Книга - Seduced by Mr. Right

Seduced by Mr. Right
Pamela Yaye


A lesson in love?His life shattered by tragedy, Emilio Morretti stunned the world when he walked away from his fabulous career. The reclusive Atlanta race car legend isn't looking for redemption or romance when he meets Sharleen Nichols. But the life coach's infectious zeal for life is starting to make him feel like a winner again.Haunted by her own painful secret, Sharleen can't let her attraction to her celebrity client affect her professional judgment - or her heart. But with his charm and dashing good looks, Emilio is impossible to resist. And a weekend getaway to Miami only fuels the flames of their passion. Are they ready to trust their feelings and put the past behind them? Or will an exploding media scandal and an enemy's vengeful agenda destroy the happiness finally within their reach?







A lesson in love?

His life shattered by tragedy, Emilio Morretti stunned the world when he walked away from his fabulous career. The reclusive Atlanta race car legend isn’t looking for redemption or romance when he meets Sharleen Nichols. But the life coach’s infectious zeal for life is starting to make him feel like a winner again.

Haunted by her own painful secret, Sharleen can’t let her attraction to her celebrity client affect her professional judgment—or her heart. But with his charm and dashing good looks, Emilio is impossible to resist. And a weekend getaway to Miami only fuels the flames of their passion. Are they ready to trust their feelings and put the past behind them? Or will an exploding media scandal and an enemy’s vengeful agenda destroy the happiness finally within their reach?


“I’d do anything for you. You know that, right?” Emilio said.

He reached out and brushed his fingers gently against her cheeks. Pleasure shot straight to her core, tickled and teased her.

“Do you want me to carry you back to my estate?”

“Let’s not and say we did,” she said with a laugh. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a curvy woman, not a toothpick, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

His stare was bold, penetrating. Emilio didn’t speak, didn’t utter a word, but if looks could kill she’d be six feet under. Sharleen gulped. What did I do wrong? Why is he mad?

The tense moment only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like hours had passed.

Emilio broke the silence, his voice hollow, cold as ice. He didn’t raise his voice, but his disappointment was evident. “You’re an incredibly smart woman, but I swear, sometimes you say the craziest things.”

Sharleen narrowed her eyes and hitched a hand to her hip. “Who are you calling crazy?”

“You. Now shut up and kiss me.” Emilio seized her waist, wrapped his arms around her and claimed her lips with his mouth.


Dear Reader (#u9f848cfb-5e8a-58b7-a477-6d7d5474c25e),

After I lost my second child, I attended group therapy sessions, and seven years later I still remember a single dad with a heartbreaking story of loss. I thought about him as I wrote Seduced by Mr. Right and knew the book was going to be a sweet, tender romance about two wounded souls who help each other heal. I enjoyed seeing the transformation in Emilio Morretti once he met Sharleen Nichols, and I cheered them on as their relationship progressed. It’s touching to see them open up to each other, and once they bare their souls, things REALLY heat up. I have a feeling you’re going to love chapter sixteen, too! :-)

Special thanks to everyone who purchased The Morretti Millionaires series. I am humbled by your messages, reviews and words of encouragement. Look for more Morretti Millionaires books in the near future.

I love to hear from readers, so drop me a line at pamelayaye@aol.com, find me on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/pamela.yaye) or visit my new, revamped website at pamelayaye.com (http://www.pamelayaye.com).

All the best in life and love,

Pamela Yaye


Seduced

by Mr. Right

Pamela Yaye






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


PAMELA YAYE has a bachelor’s degree in Christian education. Her love for African-American fiction prompted her to pursue a career in writing romance. When she’s not working on her latest novel, this busy wife, mother and teacher is watching basketball, cooking or planning her next vacation. Pamela lives in Alberta, Canada, with her gorgeous husband and adorable but mischievous son and daughter.


Acknowledgments (#u9f848cfb-5e8a-58b7-a477-6d7d5474c25e)

Shannon Criss: Thank you for giving me the freedom to write the story that was in my heart. I appreciate your support and hope you’ll be my editor for many years to come. We make a fantastic team! :-)

Daniel Odidison: You are the best dad ever!!! Thank you for being my unofficial PR person. You tell everyone you meet about my books and hand out autographed copies at the bank, the grocery store, church and in mall parking lots. You are just amazing, and I’m SO thankful you’re my dad.


Contents

Cover (#ue3a985d0-229a-5a01-8b84-6f1ae2a551a9)

Back Cover Text (#u54a4b9eb-12cc-590d-bc5d-993e62906910)

Introduction (#uc726db95-b1bc-5e5b-9818-19421e4095bc)

Dear Reader

Title Page (#u63a0de68-59f0-521b-8a34-3601b93f11b3)

About the Author (#ua2a35150-f7bb-5f5b-b014-a759d5309d1a)

Acknowledgments

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

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter 1 (#u9f848cfb-5e8a-58b7-a477-6d7d5474c25e)

“Emilio, we have a problem.”

