Sweet Surrender, September 2010
Encounters
by Lori Wilde
Harlequin Blaze
Featuring: Bianca St. James; Madison Garrett
224 pages ISBN: 0373795653 EAN: 9780373795659 Mass Market Paperback
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"Good friends, cocktails, modern lingerie and a bet of celibacy..."
Reviewed by Mandy Burns
Posted August 16, 2010
Romance Erotica Sensual | Romance Contemporary
NIGHT WHISPERS: Bianca St. James refuses to
fall into the same trap as last summer, which is why she
put her $500 towards a bet with her friends that she can
last one month without falling in bed with a man. Using a
new lingerie product from her possible new client, Thomaz
Santos, they can monitor each other to help them from
crossing over the line. Going to Rio to put together an
American campaign to sell the lingerie is Bianca's second
chance to prove to her boss that she can get the job done.
Thomaz Santos has a sexual appeal that sets sparks flying
when the situation gets more personal. NEVER ENOUGH: Madison Garrett's passion and
love for orchids have led her on an expedition to locate
the elusive amore orchid in Costa Rica. She is confident
she will not only find the orchid, but also win the crazy
bet she's made with her friends. That is until Jack
Strickland walks into camp pretending to be what he is not;
a pocket-protector wearing nerd with the same passion for
orchids as Madison. Jack decides to follow Madison on her
trek into the wild jungle, only to become stranded with her
during a rain storm, which tempts Madison to lose her bet. NO TURNING BACK: Emma Jacobs is in dire need
of a vacation, so when her friend Izzy books a week in the
Colorado wilderness, she is excited yet skeptical,
especially since she is not exactly the outdoor type. The
trip is supposed to be for women only, but since the usual
guide is pregnant, her brother takes her place. To Emma's
dismay, her first lost love and cause of her broken heart
happens to be their new guide, Trent Colton. Emma has not
seen him since their tragic night as teenagers when they
were arrested, and Emma's father forbid her to ever see him
again. The old feelings are back, but she has a bet to win. SWEET SURRENDER is a fun and creative collection of stories
about friends who are tired of men -- and their easy
solution to avoid them. A blast to read!
SUMMARY
The Dilemma: How to get over a man-summer
gone bad? Ban males next time out.
The
Bet: No sex this summer vacation. So who will not
hold out the longest?
First there was
Bianca Bianca St. James is desperately
pretending her billionaire playboy client isn't fiendishly
hot. Self-control…not a chance!
Then
Madison Safely away from temptation, Madison
Garrett's confident she'll win the wager…until she sees her
travel companion. Will all bets—and clothes—be
off?
And finally Emma Emma Jacobs
was set up. Now she's alone in the wilderness with her
achingly hot former high school sweetie…surely no one will
notice if she's a little bad, will
they?
May the best woman win!
ExcerptAll work and no play makes Bianca a dull girl…or
does it?"From a marketing standpoint," Bianca began,
shifting uncomfortably on the plush chaise lounge. Whenever she moved she felt the silky material of the Catch
Me if You Can lingerie glide across her skin like warm
water. The sensation was wholly erotic and quite frankly,
unsettling. Over the ephemeral garment, she wore a gray,
knee-length pencil skirt and a buttoned-up white cotton
blouse with sensible gray pumps and pearls. Her hair was
swept up in a sleek French twist, giving her what she hoped
was an air of up-and-coming young executive on the go.
"You have to decide if you're selling celibacy or
sex." She still couldn't believe she was here. Bianca St.
