Bloody Mary, don’t you?”

“Drink up. I’ll order you another.”

She looked at the water bottle in his hand. “You’re not drinking?”

“Not in the mood.” He kept grinning. “But you go right ahead.”

“That grin gets you laid a lot, doesn’t it?”

Whoa, he hadn’t expected that from the girl next door. His admiration shot up a notch. “I do all right.”

“You haven’t changed a bit since high school.”

“It doesn’t sound like a compliment the way you say it.”

“What’s not complimentary about being a twenty-nine-old man with a high school mentality?”

“Ouch, kitten. Withdraw the claws. I’m not the guy who done you wrong.”

“No, but you’re the one who decided to sit here. Better be prepared to take a little mortar fire or head back to where you came from.”

This was getting really interesting. Quint leaned back in his seat, buckled up his seat belt. He could do his job just as easily sitting here as in the last row. “It’s a long flight and I’m all ears.”

“You ever been engaged, Quint?” A disgruntled expression crossed her face and he found himself wishing he could hunt down the ex-boyfriend who’d dumped her and punch him out.

“Nope.”

“Ever come close?”

“Nope.”

“Ever want to get married?”

“Never crossed my mind.”

She took a sip of her Bloody Mary, pointed a finger at him. “Smart man.”

“So,” he said, quickly changing the subject. “How’s Keith? I saw him at our ten-year high school reunion and we had a few drinks. Shot the breeze, but we haven’t kept in touch since then.”

“Keith just got married, and he and his wife are expecting a baby girl in the fall.”

“No kidding. But he’s only…”

“Twenty-nine, same age as you.”

“Seems too young to be tied down.”

“He’s really happy.”

“Good for Keith.” A wistfulness swept over him. It seemed all his buddies were getting married, settling down. He didn’t get it. There was so much living to be done. You could get married and grow old anytime. But you were only young once.

“How’s your parents?”

“They decided to follow their bliss and moved to Santa Fe. Mom runs an art gallery. Dad takes tourists on guided deer hunts.”

“And your brother?”

“Gordy’s still in the air force. He’s gonna be just like Dad. Career military.”

“But not you?”

“Naw. I’ve never been much for having other people tell me what to do. The service wasn’t a natural fit. How about your parents?”

“They finally sold the house on Janie Lane, moved into a condo in downtown Fort Worth.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“After years of suburban living, they said they wanted to be where the action is.”

“I’m impressed. Paula and James living it up in Sundance Square.”

“Things change,” she said.

He raked his gaze over her, couldn’t stop himself from taking in the swell of her breasts beneath her blouse. “Yeah, they do. What are you up to these days? Keith told me you worked for a big accounting firm and that you’d gotten your CPA.”

“Still there.”

“Is it the only job you’ve ever had?”

“Other than working at Six Flags when I was sixteen.”

“Hey, Keith and I worked there one summer. At the ice cream emporium.”

“I remember. You got fired for giving free banana splits to pretty girls.”

“That memory of yours…” Quint shook his head, grinned. “It’s wicked dangerous.”

Their gazes locked and that same compelling zap that he’d felt when he bumped into her in the airport flashed through him again. What was this sudden, unexpected chemistry? She wasn’t the type he normally went for. He liked tall, supergorgeous, sleek blondes with legs to the ceiling and more boobs than brains. Jorgie was nothing like that.

“Tell me, what is it that you do?” she asked. “When you flattened me in the terminal you said you were late for work. I thought you must be a pilot or flight attendant or something.”

“I work for Eros,” he said.

She eyed him. “In what capacity?”

“I’m an instructor.”

An eyebrow rose on her forehead as if she didn’t believe him. “What kind of instructor? I never figure you for the professorial type.”

“I teach How To Make Love Like Casanova. The male counterpart to How To Make Love Like A Courtesan.”

Jorgie almost choked on her Bloody Mary. “You’re serious?”

“Yep.”

“What do you teach them?”

“The art of seduction.”

She giggled.

“Hey, it’s not that funny.” He pretended to look hurt. Hell, if a guy couldn’t laugh at himself, who could he laugh it? The Casanova thing was pretty goofy.

“Are you practicing your skills on me now?” she asked.

“On an old friend?” He made a “no way” face and shook his head.

“Really?”

“Scout’s honor.” He held up two fingers of his left hand.

“Then how come you’ve got your elbow at the level of my breasts? You counting on an accidental boob graze?”

