So Irresistible

 

“Plumley makes her third trip to Kismet, Mich. (after
Home for the Holidays
) in this laugh-out-loud Christmas romp. This sweet romance tugs at the heartstrings from the beginning and doesn’t let up until the final page.”

—
Publishers Weekly

 

“This is a genuinely fun story, with complex, engaging characters and a thoroughly charming holiday atmosphere. No matter what, Lisa Plumley knows how to craft a terrific, heart-warming story with deliciously happy endings.”

—
The Romance Reviews

 

“The chemistry between these two characters was intense. And waiting to see if Casey would overcome his bah-humbug ways left me feeling hopeful and starry-eyed.”

—Melissa D’Agnese,
First for Women
magazine

 

 

“Plumley (
Holiday Affair
, 2010) has written another delightful story filled with everything her fans expect—likable characters, a great romance, humorous situations, witty dialogue, and a heartwarming story.”

—
Booklist

 

“This is a delightful story with a hero who could easily be a real jerk, but is quite a sweetheart, and a heroine determined to not be hurt by love again, yet can’t help herself. Her mistrust of the hero is quite understandable, and his struggle to learn how to be good is entertaining.”

—
Romantic Times BOOK Reviews
(4 stars)

 

“
Melt Into You
is hilarious and well worth reading! The characters are adorable and this story will keep you anxiously awaiting more from Ms. Plumley!”

—
Night Owl Reviews

 

 

“Secrets and subterfuge add complexity and zing to this well-crafted, heartwarming story that features a wealth of engaging characters, including five remarkable, memorable children, and great sexual tension. A deliciously satisfying, cocoa-worthy holiday read.”

—
Library Journal

 

“Lisa Plumley’s latest holiday novel delivers. It has warm gooey holiday moments complete with happy children, Christmas traditions such as caroling and decorating Christmas cookies and, oh yeah, hot and steamy romance. Loaded with fun pop-culture references and witty dialogue,
Holiday Affair
delivers on entertainment!”

—
The Romance Reader
(5 hearts)

 

“A delightful story with utterly charming characters. It brings to life the sounds, smells, and tastes of Christmas as it brings together more than just the two main characters for a joyous holiday season.”

—
Romantic Times BOOK Reviews
(4½ stars)

 

 

“In keeping with Plumley’s tradition of lively romantic comedy (
Home for the Holidays
), her first foray into the paranormal witch world subgenre is quirky, sexy, creative, and hilarious.”

—
Library Journal

 

“Humorous adventures and unexpected romance with a sprinkling of heartwarming moments will keep the reader well entertained in this delightful tale, skillfully crafted by the clever Plumley.”

—
Booklist

 

 

“Lisa Plumley once again gifts readers with a Yuletide story sure to put you in a holiday mood. This is vintage Plumley. She’s created a cast of characters that are a bit eccentric, quirky, and likeable and spun a story that will make you smile.”

—Lezlie Patterson,
McClatchy-Tribune News Service

 

“A delightful secondary romance adds to the fun in this upbeat romp that is touching, hilarious, and lightly dusted with seasonal charm.” —
Library Journal

 

 

“Once again, Plumley shows her fine flair for comedy as Marisol learns that there is life beyond Rodeo Drive, and the Connelly triplets discover that they can’t scare away every nanny. Full of witty dialogue and hilarious situations, this romp with a heart is certain to please readers.”

—
Booklist
(starred review; named one of the
Top Ten Romances of 2007)

 

“Plumley not only delivers a fun-filled premise, clever dialogue and a delightfully sexy sports-loving hero, she brings to life a memorable, hilarious and utterly unique heroine readers will adore. This is pure romantic fantasy and an absolutely entertaining novel from start to finish.”

—
Romantic Times BOOK Reviews
(4½ stars;
Top Pick!)

 

“
Let’s Misbehave
is funny, romantic, heartwarming, and sexy. It’s fantastic!”

—
Joyfully Reviewed

 

 

“A cool cast of secondary characters adds much to the story as clever Plumley, who is already known for her entertaining romantic comedies, presents another winner in this humorous and engaging tale about a man who literally loses his shirt, but finds his heart.”

—
Booklist
(starred review)

 

“
Mad About Max
kept me laughing from beginning to end. What great characters! Very highly recommended, especially for fans of romantic comedy.”

