Welcome to the Caliente Blog Hop brought to you
by the Four Seduced Muses! 

What is HOT? Well, you tell us! Hotness is
in the eye of the beholder. 

Want to know what Angel thinks is hot? Read on. Then
leave a comment below on what you find HOT! Remember to include your email address for
a chance to win my site’s prize, a $5 Amazon gift card. 

But that’s not all…

Visit each hot spot on the Caliente Hop and you will be entered to win these grand prizes!

Now, Angel, show us your idea of Caliente!  

They got caught in the type of summer storm that
restored the old pavements of the Piazza Avellino to their original slate
color.

She slipped out of her sandals upon entering the
apartment and laughed at the sound of Tony’s squelching steps behind her.

“You’ll have to wait until it stops raining. You
can’t go home in this.” She padded into the bedroom. She came out with her hair
wrapped in a towel and wearing a fresh, dry blouse.

“Hey, that’s not fair. I don’t have another shirt
to change into,” Tony said.

Before she could hand him the towel, Tony shook
himself, splattering the blouse she had just put on.

She gasped, holding her arms out, away from her
wet blouse. She was almost as wet as he was now.

“That,” he said, “was terrible of me.” Droplets
streamed from his hair and once he’d rubbed them out of his eyes, the contrite
expression vanished.

She threw the towel at him. He chased her into
the kitchen.

Angelina circled the butcher block, which
separated the kitchen from the living room, but laughter impeded her progress. “Wait!
I don’t have a shirt, but I have something else you want!”

Tony stopped and folded his arms. Chest and
shoulder muscles made an interesting journey under the wet T-shirt. “I’m
listening.”

She opened a drawer in the butcher block and
produced a yellow sheet of notepad paper with a flourish. “I have here in my
hands a recipe for Shrimp Capri!”

“Is that what you think I want?” Although Tony’s
words were playful, his sudden shift into Italian was jarring because she knew
what it meant. He wasn’t playing anymore.

Zio had taught her Italian when she just a little
girl and now, taken off guard by the blatant hunger in Tony’s eyes, she
couldn’t conjure a coherent sentence. She fidgeted with the paper, and
responded in the language her sleeping brain cells preferred, English.

“Well, I know how you love to cook…”

He lifted the edges of the sopping wet shirt,
pulled it off his back and aimed for the sink, where it fell with a plop! As he
approached, she held her breath, staring at the rippling muscles of his
abdomen.

“This will do, for now.” He stood in front of
her, so close they were almost hip-to-hip.

Her bare toes curled on the floor when she
wondered what would do for later.

“Hope you don’t mind, but I can’t cook wet.” Tony
opened the cabinet behind her and she watched the little beads of water
coursing down an olive chest.

“Quite right.” Words seemed trivial when wet,
half-naked perfection stood before her.

“Where’s that big frying pan you have?” English
again, he must know she needed it now. He was watching her and she realized his
English words meant he wanted something.

Angelina spurred into action, bending down to the
cabinet under the island to retrieve the pan. She held out the recipe.

“Put that in a safe place. I’m going to make my Shrimp
Capri for you.”

Falcon’s Angel is available now at Liquid Silver Books:

http://www.lsbooks.com/falcons-angel-p225.php