“What? You think I have no finesse?”

“You can stop trying to look affronted and move your elbow.”

“You weren’t this prickly when you were thirteen,” he said, shifting his arm away from her breasts. He hadn’t been angling for an accidental boob graze, but now that she’d brought it up, it was all he could think about. He was so aware of her. The air seemed to vibrate between them.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“What?”

“I see you staring at my breasts.”

“And may I say what nice breasts they are?”

“Go on.” She waved at him with both hands. “Shoo. Go back to your seat.”

“You’re kicking me out of your row?”

“I am.”

“Heartless.” He shook his head, gave her his best grin.

“Go.” She pointed like he was a bad dog.

What had he done wrong? Quint wasn’t accustomed to being shown the door. Women just naturally liked him and he liked them.

“You’re serious?”

“Why do I get the feeling women rarely say no to you?”

“’Cause I know how to make love like Casanova?” He canted his head, tried his best to look adorable.

She snorted, rolled her eyes. “I’ve learned that guys who talk a good game usually do so in order to compensate for something.” Then she very pointedly glanced at his crotch.

“Low blow. You really know how to hurt a guy, Jorgie.”

“I bet you drive a sports car.”

“I do.”

“Let me guess, a heartbreaker red Corvette.”

“How did you know?”

“Overcompensating.”

“Ouch, ouch, ouch.”

“Do you have gigantic speakers on your music system?”

“Huh?”

“The music system in your house. Do you have gigantic speakers?”

“I’m scared to answer that.”

“I’ll take it as a yes.”

“Now I’m beginning to get a clue as to why your boyfriend bailed. You have no idea how to have fun.” The minute he said it, Quint could have bitten off his tongue as the teasing light evaporated from her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he amended. “That was out of line. I didn’t mean it. You just had me on the ropes with the overcompensating thing and I came up swinging.”

“It’s okay,” she said more cheerfully than he expected. “You’re right. Brian left me for that very reason, because I didn’t know how to relax and have fun. That’s why I’m here.”

A rush of sympathy passed through him. “You’re going to be okay, Jorgie,” he said. “Everyone gets their heart broken.”

“Even you?”

“Well.” He chuckled. “I’ve managed to escape that fate so far, but most everyone else goes through it.”

“So you’re absolutely no help at all as a shoulder to cry on.”

“Maybe not.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “But I could provide the comic relief.”

“Maybe later,” she said, sliding closed the shade over the window portal. “Now if you’ll excuse you, I’m going to take a nap.”

All righty, then. Quint knew when he’d been summarily dismissed.

THANK HEAVENS she’d gotten rid of him. Relief leaked from Jorgie in a long-held sigh. The last thing she needed right now was her schoolgirl crush going all Casanova on her.

What do you mean? She could hear Avery’s voice in her head. That’s exactly what you need. A fine fling with someone you know and trust. Why were you being so prickly with him?

Why? Because the man scared the pants off her. She’d had him tucked away in her mental keepsakes drawer, along with all her other teenage heartthrob fantasies. In her mind he’d been as unobtainable as a rock star and suddenly, poof, he’d been sitting in the seat beside her.

Another troublesome aspect was the fact that thirteen years later, he looked better than ever. And he’d been flirting with her. Quint. The most handsome man she knew. Flirting with her, a woman whose looks were average at best.

You’re only average-looking because you don’t make much of an effort. Wear more makeup and jewelry, spend more money on your haircut, and get some sexy clothes.

“Get out of my head, Avery,” she grumbled under her breath. “You took off and left me, now leave.”

“Excuse me?” said the flight attendant, leaning over the empty seat beside her that still smelled of Quint’s outdoorsy cologne. “Did you need something?”

“No, nothing, thanks.” Embarrassed at being caught talking to herself, Jorgie ducked her head.

Okay, clearly she had to make a decision. She and Quint were going to be at the same resort for two weeks. And obviously—although for the life of her, she didn’t know why—he seemed attracted to her. So, did she just go with it? Expand her sexual horizons, fulfill her youthful fantasies, or did she let the past stay buried and keep away from him?

Once upon a time, it would have been a no-brainer. She knew she wasn’t Quint’s type. He liked fast cars and even faster women. By his own admission, he’d never had his heart broken; by the process of elimination that made him the heartbreaker.

Unless…whispered Avery’s voice.

Unless what?