—
Romance Junkies

 

MAKING OVER MIKE

 

FALLING FOR APRIL

 

RECONSIDERING RILEY

 

PERFECT TOGETHER

 

PERFECT SWITCH

 

JOSIE DAY IS COMING HOME

 

ONCE UPON A CHRISTMAS

 

MAD ABOUT MAX

 

SANTA BABY
(anthology with Lisa Jackson,
Elaine Coffman, and Kylie Adams)

 

I SHAVED MY LEGS FOR THIS?!
(anthology with Theresa Alan,
Holly Chamberlin, and Marcia Evanick)

 

LET’S MISBEHAVE

 

HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS

 

MY FAVORITE WITCH

 

HOLIDAY AFFAIR

 

MELT INTO YOU

 

TOGETHER FOR CHRISTMAS

 

ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

 

Ever wonder what Shane Maresca was up to
before
he showed up in Kismet in
Together for Christmas
?

 

Well, several months earlier,
this
happened . . .

 

This wasn’t going to be an ordinary assignment.

It was going to be a test of everything Shane Maresca believed in.

He realized that fact too late to do anything about it, of course. Quitting wasn’t an option. By the time he noticed that something . . .
weird
was going on with him, he was already committed—hip deep in research, reconnaissance, and placement.

In the case of Portland,
research
meant cracking open the dossier left him by the previous “fixer” who’d taken on this job—and then failed to complete it.
Reconnaissance
meant scoping out the city’s quaint blocks, lush green trees, and idiosyncratic residents.
Placement
meant situating himself in a high-rise luxury apartment downtown where he’d be comfortable enough—and secluded enough—to do what needed to be done for his latest freelance consulting job.

He had to bring this in cleanly. There was a lot at stake.

That’s why, when the dreadlocked and tattooed barista at the coffeehouse nodded at Shane, motioned him away from the shop’s busy line, and handed Shane his triple ristretto espresso along with a friendly “On the house today. Enjoy!” Shane could only boggle at him. Yes, he’d ordered the same thing the past three mornings in a row. No, he wasn’t exactly
undercover
here in Bridgetown. Not yet, anyway. Still, the barista had prepped and pulled his coffee order before Shane had even given it.

“You’re practically a regular.” The barista shrugged his burly shoulders. “We take care of our regulars.”

Shane raised his cup in acknowledgment. “Thanks.”

Then the weird thing happened. Shane
smiled
at the barista. It wasn’t his usual professional mischief-maker’s smile, either. It was a genuine smile. It was a smile that felt connected. Heartfelt. Spontaneous, even. For someone like Shane, who’d fought his way to success in true Dickensian rags-to-riches fashion,
that
was the freakiest thing of all.

A spontaneous smile? While on the job, Shane didn’t do things that were spontaneous. That’s why he always succeeded.

Well, that . . .
and
his inborn talent for causing trouble.

Shane didn’t do spontaneity. Especially not when it came to revealing his feelings. That didn’t pay. As much as Shane liked risks, he wasn’t stupid enough to risk being vulnerable—and that’s exactly what grinning like a loon made him. Vulnerable.

Realizing what he’d done left him seriously spooked.

Generally, Shane regarded the world with suspicion. It paid him right back with hard times, setbacks, and punches to the face. He was used to that. These days, he usually got in a few good kicks himself. But ever since he’d set up shop in Portland . . .

Well, ever since he’d arrived, things had been
weird
. That was the only way to describe what had been happening to him.

Like a cartoon hero in a freaking Disney film, Shane found himself strolling through sun-splashed, American elm–lined park blocks with a whistle on his lips. He found himself loving the sound of chirping birds in the morning, savoring the tantalizing smells coming from Portland’s signature food carts, and embracing every lungful of clean, refreshing springtime air. He marveled at the rosebushes blooming beside the freeways (which thrived despite the traffic thrumming past), and he seriously contemplated shucking his usual suit and wingtips for a pair of Timberlands so he could explore the trails near Multnomah.

That’s why Shane’s encounter with the barista was the last straw. He was
not
planning to become a regular—especially not in a place where he’d come to wreak havoc (professionally speaking) on another local business. He meant to remain separate. Impartial. As flinty as the goddamned snow-capped mountain peaks outside, which were visible for miles on a clear day like today.

Striving for that stone-cold ideal, Shane scowled. Ordinarily, six-foot-six bouncers quailed in the face of his scowls. They were among Shane’s most useful expressions.