James—the woman who in high school was voted most
likely to end up CEO of her own company, the woman who had
written a mission statement for her life when she was a
college freshman, the woman who'd spent the ensuing nine
years throwing herself full tilt into her career—was
sitting poolside with a near-naked man, a potent umbrella
drink getting sweaty in her hand, at two o'clock on a
Tuesday afternoon in Rio de Janeiro. It was a scenario for disaster and, after the previous
summer, Bianca had learned her lesson. No summer fun in the
sun while she was working—although technically it was
winter in Brazil. They were on the penthouse rooftop of a downtown Rio office
building that overlooked the Atlantic Ocean. The place was
straight out of Condé Nast Traveler. Sleek and
ultra-modern in design, the stark-white open-air interiors
possessed clean, smooth lines, while at the same time
overtly whispering money, money, money. The roof was no
different. Behind them stood a blue-and-white-striped
cabana. A bowl of exotic fruits lay on the table between
them. The ocean breeze caressed her skin and scattered the
scent of the city over them—coffee beans and coconut
oil and sea foam and sugar cane. The pool was a long rectangle, the turquoise water coolly
inviting on the warm June day. White chaise longues with
cushions to match the water were strategically positioned on
the exotic white stone of the pool area. Numerous large
potted palms in decorative clay pots added a bit of
greenery. A beautiful, dark-haired woman in a pink string
bikini manned the mahogany bar a few feet away. The white
marble wall behind her was mirrored, reflecting back at them
the gleaming array of liquors in their colorful
bottles— golden whiskey, pink vodka, blue curaçao,
deep-brown rum. The swarthy man beside Bianca wore nothing more than a pair
of darkly tinted sunglasses and swim trunks in a stunning
color of azure that matched the peaceful sky overhead and
accentuated his darkly tanned skin. Although she'd met Senhor Santos several times
before, it had always been in the buttoned-up offices of
Stillman, Burke and Hollister, and Thomaz had been dressed
in sleek Italian tailor-made suits that perfectly fitted his
large muscular frame. And she'd never been alone with him. All traces of the civilized executive she thought she knew
had disappeared, leaving nothing but pure, primal man. Here
was the earthy playboy she'd heard so much about. She'd never seen a face quite like this one. His angular
cheekbones carved in sharp lines, he was dangerously
handsome without a hint of softness. His hair was darker
than an underground cavern and his body…oh, damn his
body…she'd been avoiding looking at it ever since
she'd taken the seat next to him. Trepidation bit at her
with sharp teeth. "In essence, Mr. Santos, you can't row your boat in
two directions at once," Bianca went on, wondering if
his eyes were open or closed on the other side of those
expensive designer sunglasses. She'd been here for a good five minutes and he
hadn't once budged from his lounging position, or given
so much as a hint that he was even aware she was sitting
beside him. But she refused to let it show that he unnerved her. "I cannot speak of business while you are so
uncomfortable," Thomaz Santos said. "I'm not uncomfortable," Bianca denied. She crossed her legs and pressed her knees together tightly.
The provocative lingerie moved with her, rubbing gently
against her bottom. She'd never in her life been so
aware of an undergarment and it threw her off-kilter. What
was the thing made of? It felt sensual, luxurious. Better
question, why had she agreed to Izzy's silly bet in the
first place? "Please, bonita, you are fooling no one but
yourself. There is perspiration on your upper lip and you
sit as if you have a steel rod thrust up your spine. Relax.
Go pick out a swimsuit for yourself." He waved at the
rack of skimpy swimsuits parked nearby. She assumed it was
inventory from his business. "Cool off in the pool." Bonita. He'd just called her beautiful. It both pleased her and
irritated her. "Mr. Santos," she said waspishly,
"let's get something straight right up front." He smiled wryly. "And what is that?" "In my country calling me beautiful at a business
meeting could be construed as sexual harassment." Not
that this encounter was remotely like a business meeting.
