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Date with a Diva
Joanne Rock
Lainie Reynolds's long-ignored libido has picked a fine time to wake up. Just when she's got her hands full at her sexy singles resort, Nico Cesare is in her face. The sexy man definitely is to blame for her out-of-control hormones. Since he won't be ignored, she'll simply have to tackle him in the sheets and get him out of her system.The first time he lays eyes on South Beach's infamous diva, Nico suspects there's a sensual goddess lurking beneath Lainie's do-not-touch exterior. And he has to have her. She's agreed to a sultry affair, but has made it clear that she's too independent for anything more. But Nico's already in deep, and a series of suspicious incidents at the resort gives him the perfect opportunity to be with her day and night. What better way to show her that this kind of heat lasts for a long time?



Nico stared down at her with dark, smoldering eyes
“Damn, but you’re hot.”
Lainie reached out for him impatiently. “How would you know when you’re not even close enough to touch?”
He fell on her with a speed that would have done his sport proud. God knows it pleased her no end. He stretched out next to her on the lounger, molding his body to hers as they lay on their sides, facing each another. His hand tugged down the zipper on her skirt. “How about this? Is this close enough?”
“Not nearly, and you know it.” She wriggled her hips to ease the zipper down all the faster. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”
Steering the skirt over her hips and down her thighs, he stared into her eyes as if he could see every secret hidden inside her. “Don’t worry about me finishing. I’m just going to make sure that it’s you who finishes first.”


Dear Reader,
When I first conceived the idea for the SINGLE IN SOUTH BEACH series, I paired off Brianne, Summer and Giselle—three of the owners of Club Paradise—pretty quickly. But then I looked at the last co-owner, burned-by-love divorcée Lainie Reynolds, and wondered who I could put in her path that would inspire her to take a second chance. The resort CEO and diva of South Beach would steamroll over the average man in no time.
Luckily, Giselle Cesare had a wealth of arrogant, in-your-face brothers running around Miami, and I chose Nico, the wild hockey player, to turn Lainie’s head. I hope you’ll agree these two make a fun couple, although get ready for some serious sparks to fly! This is one heroine who isn’t wading back into romance easily.
I hope you’ll join me for next month’s SINGLE IN SOUTH BEACH story. Her Final Fling will be a July Harlequin Temptation novel, and we’ll see what’s in store for Nico’s older brother Vito. Visit me at www.JoanneRock.com to learn more about my future releases!
Happy reading,
Joanne Rock

Date with a Diva
Joanne Rock


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For the wonderfully supportive folks at Harlequin who make following my writing dream such a continuous pleasure. In particular, I can’t send enough thanks to the art department for the fabulous covers, the marketing and public relations departments for sending my stories across the globe, the production department for refining my word choices on those occasions when my tongue gets tangled and the editorial department for providing such a fantastic venue for series romance.
And for Dean, who is especially helpful when it comes to offering insights on the mind of the male athlete.
Thank you for the ten-year hockey education, and oh yeah—Go Penguins!

Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue

Prologue
CREATING TROUBLE in Club Paradise:

1 Initiate personnel problems among the staff.
2 Lay the groundwork for an explosive situation.
3 Publicize the whole mess on network television, or better yet—a full-length feature film.
4 Force The Diva—ice princess Lainie Reynolds—to remember my name.
The disgruntled Club Paradise guest crossed off the first item on the list while listening to the argument brewing in the hallway just outside one of the exotic hotel’s kitchens. The lush South Beach singles’ resort would rapidly lose credibility without a chef, and from the sounds of things, the new cook wouldn’t last the rest of the day.
Pencil hovering above the second task on the list, the intruder peered across the kitchen to the half-prepared food strewn across a counter beside the stainless-steel sink. No sense being premature about scratching the explosion item off the list. With any luck, all hell would break loose soon anyhow.
For now, everything was right on schedule.
Just the way uptight perfectionist Lainie Reynolds liked it.

1
ALONE AT LAST.
When she’d finally put a good thirty blocks between her and Club Paradise, CEO Lainie Reynolds found a bench near the ocean and let out the breath she’d been holding ever since she stormed out of the hotel. Always conscious of her image, she hadn’t wanted to be near anyone she worked with when she allowed the stress from her hellacious day to flood through her.
Setting down the flask of Kentucky bourbon on the wooden bench beside her, she let her frustrations hiss between her teeth in the form of an extended sigh.
Damn Robert Flynn.