In response, the barista gave a genial nod. “Catch you on the flipside.” Then he waved before going back to his machine.

Hell
. Not only had Shane been made . . . he’d been welcomed.

“I won’t be back.” Damn it. He’d have to find another coffeehouse. But before he did . . .

Shane inhaled deeply of the place’s earthy, roasted Yemen Bani Mattari and Sulawesi Toraja coffees, cast a hasty glance at the hipster types waiting in line, then strode to the front. He slid a hundred-dollar bill toward the counter worker. Shane angled his head at the people waiting. “I’ve got theirs.”

The coffeehouse employee stared at his money. Shane half expected the counter worker to accuse him of passing a counterfeit bill. Or shoplifting a pastry. Or
something
befitting the juvenile delinquent he’d once been.

Instead . . . “You’re offering to buy
everyone’s
coffee?”

Rapidly, Shane calculated the potential incoming orders. He nodded. “Yeah.” He set down his coffee, then went back to his wallet for another bill. “Plus tips. Have a nice day.”

The inevitable buzz kicked up as he strode toward the doors, triple ristretto in hand. Murmurs whooshed through the line. Customers nudged one another. A flannel-wearing stoner type saluted him. Two women wearing workout gear smiled at him.

Shane couldn’t stop. If he did, he had the unwelcome sensation that he’d want to take up permanent residence in this rain-spackled Shangri-la. After that, who knew? He might start getting to know his neighbors, trimming his own rosebushes, and being recognized by every barista. He couldn’t let that happen.

He was
supposed
to be getting to know his target, preparing for a corporate takedown that would benefit Shane first and the international company his wealthy father sat on the board of most of all. If Shane was lucky, this job would squash the pervasive sense of grimness he felt. It would make him
feel
something besides a fierce resolve to win and an urge to prove he hadn’t just “gotten lucky,” the way everyone told him he had.

If he could wipe out that phrase from his own personal lexicon, Shane figured he might have a shot at happiness. Or at least at
not
feeling as if he were under attack all the time.

You got lucky
. No. What’d he’d gotten was
tricked
. Tricked into believing things could be different for him . . . when he should have known that with
him
as a constant, things would remain screwed up—no matter how many privileges and wins came his way.

This time, Shane swore as he left the coffeehouse and reached the busy sidewalk outside, things would be different.

This time, he would get in, get out, and get the job done with even more detachment than usual. This time, he would triumph, as ruthlessly as necessary . . . just as soon as he scrounged up some money for Aussie Bill, the homeless guy who hung out between the coffeehouse, Pioneer Square, and Shane’s apartment.

As Shane nodded hello to Aussie Bill and then dropped some money in his battered trumpet case, he suddenly realized what he was doing. A fresh wave of disgruntlement swept over him.

He knew the homeless guy’s name
. Hell. What had happened to the kick-ass “fixer” everyone in his business respected and feared? What had happened to the guy who could (and did) solve business problems, maximize opportunities, and take down competitors?
Someone
had to drive down prices during takeovers.

Until now, that someone had been Shane. He’d turned his flair for being sent to detention at a record number of schools into a knack for surreptitiously “fixing” things behind the scenes for the benefit of CEOs and corporate raiders. At thirty-six, he was at the top of his game. He couldn’t turn soppy now.

Aussie Bill gave him a grimy grin. “See ya tomorrow?”

Unexpectedly, that same feeling of being welcomed swept over Shane. In Portland, he actually felt wanted—needed for more than his ability to derail a potential business partnership or wrangle a letter of resignation from an unpopular executive.

“No. I’m starting a new job tomorrow.” Shane held up his hand toward Aussie Bill in a farewell. “Stay out of trouble.”

Bill gave a raspy chuckle. “You too, mate!”

“Trouble’s my middle name.” Shane couldn’t see any reason not to be honest. “I don’t know who I’d be without it.”

“Only one way to find out, mate. Quit it, that’s how.”

Quit? Shane could hardly fathom the idea. But as he headed away, making himself disappear among the onrush of pedestrian commuters at the TriMet stop, he suddenly wished he could. He wished he could quit causing trouble and just
be
for a while.

But since
that
wasn’t going to happen . . .

Well, he’d just have to make the best of things. If he played his cards right, Shane told himself as he approached his home-for-the-moment, the mayhem he created might even be fun.

After all, everyone was good at something. Shane Maresca was good at orchestrating chaos. He’d made his reputation on it.

