Читать книгу Date with a Diva - Joanne Rock - Страница 11

A SMARTER MAN wouldn’t have pushed the issue. Nico realized that as soon as Lainie and all her sweet curves pulled away from him. A wiser man would have gone with the flow until the flow led to sliding between the sheets with this slightly tipsy siren. As he stared at her flushed cheeks, he wondered if a bourbon buzz would make it easier for her to have multiple orgasms or if that was just wishful thinking.

“And I thought I was full of myself?” She shook her head, her sleek blond hair sticking close to her scalp as if it had been too well trained to do otherwise.

“You’re one big walking, talking ego.”

So maybe he couldn’t honestly deny that charge. Still, he needed to make up for lost ground before he chased her away for good. “Sorry. Guess I wasn’t thinking straight with all that—” his eyes jumped down her body without his permission, taking in her hips, lingering on her breasts “—sensory overload to contend with.”

He could have been either sitting in a nice, air-conditioned bar with her right now or burning up the sheets and finding out firsthand how aggressive Lainie Reynolds would be in bed. Instead, he had pissed her off because he couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself for more than five seconds at a time.

Well done, jackass.

“You’re right.”

What?

“You’re kidding.” He felt his eyes go wide. Since when was he right about anything when it came to women? He’d been screwing up in one form or another since college when he told Patti Lee Watkins he couldn’t go to a party because he needed to practice his slap shot. Could he help it if he was a really honest guy? He’d remained a slave to hockey even though eventually he’d gotten laid despite himself, but right up until his last girlfriend dumped him, he’d continued to be oblivious about what women wanted to hear.

“I wasn’t thinking straight, either. Partly because of the bourbon, partly because of the hormones in overdrive. And if I’m not thinking clearly, why should I expect you to?”

She nodded toward the street, obviously ready to continue their hike and not even bothering to pout at him. Damn but she was mature. He hoped he could keep pace with this woman.

“You sure you don’t need a drink before we go?” He wanted to make up for being a heel. And she’d wanted a nightcap. Every woman’s code name for sex, right? Still, maybe she was thirsty. “Let me get you something.”

Before she could refuse, Nico scouted Ocean Drive for possibilities and found a churro stand, a Greek restaurant and—thankfully—an ice-cream vendor pushing a silver insulated freezer cart. “You can take ice cream on the road. Name your flavor, Lainie. It’s on me.”

Her steps slowed, her eyes, which had been mildly glazed before, now starting to clear as they locked on the ice-cream source. “I suppose I could be swayed with the promise of sweets. How about an Italian ice instead? Raspberry, I think.”

“Way to go out on a limb there and be decadent. Do you ever indulge yourself completely?” Thankful he could do something to smooth things out between them, Nico ordered a triple scoop of chocolate pecan for himself along with her flavored ice. He handed her a stack of napkins and her wooden spoon while they waited.

Shrugging, she unwrapped the wooden stick that served as a utensil. “My job is all about image. When I was an attorney, the best way to attract clients was to be the consummate professional. And now that I’m working with Club Paradise, the hotel is a reflection of me. I make an effort to always keep it together, although you’ve seen firsthand today that I’m not always successful.”

So she’d sipped some bourbon on the day her husband was held without bail. Big deal. Didn’t she ever indulge in ice cream? In hot sweaty sex just for the sake of the thrill?

They walked down the street in the evening heat, the neon lights from the signs playing off the pastel-colored buildings to create a perpetual turquoise-and-pink glow. Lainie dug into her ice with her flat stick, the effects of the bourbon seeming to lessen as they walked and ate.

Nico couldn’t decide if that was good or bad for him. He polished off his cone within a few blocks, long before she nibbled down the so-called treat she’d ordered.

“I believe Giselle mentioned something to me before she left about one of her brothers stopping by the club to check on the kitchens for her while she’s away. Would that be you or one of her other siblings?”

“That would be me.” His arm slipped around her as a crowd of rowdy, college-age guys piled out of a bar nearby.

She raised a curious eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Yeah, that feel-good bourbon haze was definitely fading.

“Sorry. It’s a guy thing.” His arm slid away from her only through great willpower. “Automatic reflex.”

Nodding, she tossed the paper cup and the stick from her ice in a trash can. “It’s okay. But I was thinking maybe we’d better forget today ever happened once we get back to the hotel.”

“Impossible.”

“Excuse me?” Her tone assured him she hadn’t been refused many times in her life.

“I couldn’t forget today if you bribed me with an NHL contract. I’m attracted as hell to you, in case you haven’t guessed already, and a guy just doesn’t go home and forget about that.”

“Nico, I’m flattered, but let me assure you I’m in no position to act on any kind of attraction right now.” She squeezed her temples with her fingers as if the hangover headache was already setting in. “Not that I’m saying the attraction is two-way or anything.”

God forbid.

“What’s wrong with your position?” He enjoyed the view as he watched her strut down the street with her linen skirt still remarkably wrinkle free and her suit jacket folded neatly over her arm. “It looks damn good from where I’m standing.”

