Project Director Zane Caldwell has a major problem -- a charming, go-getter hotshot from Chicago named Ford Trionni, recently hired at Widdley Finch Inc., a Connecticut-based marketing research company. The man, whom the secretarial pool nicknamed "The Italian Stallion" based on his stunning good looks and sexual aura, has also gained the reputation of a superstar in the industry due to his innovative analytical techniques. The trouble is, the man wears his accolades like a badge on his lapel, strutting around the office like a peacock.<br><br>Ford's self-centered, lofty attitude drives Zane to utter distraction. Even worse, the man seems to know it, intentionally using his sizzling sex appeal to tie Zane's patience and libido into knots while giving off mixed messages of mutual attraction. But from what Zane can tell, Ford's already involved in an intense relationship with someone else, and the last thing Zane wants is to fall for a guy who not only treats him like a peon instead of an equal, but intends to make him a side dish to his current love affair.<br><br>Yet as he works with Ford on an important account, Zane begins to realize there's more to Ford than the man lets on, and all may not be what it seems. As the heat between them builds into an inferno despite their contrary work relationship, Zane vows to get to the bottom of Ford's confusing behavior once and for all. Is the man playing games with Zane's job and his heart, or is there a chance they might actually discover they're the perfect partners?

And the Survey Says

The last time I’d stayed at the B&B, in a room on the third floor, I had admired the comfy décor and antique furnishings. This double, however, had been decorated in a more modern, although generic style befitting the rooms at most major hotel chains. Two double four-poster beds with a nightstand between them took up one side of the room. A dresser and bureau of rich mahogany commanded the opposite wall, with a television on a table and two chairs in the corner. Twin ferns sprang forth from Oriental vases, while several floor lamps and one on the nightstand blazed with light.


Ford immediately tossed his bag on the bed closest to the windows. “Dibs.”


I huffed in irritation. “Playing that game again, are you?”


“What? Oh, all right…if you want it, take it, Mr. Sensitive. I don’t feel like arguing. After this long day, I just want to take a damned shower”—he gifted me with one of his cocky smiles—“ifyou don’t mind me calling dibs on the bathroom first.”


Chapter 36