Date with a Diva. Joanne Rock
face and swayed on her sandals.
His grip tightened around her waist as his chin swiveled toward her again. He smothered a smile. “She’s not a wench.”
“Whatever. I’m sorry I’m too inebriated to think of more diplomatic names for users.” Admiring the way he hadn’t sold out his girlfriend, she glanced around the street to get her bearings, fighting a dizzy spell. The heat was killing her and Club Paradise seemed miles away. “Will you stop a minute while I take off my jacket?”
Her escort halted immediately. “You want me to call a cab?” He reached in his shorts pocket and withdrew a phone.
“That’s okay.” Wriggling her way out of the linen sleeves, she faced the sultry Miami heat in the silk shell she’d worn under her suit. Even now that the sun had set, the pavement still radiated the absorbed warmth of the day. “If I can’t make it back, we can just find a bar and get a nightcap to refresh me.”
Nico blinked. “I know I must have had too much of that damn brew of yours when an idea like that actually makes sense.”
“Do you mean to say you’re as pickled as me?”
He eyed her critically. “Probably not.”
“I thought big guys had tons of tolerance when it came to alcohol.” She continued down the street, knowing she needed to make some serious headway in their trek back to Club Paradise before her liquid knees gave out.
“I always preferred the high of fierce competition.” His arm tightened around her as she walked. “And don’t underestimate the alcohol content of that insane backwoods potion you’re packing.”
She gasped as he tugged her closer, the side of her breast brushing up against his chest somehow. Probably because her arm had found its way around his waist, too. Now when had that happened?
Dizziness assailed her again, and this time she wasn’t so sure the bourbon had been at fault. She stopped short, suddenly realizing she couldn’t go any farther without addressing the heat wave between them.
“Maybe we’d better get that nightcap I mentioned.” Pushing her damp hair from her forehead, she hoped she didn’t look like a drunken, sweaty train wreck. She glanced around the street as the dinner crowd began to emerge from local restaurants, ready for more hard-core entertainment. Nightlife sizzled on the strip.
“There’s a hotel with a bar two doors down.”
Nico’s eyes widened for a split second before they narrowed to cunning slits. Heat seemed to steam from that dark gaze of his.
“And which exactly are we interested in?” Nico walked her backward toward a telephone booth until they were out of the way of people walking on the street. His hands curved around her waist, his fingers burning right through the sheer fabric of her blouse. The look in his dark eyes was hot enough to make her lick her lips.
“What do you mean?” She barely recognized her breathless voice, and she hoped he wasn’t asking what she thought he might be asking because she was in no condition to make an intelligent choice.
His lips loomed above hers, close enough to brush against her own if she arched up just a little bit. Awareness danced over her skin, tingling most in the places her decadent lingerie covered.
“Which are we really looking for right now, Lainie—the hotel or the bar?”
3
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