You take full of advantage of him and this vacation. Let him be your love tutor, your rebound guy. That should be right up his alley.

She had to admit that the idea made perfect sense. It was an excellent solution to her post-Brian doldrums.

3

Movies are made for the voyeurs in us all

—Make Love Like a Movie Star

AVERY BODEL GOT OFF the plane in L.A. feeling freer than she’d felt in, well…forever.

Honestly, she loved Jorgie like a sister, but the girl was so stuck in her ways. Sometimes it was as if she were hanging out with an anchor. She did feel a little badly for having ditched her at the airport the way she did, but it was for Jorgie’s own good. It was high time she started having adventures of her own without using Avery as a crutch.

She stood around with the rest of the passengers at the private airstrip, waiting for her baggage to be unloaded from the Eros jet, when she saw him step off the plane. He must have boarded earlier than she had and been sitting in the back of the plane, because she certainly didn’t remember ever seeing the guy before and he was not someone you could miss.

If this had been a movie, this would be the point where the director cued the sensual music and brightened the spotlight to focus solely on the devilishly broody-looking man stepping off the plane.

Everything about him was dark. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark look on his face.

Avery’s heart thumped. Dude, now here was a man.

He wore faded black jeans with a hole in the right knee, a black Nirvana T-shirt that had been washed one too many times. He had on scuffed, scarred military boots and the beard stubble at his jaw declared that he hadn’t bothered with a razor in days. Some men might come across as scruffy and unkempt in such attire, but this guy simply sizzled.

Avery felt an instant stirring in her womb. This one would make a fine baby daddy. Immediately, she slapped the snooze button on her biological clock.

The last thing she wanted was anything—or anyone—tying her down. You couldn’t be footloose with a diaper bag hanging off your shoulder and a kid on your hip. She was only twenty-six. She had a lot more living to do before she settled down. As the oldest of five children, with her baby sister thirteen years younger, she knew all too well how kids consumed your life.

She gave herself a mental shake, but she couldn’t stop staring at the guy. He possessed a keep-your-distance aura that made her itch to crowd his personal space. He stepped from her view behind a large man and it was only when she felt her shoulders sag that she realized how tense she’d been.

The attendants set suitcases on the tarmac and everyone gathered around to claim their luggage. Avery and Mr. Broody Loner reached for the same black travel bag at the same time. She got there first, but his hand quickly closed over hers.

His touch was warm and firm and disturbing. Goose bumps spread up her arm.

“That’s my bag,” he said, his deep, evocative voice underscoring the authoritative expression on his face. His rugged good looks produced a persona of unadulterated, masculine allure that could turn a vulnerable woman looking for a little excitement into a mindless pile of quivering flesh. Good thing she wasn’t the quivery, vulnerable type.

“No.” She stood her ground. “No, it’s not. That’s my bag.”

“It’s mine,” he said. “And I can prove it.”

Before she could react, he reached for the zipper and, in one smooth movement, unzipped the bag, just as she yanked on the handle. Immediately, an array of brightly colored thong panties, push-up bras, racy negligees and sex toys spilled out onto the tarmac.

Instantly, his face bloomed red. “Um…um…”

“It’s okay to say, ‘I’m wrong.’” Avery wrinkled her nose and tossed him a smug smile. If Jorgie were here she’d be mortified. As it was, Avery was having a bit of fun.

His mouth dropped open. “These…” He swept a hand at her sexy lingerie. “This is…”

“Mine,” she said firmly, not the least bit embarrassed to have the contents of her naughty drawer strewn around for everyone to see. She wasn’t ashamed of her sexuality. “And I do accept your apology, Mr….”

He laughed then, a rusty noise that sounded as if he didn’t use it often. “Stewart,” he said. “Jake Stewart.”

She stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Jake. I’m Avery, Avery Bodel.”

He shook her hand with a steady grip and the sweet zap to her solar plexus turned her inside out. “Sorry about unzipping your bag. I could have sworn it was mine.”

“Well, you know you’re going to have to make it up to me,” she said audaciously. No one had ever accused Avery of being subtle.

“Sure, sure.” He went down on one knee, started plowing through the plethora of panties, bras, teddies, camisoles and bustiers scattered over the ground. Red, black, white, green, purple. Silk, satin, lace. “You got stock in Victoria’s Secret?”

“I should, considering all the money I spend in their stores.”

“Do you have any regular clothes?”

