LITMIR.BIZ

      Dear Reader,

      We wholeheartedly believe that everyone has a bit of rebel in them. You know, that tiny voice that tells you to go ahead and eat that ice cream? Buy that piece of naughty lingerie? Makes you lust after a man you shouldn’t have? Well, that’s exactly what happens to our heroine Marie when she stumbles across fellow attorney Ian Kilborn, the last man on earth she should be tempting.

      In Going Too Far, good-girl-to-the-bone Marie Bertelli wants a man to see her for who she truly is. It’s not enough that her friends have found sizzling soul mates or that her family chases off her dates, she’s delivered the ultimate professional blow when her father runs into a legal problem and hires Ian, Marie’s first lover, rather than coming to her. So Marie sets out to prove she’s the better person for the job. Only, once she crosses paths with Ian, she doesn’t just want to read his legal briefs, she wants to get into them….

      We hope you enjoy the last installment in our LEGAL BRIEFS miniseries. We’d love to hear what you think. Write to us at P.O. Box 12271, Toledo, OH 43613, or visit us online at www.toricarrington.com.

      Here’s wishing you happy—and hot—reading!

      Lori & Tony Karayianni

       aka Tori Carrington

      Going Too Far

      Tori Carrington

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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      For our Greek brothers and sisters Katina and Georgos,

      Andreas and Lambrini, Victoria and Alfon,

      Theonesis and Dina, and Thotheres and Georgia,

      whose enduring love proves that happily ever after aren’t

      merely words on a page. You inspire us.

      Happy Valentine’s Day!

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Epilogue

      1

      MONDAYS HAD A WAY OF challenging even Marie Bertelli’s good-girl tendencies. The weekend always seemed to go by too quickly. All too often the first day of the workweek seemed more like an ugly three-eyed monster to conquer rather than a fresh start to finish what she hadn’t the week before.

      She laid on the horn then shouted at the driver who had just cut her off, showing a tiny glimpse of the bad girl she had let out once and only once in her twenty-six years and didn’t dare let out again. She justified the brief transgression by pointing out the other driver couldn’t hear her through the windows of her ’67 ragtop Mustang, closed against the late January chill of Albuquerque, New Mexico. Of course, it didn’t help that she hadn’t had a man in her life for…well, much longer than she cared to think about. Especially when Valentine’s Day loomed around the corner and everywhere she turned red and pink hearts were popping out at her, reminding her of the pathetic state of her love life.

      She glanced at her watch. What also didn’t help was that she’d been waylaid by an accident on I-40, and now grumpy and preoccupied Monday morning drivers threatened to send her careening over an emotional edge that she’d preferred not to be teetering on just then.

      “Marie Antonia Bertelli, is that the mouth you use to talk to your mother?”

      Marie sighed and moved her wireless phone from under her chin where she’d thought her mother couldn’t hear her. Ha. “I wasn’t talking to you, Mama.”

      Although for all intents and purposes she should say exactly what she’d said to the driver to Francesca Bertelli. Her mother sometimes acted like she’d immigrated from Italy last week, with her old-world traditions and speech patterns, rather than the second generation Italian-American that she was, who’d placed first runner-up in the Miss New Mexico beauty pageant.

      Francesca went on as if they hadn’t been interrupted. “About dinner tonight. I want you to wear the blue dress. You know the one I’m talking about? The one you wore to Anthony’s wedding. It makes you look like you have breasts. And, of course, it brings out the blue in your eyes.”

      Marie’s mood worsened with each word her mother said. “I’m not coming to dinner tonight, Mama,” she told her for the third time in as many minutes. Her mother had a habit of only hearing those things she chose to hear. Which was very little of what Marie had to say.

      “The blue dress,” her mother said again.

      The blue dress was the most hideous of hideous bridesmaid’s dresses and was packed away in the bottom of a box somewhere, though Marie had seriously considered burning it. The poofy clown-like nightmare made her look like a blue elephant.

      “I’m making your favorite. Farsumagru o briolone. You have to come to dinner,” her mother complained.

      The Sicilian meat roll wasn’t her favorite. It was her older brother Frankie Jr.’s favorite. But to tell her mother that now would only encourage

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