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

“Not going to tell me, huh? Okay, let me guess. Paul’s Perfect Penis? William’s Willing Woody? Dudley’s Determined Dick? Am I close?”


“Why is it that all you guys, gay or straight, assume that romance books bear titles better suited for stag films? You sound just like my hubby.”


“I’ll have you know, mister, that I purchase stories from only high-quality e-book publishers, and the majority of gay romance releases are well-written, exciting pieces of fiction—literature, even—crammed with more than just s-e-x.”


“Really? That’s all so fascinating. Then what wasthe title you were reading before making my reservations in Pennsylvania?”


Now, the rosy hue abandoned her cheeks faster than survivors of the RMS Titanichad jumped ship. “I-I don’t actually recall…hmm…”


She started to hurl a rebuttal at me, then hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. “All right, all right, the novel’s called Bunkhouse Bottomsand…hey, stop laughing.”


Chapter 44