She’d been divorced from him for almost a year now, so she hadn’t expected her ex-husband’s preliminary hearing to prey so heavily on her heart. Hell, she’d helped put the bastard behind bars after he’d cheated on her with a gorgeous younger woman, then proceeded to cheat their friends and business associates out of millions of dollars. He’d embezzled money from the resort she’d held a small share in and later reorganized, so essentially he’d stolen from her, too. He’d also cleaned out their checking account and used some of her personal money to buy up local real estate and sell it for his own profit before he skipped town.
Her divorce had been bitter to say the least.
Indulging in another nip from the elegant flask she’d never had cause to use until now, Lainie breathed in the moist, salty air and willed herself to relax. She needed the soothing peace of a quiet stretch of ocean to process everything that had happened today.
The news of Robert’s hearing had hit her hard, but she hadn’t been able to think through it with a film crew arriving at the resort to start production of a new movie this week. Having Club Paradise featured in the sexiest new action-adventure drama to be released next year could really put them on the international map.
But her life was such a screwed-up mess she wouldn’t be able to make the most of the opportunity unless she pulled herself together. On top of that, it would be torturous to be around all those steamy scenes in progress while her own love life sucked.
Only when her heart rate slowed did she allow herself to drag today’s paper out of her purse.
Fallen Flynn Held Without Bail.
There was a mug shot of Robert Flynn, her cheating ex, beside the headline. Underneath that picture there was a photo of her and Robert at a charity gala last spring, a huge Miami society event that had been sponsored by her law firm. It had been the beginning of the end for them since she’d caught him canoodling with some paralegal from her company during the silent auction portion of the evening. One of many in a long line of women, she discovered later.
Her eyes had been irrevocably opened that night after years of denial. But when the newspaper photo had been taken, that awful moment of realization hadn’t happened yet. Lainie was clutching Robert’s hand with the mindless conviction of someone who needed to be right about her choices no matter what the cost. She’d never been a clingy woman, but she’d always been certain that whatever she chose must be right by sheer virtue of the fact that she’d made the decision.
So damn full of herself.
Lainie picked up the flask again, promising herself this would be her last sip. She was a one-or-two glass kind of woman, refusing to ever succumb to a state of being where she would be out of control. Sloppy. Or worst of all, stupid.
Savoring the burn in her throat from that last swig even as she crammed the flask back in her purse, she was surprised to see tears fall on the newspaper she held in her lap.
He deserved to be in jail. She wanted him in jail, damn it. She just hadn’t counted on how much the confirmation of his criminal activity in black and white would make her feel like a first-class failure.
Grateful she’d escaped Club Paradise before she lost it, Lainie let the tears dot the newsprint. Sure she’d recovered financially from the whole disaster—she’d left her law practice and ended up taking over Club Paradise with the help of three partners. They’d shifted the focus of the resort from a schmaltzy couples’ love nest to a sleek, sensuous playground for singles, and met with phenomenal success.
But in all the months she’d struggled to put the business in the black, Lainie had never once stopped to put her heart back in order. Damn. Damn. Damn.
Folding and unfolding the newspaper in her lap, Lainie allowed the hurt of Robert’s betrayal to wash over her. She’d always hated being the butt of a joke, and now she seemed to be a full-blown source of public ridicule. Even now during her anonymous minibinge on the beach she felt people’s eyes on her, as if they were pointing and staring behind her back. Ridiculous.
She would indulge the pity party for ten more minutes and then she’d get back to business. Back to her one-track life.
But as she stared down at the front page of the Miami Herald, Lainie spied a pair of men’s worn leather loafers out of the corner of her eye. Great. Just what she didn’t need. Witnesses to the damn pity party.
Apparently there were eyes on her after all. With any luck, those eyes belonged to someone who didn’t have a damn clue about her hideous mistake.
Thankfully, the shoes stepped back again, away from her and her personal dark cloud. But just as she breathed a sigh of relief, the shoes came back. Closer. Paused.
Irritated, Lainie arranged her features in a death stare guaranteed to set any man on his ass. As she lifted her chin and spied the rest of the loafer owner, however, it occurred to her there might be better uses for this particular man’s ass.
A marathon sack session immediately sprang to mind.
He had the body of an athlete, which couldn’t be disguised by his khaki shorts and black polo shirt with some kind of panther logo on the pocket. From the mouthwatering definition of his pecs against the cotton fabric, she just knew he’d have amazing abs under that shirt. At a few inches over six foot, he had long arms and legs, bronzed and sprinkled with dark hair, thanks to some sort of Mediterranean heritage.