Dammit, she wished he'd take off those sunglasses so she
could read what was going on in his eyes. His smile deepened. "Ah, but thankfully we are not in
your country. We are in Brazil and thus I am free to tell a
beautiful woman that she is beautiful without threat of
legal action." "Please don't do that. I find it unsettling." "Then you are an oddity." He shook his head as if he
couldn't believe such a thing existed. "A woman who
does not like to hear she is beautiful." That made her feel all tingly. She should not be feeling
tingly. She did not like feeling tingly. "Business is
business, attractiveness should not enter into it." Then he laughed as if she was the most amusing thing
he'd encountered all week. "Attractiveness always
enters into it." For the first time since she'd entered his hedonistic
domain, Thomaz sat up, swinging his tanned, muscular,
polo-playing legs over the side of the chaise. She dropped
her gaze, noticed how he sat casually, his austerely
beautiful arms draped on his thighs, his big hands resting
between his open knees. He raised his designer sunglasses onto his forehead,
revealing lustrous ebony eyes fringed with dark, heavy
lashes. He cast a long, lingering glance over her body. Bianca swallowed and nervously touched the tip of her tongue
to the apex of her upper lip. Do not look at his chest. But her eyes had minds of their own and slowly took in from
his face to his finely muscled chest and granite-solid
stomach. Except for the slight fabric of his swim trunks,
Thomaz was practically nude. She could almost feel the
velvet of his flesh, the warmth and steel beneath. Could
almost taste the tangy salt of his skin. Vitality vibrated
off him, projecting like heat rays off the sun. Her entire body broke out in a sweat and she was inflamed.
It's just the sun, she told herself, but she
knew that was a bald-faced lie. From the bar came the sound of samba music, a steady,
seductive beat. Someone had switched on the satellite radio.
Bianca's hips itched to sway in time to the drumming,
but she primly resisted the urge. "I am going for a swim," he said. "You'll
have to join me if you want to continue discussing business.
You can select a swimsuit and change in the cabana." Thomaz levered himself off the chaise and with the elegant
stroll of a man accustomed to getting what he wanted, he
sauntered down the steps of the pool. He dove into the pool, swam for a minute, and then surfaced,
treading water. His dark hair was plastered against his
skull. "Come in, the water is fine." Bianca hesitated, perched on the edge of her chaise. She
didn't want to go swimming with him, but it appeared to
be the only option if she was hoping to get any business
done today. Reluctantly, she went over to the rack of
colorful swimsuits and browsed through them. Ninety percent
were far too skimpy—string bikinis and thongs and even
pubikinis, heaven forbid. She hadn't waxed extensively
enough for any of these contenders and besides, she'd
never been a two-piece kind of gal. Didn't anyone in
Brazil wear a one-piece? Okay, here was a slingshot, but
that was still a bikini. After much digging, she finally found a keyhole one-piece in
vivid scarlet and brash orange. Not something she would have
chosen. Bianca only swam for exercise and preferred a
sensible maillot in a dark color, but this suit was the best
she could do under the circumstances. With her purse slung over her shoulder and the flimsy
material in her hand, she stepped into the cabana to change,
but just as she unzipped her skirt, she realized she was
going to have to do something about the chastity belt.
Fishing her phone from her purse, she simultaneously
shimmied out of her skirt. She texted her friends with her
thumb while she kicked off her pumps. Going swimming. Expect to be turned off for thirty minutes.
Cheers, B. That ought to give her enough time to get this over with and
get back into her clothes. She finished undressing and put on the swimsuit. The keyhole
was cut out right at her navel. Good thing she did her
sit-ups regularly. Otherwise this thing would definitely not
be happening. "Here goes nothing," she muttered and wrapped a
fluffy white beach towel around her waist. Bianca stepped outside the cabana and noticed
some-one—most probably the bartender—had moved
their drinks poolside. She walked to the water's edge
and dropped the towel on the cement beside the steps just
before she got in. "Ah." Thomaz gave her a knowing glance. "The
keyhole. I am not surprised." Irritation nudged her again. "What does that mean?" "It's the most modest suit in that particular
collection," he said. "What is it? The Flaming Harlot collection?" Thomaz laughed and moved closer. She was standing in five
feet of water and found herself retreating up to the edge. Bianca cleared her throat. Ridiculous, letting him get her
on the run. She was taking command of the situation.