Frowning, Emilio Morretti hit Pause on the remote control and glanced over his right shoulder. Sunshine splashed through the windows of his Greensboro estate, filling the living room with a harsh, blinding light. But he could still make out his business manager’s silhouette in the open doorway. Emilio was drained, but he nodded his head in greeting. Today was the second anniversary of his nephew’s death, and although his spirits were low, he slapped a smile on his face.

“Hey, man, what’s up?”

“Sorry for barging in like this, but this couldn’t wait.” Antwan Tate slipped off his aviator sunglasses and rested his leather briefcase at his feet. Antwan reeked of confidence. His black Tom Ford suit didn’t have a wrinkle in sight, and he was wearing more bling than Diddy. The men had known each other for years—ever since Emilio relocated from Italy to Atlanta in 2006—and he could tell by his manager’s creased brow and stiff posture that he was stressed-out. Over the years, they’d become closer than brothers, and Emilio considered Antwan family. Antwan had been there for him during his darkest days, and he trusted him wholeheartedly.

“What’s going on?”

“You need to look at this,” Antwan said, offering him a large manila envelope.

Emilio stared at it but didn’t touch it. “What is it?”

“It’s a letter from the Internal Revenue Service. It arrived at my office this morning by courier, and once I spoke to the other parties involved I drove straight here.”

Reluctantly, Emilio took the envelope from Antwan’s outstretched hand and opened it. As he scanned the letter, his heart began beating harder, faster. Unable to believe what he was reading, he looked at his manager closely, searched his face for signs of deception. A known prankster, Antwan took great delight in punking his friends, but this time Emilio wasn’t falling for it.

Determined to beat Antwan at his own game, Emilio crumpled the paper, tossed it over his shoulder and hit Play on the remote control. Cheers, laughter and shrieks of joy filled the room. Emilio never got tired of replaying his nephew’s soccer games, and he grinned every time Lucca’s image filled the eighty-inch TV screen. Two years had passed, but Emilio still couldn’t believe that Lucca—his adorable nephew with the curly hair and high-pitched giggle—was gone.

Emilio leaned forward, gazing intently at the TV. The DVD was cutting in and out from being played so much, but his nephew’s celebration dance at the end of the game was his favorite part of the video. He chuckled at Lucca’s antics. Emilio wondered what he’d be like today if he were alive. He would have been in the second grade, and no doubt faster on the soccer field.

“Throwing away the letter isn’t going to make the problem go away...”

Emilio tuned his manager out, pretended he wasn’t there. Pain stabbed his heart like a knife. His throat closed up, becoming dry and sore. Emilio stared at the TV with a heavy feeling in his chest, wondering for the umpteenth time how he could have been so irresponsible that afternoon, so damned reckless. I screwed up, and it cost me everything I hold dear, he thought. I’d do anything to have Lucca here. Anything at all.

Hanging his head, he raked a hand through his short, thick hair. He tried to channel positive thoughts, but nothing came to mind. Every morning, he woke up thinking the accident had been a horrible dream, but the moment he realized his nephew was really gone, he broke down. Why did Lucca have to die? He looked up at the ceiling as if the answers to his questions were written there. I miss him so much it hurts.

“We need to come up with a plan,” Antwan continued. “Before it’s too late.”

Emilio lowered his head and kept his gaze on the marble floor. He didn’t want Antwan to know his emotions had gotten the best of him—again. When he least expected it, grief overwhelmed him, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was a broken man, consumed with regret, and his pain was constant, always there. Pulling himself together, he straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat. “Nice try, but I’m too old to fall for your stupid pranks.”

“This isn’t a prank.” Antwan picked up the wad of paper, dropped down in the chocolate-brown armchair and flattened the letter on the glass coffee table. “This letter from the IRS is real, and so is this 2.5-million-dollar tax bill.”

“That’s impossible,” he said, convinced his manager was trying to pull the wool over his eyes. “Monroe Accounting has been doing my taxes since I moved to Atlanta, and every year they assure me that everything is kosher.”

“Well, it isn’t.” Antwan undid the buttons on his suit jacket and leaned forward anxiously, as if he were waiting for Emilio to bring him up to speed.

“I had an hour-long conversation with the IRS. Monroe Accounting claimed tax shelters that the IRS disallowed, and because of the error you owe the IRS 2.5 million dollars.”

“How can I be punished for their mistake?” Emilio fumed, struggling to control his temper. It wasn’t about the money. He’d trusted his accounting firm, and now they’d screwed him over—big-time.