 

 

 

There were hours to go before the 5:00 opening time at her family’s pizzeria, Campania, and already Gabriella Grimani felt overwhelmed. Which was disappointing for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that she prided herself on getting things done. She always had. Originator of her middle school math squad, captain of her high school soccer team, and sought-after study-group leader during her years earning an MBA at Portland State University
and
a bonus degree from culinary school, Gabriella had always found a way to guide her chosen teams to victory. Her parents joked that she’d been born on her own darn schedule and had started bossing around the hospital nurses straightaway. That story wasn’t far from the truth.

Whether wearing diapers or kitchen clogs, Gabriella knew what she wanted. She knew exactly how she wanted it. She didn’t mind speaking her mind to let people know about that.

Not that doing so had helped her much lately.

In fact, it had landed her in a whole heap of trouble.

Maybe that’s why, while Gabriella was still running around doing her usual morning routine, she started imagining things.

It started off innocently enough. She’d gotten up (relatively) early for a head-clearing run. She’d refueled afterward with Stumptown coffee and marionberry pancakes at the café down the street from her house. Then she’d bicycled to the Wednesday farmers market to see what had been newly harvested.

As a restaurateur, it was important for her to network with her local farmers, suppliers, and vendors. It was good for her to know what they had on offer at any given time. As a pizzaiolo who made traditional “Nonna-style” pizzas, Gabriella didn’t have much need for produce beyond tomatoes, basil, button mushrooms, and garlic. Truffles, shitakes, and fiddlehead ferns were out. But as she wandered through the market that morning, examining the green spring lettuces, newly dug leeks, berries, and freshly baked baguettes, Gabriella couldn’t help wishing she could expand Campania’s menu. Just a little. Just enough to remain competitive in the Pacific Northwest’s up-and-coming food scene.

Predictably, that traitorous thought made the hallucinations kick in. Because one minute, Gabriella was dreaming up mushroom bruschetta with arugula and a drizzle of hazelnut oil . . . and the next she was seeing her father, the longtime head of her family’s chain of local pizzerias, ducking behind the piled-up boxes at a central Oregon dairy’s cheese stall. What the . . . ?

Her father
should
have been at home. Resting. Those were his doctor’s strict orders. After the ordeal Robert Grimani had been through while trying to keep their family’s pizzerias afloat during a takeover bid, he’d begun having chest pains. His doctor had prescribed medication for his elevated blood pressure, then had ordered him to “cut the stress.” Knowing how impossible doing
that
would be for her husband of thirty-five years, Donna Grimani had phoned Gabriella for help. Immediately after getting that call, Gabriella had ended her self-imposed exile in the coastal Oregon town of Astoria and come home to Portland.

Home to run Campania . . . and to see her mother now scurrying away behind a five-foot-tall stack of boxed farm-fresh eggs?

Frowning in confusion, Gabriella followed her. She
had
to be imagining this. She knew her parents were probably both at home, in the same house Gabriella had grown up in, reading actual paper newspapers and watching television. Maybe, if they were feeling really frisky, they were puttering in their garden.

They definitely had no reason to be casing the farmers market. Or to be hiding from Gabriella if they saw her. Sure, things had been . . .
strained
among the three of them, ever since Gabriella’s legendary showdown with her father. But they were all adults. Gabriella had come home to do the right thing. In time, all would be forgiven. Right? Wasn’t that how things went?

As Gabriella rounded the next corner, she caught a mushroom purveyor giving her a perplexed look . . . and realized she was actually
skulking
around trying to catch her parents, as if they were hiding from her in a colossal (and imaginary) game of hide-and-seek. She straightened. This was ridiculous. It didn’t take a Freudian psychologist to know what was really going on here.

She was worried her parents wouldn’t forgive her. End of story.

Too bad that insight didn’t make Gabriella feel any better. Neither did knowing that she hadn’t even been
aware
of the takeover attempt her father had been fighting until it was too late. No one had told her. After the final face-off that had caused their estrangement, Gabriella had deliberately tuned out from the pizza world. Unfortunately, her father had apparently done the same thing. Distracted and distressed—but too stubborn to hammer out a truce with Gabriella—he hadn’t overseen all his pizzerias quite as diligently as he ordinarily would have. As far as Gabriella could tell, that misstep had led directly to their family’s business becoming vulnerable to a buyout bid.