One Naughty Night

One naughty woman…

The sweet, innocent blonde on the dance floor is way out of her league in this hot, singles club. And the minute Renzo Cesare recognizes that, his protective instincts step up to the plate while he tries to rescue her. If that means pretending to be Esme Giles’s blind date, well, so be it. But before he can escort her to safety, she starts whispering some not so innocent suggestions in his ear. How is a guy supposed to be noble when all he can think about is hitting the sheets?

One naughty man…

Esme Giles is turning over a new leaf-starting with a seduction. Sure, it’s a bold move for her reserved self, but one look at her sexy date and she’ll do almost anything to convince this hottie to spend a sizzling night with her. Too bad he’s the wrong man! But Renzo’s red-hot kisses convince her that she’s found the right man…for more than just a night!

And a bed that’s just right!

eHarlequin Golden Noodle Award for Best Temptation of 2003

Reviews

“Joanne Rock’s One Naughty Night adeptly blends sweetness and sensuality, much like its hotter-than-hot hero.” — Romantic Times, 4 stars

“Renzo is every woman’s fantasy man…With Renzo’s book complete, I anxiously await romances for each of the remaining Cesare siblings.” — Tracy Farnsworth, Roundtable Reviews

“The Single in South Beach series just keeps getting better and better…” — Missy Andrews, Romance Junkies

Excerpt:

…Renzo could not, should not, would not, get any more involved with Esme. The whole charade had been ill conceived and it would be least embarrassing for all parties concerned if he simply said good night to her right now.

Just as soon as he knew she was safely inside her room.

Once they cleared the Moulin Rouge Lounge and hit the bank of elevators, she paused, fishing in her purse.

“I’m on the fourth floor in the Sensualist’s Suite. Maybe I’d better find my key.” She shook her purse as the elevator arrived. Apparently convinced the key lay within the white satin bag, Esme began the search with determination etched on her delicate jaw line.

“The Sensualist’s Suite?” He had no idea why he tortured himself by asking as they stepped inside the elevator.

Maybe because liars deserved to be tortured.

Withdrawing the plastic card from her bag as they soared up to the necessary floor, Esme’s cheeks flushed lightly. “It’s the kind of room that has to be seen to be believed. I had no idea the accommodations here were so…” Her eyes darted about the tiny elevator cabin—outfitted in soft brown suede walls and decorated with a fake leopard print covered bench— as if in search of the right word. Finally, her gaze landed on him. “…so sexy.”

His body twitched in reaction to the word rolling off her tongue. In reaction to their proximity in the quiet privacy of the small space.

The torture had officially begun…