What else is new? said his inner voice. People have been screwing you over ever since you won your first championship race. You should be used to it by now!

“I didn’t do my taxes,” he pointed out. “Monroe Accounting did.”

“I know, it sucks, and I’m all for suing their asses, but first we have to get the tax man off your back.” Antwan loosened the knot on his royal blue tie. “I’ve had clients in trouble with the IRS before, but nothing like this. This is bad, Emilio, real bad.”

No, it’s not. Bad is giving the eulogy at a five-year-old’s funeral.

“If you disregard the letter, the IRS could seize your bank accounts, freeze your assets and sell them at auction. I’ve seen it happen, and it isn’t pretty...”

Fear pulsed through Emilio’s veins. I can’t lose my estate. It’s filled with great memories of Lucca and I sense his presence here. He thought of all the times they’d played air hockey in the media room, the nights they’d camped out in the backyard, the Spider-Man-themed birthday party years earlier. He had raised the child as his own and cherished the times they’d spent together. Losing his estate was unthinkable.

“Pay the bill, and fire those idiots at Monroe Accounting ASAP.”

“We can’t. It isn’t feasible right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because the bulk of your fortune is tied up in real estate and long-term investments, and if you liquidate your stocks, you’ll lose hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

It took a moment for Antwan’s words to sink in. They hadn’t talked about his finances in months, not since the last time they’d argued about Emilio’s spending.

“Am I broke?”

“No, but if you pay the IRS you’ll only have a million dollars left in your bank account.”

“I can live off of that money for years.”

Antwan scoffed. “Not if you continue supporting Francesca and your other relatives. You’ll be lucky if that money lasts three months.”

His manager was right. His kid sister was always asking him for money, begging and pleading for short-term loans she never paid back. But Emilio didn’t mind. He enjoyed spoiling her, figured it was the least he could do after what had happened to Lucca. His family meant the world to him, and he wasn’t going to stop helping them because his stingy business manager had a problem with it. “Like I said, that’s plenty. If I need more funds, I’ll let you know.”

“Or you can come out of retirement and make more money. You could compete in the World Series Racing All-Star Race in August. A win would catapult you back to the top, where you belong.”

“It’s not going to happen, so save your breath.”

“Why not?” he pressed, his eyebrows raised. “If you get back in racing shape you can compete for another five or six years. That’s a ton of cash and championships.”

Emilio didn’t respond. Staring out the window, he watched birds soar across the clear blue sky. He hadn’t been outside in weeks—not since his run-in with that crazed photographer on his estate. He considered going for a jog once Antwan finally left. But when his manager started talking business, there was just no stopping him, and Emilio feared he’d badger him about coming out of retirement for the rest of the day.

“Don’t you want to see if you still got it? If you still have what it takes to compete at the highest level, with the best competitors in the world?”

“No. I’m content here, and I don’t want to return to the track.” It was a lie, one he’d been repeating for the past two years. But he couldn’t tell Antwan the truth—not without feeling ashamed. So he shut his mouth and dodged his manager’s gaze.

“I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be. I can take care of myself.”

“Don’t you think you’ve punished yourself long enough?” Antwan gave him a stern look. “It’s time to quit moping around the house and rejoin the land of the living.”

Emilio strangled a groan. This wasn’t the first time Antwan had talked to him about his future, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Deep down, he missed working on his beloved race car, traveling the globe with his pit crew and meeting the die-hard World Series Racing fans who followed him from one city to the next. But his devotion to the sport had cost him Lucca, and he’d never forgive himself for what had happened to his nephew. I don’t deserve to be happy. Not after causing the death of such a fantastic kid.

“I have a surefire plan to rejuvenate your career,” Antwan insisted. “And it starts with the All-Star race. To get the ball rolling, I’ve arranged a meeting with Ferrari next month, and they’re pretty stoked about seeing you again.”

Curiosity got the best of him. “They are?”

“Of course they are! You’re one of the greatest World Series Racing drivers of all time, and your old sponsors are desperate to have you back.”

Emilio balked, told himself he didn’t care. He couldn’t do it, wouldn’t do it, and there was nothing his manager could say to change his mind. He was sick of his family and friends giving him unsolicited advice, and he wished everyone would leave him the hell alone. Annoyed, he considered asking Antwan to leave, but he wisely bit his tongue. His manager had been in his corner for almost a decade, and without his steadfast support Emilio wouldn’t be a three-time champion, or one of the most recognized athletes in the world.

“Have you given any thought to the TV interview with Italia Sports?” Antwan asked. “If I don’t give them an answer by four o’clock today the deal is off the table.”

“Tell them no dice.”

“But they doubled their offer.”