And, yes, after she noticed the body that looked as if it could go all night long, she did also take a glance at his face. With his thick dark hair and long eyelashes framing gorgeous brown eyes, he would have been way too pretty if not for a nose that had seen the wrong end of too many fistfights. Two distinct crooks could have been borderline disfiguring on anyone else, but they gave this guy a certain all-male, don’t-mess-with-me appeal.
“Lainie?”
So much for anonymous.
She shook off her frank observation of the interloper, wondering where all that female interest had come from. She hadn’t noticed any man that way since…before she got married.
Welcome back, hormones.
Still, as nice as it might be to know she could experience the itch, she wasn’t in any mood for scratching today. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
Scavenging for some semblance of the death stare, she settled for a mild glare. No matter how enticing this newcomer might be, she really needed to be alone today until she could rein in her messy emotions.
“I’m Nico.” He said it with the certainty of a man who knew his identity would explain everything.
“I’m usually good with names, but—”
“Nico Cesare. Giselle’s brother?” He sounded vaguely put out. That was the problem with good-looking men. They thought they were too memorable to forget.
Giselle Cesare was one of four partners that owned controlling shares of Club Paradise. She and Lainie had their differences since Giselle had slept with Lainie’s ex-husband—before they’d divorced. Very messy situation all around. Their partnership had been hideously tense until they’d joined forces in a mini-sting operation to bring Robert Flynn to justice.
And come to think of it, there had been another guy who’d waltzed onto the scene the day they’d brought down Robert.
She snapped her fingers as she recalled the man’s face.
“You were there the day they arrested my ex.” The memory blindsided her with sudden clarity. She’d put the event out of her mind until today’s newspaper had hit her desk.
His expression softened. “When Giselle’s boyfriend asked me for backup, how could I refuse a chance to bring down the pissant crook who screwed over my sister?” As he shrugged, his square shoulders drew her eye. “No offense.”
Lainie let the old anger roll over her. Off her. “Robert Flynn has already offended me more than any one woman deserves. I think I’m impervious to your run-of-the mill slights and slurs.”
“But I didn’t mean—”
“You didn’t mean to imply I married a blight on humanity? Of course you did. And how can I penalize you for an honest observation?”
“Touchy subject?” He reached in his pocket and withdrew some sort of orange-and-purple beanbag. Whatever it was, he squeezed the fabric back and forth between his fingers in an almost unconscious gesture.
“Not at all.” She folded the newspaper article in half, unwilling to let him see she’d been wasting even ten minutes mourning her failed marriage to a criminal. She peered around the beach in an effort to change the subject. “You live around here?”
“No. I just happened to be in the neighborhood. I thought I recognized you from Club Paradise and I—” he worked the little orange-and-purple sack in his hand faster “—thought I shouldn’t let you drink alone.”
Crap.
“You saw me hitting the bottle?” Now the only man who’d awakened her hibernating hormones in years thought she was a closet drunk. Probably just as well since she had no business drooling over Giselle’s too handsome brother anyhow. And hadn’t her friend said all her brothers were overprotective and chauvinistic? Thanks, but no thanks.
“It seemed a little incongruous for a businesswoman wearing white linen to go for the flask in the middle of a public beach.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of her bench. “Mind 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 to be on his toes. As he’d followed her up Ocean Drive today, walking a half block behind her, he’d slowly formulated a plan. He had two more months in the off-season to get his life in order and figure out if he wanted to keep the coaching gig he hated. Until then, he’d further his sister’s interests at Club Paradise while furthering his own very personal interest in Ms. Lainie Reynolds.
“You can’t be done. You took what—two sips? What kind of enabler would I be if I let you off the hook with that?” He took a swig and nearly fried his throat. “Jesus, woman, what have you got in here?” His words croaked with the firepower of her beverage of choice.
She didn’t smile, but he could see the hint of humor in her eyes. He’d been watching her on and off at Club Paradise over the last few weeks. In that time, Nico had never caught Lainie in a full-out grin.
“It’s homemade Kentucky bourbon.” She came damn close to smiling when he coughed. “I know it’s not exactly smooth, but it’s—sentimental.”
“No way in hell you’re a Kentucky girl.” His reaction leaped out of his mouth before he had a chance to weigh the pros and cons. A frequent, unhappy affliction of his since childhood.
“I may be a big-shot Miami businesswoman, but everyone has a past.” All traces of smiles and shared humor disappeared as she looked out to sea. The sunset painted the water warm pinks and oranges, giving the whole beach a surreal glow. Even Lainie’s shoulder-length blond hair was tinged strawberry.
“What were you saying about yours, Cesare?” she prodded. “You lost your spot on the hockey team and then what?”
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.
“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.”

