Date with a Diva. Joanne Rock
if I join you?”
“Why? So you can make sure your sister’s business partner doesn’t go on a bender in full view of the all-important Miami tourist crowd?”
“Um. No.” Nico swiveled his head around to glance up and down the beach. “I read the paper today, too. And in my family, we don’t let each other drink alone.”
A pause stretched between them. His words flustered her more than she would let on, but maybe that was just because she felt like an emotional basket case today. And, damn it, since when were good-looking guys also thoughtful? Maybe she was just disconcerted because he insisted on playing against type.
“You’re welcome to have a seat.” She scooted over a few inches to make sure they wouldn’t be too close. “But since we’re not family, you don’t need to risk your liver for me.”
“Trust me, I’ve taxed my liver for far less worthy causes.” He lowered himself to the bench, which was a long way down for a man so damn tall. “I got blitzed once so our star forward could tell his wife it had been me who trashed their house at a team party. We thought a vodka-induced stupor might make the story more believable and, sure enough, she bought it.”
“Another woman deceived. How noble.” Any warmth Lainie might have felt at his mission not to let her drink alone vanished.
“Stupid, wasn’t it? She was eight months pregnant at the time and I thought I’d be the good guy by smoothing over another player’s mistake.” He shook his head as he tossed the orange-and-purple object he’d been holding into the air. A Hacky Sack. She remembered seeing kids kick a beanbag like that from foot to foot on playgrounds.
“But I only staved off the inevitable,” Nico continued, tossing and catching the sack while hardly sparing a glance for the action. “The guy couldn’t handle fame and fortune, let alone a wife and kid. Yvonne would have been better off knowing what a shit she’d married straight out of the gate.”
“Amen.” Lainie didn’t bother informing him that sometimes women were well aware of their spouses’ shortcomings—they were simply too proud to admit them. Or did that particular stubborn streak only apply to her? “So what is all this talk of a team and star forwards? You play basketball?”
Her sports knowledge was nonexistent, but she’d dated a Michael Jordan fan in her pre-Robert Flynn era, and she was pretty sure forwards went with hoops. Maybe.
He snagged his Hacky Sack out of the air and clutched his chest as if she’d dealt him a blow. “Damn that hurts. Giselle doesn’t ever talk about her brothers? Hell, I brag to everyone I meet what a great chef she is and how she owns a piece of Club Paradise. She never so much as breathed a word to her partners about her brother playing hockey?”
“Given the rocky start to our partnership, Giselle and I pretty much stuck to business whenever we were forced to speak to one another until recently.” They’d launched a kick-ass singles’ resort with the help of their partners Brianne Wolcott and Summer Farnsworth.
“Where do you play hockey?”
“Played. Past tense.” Nico stared out at the ocean and she recognized the tension humming through his body. The leashed desire to rage at the world. “I used to play with the Florida Panthers before I pulled my hamstring and became washed up at thirty-two. Now I’m a second-rate coach on the team I took to the Stanley Cup finals.”
“I won’t pretend to know anything about sports, but I’m sure that sucks.” Lainie wondered if he realized he had the Hacky Sack strangled in a death grip.
“And that was just the start of my year. Speaking of which, where did you hide that flask?”
Lainie debated the wisdom of spending any more time in his company. She felt more than a little vulnerable out here with all her usual boundaries thrown aside. The bourbon singing in her veins kept telling her she deserved some company, but her better judgment knew she couldn’t afford any hot and heavy interlude when she was still on the rebound.
Maybe as long as she didn’t allow herself to get sucked in by those dark, brooding eyes, she’d be okay.
“I don’t mind sharing my stash, Cesare.” She reached for the flask and handed it over with a flourish. Bourbon loosening her tongue, she couldn’t help drawing boundaries early on. “But consider yourself forewarned—just because we share a drink doesn’t mean I’m going home with you.”
NOTHING LIKE COMING STRAIGHT to the point.
But then, in the weeks that he’d been watching Lainie Reynolds, Nico had learned a man needed an iron-fortified ego to withstand the likes of the Club Paradise CEO.
The shrewd Miami attorney-turned-businesswoman had a reputation for plowing through obstacles, focusing on her goals with single-minded determination. They called her the “Diva” behind her back, but anyone who wanted to do business with her tended to call her ma’am.
Luckily for Nico, the required hearty ego didn’t present a problem. A damn good thing since he wanted Lainie. Badly.
“I appreciate the heads up on the sleeping arrangements. Or lack thereof.” He took the proffered container, holding her gaze as his fingers grazed hers. She had damn warm fingers for a cool, remote diva. “I trust you’ll let me know if you change your mind on that?”
As someone who held the record for most shutouts in a hockey season in the NHL, he wasn’t used to being refused. Not that he’d ever been the kind of guy to pursue women for sport, but normally if he was interested, so was the female in question. Even now that his career as a star goalie was in the toilet, he still attracted plenty of recognition. Attention. Women.
Except for this one.
“You’ll definitely be the first to know.” She retracted her fingers, seeming to retreat from him mentally, too. But then, he’d known from the start she was having a bad day since he’d followed her all the way from the resort late this afternoon.
He’d been on the property to oversee a few things for his sister since she’d taken off to Europe with her new boyfriend. Giselle had left her position as executive chef, carefully hiring her replacement before she went overseas, but she’d wanted to be sure the woman’s adjustment went smoothly, given that Lainie Reynolds was a notoriously tough boss.
Nico had meant to get around to checking on the club, but he’d had five other things to do at the club and he’d gotten distracted when he’d spotted Lainie storming out of the hotel shortly after six o’clock—early in the day for a big-time workaholic. He’d followed her on instinct.
With medium height and a fairly average female build, there was nothing physically tangible he could point to about Lainie Reynolds that had captured his attention. But there was something about the force of her personality that came through in her ramrod-straight posture and her smooth, efficient way of moving. Shoulder-length blond hair grazed a white linen jacket that looked as if it wouldn’t dare wrinkle while she wore it. Her short white skirt was pencil slim and showed off legs that hadn’t seen much sun despite the relentless Florida weather.
He didn’t know her well, but she’d snagged his eye last month when she’d joined forces with his sister to put Lainie’s embezzling ex-husband behind bars. Nico had arrived on the scene to find Ms. Corporate Lainie decked out in full ass-kicking regalia, from steel-toed boots to eye-popping leather pants that had invaded his dreams ever since. He’d be hard-pressed ever to look at Ms. Corporate in the same way again.
Too bad she’d barely taken note of him. Then or now.
But if Nico had anything to say about it, that was all about to change.
2
“GO ON, SLICK. Do your worst.” She gestured to the flask he still held in his hand. “I’ve already had my share for today.”
Nico took a deep breath and called himself back from fantasies about this woman. If he wanted a shot with her, he needed