“They’re in my garment bag.”

“Ah.” Gingerly, he picked up a vibrator, and then he met her gaze with one eyebrow cocked on his forehead.

“Don’t judge,” she said, and snatched it from him. “A girl doesn’t always have access to a fellow who’s ready, willing and able.” She was charmed to see the tops of his ears burn beet-red. She’d rattled a guy who seemed unshakeable.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Just because a woman can get a guy, it doesn’t mean she wants him.”

“Does anything embarrass you?” he asked.

“Not much.”

“Clearly,” he said, stuffing the last of her undergarments back in the bag and zipping it securely shut.

“I’ve decided how you’re going to make it up to me,” she said, enjoying this immensely.

He looked uneasy. “How’s that?”

“You’re taking me out to dinner tonight.” And with that parting remark, she gathered up her bags and sashayed away.

JAKE WATCHED HER GO, feeling as if he’d been caught in an avalanche.

Avery Bodel was a force of nature. She was too bold for his tastes. Too bold by half, but there was something about her that was compelling. It was in her sassy walk and her silk-smooth voice. He smelled it in her scent—earthy, spicy, real. He felt it on his skin where she shook his hand. Pure energy, forceful and compelling. And he saw it in the swing of her long dark purple hair and in that sassy little ink art peeking between the top of her low-rise jeans and the hem of her T-shirt.

The sight of that tattoo hardened his cock and startled the hell out of Jake. He hadn’t had such a powerful reaction to a woman in a long time. Not since Amanda had left him. Not since before Afghanistan.

At the thought of the war he’d left eighteen months ago, Jake grabbed up his bag filled with camera equipment and followed the rest of the group toward the waiting bus that would take them to the Eros resort nestled in the Hollywood Hills.

Normally, he didn’t let himself get distracted from his work, but a woman like her could make any man forget his own name. And he didn’t like it. Not one damned bit. He got the feeling she had only one speed and that was balls to the wall. He wondered if she slowed down for anything.

The idea of finding out held far too much appeal. He wasn’t about to take her out on a date. Miss Bodel was going to find herself sadly disappointed if she thought she could just say the word and he’d fall right into line. Obviously, she was accustomed to wrapping men around her little finger, but she hadn’t counted on Jake Stewart. Nobody told him what to do. Not anymore. Not since he’d left the air force.

What if she’s the saboteur who’d been messing around with Taylor Milton’s resorts?

Jake canted his head, watched her boobs bounce jauntily as she mounted the steps to the bus. His boss, Dougal Lockhart, had told him to suspect everyone. Guests, employees, even resort security. No one was above suspicion. And Jake was damned good at watching, which was why he liked looking at the world from behind the lens of a camera.

His talent at video photography was the reason why Dougal and Taylor had decided his skills would be best suited to an undercover assignment at the Hollywood resort, making people’s voyeuristic fantasies come true at the same time he provided undercover scrutiny for Eros.

Some of the other air marshals at The Lockhart Agency seemed to dislike their undercover assignments; Jake however, found himself enjoying the opportunity to go behind the camera and watch the world from that angle. He learned more from watching people than from conversing with them. Even when he was around others, being behind the camera gave him a sense of aloneness and privacy that he prized. It also allowed him the opportunity to process his feelings and impressions.

Could Avery Bodel be a saboteur? Nah, highly unlikely. She didn’t have a poker face. Or a poker body for that matter. He’d seen the flare of sexual interest in her eyes and he certainly noticed the way her nipples beaded under her bra when they’d touched. His instincts told him that with this woman, what you saw was what you got.

Then again, Samson never suspected Delilah and look what happened to him.

Forcing aside thoughts of the spunky Miss Bodel and her luscious body, Jake boarded the bus for the trip to the Eros resort.

He felt an itch to take a camera from the bag and start filming Avery, just so he could figure out what he thought about her. He splayed a palm to the back of his neck. Stop thinking about her. He had a job to do and he didn’t let anything get in the way of his work. Not even a delicious morsel like Avery.

They arrived at the resort and got checked in. Jake enjoyed seeing the guests’ reaction to the over-the-top glitz and glamour of the resort. It put him in mind of an R-rated version of the MGM Grand in Las Vegas. Lavish fountains, sexy movie posters, provocative music piped in through the sound system, clips of erotic scenes being played out on television monitors scattered throughout the resort. As guests checked in, 9 1/2 Weeks was on.