4
NICO HADN’T EXPECTED the look of mild horror on Lainie’s face. It appeared for only an instant, a split second of blood draining from her cheeks while her eyes widened. Then she shook herself, and as if by the mere force of her formidable will, she drew herself up to her full height, threw her shoulders back and marched into the fray with complete authority.
Leaving Nico rushing to keep up, his senses still scrambled by her kiss. How was it possible that such a hard-as-nails woman could turn so soft in his arms?
He jogged the few steps to catch her on the walkway alongside the hotel, unwilling to let her be jostled and elbowed by a bunch of screaming fans. In his time as an NHL star, he’d seen his fair share of overzealous followers getting pretty out of hand. He couldn’t even imagine what it must be like for a Hollywood icon of Bram Hawthorne’s level of fame.
Like it or not, Lainie would have to suffer Nico’s presence today. So what if she had insisted they part company once they got back to the resort? Club Paradise was in an uproar that could easily turn dangerous without the proper security in place.
As they rounded the corner to the front of the property, he could make out the Bram Hawthorne entourage by the concentration of popping flashbulbs. Hordes of howling women and even a few men swarmed around a center point Nico couldn’t quite distinguish.
The poor bastard in the middle must be getting eaten alive by this rabid crowd. Lainie and Nico paused as they neared the mob.
“You need to hire more protection for the golden boy over there if you expect him to survive the filming.” Nico studied the throng, searching for possible entry points to give the Hawthorne entourage a hand when he noticed Lainie’s feet already in motion.
Right toward the vortex of the upheaval.
He double-timed to reach her, skirting between a few sensible fans hanging back from the mad whirlwind. Prying Lainie from her position between two teenage girls wearing T-shirts from Bram’s last movie, Nico hauled her back out of the danger zone.
“What are you doing?” Shouting over top of the earsplitting screams of the fans, she glared at him with a look that would no doubt send her employees running for cover. “I’ve got a five-alarm fire to put out here. I don’t have time to indulge any misguided attempts at chivalry.”
“This isn’t a matter of chivalry. Those women will tear you to shreds if you try to keep them from the object of their affection.” In fact, he already spied a catfight breaking out among the ranks. “Where the hell is Brianne and all her security cameras?”
“I thought I caught a glimpse of red hair over that way.” She pointed into the middle of the crowd as mayhem exploded on her sidewalk. “But she wasn’t prepared for this yet and it’s obvious she needs help. I’m going in there whether you like it or not. If you want to be of some assistance, you are welcome to come with me, but this is my hotel and you damn well better remember who’s in charge here.”
This time, he was ready for her when she ducked into the throng. If his stint as a goalie had taught him anything, it was how to anticipate an opponent’s moves.
“Then I’m damn well right behind you.” And what a fine designer-clad behind it was.

AN HOUR LATER, Lainie still couldn’t shake the determined company of Nico Cesare.
They’d intercepted Bram Hawthorne and had just finished helping smuggle him into the hotel. Thankfully, they’d managed to do so without losing the actor’s shirt or his limbs despite the urgent tugging of relentless fans. With Bram and his personal crew of assistants already on their way up to their private suites, Lainie headed toward the main desk only to realize the rapid click of her footsteps was echoed by the quiet thump of worn leather loafers behind her.
She whirled around to face him, only to be taken aback all over again by how his long, muscular body and wickedly dark eyes made her pulse flutter. Even celebrated actor Bram Hawthorne’s good looks took a back seat to this man’s raw masculinity. At least in Lainie’s opinion, which she realized might have been influenced by the most electrifying kiss of her whole life.
Gathering her wits, she knew the sooner she sent away big, gorgeous male distractions the better off she’d be. Her judgment in men had a hideous track record. No, her judgment in men didn’t just have a record. It had a rap sheet.
“I appreciate your help with our new guest.” She smiled tightly, wishing she had never picked up a bottle of bourbon tonight. Her head throbbed with the stress of the day. “But I can take things from here.”
She could already hear shouts for her attention from the registration desk. She had a thousand other things she needed to take care of before bed tonight, and none of them involved Nico.
“Why don’t I stick around and see how things are going in the kitchen? Giselle asked me to make sure the new chef—”
He was cut off by the arrival of her big, burly concierge, an endlessly tall Cuban man with heavy horn-rimmed glasses and an accent to die for when he wasn’t shouting over top of people.
“Ms. Reynolds!”
Even Nico backed up a step at the man’s raised voice, which wasn’t loud as much as very well projected.