“Am I supposed to be impressed?”

“Man, do it,” Antwan implored. “That’s a hundred grand for an hour of your time, and they’re willing to interview you here at the house. That’s a sweet deal.”

Emilio stood his ground. “Tell Italia Sports I said thanks, but no thanks.”

“Are you attending the Exotic Car Show in Miami on Memorial Day weekend, or is that out of the question, too?”

“Maybe next year.”

Antwan nodded, said he understood, but he looked sadder than a kid who’d lost his lunch money on the playground. A terse, awkward silence ensued. To break the tension, Emilio clapped his friend on the shoulder and said, “Let me get you a drink.” He stood, dropped the remote control on the couch and strode purposely across the living room. After entering the bar, Emilio opened the fridge, grabbed two beers and unscrewed the tab from one.

“You hung up more pictures of Lucca,” Antwan said, glancing around the room.

“Yeah, I found them on my old BlackBerry device and printed them off.”

“You’ve made this place your own personal shrine to him.”

Ignoring the dig, Emilio admired the picture prominently displayed on the fireplace mantel. It had been taken the day of Lucca’s preschool graduation, and every time his gaze landed on the photograph he felt an overwhelming sense of pride...and guilt. His nephew had been on cloud nine that day, and even after all these years he could still hear Lucca’s laughter as they ran around the jungle gym playing tag.

“Are you going to the cemetery this afternoon with Francesca to release balloons?”

Emilio nodded. “Yes, I’m going to pick her up at two o’clock—”

The telephone rang, and a long-distance number flashed on the TV screen. It was his cousin Rafael calling from Washington, DC, and although they hadn’t spoken in months, Emilio didn’t answer the phone. Francesca loved family gossip and had told him just yesterday about the birth of Rafael’s first child—a baby girl named Violet—with his wife, Paris St. Clair-Morretti. The news still boggled his mind. His cousins Demetri, Nicco and Rafael had found true love and were completely devoted to their partners. And according to Francesca, Nicco and his wife, Jariah, were expecting, and Demetri was planning the wedding of the century with his fiancée, Angela Kelly. I hope my invitation gets lost in the mail, because there’s no way in hell I’m going to Demetri’s over-the-top wedding.

“The guys are meeting at Halftime Bar on Friday night to celebrate Jamieson’s promotion.” Antwan sat down on a stool, grabbed one of the beers and took a swig. “You promised you’d be there, so don’t even think about flaking on us.”

Antwan’s concerns were valid. Emilio often broke plans at the last minute, and it had earned him a reputation for being a mood killer. Going out in public made him nervous, and on the rare occasions that he met up with his golf buddies, he always regretted it. Gold diggers flocked to him in droves, and the more he spurned their advances, the more aggressive they were. “I’ll come, but I can’t stay long.”

“Why? Got a hot date with Ginger?”

“Man, please, she’s ten years my junior. And she’s my sister’s best friend.”

“I know,” Antwan said with a sly wink. “But you like curvy women, and that girl has booty for days!”

Yeah, and a thirst for wealth and stardom that could rival a reality TV star! Emilio wasn’t interested in the British nanny, and every time she dropped by his estate unannounced, he ordered his butler to send her away. Francesca was determined to hook them up, but Emilio was even more determined to keep his distance. Ginger was nipping at his heels for one reason and one reason only: to get her hands on his fortune. But Emilio wasn’t having it. He hadn’t been intimate with anyone since his nephew’s death, and he’d rather watch home videos of Lucca than hook up with his sister’s pushy roommate. “I’ll be there.”

“You better, or I’ll drive back out here and kick your ass.”

“I thought you were a lover, not a fighter?” Emilio joked.

“You know it!” Antwan popped his shirt collar. “I couldn’t have said it better myself!”

Chuckling, the men bumped fists and bottles. Emilio couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed, and it felt good to crack a joke with Antwan. His reprieve didn’t last long, though. His mind wandered, filled up again with thoughts and images of Lucca, and his good mood fizzled. What am I doing?I shouldn’t be yukking it up. My nephew died, and it’s my fault.

The doorbell rang, and Antwan jumped to his feet as if his bar stool were on fire.

“I’ll get it,” he said, leveling a hand over his suit jacket.

Emilio put down his beer. “Who is it?”

“Your new life coach.”

“My new what?”

“You need someone to help you get your life back on track, and Sharleen Nichols is the perfect person for the job.”

To thwart his escape, Emilio stepped in front of Antwan. He folded his arms across his chest and stared him down. “Are you out of your mind?” he asked. “What were you thinking inviting some strange woman to my estate?”

“Sharleen isn’t a stranger. I’ve known her for years. She’s worked with several of my other celebrity clients, and they all sing her praises.”