He walked up to Avery, who was in line for the registration desk. “About that date—”

“Pick me up at eight,” she said. “And take a razor to your chin. I’m not a fan of stubble burn.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re bossy as hell?”

“All the time.” She batted her lashes.

“Yeah, well, this dog doesn’t jump when you snap your fingers. Sorry, I’m otherwise occupied. I can’t make the date.”

She didn’t appear the least bit perturbed. “You’re standing me up?”

“I am.”

“I can see why you’re not married.”

“How do you know I’m not married?”

“For one thing, no ring. For another thing, I asked the bus driver.”

“You asked about me?”

“Of course. If we’re going to be dating, I have to know you’re not married. I don’t date married men. I got burned once, never again.”

“We’re not dating.”

She simply smiled at him and stepped up to the registration desk as the clerk called, “Next in line.”

“We’re not,” he repeated.

“Uh-huh,” she said mildly.

God, but the woman was irritating. He wasn’t going to stand here and argue with her. He already had an assigned bungalow. He didn’t have to wait in line. Shouldering his bag, he stalked off and he could swear he heard her giggling behind him.

Irritated, he headed for the back exit, wondering what it was about the woman that had gotten under his skin. He didn’t like feeling this way. Emotions were messy, troublesome things. He preferred to keep himself above the fray. And now this woman had him squelching emotional impulses right and left.

He let himself into the bungalow decorated to replicate a 1940s era movie set and dumped his bag on the metal table. The table had a green Formica top that reminded him of the one that used to sit in his grandmother’s kitchen. Then he took his gun from the holster strapped to his leg and laid it beside the camera bag. He made a quick call to check in with the Lockhart Agency. After that, he moved toward the bathroom. He liked cool showers after a long flight.

But he never made it to the shower. As he passed through the bedroom, he noticed the blinds were open. He moved across the black-and-white tiled floor to draw them closed. Always the watcher, he peeked outside first.

In the bungalow across the way, the blinds were open, as well. The distance between the two dwellings wasn’t more than three feet and he could see right inside the other bedroom.

What he saw froze him to the spot with his hand wrapped around the swivel rod of the blinds. His cock hardened, rising up to strain against the zipper of his jeans.

In the bedroom next door, Avery Bodel was stripping off her clothes right in front of the open window. Her back was to him as she pulled her shirt over her head and gracefully tossed it to the floor. Her hands went to the clasp of her bra, and she slowly undid each eye hook. He could see the ink art on her lower back, a simple dark blue design of tangled vines.

Watching her, his throat convulsed. She slipped off the bra and turned slightly, giving him a side view of her perfect breasts. Not too big, not too small, just the right size. She unsnapped her jeans and shimmied them off, leaving her standing there in nothing but a spectacular red satin thong. His cock throbbed painfully.

He should snap the blinds closed or step away from the window, but he couldn’t make himself move. Nothing could wrench his gaze away from the glory of her feminine curves.

She reached up to pull her hair into a ponytail and secure it high on her head with a band. Her complexion was flawless, but he found himself grinning when he spied the cute little dimple in the center of her right butt cheek.

Jake gulped. Turn away. Turn away.

But he did not. Could not.

She lifted one long, lean leg up to the corner of the bed, then leaned over to peel off her sock, then repeated the action with her other leg.

His breath was coming in hot, raspy gasps. All the muscles in his body tensed. A groan slipped from his lips and his fingers tightened as he imagined sinking them into the sweet flesh of her rounded bottom and holding on for dear life as he pumped into her.

With her back still to him, she hooked her index finger through the tiny little scrap that constituted her panties and slowly inched the material down, wriggling her hips seductively.

His erection was blinding hard. He couldn’t even think, much less breathe. Sweat beaded his forehead from the desire boiling his blood.

Then she turned, head down as she kicked off her panties, giving him a full and unobstructed view of her. Those perfect breasts sported pert pink nipples. A golden ring glinted at her navel. That sweet patch of hair just above her sex told him she was a natural blonde through and through.

She raised her head, stared right into his bedroom window and slyly winked just before she reached out and shuttered the blinds.

4

Initially, withholding affection heightens longing

—Make Love Like a Courtesan

VENICE WAS an architectural symphony. A simmering fantasy of mist and sunshine. A meandering labyrinth of pathways, bridges and canals. A sweet poem of complex dreams.