Still, she didn’t appreciate being interrupted. Especially when she was just about to explain to her sexy-as-sin companion why they couldn’t work elbow to elbow like this.
She quirked an eyebrow in Dante Alvaro’s direction, not trusting herself to speak. Rumor had it she’d scared off a few of the employees at Club Paradise in their first year of business, and while she didn’t think rock-solid Dante would be easily intimidated, she didn’t wish to blow her stack in such a public forum.
“Sorry for interrupting you, Lainie.” His sour expression didn’t look in the least sorry. Dante was usually a very charming man, dazzling the guests with his well-connected sleight of hand as he provided primo tickets and dinner reservations. Today, however, he looked positively grim. “But I knew you’d want to be informed immediately that the new chef quit an hour ago.”
No. No. Nooo.
Lainie closed her eyes, fending off a mixture of stress headache, hangover and dangerous levels of frustration threatening to explode. Her well-run hotel was suddenly splitting at the seams, making her feel like an amateur. God, she hated that.
Nico cleared his throat, edging his way into the conversation with his broad shoulders and his cute butt that should have left an hour ago. “You can hire someone temporary in the morning while you conduct a new search, right? You must have résumés still on file after hiring this woman.”
“We have Hollywood royalty in the hotel. They’re probably already phoning in room-service orders for green M&M’s only and organically grown vegetables prepared according to their latest diet specifications. I don’t think even Giselle would have been ready to cook according to the Sugar Busters plan, so I’m damn sure that some culinary temp worker isn’t going to have a clue how to handle all the specialty orders.”
If she was hoping Dante would contradict her with some good news, her hopes were dashed when he began shaking his dark, bald head. “We already had over fifty special orders for breakfast tomorrow when I left the kitchen an hour ago.”
Exasperation draining her of ideas, Lainie peered around the lobby and noticed more people who were obviously Californians crowding the reception area. They were easy to spot with their neat manicures and tans that were probably misted onto their perfect bodies. Cell phones were already ringing in cheerful time like an AT&T symphony.
“I thought these people weren’t supposed to arrive for another three days.” She would have had security in place by then. And she most definitely wouldn’t have shown up on site with a few shots of bourbon muddling her brain and a sexy hockey player muddling her hormones.
Dante’s deep brown eyes darted around the busy lobby, exchanging some unspoken message with his assistant currently manning the concierge’s desk. “There was a hurricane in the Texas gulf that upset the location shooting schedule so they decided to visit Club Paradise early.”
“You realize I’m so screwed?” For once she had no idea what to do, no clue who to call to straighten out this mess. This should all have been Giselle’s department, damn it. She might have resigned her position as executive chef to pursue true love, but she still maintained an active share in the ownership of the resort. “We need to contact Giselle.”
“Wait.” Nico’s voice halted her in her scramble for her cell phone.
Could the man be any more presumptuous, insinuating himself into her crisis?
“Nico, I really need to take care of this now.” She felt Dante’s keen gaze on her and knew if she didn’t handle this carefully, the news of her odd friendship with Nico Cesare would be whispered all over the hotel.
“I agree.” Nico nodded slowly, as if he’d just reached a grave decision. “But Giselle has been unreachable for nearly two days so she must be in some really godforsaken country at the moment.”
So much for her great plan. She banged the cell phone slowly against her forehead, willing a solution to flash into her empty brain while Dante excused himself to get back to his desk.
“I know what we can do.” Nico slid the phone out of her hand between forehead thunks.
We? Still, she couldn’t afford to waste time arguing while her business reputation teetered on the brink of disaster.
“And that is?” She didn’t care where the ideas came from as long as they came.
“I’ll cook.” He announced it with so much authority, a stranger to the resort would almost believe he had the decision-making power here.
Arrogant man.
“What do you mean you’ll cook?” Was he insane? “You’re not even a chef.”
“Where do you think Giselle got all her best recipes?”
“Gee, I don’t know.” She rolled her eyes. “Culinary school, maybe? It would make sense since she’s a chef and you’re a hockey coach.” After yanking her phone out of his hands, she stuffed it back in her purse. She would speed dial Brianne and Summer for an emergency conference call in a minute, but first she needed to send Nico back home where he wouldn’t make ridiculous suggestions about how to run her business.
Where he wouldn’t be a constant reminder that she’d let her hair down with a man for the first time in forever, and she was already paying the price for her carelessness.
“And I suppose you’re going to do the cooking for all the eccentric eaters on your property tonight?” He looked her up and down as if he could see every one of the flaws she kept carefully hidden.
An illusion, damn it.
“Is that even legal?” Not that she was actually considering allowing Nico into the kitchen. Was she?