Emilio wasn’t impressed, not one bit. He sensed Antwan was romantically interested in this life-coach friend. That surprised him, because in all the years they’d known each other, he’d never seen Antwan excited about anyone. Not even the models he routinely hooked up with.

“Sharleen graduated from Duke University with honors,” he boasted, checking himself out in the mirrored wall behind the bar. “She’s one of the most passionate, energetic people I’ve ever met, and gorgeous, too. You’re going to get along great. I can feel it.”

“Don’t count on it,” Emilio mumbled.


Chapter 2 (#ulink_37938769-e81e-505d-9226-5f3c6ada4aa9)

Peace and tranquillity showered over Sharleen Nichols as she drove through the private gates of the lakefront estate on the edge of Greensboro, Georgia. A light breeze whistled through the magnolia trees dotting the manicured grounds, and sunflowers perfumed the morning air. The stone-and-brick mansion was nothing short of perfection, and the property screamed of opulence and wealth. This isn’t a house;it’s a compound, Sharleen thought, driving up the long, winding driveway. No wonder Emilio Morretti rarely goes out. This place is a dream. If I lived here I’d never leave!

Sharleen parked behind Antwan’s SUV and turned off the engine. Last night she’d reviewed her notes about Emilio Morretti—the troubled race-car driver with the jaw-dropping good looks—and although she was prepared for their consultation, butterflies danced in the pit of her stomach. I can’t blow this. My boss is depending on me. And if I want to be considered for the vice-president position, I have to prove that I’m a go-getter, a closer.

To calm her nerves, Sharleen closed her eyes and breathed deeply through her nose. News articles and magazine covers scrolled through her mind. Emilio Morretti was a third-generation race-car driver, and one of the most electrifying World Series Racing competitors of all time. Championships and fame had come fast and furious, and during his fifteen-year career he’d shattered one world record after another. According to the press, he was a quick-tempered man with expensive tastes who fancied models as much as exotic sports cars. At thirty-five, he was one of the most eligible bachelors in the country and also a bona fide star in his native Italy. Or at least he used to be. Two years ago, he’d walked away from the sport that brought him fame, fortune and international prestige, and he’d turned his back on his fans.

Sharleen grabbed her leather Birkin bag and got out of the car. She knew better than to believe everything she read online, especially on celebrity gossip sites. But there was no disputing the facts. Emilio Morretti was on a self-destructive path, and if he didn’t change his ways, things would only get worse. In recent months, he’d had several run-ins with the paparazzi and had allegedly slugged a photographer for trespassing on his property. True or not, the gossip painted him in a bad light, and Antwan was deeply worried about his superstar client. He’d told her that Emilio was still struggling to cope with the loss of his nephew, and since Sharleen specialized in grief and trauma, she’d agreed to work with him.

That wasn’t the only reason, her conscience pointed out. Mrs. Fontaine didn’t give you much of a choice, and if you blow this assignment you could lose your job!

Last month, during her annual performance review, her boss had implored her to drum up more business, or else. Sharleen tried not to dwell on her problems—it wouldn’t be fair to Emilio. And besides, things were looking up. She was speaking at a women’s business luncheon tomorrow and manning the Pathways Center booth at the Mind, Body & Soul Conference on Saturday, so that would definitely bring in more clients.

Perspiration dotted her forehead, and her legs were shaking, but she strode confidently up the walkway, as if she were on top of the world. She’d learned a long time ago not to wear her heart on her sleeve.

Sharleen pushed her eyeglasses up the bridge of her nose and straightened her black power suit. Ignoring her erratic heartbeat, she climbed the steps and rang the doorbell. When no one answered, she began to fear that Antwan had forgotten about their ten o’clock meeting. She took her cell phone out of her purse and accessed her contacts list.

The door swung open, and Antwan stood in the grand foyer, dressed in one of his trademark suits, grinning from ear to ear. “Good morning, beautiful.”

Sharleen held up her cell phone. “I was just about to call you. I thought maybe you forgot about our appointment.”

“I could never forget you. You’re my future baby-mama, remember?”

“Yeah, right! Life coaching is my first and only love, so you’re fresh out of luck, my friend.”

“Just wait. One day you’ll be singing another tune!”

No, I won’t. Men and careers just don’t mix.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Antwan gave her a hug, one that lasted longer than necessary, and kissed her cheek. “Have any trouble finding the place?”

“No, as usual your directions were bang on. Thanks, Antwan.”

“Don’t sweat it. You know I got you.”

After taking her hand, he led her inside the mansion. Everything in the vestibule gleamed and sparkled. The foyer was dripping in gold, and it was elegantly decorated with Italian furnishings. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and the vintage lamps, decorative bowls and glass sculptures were eye-catching. The air smelled of hazelnut coffee, and the heady aroma made Sharleen think of her parents.