Jorgie had often daydreamed of visiting the most romantic city on earth. She’d visualized herself strolling the cobblestone streets, gliding the waterways in a graceful gondola, shopping in the popular Rialto district. She imagined she would stop to watch artisans expertly practice the art of blowing glass or mask-making. She’d thirsted to drink Bellinis at a sidewalk café. And she’d thought about kissing Brian on the Bridge of Sighs.

Well, so much for that last part. But she didn’t need a man to enjoy Venice. She was young and alive and even though she was scared, she felt a perfect thrill she’d never felt before. It was a delicious combination of curiosity, optimism, hope and excitement. She was on her own in a foreign country and it felt good. Avery had been right. She did need to go it alone for once in her life.

The group arrived via vaporetto, a water taxi sardined with Eros guests, and by the time they reached the resort, Jorgie was already in love. How had she managed to live twenty-five years without visiting this special place?

The guests were met at the lavish resort—a restored Venetian palace once occupied by royalty—by Eros employees costumed in period clothing from the Italian Renaissance. She found herself searching for Quint in the crowd, but she didn’t see him. The bite of disappointment was unexpected. She didn’t recall seeing him on the vaporetto, either.

She checked in and turned to go to her room when she spied Quint and her heart went all wonky again.

He was dressed like an eighteenth-century nobleman, in rich fabrics and lush colors of the time. He seemed taller than he’d been on the plane, his eyes sharper, his presence wholly regal. His personality filled the room. His jovial laugh, as he said something to the dozen or so women who collected around him, slid slickly off the thick stone walls.

Here he was, Casanova in the flesh. He glanced over the heads of the other women, caught her gaze and offered a lopsided smile meant only for her.

The other women gaped at him with dumbstruck expressions on their faces, as if the heavens had opened up and he’d come tripping down the stairs just for them. They hung on to his every word. Groupies.

Who knew he had groupies?

Although she longed to join the flock, something inside of Jorgie would not let her puddle at his feet. Yes, he was good-looking. Yes, his smile stirred her soul. Yes, she’d had a crush on him when she was thirteen. Yes, she wanted to kiss him so badly she couldn’t breathe, but she sure as heck was not going to let him know that. And be like all the others? No way. She had her pride.

She turned, headed toward the exit.

“Jorgie,” he called.

Well, she couldn’t very well ignore him now, could she? That would be rude. She stopped, turned back. “Quint, oh, hi, I didn’t see you there,” she lied nonchalantly.

“Excuse me, ladies.” He threw a smile and a wink to the women. Jorgie thought they were going to melt on the spot. “I need to speak to an old friend.”

He covered the distance between them, linked his arm through hers and pulled her into the corridor. “Thanks, shrimp.”

“Shrimp?” She arched an eyebrow.

“It’s what Keith and I used to call you.”

“I can’t believe you remembered that,” she said, feeling way more flattered than she should. He’d called her shrimp as a big brotherly term of affection. That meant he saw her as a little sister or an old friend, not a potential sex partner.

“Well…” He raked his gaze over her. “I shouldn’t use the nickname on you. It’s shrimp no more. You’re all grown up.”

“So what were you thanking me for?” she asked, glossing right over that comment.

He punched the button for the elevator. “Rescuing me from my adoring public.”

Jorgie snorted. “Hey, you can’t handle the adoration, don’t dress up like Casanova.”

“You have no idea what a huge burden it is,” he teased, and struck a preening pose. “Being such a sexy beast.”

Jorgie rolled her eyes. “Poor you.”

“You’re pitiless.”

“I don’t have much tolerance for nonsense—”

He nodded. “You’re good for me,” he said. “I need someone to call my bluff. I gotta admit, playing Casanova messes with your head.”

“Don’t blame Casanova. You were like that in high school and I have a feeling you’ve been like that ever since.”

He looked into her eyes. “What can I say? There’s nothing that makes life worth living like having a beautiful woman at your side. What room are you in?” he asked as the elevator opened and he got on with her.

She should have told him it was none of his business, but damn if that endearing grin of his didn’t slip past her defenses. “214.”

“The blue room.” He punched the elevator button for the second floor. “Lady Pompadour stayed there. Did you know she and Casanova were lovers?”

“Good for them.”

“You’re really hard to impress, you know that?”

“It’s all the number crunching. Tends to give one a ‘bottom line’ approach to life.”

