Read Online Addicted to Love by Lori Wilde - Free Book Online Page A

didn’t make her lower the weight or put the pepper spray back into her belt: Kelvin Wentworth in all his cocky, strutting glory.
    “You shouldn’t push yourself so hard. Anyone ever tell you that men like women with a few curves?”
    “Anyone ever tell you to go screw yourself?” she replied tartly.
    Kelvin laughed.
    “What are you doing here?” She sniffed, pretending a courage she didn’t feel. “You don’t look like you’ve taken up power walking.”
    “I came to see you.” He smiled and the smile scared her more than a frown.
    “What for?” she asked suspiciously.
    “Wanna set that weight down? I have a feeling you’re just waiting for an excuse to bean me.”
    “My mother always said to trust your instincts,” she replied. “And my instincts are telling me you’re up to something.”
    He laughed again. “Sharp cookie. That’s one thing I like about you, Vito.”
    “Hmm,” she said. “Too bad that I don’t like anything about you, Wentworth.”
    “How did this feud between us ever get started?”
    “Feud?” She feigned ignorance.
    “Come on. We both know you’re only running for mayor to piss me off. What I don’t know is why.”
    “Is it working?” She batted her eyelashes. “Am I pissing you off?”
    “I find you . . . ” His gaze raked over her body in a look so intimidating, Giada almost shivered. “Amusing.”
    “Would this little visit have anything to do with the fact that I am beating the pants off you in the polls?” She arched an eyebrow and wondered why she was having trouble catching her breath. She could walk a mile in twelve minutes. Her lung capacity was that of a highly trained marathon runner. She had no reason to feel breathless.
    “Beating my pants off? Only in your dreams.”
    Fury burned her cheeks.
    “Come on. Let’s sit down and have a civilized discussion.” Kelvin reached out and took hold of her arm, pulling her toward a wrought-iron picnic bench positioned beneath the pecan tree.
    “Hands off,” Giada exclaimed and swung at him with the dumbbell.
    But Kelvin ducked and the weight swished harmlessly through the air. The big man was quicker than he looked. He clamped a hand around her wrist and wrenched the dumbbell away from her. “Settle down a minute, Spitfire.”
    “Hmph. I show you spitfire,” she said, struggling against him, the English she’d perfected slipping in the heat of the moment.
    “I just wanna talk.” He maneuvered her toward the picnic bench. “And if you depress the nozzle on that pepper spray, believe me, you’re going to live to regret it. But be a good girl and maybe you and I can cut a deal.”
    She stopped fighting and slid a glance at him from the corner of her eye. Her interest was piqued. This sounded like a man on the ropes and desperate to get back on his feet before the bell rang. Curiosity got the better of her and she followed him to the bench.
    He dusted leaves and errant pecan hulls off the seat with a sweep of his hand. She hadn’t expected such a chivalrous gesture, but then he had to go and ruin it all by commanding, “Sit.”
    The contrary part of her wanted to argue, but common sense told her to pick her battles. She sat.
    “Now isn’t this much better?” he said, plopping down beside her. “Two politicians sitting down for a nice chat.”
    “A scenario that strikes terror in the hearts of voters,” Giada observed archly.
    He grinned. “Water?” He surprised her by pulling a small bottle of Evian out of his jacket pocket. “It’s important to stay well-hydrated.”
    “I have my own,” she said, determined not to take anything from him. She fished an identical bottle of water from her fanny pack.
    He held his water bottle up and nodded.
    In unison they twisted off the tops of their respective water bottles and drank. It was almost like a perverse toast. She found the idea unsettling.
    To be honest, she found Kelvin Wentworth unsettling.
    “So Giada . . . ” He paused. “Is it okay if I