Date with a Diva. Joanne Rock
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think maybe you could work things out now that you’ve leveled out? Assuming you have?”
Yeah, sure he was level. Most of the time. “Nope. She’s dating my replacement on the team.”
“Ouch.”
“Apparently my judgment sucks.”
“So does mine.” She lifted the flask to toast him. “Looks like we have something in common.”
If he’d had a drink of his own, Nico would have chugged long and thoroughly to that notion. He promised himself it would be the first of many things they had in common.
As it stood, he settled for watching Lainie’s lips mold around the top of the bourbon bottle and imaginining what they’d feel like wrapped around him. Soon.
“Cheers to common ground. Now it’s your turn for some storytelling.”
LAINIE BLINKED and the movement seemed to take forever.
She struggled to haul her eyelids back up, eager to feast her gaze on the tall, dark and delectable Nico Cesare again.
“Lainie?” He even sounded gorgeous.
“Hmm?” As she licked her lips and tasted the bourbon her grandfather had given her as a going-away present when she left Kentucky, Lainie remembered she was already getting drunk tonight. Bad enough she’d let naughty Nico talk her into wallowing in her sorrows, leading to the pleasant numbing effects of alcohol. She definitely couldn’t indulge in sex with a stranger.
“Are you okay?” His voice was all concern and deep male bass.
She could eat him up with a spoon if the timing had been different. If she hadn’t been confronted with her own failure on page one of the Herald today.
“I’m fine.” She passed him the bottle back and let her eyes linger on those well-muscled arms of his. Without her permission her gaze fell to his chest. His muscular thighs. “Too fine, in fact. I don’t think I’d better have any more.”
“You want to start walking back toward the hotel while I coerce your story out of you?” He looked around the beach. “We’re a long way from Club Paradise up here.”
Lainie bit back the first thought in her head—that they should get a room at the nearest hotel instead. She never knew bourbon was an aphrodisiac.
“Good idea.” Rising carefully to make sure she didn’t fall over when she stood, Lainie handed him the newspaper she’d been holding. “And if you want my story, all you need to do is read today’s paper.”
Without sparing it a glance, he shot the newspaper into a waste can at the end of the bench. “That’s your ex-husband’s story—a guy who didn’t know how to hold on to a good thing.” His dark eyes latched onto hers in the twilight. “I want to know what’s bothering you enough to make you come out here all by yourself and drink some sentimental concoction that could peel the paint off your nails. You don’t really miss that guy, do you?”
Somehow seeing the paper in the trash made her feel marginally better.
“Of course I don’t miss him.” She did miss the idea of being married even though she’d never admit it. There was a certain respectability that came with marriage. And comfort.
“I just hate that I’m going to cringe for the rest of my life whenever I have to talk about my ex-husband, the convicted criminal.” She tried to shrug it off as if it was no big deal. Obviously she didn’t want to get into the whys and wherefores of how her marriage weighed on her like a giant red F—a grade she’d always feared but never actually received in school. She’d never fully shaken her backwoods roots. The sense of being watched and judged followed her around even now.
She swayed on her feet a little as she put her leather sandals back on. Nico’s arm snaked around her waist to steady her. Of course, having him stand that close to her did little to stabilize her. If anything, she only felt more light-headed.
“The guy’s a professional scammer who sucked in thousands of investors all over the state. It only makes sense he’d be damn good at putting on a front and making you believe whatever he wanted you to believe.”
“So all that stuff Robert spouted about love and happily ever after was just for show? Gee, Nico, you’re really cheering me up.” She finally managed to jam both of her feet into her sandals, then she edged out of his grip to test her balance.
Still standing.
Still standing.
Falling!
Strong arms gripped her waist and steadied her spine. She found herself plastered against the wall of muscle that served as Nico’s chest and, oh my, wasn’t that nice.
Her linen suit jacket had edged open just enough to stay out of the way. Only his cotton T-shirt and her silk tank top separated them. Okay, technically she had a bra on under there, too, but she’d been wearing skimpy French lingerie all year in an effort to reawaken her hormones and affirm her sense that, damn it, yes, she was still an attractive woman even if her idiot ex-husband ran around with perky-breasted bimbos. Well, except for Giselle, who was definitely perky but not a bimbo.
But the gossamer-thin silk of her bra wasn’t exactly a barrier between her and Nico’s hot bod. If anything, the made-for-pleasure garment only inspired sexy fantasies about her clothes melting away so this god of a man could see how good she looked in imported un-dies.
“Sorry about that.” Her voice caught in her throat, a rather foreign sensation for a woman who’d built a career around being outspoken.
“I’m not.” Nico’s fingers fanned out against her back, the broad palms already covering plenty of terrain. “In fact, I can’t remember the last time I felt this good.”
Me neither. Lainie knew she couldn’t fall into his arms. She had zero capacity to think rationally because she was under the influence. Therefore, she couldn’t make such a big decision.
But if she could have based the decision on the lust pumping through her right now, she would be wrestling this man’s clothes off already.
Her breasts ached against him while her thighs tingled with pleasure to be tangled with his. Heat shot through her to bombard the juncture of her legs…
And damned if she wasn’t twitching and wriggling like a cat in heat.
Regret burning her throat, she eased away. “You can’t remember the last time?” She tossed his words back at him, taking comfort in confrontation. “Come on, Cesare. You’re a hockey star. Women must throw themselves at your feet all the time.”
He steadied her shoulders as she wove her way up the beach toward the street. The sooner she got back to the safety—the solitude—of Club Paradise the better.
“Actually, you’re the first woman to nearly fall at my feet, but I thought I did a damn good job keeping you upright.” His arm remained anchored around her waist as they walked, even though she’d tried to slide away.
Probably just as well. It would be the crowning cap to a hideous day if she fell down on the street because she’d imbibed too much tonight.
Although if she planned her landing just right, maybe she could find a way to show off that French lingerie when she fell.
“Thank you. I appreciate the hand since it was your dubious advice that inspired me to be such a bad girl tonight.” She hadn’t meant it to sound like a come-on, but her tone practically dripped a do-me vibe.
He slid a sideways glance at her. “I’m not touching that one.”
“Thank you.” She gulped and hoped she’d swallowed back whatever wanton demon lurked within her. Although, she had to admit, being bad had never sounded quite so good. “I don’t know how it jumped out of my mouth anyway.”
“I do. Kentucky bourbon. I’m