Memories of her childhood played in her mind. She thought of all the mornings she’d made breakfast with her mom, the summer days she’d helped her dad wash his rusted, old Buick and their family movie nights at the local drive-in. Biting the inside of her cheek kept her tears at bay, but there was nothing she could do to alleviate the crushing pain in her heart.

“After we finish up here, I’m taking you out for lunch,” Antwan announced. “I was at Sushi Huku a few weeks ago, but it just wasn’t the same without you.”

“I can’t. I have another consultation at noon.”

He made a puppy-dog face, but Sharleen wasn’t moved. Antwan was used to having his way with women, but his childish antics had never worked on her. Not even when she was a lonely college graduate with no friends and a broken heart.

“Tell me something.” Eyes narrowed, he studied her like a painting hanging in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. “How come you shoot me down every time I ask you out?”

Oh, brother, not this again. Sharleen groaned inwardly, but maintained her bright, everything’s-great smile. Dating Antwan had never crossed her mind. Not once. Why would it? He collected women like trophies, and she wasn’t interested in being his flavor of the week. “Knock it off,” she quipped, playfully swatting his shoulder. “I came here to meet Emilio, not shoot the breeze with you.”

His grin was back. “I rarely get to see you, so I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone.”

Dodging his gaze, she turned toward the pale blue walls to admire the framed photographs hanging above the mahogany side table. There were pictures of family barbecues and birthday parties, and even a Christmas-day wedding. The images were touching, not at all what she’d expect to see inside Emilio Morretti’s estate. Again, Sharleen thought of her parents. They always loved the holidays, especially Christmas—

“This cat-and-mouse game has gone on long enough.” Antwan leaned in close and affectionately squeezed her forearm. “Why are you playing hard to get?”

Who’s playing? Sharleen respected Antwan and valued their friendship, but they could never be more than friends. He didn’t have a faithful bone in his body, and if he ever discovered her secret, he’d run for the hills.

Didn’t they all? She was damaged goods to the opposite sex, and that would never change. Although Sharleen longed to have a family of her own, she knew she had a better chance of winning the lottery than finding her one true love. No matter. Advancing her career was all that mattered, all she cared about. Being a life coach was her passion, and she woke up every morning excited to go to work. She wished she had more time to spend with her girlfriends, but she wouldn’t change her life for anything in the world.

“Where’s Emilio? We have a lot of ground to cover this morning, and I’m anxious to get started.” To prove she meant business, Sharleen took a clipboard and a pen out of her purse. “Are you going to take me to Emilio, or do I have to find him myself?”

Antwan wagged a finger in her face. “We’ll talk later, because this isn’t over.”

Oh, yes, it is. You and I would never work, so quit while you’re ahead!

Sharleen spun on her heels and was surprised to see that Emilio Morretti had silently entered the vestibule. Her heart stopped dead in her chest. Her head felt fuzzy, as if she was hungover, and her pulse beat out of control.

To look that fine should be criminal, illegal in all fifty states.

He had creamy olive skin, thick eyebrows and the most beautiful eyes Sharleen had ever seen. They were soulful, a light brown shade, and tinged with gray around the edges. Dark stubble covered his jaw, and although he was casually dressed in a white polo shirt, loose-fitting pants and leather sandals, there was no disputing his dashing looks.

Good God. I didn’t think it was possible, but he’s even more attractive in person than he is on TV! He had chiseled features, a head full of dark hair and a body that would make Hercules jealous. Antwan was the one in the designer threads, but Emilio was the one who reeked of power and affluence. He had a guarded vibe, and he didn’t look happy to see her. But for some inexplicable reason Sharleen was drawn to him anyway.

Her skin tingled with desire. Sharleen wanted to introduce herself to Emilio, but the words didn’t come. Her thoughts were racing, her breathing was labored and her tongue wouldn’t move. She ordered herself to quit gawking at him, but she didn’t have the strength to turn away.

“This beautiful young woman is your new life coach. Isn’t she stunning?”

Her cheeks burning with embarrassment, Sharleen glared at Antwan. She hated when he made a fuss over her, but instead of whacking him upside the head with her purse, she stepped forward and extended a hand to Emilio. “Thank you for inviting me to your lovely home. I’m thrilled to be here.” Sharleen heard her voice crack, but she continued. “Antwan’s told me a lot about you—but don’t worry. I never believe a word he says!”

A grin dimpled Emilio’s cheek, yet he didn’t laugh. She could tell he wanted to—his eyes were smiling, and his nose was twitching—but something was holding him back. He took her hand in his and held it for all of five seconds. Yet it was long enough to make her body quiver. Sharleen didn’t make it a habit to drool over her celebrity clients, but everything about Emilio Morretti turned her on. His full lips, his broad, strapping shoulders, his quiet disposition.