“Maybe. Probably. You can call me a guest chef specializing in ethnic cuisine if the health department cares about my qualifications.”
“Ethnic cuisine?”
“Nobody makes Italian food like a Cesare.” His chest puffed up with pride. “You think I’m kidding about Giselle learning all her best recipes from me? Besides, I told Giselle I’d check in at the hotel while she was gone to make sure her investment in the business is protected. She might be overseas, but she’s still a partner. The Cesares have a vested interest in the smooth operation of this place.”
Lainie glanced around the hotel lobby, seeing twenty other places she needed to be right now. The chef disaster couldn’t have come at a worse time. What choice did she have besides accepting Nico’s offer? At least until she came up with a better solution.
She’d simply agree to let Nico and his cute butt stick around Club Paradise a little longer. And if she couldn’t stand the heat, all she had to do was stay away from the kitchen.
“Fine.” She thrust out her hand to seal the deal. “I appreciate the help until I can make other arrangements tomorrow.”
He enveloped her palm in his, his touch too gentle and too deliberate to qualify as a handshake. She shivered with awareness and hoped he didn’t notice.
He smiled, that arrogant grin of his telling her he didn’t miss a thing. “Agreed.”
Extricating herself from that tempting touch, Lainie willed herself to cool down as she walked away. But when a male chuckle echoed in her ears, she had the feeling it didn’t matter how much distance she put between her and the kitchen.
Things were already beginning to heat up.

“THIS MOVIE’S ALL ABOUT SEX, steam and sizzle,” Hollywood A-lister Bram Hawthorne declared around a mouthful of scrambled eggs the next morning as he sat across the table from Nico in the back of the Club Paradise kitchen. “I don’t know if it will have any kind of critical success, but I think moviegoers are going to love it.”
Nico wolfed down his own plate of food in the lull between the insane breakfast hours and the upcoming lunch crowd. He’d cooked his butt off all morning—everything from dry wheat and basic eggs over easy to complicated omelets and breakfast soufflé. Thankfully, a local vendor had been delivering plenty of pastries ever since Giselle left, so he’d avoided that headache. But still, Nico had never worked so hard in his life. Even a full day of practice defending rapid-fire, one-on-one breakaway shots had been a walk in the park compared to cooking for two hundred guests.
And when it was all over, Bram Hawthorne’s manager had come sneaking in the back door with the movie’s most bankable talent so the star could eat his breakfast in peace. Nico might have been more star-struck if he hadn’t been so exhausted.
The discussion of sex and steam caught his attention, however. Especially since his cooking had been impaired by thoughts of sex and steam with Lainie Reynolds.
“From what I’ve heard about the movie, it sounds like it’s got story to spare, too. Critics seem more tolerant of sex and sizzle if there’s some substance to back it up.” Nico had been a closet movie buff since forever. The cinema had been the only place for real escape after he’d lost his mom as a kid, and then his dad as a teenager. Something about a darkened theater gave you the illusion of being able to walk away from your own hurts and step straight into the fantasy world on screen.
Come to think of it, maybe that was part of his obsession with Lainie. She was a fantasy. A tough-as-nails businesswoman who posed an enticing challenge but would never be interested in the long haul. And after his experience with Ashley, that sounded just right to him.
“That’d be a nice bonus.” Bram grinned and a hint of his Mississippi accent drawled through his words. He couldn’t be any older than twenty-five, but he’d been a Hollywood phenomenon since a walk-on appearance as a flamboyant waiter in a Harrison Ford flick. “But I’ve found out firsthand that what the critics say don’t figure into your paycheck. Actors get paid for how many seats they fill at the theater—end of story.”
Nico nodded, a little surprised at the Machiavellian thinking in a twenty-five-year-old, but who was he to judge? Bram seemed nice enough. He had the Joe Movie Star grin going with fifty-thousand megawhite teeth, but he was lucky if he hit six feet in boots. Spiky brown hair and gray eyes made up for a lot with women, apparently. But the guy had to be pretty damn down-to-earth to break bread in the kitchen with a sweaty athlete posing as a cook.
“More coffee?” Yet another waitress appeared to fill their cups, the third new face at their table since they’d sat down.
This one was blond and blue-eyed and way too innocent looking. She was the antithesis of Lainie Reynolds in every way but the hair color. Where Lainie was sleek and sophisticated, this woman nearly bubbled over with energy and too much enthusiasm.
Or maybe that was only when she waved a coffeepot under a superstar’s nose.
“None for me, thanks.” Bram had been polite to all the waitresses, doling out grins every time he’d been interrupted.
