Tempted by Trouble,Used

Product Description Elle Amery has grown up a fighterher late mother's badboyloving reputation wasnot the best inheritance?.So when smoothtalking Sean McElroy turns up with a pinkandwhite ice cream van called Rosie that's apparentlyhers, Elle tries to ignore the traitorous flicker of attraction!Familyoriented Elle is the last girl Sean should want, but as they embark on a journey filled with unexpected twists, these two misfits may discover they are the perfect fit for each other! About the Author Liz Fielding was born with itchy feet. She made it to Zambia before her twentyfirst birthday and, gathering her own special hero and a couple of children on the way, lived in Botswana, Kenya and Bahrain. Seven of her titles have been nominated for RWAs Rita; and she has won the Best Traditional Romance in 2000,the British Romance Prize in 2005 and the Best Short Contemporary Romance in 2006. Excerpt. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Life is like ice cream: you have to take it one lick at a time.Rosie's Diary'Lovage Amery?'If ever there had been a moment to follow Gran's example and check her reflection in the mirror before she opened the front door, Elle decided, this was it.On her knees and up to her rubber gloves in soapy water when the doorbell rang, she hadn't bothered to stop and fix hair sliding out of its elastic band. And there wasn't much she could have done about a face pink and shiny from a day spent catching up with the housework while everyone was out, culminating in scrubbing the kitchen floor.It was the complete Cinderella workout.She couldn't afford a fancy gym membership and, as she was always telling her sisters, cleaning was a lot more productive than pounding a treadmill. Not that they'd ever been sufficiently impressed by the argument to join in.Lucky them.Even sweaty Lycra had to be a better look than an ancient shirt tied around the waist with an equally geriatric psychedelic tie. Sexier than the jeans bagging damply around her knees.It wouldn't normally have bothered her and, to be fair, the man standing on the doorstep hadn't made much of an effort, either. His thick dark hair was sticking up in a justgotoutofbed look and his chin was darkened with what might be designer stubble but was more likely to be a disinclination to shave on Saturday, when he didn't have to go into the office.Always assuming that he had an office to go to. Or a job.Like her, he was wearing ancient jeans, in his case topped with a Tshirt that should have been banished to the duster box. The difference was that on him it looked mouthwateringly good. So good that she barely noticed that he'd made free with a name she'd been trying to keep to herself since she'd started kindergarten.Swiftly peeling off the yellow rubber gloves she'd kept on as a 'Sorry, can't stop' defence against one of the neighbours dropping by with some excuse to have a nose around, entertain the post office queue with insider gossip on just how bad things were at Gable End, she tossed them carelessly over her shoulder.'Who wants to know?' she asked.Her hormones might be ready to throw caution to the windthey were Amery hormones, after allbut while they might have escaped into the yard for a little exercise, she wasn't about to let them go 'walkies'. 'Sean McElroy.'His voice matched the looks. Low, sexy, soft as Irish mist. And her hormones flung themselves at the gate like a halfgrown puppy in a letmeathim response as he offered his hand.Cool, a little rough, reassuringly large, it swallowed hers up as she took it without thinking, said, 'How d'you do?' in a voice perilously close to the one her grandmother used when she met a goodlooking man. With that hint of breathiness that spelled trouble.'I'm doing just fine,' he replied, his slow smile obliterating all memory of the way she looked. Her hair, the lack of makeup and damp knees. It made crinkles around those mesmerisin