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The staff
of Cheryl Harper’s Elvis-themed Rock’n'Rolla Hotel are back with a funny, fresh
romance that goes undercover—under the covers!
As a former
Marine, hotel manager Tony Ortega has plenty of experience assessing threats,
and the hotel’s newest guest, Randa Whitmore, is a code red. Tall, blonde, and
with legs for miles, she may look like his every fantasy, but he knows she’s
not really visiting for the famed Elvis Week. Though dangerously drawn to his
new guest, Tony will do anything to protect his job . . . especially if it
means sleeping with the enemy.
Business
strategist Randa Whitmore never meant to be undercover in Memphis. In August.
Sweating her expensive spa treatments away. But snagging another perfect hotel
location for her father’s empire means using all the tricks in her designer
arsenal. And even though the sexy, tattooed manager seems oblivious to her
charms, Randa’s prepared to bring out the big guns—just so long as she can stay
objective and out of Tony’s muscled arms. After all, it’s just business, right?
~~~~~
Name: Tony Ortega
Age: 34
Occupation:
Hotel manager for the Rock’n’Rolla Hotel
Physical Description:
Dark and almost-handsome Marine with a
tattoo on one arm who spends his time in the hotel uniform—Hawaiian shirt and
khaki pants—and manages to make it look good.
Likes:
Floppy bloodhounds, peace and quiet, old-fashioned
book stores and paperbacks of all persuasions, being needed, and long-legged
blondes.
Dislikes:
Long nights, bad dreams, war zones, lies,
princesses, clutter.
Relationship Status:
So very single.
Typical Friday Night:
Working the night shift behind the Rock’n’Rolla
Hotel’s front desk. Otherwise, he’s either killing the gym treadmill or somewhere
with his nose buried in a book.
Drink of Choice:
Ice water
Favorite Food:
The Viva Las Vegas hamburger, especially the
way a certain long-legged, blonde princess appreciates one.
Favorite Song:
He better say “Can’t Help Falling In Love” by
Elvis Presley.
Choice of Transportation:
Spotless pickup truck.
Boxers or Briefs:
Boxer-briefs.
Best Memory to Date:
Watching Randa Whitmore do a runway
strut across the hotel lobby wearing sky-high heels and tight jeans. If there’d
been a wind machine and metal song playing, it would have been his every
teenage dream.
Words to live by:
Semper fi.
More about Tony:
1. He loves books and a bloodhound named Misty. And he’s
keeping an eye on guest Randa Whitmore.
Randa Whitmore’s shoes had probably cost more than everything in
this apartment combined. Of course, when they looked like they did, thanks to
those crazy long legs, they were probably worth every penny. Might even be
priceless, like works of art. He had a feeling their appeal had a lot more to
do with the legs than the shoes. When she’d stretched her legs out to conquer the
lobby floor, one step and hip shake at a time, it had taken nearly all of his
self-control to keep his mouth from dropping open. Strong reactions like that
didn’t happen often, but he took it as another encouraging sign that the
numbness he felt was fading. At the same time, it scared him that a woman so
far from his type nearly had him drooling on the front desk.
Misty sighed heavily as she meandered in and rested her head
against the cushions by his feet.
He shook his head and lifted his feet out of her way. She crawled
up and circled three times before she curled into a ball and blinked sleepily
at him. There was something about the way those damn bows trembled and her soft
brown eyes focused on his face. Now he’d be contorted into an S but Misty was happy.
He scooted his feet under her head, muttering, “Silly dog, you should not be
this cute,” and felt some of the tension that came from too much time spent
with people—noisy, demanding, unpredictable people—ease.
2. He looks good in a
bathing suit. Very good.
“Was that an a-ha moment or a mosquito?”
Randa took a deep breath and opened her eyes to see Tony standing
next to the lounger.
Then she forgot every worry she’d ever had and most of everything
she knew.
Because if Tony lost his job running the Rock’n’Rolla Hotel, he
had a future in underwear modeling. His swim trunks rode low on his hips and
even though she’d seen swimsuits that showed a whole lot more of what a man was
working with, she’d never seen another man with a body like his.
In her experience, handsome men were either gym rats or couch
potatoes. She’d seen a lot of manscaping in her time too: hairless chests,
spray tans, and even hair plugs once upon a time.
Out of the Hawaiian shirt and khakis, Tony was perfectly
imperfect. His olive skin was lightly tan. Black ink swirled up his left arm.
This close she could make out the words “Semper Fi” and then what looked like
names, all in a simple script. She wanted to touch his tattoo, to trace her
fingers up his arm. She wanted to feel his skin. Black curls covered his pecs
and trickled to a thin line down his abdomen to disappear
into . . .
God, help me. Randa felt
the need to fan her face or stick her tongue out to pant. August in Memphis
might camouflage her reaction, but she hadn’t known heat until Tony stood in
front of her with no shirt on.
3. He knows when to seize
the moment.
“There’s this one other thing I’ve been dying to do.”
“Yes.” Randa nodded her head. She had no idea what it was, but she
was ready.
Tony squeezed his eyes shut for just a second. The sound he made
when he opened them again was somewhere between a laugh and a moan. Maybe it
was both. Randa understood exactly what that felt like.
He pressed forward to kiss her again, his hand a hot support
against the back of her head and his lips aggressively seductive. This time he
coaxed her lips open and teased her tongue with his. Each tentative touch sent
a shiver of awareness through her. She wanted to press her breasts against his
chest, get closer, so much closer, but the seat belt pinned her down. Her
breath was long gone when Tony ended the kiss, his breath coming in quiet pants
as he stared into her eyes, but when his hand rested on her knee she tried to
gasp. And when he touched her thigh, lightly rubbing his hand on bare skin, she
lost her mind.
She actually bit her lip to keep from moaning like a porn star.
Because a man touched her thigh. It was a little like she was back in high
school but so much hotter.
Seduced in front of a bookstore. Did it get any better? More
private, certainly. But better, no way.
~~~~~
Giveaway
~~~~~
Meet Cheryl
Whether
she's writing, reading, or just checking the items off of her daily to-do list,
small-town girl Cheryl Harper loves her romance mixed with a little laughter.
When she's not working, you will find her ignoring housework, cursing yard
work, and spending way too much time with a television remote in her hand.
http://cherylharperbooks.com/
http://www.avonromance.com/author/cheryl-harper
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Cheryl-Harper-Books/403271803087888
https://twitter.com/CherylHarperBks
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