Nico could think of too many hockey stars who couldn’t be bothered to be nice to anyone in the food-service industry unless they were out to…get laid.
His gaze tracked back to Bram. Had the guy been lining up after-hours entertainment all this time?
“Then is there anything else I can get for you?” The fluffy-haired waitress leaned forward, her bountiful breasts now prominently displayed.
Shoving his last bite of eggs in his mouth, Nico knew when he was being a third wheel. He scraped his chair backward across the ceramic tiles when a sharp feminine voice pierced the din of kitchen sounds.
“Excuse me, miss, may I ask what you think you’re doing in my hotel?” Lainie cruised to a stop beside the table, belatedly taking in her famous guest’s presence. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re no longer employed here.”
Nico noticed her already perfect posture straighten by a few more taut degrees. If he hadn’t seen her barefoot and sipping homemade Kentucky brew with his own eyes yesterday, he never would have thought her capable of loosening up an inch. She wore a navy suit with some sort of black-lace camisole thing underneath and a strand of fat pearls around her neck. He squinted hard to get a better view of the black-lace thing, but with her jacket buttoned, he could only make out about two square inches. Just enough to make him undress her shamelessly with his eyes while she spoke to the red-faced waitress.
“My girlfriend who works in the coffee shop has a room here this week,” the younger woman shot back. “We’re trying out as extras for the movie.” She hooked her thumb in the pocket of her jeans and cast a sly smile in Bram’s direction. “I’m Daisy Stephenson, by the way.”
“But what are you doing here, in the kitchen, which you know perfectly well is an employees-only area?” Lainie arched her eyebrow, her gaze never wavering from the waitress who perhaps wasn’t a waitress, after all. In fact, she didn’t even have a uniform on, just a coffeepot in her hand.
Bram cleared his throat. “Sorry to have descended on you like this, ma’am.” He reached into his wallet and laid way too much money on the table for the eggs Nico had made him. “It’s my fault for bringing outsiders into the kitchen, but I had my manager check with your chef and he seemed to think it would be okay.”
Nico couldn’t believe the guy was throwing him in the fire on this one. He didn’t remember okaying the presence of a pseudowaitress. But before he could say yea or nay on the cock-and-bull story, Lainie was already relenting.
“Of course it’s not a problem, Mr. Hawthorne.” She doled out a very pleasant expression to smooth things over, but Nico noted she still didn’t smile. Not really. Her stretching of the lips was Mona Lisa-esque at best. “I hear you’re starting filming already today, so we’ll just be out of your way.” She stepped away from the table, presumably to give Nico room to rise and join her. “Don’t hesitate to let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your visit more comfortable.”
Nico didn’t rise just yet, watching the Hollywood superstud across the table for any signs of hitting on Lainie. There’d damn well be arsenic in the eggs tomorrow if his eyes roamed anywhere near that black-lace job she wore.
Lucky for him, Bram nodded with squeaky-clean good manners. “Will do. I appreciate that, ma’am.”
Smart kid.
Nico rose to his feet, balancing every last dish on his forearms as he made his way over to the sterilizing sinks. He was in the process of turning over the plates to the dishwasher when he realized the click-click of Lainie’s high heels hadn’t followed him.
Jealousy niggled as he envisioned Mr. Hollywood Charm laying it on thick behind Nico’s back. His jaw flexed, hands clenched in anticipation.
Yet when he turned, he spied Lainie in heated conversation—not with Joe Movie Star, but with the wanna-be movie extra.

IF HIS TIME HAD BEEN HIS OWN, Bram Hawthorne could have spent another hour in the Club Paradise kitchen shooting the breeze with hockey legend Nico Cesare and making eyes at the stacked waitress with sweet blue eyes. Bram hadn’t enjoyed such a normal, peaceful meal since he’d started work on Diva’s Last Dance two months ago. There were plenty of advantages to being the Hollywood star on the rise, but eating a meal in peace wasn’t one of them.
He looked back into the kitchen one more time before he plowed through the swinging doors to seek out his new shooting location. The blond waitress with the sex-goddess body—Daisy—looked as if she was being chewed out by the hotel manager or owner or whoever this Lainie Reynolds person was supposed to be. The woman in the high-class suit must have been a studio executive in another life.
Damn, but he should have just corralled the flirty blonde under his arm and taken her to the filming with him so he could have spared her an ass chewing.
The thought inevitably pulled his eyes southward to check out the ass in question. So fine. Tight and succulent and so much better than Hollywood female butts, which fell into two categories—anemic or iron-clad.
