Date with a Diva

He’d been hoping for commiseration, not interrogation. But he had the feeling that if he wanted to keep his place next to her, he needed to put himself out there.

“I’ll spill the whole sordid story if you share the bourbon and whatever’s got you down today.”

“You go crazy with the bourbon.” She waved him on with a hurry-up gesture. “I know it well enough to respect it.”

“Hey, I’ve had a shit year, too.” He took another, more careful sip of the bourbon. This time he could better taste the appeal. It wasn’t smooth, but there was a hell of a kick. “I’m not above a little comfort where I can find it.” He peered across the bench at her again. “And you did make it clear I wouldn’t be finding it with you tonight, correct?”

One side of her mouth hitched up. Not a smile. More like a wry smirk. Still, he counted it as progress.

“Correct.” She eyed him as he leaned his head back against the bench. “But if we were to debate who deserves comfort of any kind here, I think I’ve still got you beat.”

“Ah, but you haven’t heard my story yet. The gut-wrenching drama of professional sports, complete with passion, fame, heartbreak… It’s practically a prime-time special in the making.” He didn’t want to push too hard, but he didn’t want her to leave now that they were finally talking. He’d been waiting for weeks to get this close to her. Failure was not an option. He hadn’t been interested in the chase since Ashley booted him out after his career ended. For the first time since then his hormones were on full alert.

And yeah, maybe after watching his career go up in smoke and his love life land in the crapper, he liked the idea of slaying some dragons for a lady. In spite of her tough exterior, he could see Lainie had more than a few shadowy demons lurking in her eyes right now.

“Then bring it on, superstar. Your story and the bourbon.” She gestured for her flask with an impatient waggle of her fingers. Her nails gleamed with dark copper polish, each one as long and perfectly shaped as the next. “If we’re serious about drowning our sorrows, I’d better have a few more sips. I’ve never been the sort of woman to do anything by half measures.”

He handed over the flask. “Damn but you’re scary. No wonder Giselle spent all year hiding from you.”

“Is that right?” Her eyebrows rose as if she was enjoying a compliment. She stole a sip of her backwoods brew without a wince. “It’s a skill carefully cultivated by ambulance chasers. I’m not in that business any longer, but you know what they say about old habits. However, we are not talking about me tonight.”

Yet.

Nico wasn’t about to let her off the hook without finding out more about her, but he’d honor the deal they’d made.

“Okay, chapter one—my hamstring shreds in a combination of old muscle problems and a skate blade to the back of my thigh. I’m out of the game for good.”

“Just like that?” She crossed her legs, distracting him with the shifting of slim thighs against her short white skirt. “No second opinions from other doctors?”

“Actually, this is after ten different opinions from hapless doctors who are thanked by me raging and shaking my fist. I guess I omitted the part where I act like a two-year-old and endear myself to no one.” Nico watched as she smoothed the hemline of her already straight skirt. Memories of her in tight black leather blared into his brain, the same mental pictures that had haunted him ever since the night she and Giselle told Robert Flynn where to get off.

Nico had been getting off on the memory for weeks.

“Didn’t you have a contract?” Her question forced him to blink away the black leather.

“Absolutely. But in my egomania at the time, I signed a one-year deal knowing I’d have a monster season of career highs and then I’d be in a position to sign a longer deal for more money.” Stupid, selfish move, but then he’d always been the kind of guy to go for it all and put himself on the line. If he hadn’t been thinking about having a record-breaking deal quoted on ESPN, he would have just gone for the very reasonable long-term option the Panthers had offered him. He’d chosen to gamble.

“So you’re bummed because after years of living on the big-league paycheck, you’re back to nothing once your contract year is up.” She took another sip and passed the bottle back. When he set his Hacky Sack down to take the flask, she nodded at his new toy. “May I?”

“Sure.” He couldn’t picture her playing Hacky Sack but he handed it over. “Only I wasn’t upset about the money so much as the lost glory. Hockey is—was—my whole life. You remember Field of Dreams and how the people in the movie were so nuts for baseball?” He waited for her nod. “That’s how I am about hockey. It’s—it was—a way of life.”

Pointing one of her perfectly painted fingernails at him, she stared him down. “I hope you’ve already talked to a financial planner.”

Bad enough he was spilling his guts, he’d be damned if he would take financial advice, too. He made a noncommittal shrug.

“Okay. After six years in corporate law, I had to at least warn you. Chapter two?” She squeezed the Hacky Sack between her fingers the same way that he liked to when he wasn’t kicking the hell out of the thing.

Distracted by her hands, he was surprised when she handed the beanbag back to him.

“Chapter two?” She prodded like an impatient trial lawyer nudging the witness.

Nico wondered if she would be that aggressive in bed. And if he’d ever have a chance to find out for himself.

“Chapter two finds me without a job, which quickly leads to my girlfriend walking out.”

“She sure wasn’t much of a girlfriend.”

“I didn’t discover until too late that groupies are only interested in the fame and the paycheck.” Although Ashley had done a hell of a job convincing him they wanted the same things in life—kids, family, roots. He’d laid his heart on the line for her, too, only to have it booted back to him. “To be fair, though, I guess I’d always been pretty interested in the fame and the paycheck, too.”

“And not to stick up for this piranha of a girlfriend, but is there any chance you were just flat out bad company once your luck changed?” She recrossed her legs in the other direction, calling his attention to the lean thighs that he’d been dreaming about for weeks. “Sometimes people can turn superornery when the rug has been pulled out from under them.”

“I’m positive I acted like a complete bastard at times, but I thought our relationship was more grounded than that.” Ashley leaving him had been a second slap in the face—no, make that a third—after his injury and his career ending.

“You 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 nominating it as an alternate form of truth serum.” His long legs took slow, easy strides that translated into hyperspeed for Lainie. She wasn’t a short woman by any stretch of the imagination, but this guy was tall. Of course, her stride was inhibited by a slim miniskirt.

They headed left toward Ocean Drive once they neared South Beach. On the north end of Miami Beach, Collins Avenue ran along the water, but as the streets descended, Ocean Drive routed drivers even closer to the shoreline.

“Truth serum?” Lainie chose to focus on her repartee with the arm candy beside her instead of how many more blocks they needed to walk before she could sit down again. Her head was spinning, screwing with her balance, her pulse rate…and her damn over-active hormones. “Maybe we ought to dump a little more of it down your throat then. I think I got robbed on your half of the story. How did you meet the wench who dropped you as soon as you were down on your luck?”

Nico turned his head to the side—sort of down and away from her so she couldn’t see his expression. Had she been too insulting? She craned her head across his body to see his 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 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.