She couldn’t give him the brush-off now. Her siren’s body had been melting in his arms half an hour ago, damn it. He’d been watching her for weeks and he was already halfway to obsessed. One thing was certain, if Lainie didn’t like her current position, he had at least ten others in mind that would definitely please her.

LAINIE WAS NOT PLEASED.

Ever since she’d perfected her cool, dismissive look in law school, she’d been able to keep men at arm’s length with no trouble. Men simply didn’t chase her. Even in the case of her husband, she’d been the one to pursue him. Why wasn’t Nico taking the very specific hints?

“Look, I’m sure you’re used to women falling all over you with your jock appeal and your superstar status and all that.” Could she help it if just a touch of sarcasm crept into her words? “But I’ve got a hotel to run and a bitter divorce still weighing me down like a Mack truck around my neck. I’m just trying to be honest with you about what you can expect from me.”

“Which I’m rapidly realizing is nothing, according to you.” His voice hummed a bit too close to her ear as they edged past a crowd gathering outside the velvet ropes of a new nightclub Lainie had been meaning to check out.

A shiver tripped through her at his nearness. She couldn’t deny a little thrill at the way he maneuvered her through the milling people. His protective arm around her now and then might be a tad chauvinistic, but it left her no doubt he’d be quick to make sure nobody messed with her. Her shiver was an unusual sensation for a woman long accustomed to watching out for herself.

Still, she couldn’t afford to get tied up in knots by a man again. Not now. Maybe not ever. Her divorce from Robert had ripped her raw and then turned her inside out. But since she had no intention of discussing the scarred state of her heart with Nico, she settled for counting down the more obvious, logical reasons that they would be all wrong together.

“For starters, did I mention how devastating it was to have your sister pull out as executive chef here last month? Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled she’s happy, but you have to see how difficult it’s been filling her shoes.” Giselle’s contribution to the resort had been bigger than Lainie realized, and although Nico’s sister maintained ownership of the controlling shares, she left a hell of a void in her place.

One that the new chef hadn’t come close to filling, but Lainie was crossing her fingers the woman learned quickly.

When Nico didn’t respond right away, she hurried on. “And did you know we’ve got a film crew coming to town to shoot a movie at Club Paradise?”

“What movie?”

“The press release called it a sexy action-adventure drama, if that tells you anything. Didn’t Giselle tell you—Crap.”

“What?”

“I forgot to tell Giselle about it. I thought maybe Summer or Brianne would tell her. It was Brianne’s industry contacts that led to the club being used as a filming location. Did you know she used to be a director in New York before she invested in the resort and took over security?” Lainie hoped maybe if she threw out enough smoke-and-mirrors conversation, Nico would forget about her dictate that they go separate ways when they reached the hotel. She was feeling a little less weak-kneed now that she’d had something to eat, but she still had enough bourbon chugging through her system not to trust herself to make rational arguments tonight.

“Giselle told me. Not about the movie, but about Brianne having worked in film.” He spoke absently, taking out the Hacky Sack that he toyed with like a lucky charm. Tossing the beanbag up in the air as he walked, he caught it three times in quick succession and then jammed it back in his pocket. “Having the movie filmed here—that’s huge. Did you happen to catch the name of it?”

“It’s called Diva’s Last Dance. You see why I’m up to my eyeballs right now? We’re down a partner and we’ve got to be more impressive than ever. I just think it would be easier if we—”

“You’re not down a partner.” He gestured to something up the street. “The resort is within view now. You think you’ll be okay the rest of the way?”

She nodded, no longer tired thanks to his intriguing and potentially worrisome comment. “What do you mean we’re not down a partner? Your sister has practically turned into Ms. Peace Corps now that she’s overseas, and she’s so damn starry-eyed in love I’d be surprised if she ever comes back to the club.” Did he know something she didn’t know?

They passed a group of drag queens dishing and primping in front of their compacts on the next street corner. The crowd of oversize men dressed in sexy dresses openly ogled Nico with whistles and catcalls. He made them all squeal by blowing them a kiss.

Lainie nearly commented on his obvious comfort with the locals until she realized he might be pulling his own version of conversational smoke and mirrors.

Before she could get back on track, he continued. “I’ve read about this movie. It’s a hot psychological drama where the heroine goes undercover to track a killer and ends up confronting the ghosts of her own past. Bram Hawthorne—the guy who’s supposed to be the next Tom Cruise—is in it.”

“Do I look like I’m lacking a pulse? Of course I know who Bram Hawthorne is. I didn’t recognize the female lead’s name though.”

“Rosaria Graham. And trust me, guys know who she is.”

“Oh really?” She didn’t like Rosaria already. Not that she cared who Nico Cesare spent his time drooling over.

“I’ve read a few things about the movie, I just didn’t know that some of it was being shot in Miami. But I heard the first actress quit because the script called for really graphic love scenes, so they called in Rosaria who has done a couple of mild adult films.” He cleared his throat. “Or so I’ve heard.”

A vision of Nico watching adult films flashed through her brain, followed quickly by an image of her watching with him. She’d never felt secure enough with any man to investigate the potential sensual possibilities of that kind of erotica, and not in a million years would she have ever gone out on a quest to explore that cinematic genre on her own. But the idea of watching with Nico….