He’d stake his considerable paycheck that her breasts were the real deal, too. He’d seen enough silicone up close and personal to be able to appreciate the soft sway of God-given twins.
Yes, ma’am, he would make time for Daisy in his future.
But right now he had a scene to shoot. Allowing the swinging door to fall shut on the scene in the kitchen, he checked his watch and then sprinted up a set of emergency stairs, which were always less populated than the elevator. He’d promised his all-business costar that he’d be on the set early to run through their actions and get a feel for the environment.
For all her sex-queen reputation, Rosaria Graham was as hard-nosed and driven as they came. Silicone from head to toe, the woman probably had a synthetic heart, too. The only time she mustered up any warmth of personality was when the director or one of the studio reps happened by the set.
As for warming up to her fellow actors—forget it. Taking the stairs two at a time, Bram acknowledged Rosaria’s only form of interaction with him so far had been to critique his performance and tell him what he should be doing differently. Not that she gave a rat’s butt about seeing him succeed. She just figured that the better he acted, the bigger their box-office sales would be and the more parts she’d be offered.
Little did Rosaria know Bram had his own reasons for making every performance the best he could. Reasons that went a hell of a lot deeper than earning enough cash to finance more silicone and a new Rolls. Shoving aside thoughts of his sister and the unidentified disease she battled every day while he climbed the ladder to stardom, Bram vowed this movie wouldn’t be any different. He’d cash in with Diva’s Last Dance even if Rosaria was proving to be a first-class snot.
Reaching the floor where they’d be shooting today’s scene, Bram plowed through the heavy steel door with both arms, winging the weighted barrier so hard it creaked on its hinges. And nearly slamming into a big, beefy guy covered in tattoos who looked downright pissed at the close encounter.
Until the scowling man recognized him. Bram signed an autograph while the towering brute showed off his favorite body art—a toss-up between the mermaid on his right shoulder and the surfboard on his left. Bram smiled and nodded and hurried away, reminding himself to focus on his upcoming performance.
And thankfully, Daisy the waitress was going to be the new key to his motivation for his upcoming love scenes. All he’d have to do was envision Daisy in Rosaria’s place and he’d be golden.
In fact, now that he thought about it, he had a good idea how he could be even more inspired. Nearing the Fun & Games Chamber, Bram tugged out his cell phone and put in a call to one of the film’s gofers to request the best motivation of all.
He might not be able to act out this scene with the woman he’d been thinking about, but he sure as hell could arrange to have her there. Close enough to see. Close enough to fantasize about.
Whipping off a few instructions, Bram congratulated himself for his quick thinking. With the flirtatious Daisy standing by, he knew he’d be turning in one hell of a love scene because the secret of his success was that he possessed great imagination.
He just hoped he wouldn’t have to imagine what Daisy tasted like for long. Sooner or later, he wanted the real deal all for himself.

THE URGE TO PULL A HANK of Daisy Stephenson’s bottle-blonde shag cut rode Lainie so hard she thought it best to fist her hands behind her back.
“I don’t care that Bram Hawthorne is allowed to enter the kitchen. You are not.” Lainie had fired Daisy from her position as a cigarette girl in the resort’s nightclub nine months ago after the woman had continually thrown herself at Brianne’s boyfriend-turned-fiancé. Bad enough Daisy had foisted her attentions on an FBI agent who’d been investigating the club at the time, but she’d also frequently left her workstation to pursue her hormonal needs.
Lainie had no intention of letting the woman weasel her way into the resort to wreak havoc again. Especially not when Lainie’s best PR chance of all time loomed within her reach.
Daisy fluffed her hair at her shoulder as she pursed bubblegum-colored lips. “You may have to rescind that dictate if I’m on the list of things Bram requests to make him more comfortable.” She hitched up the narrow strap of her tank top, dragging her twenty-pound breasts upward with the motion.
Tart.
Lainie knew worse words to describe Daisy, but she didn’t dare think them for fear they’d trip out of her lips. “Just as long as he doesn’t request your presence in any employees-only areas, I’m sure you made it patently obvious he can have you anywhere he wants you.”
Turning on her heel before she allowed Daisy to tick her off any further, Lainie nearly crashed right into Nico.
“Morning.” He looked too damn good for a man who’d fielded a record number of room-service orders, according to her kitchen sources. A big white chef’s apron covered part of his black slacks and a gray polo shirt. He smelled like the antibacterial soap the kitchen stocked by the gallon. Casting a sideways glance at Daisy as the woman blasted through the swinging doors and out of the kitchen, he raised an eyebrow. “I take it she’s not a friend of yours.”

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