Quint stepped back and stared boldly at her bottom.

“Mason,” she said sharply, using his last name to indicate she was displeased with his frisky behavior, but a small part of her was thrilled. It was the same part of her that had been secretly relieved when Brian had left.

“Gerard.” The elevator settled on the second floor with a ping and they got off together.

“You’re mocking me.”

He lowered his eyelids and slanted a sexy look her way. “It’s hard not to. You look so serious.”

“Here we are,” she said. “214. You’ve escorted me to my room, you can go now.” She slashed her key card through the computerized reader installed in the door handle and kneed the door open.

“Wait.” He touched her forearm.

Instantly, the hairs on her arms lifted. He said nothing for a moment. His gaze hooked on her. She forced herself to hold his stare. “Yes?” she whispered.

“Sit with me at dinner.”

“Why?”

“Fend off the she-wolves.”

“Don’t give me that. You love the she-wolves.”

“Okay, here’s the deal. You remind me of home. I don’t see my folks much. Gordy’s married with kids. I just wanted someone to talk to about old times.” He sounded so sincere.

But Jorgie didn’t trust it. She narrowed her eyes. “This isn’t some Casanova ploy to get me into bed, is it?”

“I’m shocked that you would suggest such a thing.” He feigned innocence. “Is it working?”

Yes. “No.”

“Come on,” he cajoled, his gaze caressing her face. “For old times’ sake?”

A shiver of awareness tripped down Jorgie’s spine, dueling madly with the part of her that wanted to invite him to join her in bed. She knew he was a playboy. It was clear he’d been well cast as Casanova, but she couldn’t stop the gut-level reaction that whispered “Go for it” into her ear.

The problem was that pesky high school crush. If he was just a good-looking guy interested in a good time, she might be willing go for it. He could very easily be her first casual fling. But there was that nagging infatuation that had had her doodling in her notebook, Mrs. Jorgie Mason, when she was thirteen.

She had two fears about that. One, what if she did have a fling with Quint and it turned out to be lousy? The sweet fantasy of him would be lost to her forever. Then there was the very real possibility that sex with him would be dynamic, unlike anything she’d ever experienced, and she’d fall in love with him all over again, while he blithely went on his merry way. She wasn’t in any emotional condition to deal with that.

“Pretty please?” He flashed her one of his trademark smiles and for a fraction of a second that devilish come-play-with-me grin had her on the edge of throwing caution to the wind. Then she thought about how he’d given her that same smile when he was sixteen just before he pulled a prank on her.

Still…he was right. They would both be eating dinner in the main dining hall with the tour group. Why not sit at his table? He had once been her brother’s best friend. It would be rude, wouldn’t it, to deny his request? Plus, they’d be in a public place. What could happen? Maybe he could even teach her a few tricks about how to have an affair while keeping her heart out of the fray of emotional involvement.

“All right,” she conceded, wondering what she was thinking. The cold shoulder she’d given him on the plane was really the only way to deal with a footloose guy like Quint, especially when she was feeling so vulnerable.

“See you at eight.” He winked and strolled out the door.

Jorgie stared after him, awash in the wake of his sexy aura. What in the devil had she just opened herself up for? She’d gotten what she’d come on this trip for. A date with a sexy man to help her forget about what had happened with Brian. But she hadn’t expected that man to be the same guy who’d once dominated her girlhood fantasies. A guy who made her feel both shivery and sweaty at the same time.

He’s not really interested in you, she reminded herself. It’s just the challenge. As long as you don’t get caught up in his charm, you’ll be fine. This is your chance for a true, no-strings sexual adventure. Grab it with both hands and hang on for dear life.

AN HOUR LATER, Quint was sitting in a plush leather chair in an equally plush office that made him antsy. He’d been summoned here by Taylor Milton herself, who’d just flown in on her private jet, and he couldn’t help wondering what he’d done wrong.

Taylor was thirty-four and looked exactly like what she was, an airline heiress. Five foot six, redheaded and sharp-eyed, a lithe package of ballerina grace and bulldog tenacity that had shot her to the top of an industry that had fallen on hard times. She’d taken her father’s plain vanilla commuter airline and turned it into the only adult-oriented airline/destination resort in the world. Quint had also noticed she was fair, but demanding. She wanted what she wanted when she wanted it. Nor was she a woman easily swayed by an easy grin. On that score, she reminded him of Jorgie.