Her breath caught in her throat as she remembered she had no business thinking about sex with this man. Scavenging up some righteous indignation—a far safer response—she sent him a level look.

“Are you telling me I’m hosting a porno flick on a four-star property?” Because no matter how much of a sex goddess this Rosaria person might be, Lainie would scream breach of contract so fast it would give those film executives whiplash if they tarnished the upscale image of her resort.

“Of course not. And some insiders are claiming that hiring her was all a publicity stunt anyway.” He slowed his step as they reached Club Paradise, their long trek down South Beach finally at an end. “But obviously the producers want to get across a high steam level with this film.”

“Okay, Roger Ebert. Care to tell me how you know all this about a movie that hasn’t even been made yet?” Relieved to be back on familiar terrain, she stepped closer to the cover of a decorative palm tree near the Ocean Drive entrance of the resort.

Pride filled her to see the number of cars coming and going past the front doors, especially for a Monday. The Moulin Rouge Lounge was closed tonight, but the block still buzzed with activity.

“Giselle must have had a copy of People magazine lying around somewhere. During the hockey off-season, I tend to kick back a little bit. Read for entertainment.” He withdrew his hand from his pocket to wrap it about her wrist, drawing her around the corner of the stucco building to the side of the Mediterranean-inspired hotel. His touch melted right through her skin, the warmth of his palm doing delicious things to her insides.

Lainie could hardly object to the move since she thought all along they shouldn’t be seen together. Too complicated. “Well, regardless of where you found out all this, I appreciate you sharing it with me.”

“No problem. But now I’ll admit you’ve got me curious.” He loomed closer suddenly, although Lainie hadn’t seen him take any actual steps toward her. “You think you can handle all that steam under your roof day after day?”

He was so close she could feel the heat rise off his body. Memories of being pressed up against him sent waves of delicious awareness skating over her skin. She took a breath, steeling herself to give him the brush-off she desperately needed to impart.

“Anyone ever tell you that you have a hell of a lot of nerve?” She congratulated herself that at least it hadn’t come out of her mouth as a breathy rasp.

Take that, hormones.

“Nerve is an essential component of being a good goalie. I can’t afford to let anything get past me, even if that means throwing myself in the path of speeding objects.” He didn’t touch her, but she thought she caught a hint of the bourbon on his breath.

Would he taste like that strong brew, or would his mouth be more reminiscent of chocolate ice cream? Neither possibility scared her off. If anything, her own mouth watered.

“I’m not a speeding object.” She’d meant to deliver the words with a bit more disdain. Instead, she spoke by rote with no feeling behind the sentiment, like a woman in the throes of a sensual trance.

“Nevertheless, I’m not going to let you slide on by.” His mouth descended to hers while she stood paralyzed by her own surprise.

Her own want.

But as his lips coaxed hers apart, the slick heat of his tongue sliding inside her mouth chased away the dazed sensation. Her hands gravitated to his chest, tracing over the wall of muscle she’d been longing to feel for hours. He cradled her chin in his palm, tilting her head to the angle that pleased him most, and by doing so, pleasing her to no end.

The lure of that kiss made her lean into him, her breasts already aching for contact. Her purse shifted on her shoulder, her linen jacket bunching up where she’d laid it across the leather bag.

The wrinkles, the discomfort of her heavy purse, none of it mattered. She only cared about that sizzling point of contact where their tongues tangled and their tastes blended.

Definitely chocolate ice cream. The sweetness of Nico Cesare’s kiss belied all his nervy words and his earlier bold assumption that she wanted to crawl into bed with him. For this moment at least, his arrogance took a back seat to the skillful lash of his tongue and the delicate way he wove one hand through her hair, sifting the strands between his fingers while he kissed her as if he had all the time in the world.

She could have gone on forever, having long forgotten what made her want to protest this decadent mating of the mouths. But at that moment, a chorus of shrill screams went up in front of the hotel.

“It’s Bram Hawthorne!”

More shrieks. Feet pounded the pavement all around them as if a stampede of buffalo in high heels had come gunning for Club Paradise.

Lainie and Nico broke apart, breathing heavy, clothes askew. She saw her own confused desire mirrored in his dark gaze for a fraction of a second before a herd of spandex-clad females buzzed past them at hyperspeed.

“Please don’t let this be happening.” Lainie hadn’t expected the movie talent for another week or she never would have left the resort today. “Did they really just say what I think they said?”

The screams continued at a deafening pitch out front. No wonder it felt as if eyes were trained this way. Apparently they had been—just not on her. And it would only get worse once shooting began.

Nico stepped back a few feet, just far enough to give him a visual on the front entrance.

“Well?” Lainie tucked her shirt more firmly into her skirt and slipped into her jacket, her pulse still dancing a hip-hop beat through her veins.

Nico lifted a lone strand of mussed hair out of her eyes, his touch so gentle it gave her the same weak-kneed feeling as the bourbon, only better.

“I’d say either that kiss has me seeing stars or else your lead actor has arrived.”