“The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Nichols.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Ooh, that voice! His Italian accent was a sensuous treat, and the sound made her heart flutter in her chest like a butterfly. Her gaze strayed to his mouth, lingered there for a beat. Every inch of her body was aroused, infected with lust, and her legs felt rubbery, as if they were about to give way. She was nearly undressing him with her eyes, couldn’t stop herself from admiring his fit physique. Knock it off—he’s a client!

“Welcome to my estate.”

Her nipples hardened, strained against the soft, silky material of her satin bra. She wondered how it would feel if Emilio kissed her, imagined his hands stroking her body. Sharleen slammed the brakes on the illicit thought. What’s the matter with you? Why are you acting like a desperate housewife? In the five years she’d worked at Pathways Center, she’d never been attracted to a client or ever crossed the line. Her desire for Emilio scared her, made her question if she could work effectively with him. Thank God our weekly sessions are on the phone and not in person, she thought, sighing in relief. Because with those eyes, and that voice, there’s no way I’d ever be able to concentrate!

“I feel terrible that you drove all this way, but I won’t be needing your services.”

His words turned to garble in her ear. Is this a test? Am I being punked?

“Emilio, she just got here. Give her a chance.” Antwan sounded like a teacher exasperated with a troublesome student. “I wouldn’t hire Sharleen if I didn’t think she could do the job.”

“I don’t need a life coach.” He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t lash out, but there was no mistaking his anger. His forehead was creased, and his mouth was a firm, hard line. “I can run my own life, and I don’t need you, or anyone else, telling me what to do.”

Emilio aimed his gaze in her direction, but he seemed to look through her, not at her. He made her feel unimportant, and Sharleen didn’t like it one bit. But what am I supposed to do? Throw a hissy fit and demand he talk to me, not at me?

“It’s not my job to tell you what to do.” Her voice quavered with emotion, but Sharleen was determined to speak her mind. “My goal is to help you overcome your grief and rediscover your purpose in life. I’ll support you and hold you accountable, but I won’t boss you around or cram my opinion down your throat. I’m a life coach, Mr. Morretti, not a bully.”

Surprise showed on Emilio’s face. He gave her the once-over but didn’t speak. His eyes were weapons of mass destruction, dark and dreamy, but Sharleen didn’t wither under his piercing stare. Her heart thumped so loud her ears throbbed, and it was hard to think when he was looking at her like that. This is what I get for watching HBO last night, Sharleen thought, chastising herself. That erotic movie excited me, and now I can’t think of anything but kissing Emilio!

Sharleen cleared her mind and deleted every conflicting thought. She couldn’t afford to screw this up; her boss was counting on her. During her performance review, Mrs. Fontaine had given her an earful, and every day her searing rebuke played in Sharleen’s mind.

“As a senior life coach it’s your responsibility to help build the business, develop new strategies and create buzz on social media, and sadly you’re not carrying your weight...”

Three weeks after her review, Sharleen was still pissed. What does Mrs. Fontaine expect me to do? Hold celebrities at gunpoint and make them sign up for a free consultation?

“Let’s sit down and talk,” Antwan proposed, gesturing to the living room.

Emilio shook his head. “I can’t. It’s time for my morning workout.”

“All I need is fifteen minutes of your time.” Sharleen held up her clipboard and flashed her brightest smile. “Once you finish answering this brief questionnaire, I’ll be on my way.”

“I’m not interested.” Emilio gave her his back and addressed Antwan. “I’m going into my gym. Let yourself out, and please show Ms. Nichols to her car.”

Before Sharleen could say “It was nice meeting you,” Emilio Morretti was gone. Antwan strode into the living room, returned seconds later with his briefcase and hustled her back through the foyer. Without a word, he opened the front door, ushered her outside and closed it behind him.

“I’m sorry about that.” Antwan smiled apologetically. “Don’t take it personally. Today’s the second anniversary of his nephew’s death, and he’s angry at the world right now.”

Sharleen nodded. “That explains a lot.”

“You’ve worked wonders with some of my other high-profile clients, and I’m hoping you can do the same with Emilio,” he said, his eyes alight with interest. “There’s tons of money to be made at the World Series Racing, and time’s running out for Emilio’s big comeback.”

“He has to be ready and willing to change. I can’t force him.”

“You can’t treat Emilio like your other clients. He’s a special case.”

You can say that again!He’s tall, dark and handsome, and he sounds delicious, too!