"So, back to your ad campaign. You have to make a
decision. Choose celibacy and market the garment as a
modern-day chastity belt to men, or choose sex and market it
to women as a bedroom toy." His gaze flicked down the length of her legs, the smile on
his lips smug. "We cannot do both?" She shook her head. "It doesn't work that way. You
need a focus." His eyes were on hers now, cradling her in sharply focused
study. Bianca straightened her shoulders, trying to look totally
capable and professional—very difficult to do in a
keyhole swimsuit in a high-end swimming pool atop a
penthouse. She wasn't about to let this man know how
much his sexy masculinity unnerved her. So she stopped
moving, stayed very still and stared calmly back at him. In
his eyes she spied an amalgamation of amusement, brashness
and desire. Her pulse pushed restlessly through her veins,
but she managed to drag her gaze away from him. "Have you tried out my product?" he asked in a husky
voice. "Um…I have." She decided not to tell him
she'd worn his lingerie to the meeting. "And what do you think?" "It's…um…interesting." A smirk danced at the corners of his wide mouth.
"Damning with faint praise. So what is it for you?
Chastity belt or a sex toy?" "It's a business assignment, nothing more." He shook his head and clicked his tongue. "There you go
again, looking at the world from inside the confines of your
box." That made her mad. "You know nothing about me. I've won awards for my
out-of-the-box thinking. I'm an out-of-the-box-thinking
creative wonder." She huffed. "I'm trying to get to know you," he
said mildly. "In a relaxed environment. Which is why I
have a proposal for you." He called this relaxing? Maybe to him. To her, it was like
toeing a high wire stretched across the Grand Canyon.
"What is that?" "We work by day, but by night you spend your time with
me relaxing." Oh, no way, no how, dude. Shades of Richard all over
again. "Relaxing isn't my style," she said
curtly. "I work better under pressure." "How can you be so sure? Have you ever tried working
when you are relaxed?" Uh, no, no, she hadn't. "This argument is going in
circles." "So, you too notice how ridiculous it is for you to
argue with me." He swam even closer, invading her
personal space. He was making her lose her cool in a way no one ever had. He
was handsome and charming and accustomed to getting his
way—a wealthy playboy who expected women to fall at
his feet. Well, he was in for a rude awakening if that's
what he expected from her. To hide her nervousness, she
reached for her drink positioned at the edge of the pool and
feigned a sip. "Is your drink not to your liking?" "Huh?" She blinked, her thoughts fuzzy-edged and murky. "Your glass is still full. I could have Maria make you
another." He gestured toward the pink-bikinied barmaid
who was wiping down the glistening chrome-and-glass bar with
a white terrycloth towel. "My drink is fine, I'm simply not accustomed to
consuming alcohol so early in the day or during the week." "You don't enjoy life until the weekend
evenings?" He made a noise of disapproval. "I work a lot." "I can tell," he said, still with the disapproving tone. "Where I come from, working a lot is considered an
admirable thing." "No wonder my lingerie is not selling well in your
country. Your people have no time for pleasure and play." "There's more to life than just having a good
time," she snapped. "How would you know? " he asked, "since by your
own admission you do not make time to enjoy yourself." "I enjoy my job. That's how I enjoy myself." "Are you sure, bonita? Perhaps you work because
you are lonely and doing tasks helps fill the empty space
inside you." He fisted his right hand and used it to tap
twice over his heart, the water rippling with his movements. She wished he'd stop calling her beautiful. It was
distracting. "We're getting off track here. I came
to Rio to help you find a way to market your product in
America." "We are not off track. We are precisely on track. You
cannot market me or my product until you understand me." Bianca blew out her breath. She could feel the
account— and her potential promotion—slipping
through her fingers. "What are you saying?" she
muttered in his native language. "You may be able to speak Portuguese," he said,
"but you do not possess a Brazilian soul." Bianca scowled. "Of course not, I'm American." "But your eyes, your hair, your features, they speak of
your Brazilian heritage that apparently you aren't very
familiar with. It is a shame."
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