As he sat there, his anxiety growing, his boss, Dougal Lockhart, walked through the door.

Uh-oh. The shit must have hit the fan if they were tag-teaming him. Quickly, he ran through his mind, trying to think how his behavior might have caused this meeting. The morality clause he’d signed for Eros forbade him from having sex with the guests, but it didn’t say a word about fellow employees. On his last tour here, he and Gwen, the woman who’d played the part of his Casanova conquest, had had a very good time together. Was that what this was about? He was enjoying his work too much?

Dougal stalked over and perched on the corner of Taylor’s desk.

“What’s up?” Quint asked, flashing his ready smile to abate his anxiety.

“Taylor’s received another threatening letter,” Dougal began. “And we’ve determined it was written on a computer at this resort. Unfortunately, it was from a computer in the Internet café, so anyone could have sent it.”

“There’s a log-in record,” Quint pointed out.

“Yes, but if the person leaves without signing out anyone can take their place and still be logged in under their name,” Taylor explained. “In fact, we suspect the perpetrator haunted the Internet café just waiting for someone who forgot to log out.”

Quint was getting the feeling someone had sent the e-mail under his name. He wracked his brain trying to think of the last time he’d used the Internet café. “So who did you trace it back to?”

“Gwen Kemp,” Dougal said.

“You think Gwen is in on the sabotage?”

Taylor shifted in her seat, picked up a pencil and drummed it against the top of her desk. “We don’t believe so. Dougal grilled her for over an hour and she does have airtight alibis for most of the sabotage incidents that have occured at the resorts over the course of the last several months.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ here,” Quint said.

“But,” Dougal supplied, “we can’t take any chances, so Gwen has been suspended until we can determine who sent the e-mail under her address.”

“You might never find out.”

“We’ll find out,” Dougal said firmly. “This crap stops now.”

“I agree. You got a copy of the e-mail?”

Dougal pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and passed it to Quint. He unfolded it and read the vitriolic message.

No more pussyfooting around, Princess, this is it. You’re going down in a big way. After I get through with you, you’ll be standing in line for food stamps. You think those air marshals you hired as security for your planes and resorts can protect you? They haven’t done much good so far, have they? I’ll hit when and where you least expect it. Nothing can stop me. Ciao for now.

“This is personal,” Quint said.

Dougal nodded solemnly. “We need to be hypervigilant.”

“Of course.”

“There’s also the matter of Gwen’s replacement,” Taylor said. “We don’t have time to hire and train another actress to play the part of your love conquest for the Casanova course.”

“You’re ditching the class.” Quint sat up straighter in his chair.

“No,” Taylor said. “We have thirty-seven men signed up for your course. Enrollment has skyrocketed since you took over the class, Quint.”

“I told you he was a natural-born charmer,” Dougal said.

“He’s hot,” Taylor agreed. “You have that nice blend of boyish charm and manly audacity that women thrive on. If you weren’t working for Dougal, I’d hire you in a heartbeat.”

Quint felt a twin surge of pride and embarrassment. Truth was, he enjoyed playing Casanova, but he was also a bit sheepish about it. He shrugged. “Aw, shucks, ma’am, it’s nothing.”

“See, right there.” Taylor pointed. “That’s what I’m talking about. You know you’re handsome but you have a way about you that says you don’t take it too seriously.”

“Life’s too short to take it seriously.”

“Exactly.”

“So if you’re not replacing Gwen with a new actress and you’re not canceling the course, who is Casanova going to demonstrate his seduction techniques on?”

“Me,” Taylor said.

Quint gulped. The woman scared him. “You?”

“I’m very happily married,” Taylor said. “I’m immune to your charms.”

“Maybe,” Quint protested, “but Casanova’s romance is going to look like the put-up job it is if anyone recognizes you.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Dougal asked.

He thought of Jorgie. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

Taylor leaned back in her chair. “I’m all ears.”

“An old friend of mine just happens to be staying at the resort,” Quint said. “I’ve known her since we were teenagers. We’re just friends, it’s never been anything more, and she’s here nursing a broken heart. I think she’d be the perfect person to play Casanova’s conquest.”

“Hmm.” Taylor studied him pensively. “It’s a thought.”

“Do you think she’ll do it?” Dougal asked.

“I’m having dinner with her tonight. I’ll ask,” he said, searching for anything to keep from having to try out Casanova’s power of seduction on Taylor.

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