Are You Lonesome Tonight?. Wendy Etherington

York Hilton, and after seeing Tony’s ideas for the resort, she saw the possibility of her dream coming true—owning her own business. She convinced Tony and his uncle to let her buy into the project, and though she could only afford ten percent ownership, she was on her way.

      Now they were two weeks away from the grand opening. It was all really happening.

      No way was she letting her needy hormones muck it up.

      Tony scooted out from under the desk and rose to his full height of six-foot-two. The scent of his sexy, spicy aftershave washed over her. “Let’s turn it on.”

      She swallowed, knowing if he pushed any more of her buttons, she’d melt into a puddle at his feet. She managed to find her usual aplomb and propped her hand on her hip—a nice hip, too, in her estimation. Not that he’d ever noticed. “Where would that button be?”

      Tony kissed the tip of her nose. “Cute, Franny.”

      “You’re really trying to get on my nerves, aren’t you?” Francesca stepped back, rubbing her nose as if she was trying to rid herself of his chaste kiss. In truth, she was tingling from her nose all the way to her toes. Ridiculous. Embarrassing. Useless.

      Tony punched the power button on the computer and propped his butt—a magnificent specimen—against the desk. His velvety brown eyes danced. “Can you believe it’s been almost twenty years since you slugged me in the lunchroom and demanded I come up with a cooler nickname than ‘Franny’?”

      “And got two days of after-school detention from Principal Duncan for my efforts.”

      “Hey, didn’t I pull the fire alarm to get you released?”

      “I’ll never understand how you didn’t get caught.”

      “I have an innocent smile,” he said, then grinned.

      Even at ten, he’d known how to drive women wild with his charm. Of course, she’d been unmoved. At least until the night, eight years later, when she’d accidentally walked in on him as he was getting out of the shower…

      Yikes. Bad train of thought.

      To distract herself, she glanced around the opulent room they’d converted to their office suite, complete with full bar and sunken living room, decorated to give an impression of class and wealth. She sighed as her gaze fell on the windowed wall to her left, beyond which lay the blossoming vineyards. She still bemoaned this valuable space Tony had commandeered on the third floor. She’d even called Joe when Tony insisted he couldn’t work in an office off the lobby. But surprisingly Joe—a practical, hardworking businessman to the core—had sided with his nephew. They could use the suite to entertain potential clients and guests, he’d pronounced.

      That Prince of the Universe upbringing of his would be their undoing.

      The computer chimed as Windows loaded. He turned around and leaned over the desk. “Looks great, huh?”

      With her gaze once again dropping to his lower half—this time catching an excellent, close-up view of that great backside of his—she nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yeah.”

      “Go check your computer. I want to see if they’re networked right.” He tapped on the keyboard. “I’m sending you an interoffice e-mail.”

      “Yeah?” she said, turning her head sideways, still staring at his butt, not really interested in technology at the moment.

      He glanced at her over his shoulder. “What are you doing back there?”

      She yanked her gaze from his bod. Her face flushed. “I, uh—I’m going to check my e-mail.” She backed out of his office and into hers.

      Out of reach of temptation and the influence of his aftershave, she managed to pull herself together.

      She sank into her office chair. With a simple walnut desk, chairs upholstered in dark green and her knickknacks and diplomas hanging on the walls, her surroundings were completely different from Tony’s sleek, black-marble-and-glass–appointed room. But it suited her.

      The mirror on the opposite wall reflected a woman with her dark-brown hair pulled into a ponytail, an ordinary face—though she had inherited her mother’s naturally tanned skin—blue eyes, and nearly-chewed-off pink lipstick. This last was no doubt a casualty of all that butt-gazing. Her mile-long to-do list lay next to her keyboard. Her in box was a good foot high.

      Ah, reality. It’s good to have you back.

      Back from her brief foray into fantasyland, she was reminded of the life-affirming decisions she’d made recently.

      She was at a point in her life where romantic flings had ceased to be a priority. She was a serious business-woman now, with major responsibilities. Tired of the commitment-wary, ambition-challenged guys she’d dated in the past, she’d decided she was holding out for Mr. Right. And Tony certainly wasn’t him.

      Dear Tony. Who always skated by in life, then charmed himself out of any situation he’d screwed up.

      Even if he ever looked at her as anything other than a friend, she knew he wasn’t The One. The One was going to walk into her life one day and she’d know, instantly, that he was the love of her life. For five generations the women in her family had fallen completely, instantly in love with their future husbands, and seeing the results of her parents’ wonderful thirty-year marriage, she had no doubt love would find her the same way.

      So, in conclusion, all you stubborn, Tony-dazzled hormones back off!

      She pulled up her e-mail and opened the one from Tony.

      Hi, bella. Have I told you lately I couldn’t live without you?

      Francesca sucked in a breath. Her hormones danced a jig.

      She scrolled down further.

      I’d never manage to eat a decent meal.

      -T

      “Did you get the message?” Tony called from the other room.

      “Oh, yeah.” Clamping down on her disappointment and deciding two could play at this game, she typed,

      Ecstasy awaits you tonight…

      Then she skipped down a few lines and added,

      We’re having fettuccine with scallops.

      She hit the send button, rose from her chair, rolled her shoulders back, then marched from the office. The One was just around the corner, poised to save her from this impossible attraction.

      He just had to be.

      TONY LEANED across his desk and snagged the ringing phone. “This is Tony.”

      “Mr. Galini, this is Alice in reservations, I have a Mr. Pierre von Shalburg on the phone. He’s making a reservation, but he insisted on speaking with you personally.”

      Tony searched his memory, but came up blank on anyone named von Shalburg. “Who’s he?”

      “I thought you’d know. He sounds important,” Alice said nervously.

      Shoving aside a stack of invoices he had to get through before he could join Francesca for dinner, Tony sighed. “Put him on.”

      How did anybody actually get any work done when people were always calling and interrupting?

      This is a customer, Francesca—aka his self-appointed conscience of business responsibility—would have reminded him. Customers come first.

      Who knew his impulsive decision to accept Uncle Joe’s challenge to make something significant of his life would involve actual work and stress? He’d only become a businessman to impress the uncle he regarded so highly. He wanted people to look at him with the admiration and respect they gave Joe. Unfortunately, his resort-owner fantasy wasn’t meshing with reality.

      He’d pictured walking around the restaurant, smiling at patrons, offering suggestions and wine pairings. He imagined