“I know you normally do your sessions by phone, but I need you to be more hands-on with Emilio, more accessible.” Antwan took his sunglasses out of his back pocket and slipped them on. “Weekly phone calls and emails aren’t going to cut it either. It’s a bitch getting him on the phone, and these days he rarely uses his computer.”

“What do you expect me to do? Club him in the head with my Birkin bag and drag him down to my office?”

Antwan chuckled. “You’re as saucy and feisty as ever!”

“I’m serious. I’m a life coach. Not a fairy godmother. There’s only so much I can do.”

“You’re one of the most persuasive people I’ve ever met, and if you can’t convince Emilio to come out of retirement, no one can.”

“That’s not why I’m here. I’m here to help him fulfill his dreams.”

“All he’s ever wanted was to be a race-car driver. Losing his nephew shook him to the core, but I’m confident he can be a champion again.” Antwan continued his pitch full speed ahead. “Do your weekly sessions here at his estate and treat Emilio like a friend, not a client.”

His know-it-all tone irked her. “I can’t drive to Greensboro three days a week. I have other clients and obligations to fulfill—”

“What if I sweeten the deal?” He cocked his head and flashed a devilish grin. “If you convince Emilio to come out of retirement, I’ll give you a $10,000 bonus.”

Sharleen felt her eyes widen in surprise and her mouth fall open.

“Emilio and I are meeting at Halftime Bar on Friday night, and I want you to join us. Hanging out with him at his favorite pub will definitely help break the ice.”

“Antwan, I can’t,” she said, finding her voice. “I already have plans.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “With whom?”

“We’re having a retirement party for my uncle, and if I’m a no-show, my aunt Phyllis will beat me like I stole something!”

“Great sacrifices produce great rewards. Isn’t that your personal motto?”

Sharleen hit Antwan with a pointed look. He was twisting her words, but she didn’t have the time nor the patience to debate the issue with him. Her priority was her family, and she wasn’t going to let Antwan make her feel guilty for having a personal life. “Maybe next time.”

“Fine, suit yourself.” His tone carried a bitter edge, but he smiled and waved as he hopped into his SUV. “I’ll be in touch. Take care.”

Sharleen unlocked her car door and slid inside. Deep down, she wasn’t upset that Emilio had kicked her out of his estate; she was relieved. It just wasn’t meant to be, she decided, shrugging her shoulders. But all wasn’t lost. She had two more consultations lined up for that afternoon and several booked for later that week. Unlike Emilio, those clients were eager for professional help and desperate to change their lives. Encouraged, Sharleen turned on the engine, cranked up the radio and exited the tree-lined estate.


Chapter 3 (#ulink_a1f589c4-1fd6-5320-bb5a-c574ec2d95b4)

Pathways Center was in an attractive plaza filled with glitzy boutiques, cafés and beauty salons. It had several high-end stores, and as Sharleen left Samson’s Gym on Friday morning, she noticed the parking lot was packed. It was only ten o’clock, but the plaza was filled with couples, well-dressed businessmen and children begging their parents for toys and ice cream.

It was another warm spring day, and Sharleen felt invigorated by the signs of the season. The air held the scent of flowers; the sky was free of clouds and gleaming with sunshine. Strolling down the street, soaking up the sun, Sharleen greeted everyone she passed with a nod and a smile. Exercising always improved her mood, and even though she wasn’t as flexible as the other women in her Stiletto Aerobics class, doing high-kicks in her favorite pair of Jimmy Choo shoes made her feel invincible, as if she could conquer the world. And I will, she vowed, fervently nodding her head. I’m going to get that VP position if it’s the last thing I do!

Reaching Pathways Center, Sharleen pushed open the door and strode inside. Attractive furniture, European artwork and vibrant area rugs decorated the waiting area. Waving to the receptionist, Sharleen collected her messages and continued down the hallway, anxious to get down to work.

Entering her office, she dropped her tote bag on the couch and opened the window blinds. Sunshine spilled into the room, making the space feel warm and bright. Her gaze landed on the red sports car double-parked in front of the bank. Emilio Morretti’s face popped into her mind, and try as she might, she couldn’t get rid of the sexy image. She’d thought of him last night and wondered how he was doing. Had he given any thought to what she’d said, or was he still in a miserable funk? Sharleen considered calling Antwan to find out but struck the idea from her mind. She had a busy day ahead of her, and she didn’t have time to shoot the breeze with her friend.

At her desk, she turned on her computer and took out her leather-bound journal. For the rest of the morning, Sharleen reviewed client profiles, updated her schedule and edited her online newsletter. Hours slipped by, and when lunch came and went she decided to take a break. Eager to speak to her colleague and best friend, Jocelyn Calhoun, she scooped up her desk phone and punched in her number. She’d left Jocelyn two messages yesterday, but still hadn’t heard back from her. That was unlike the social-media queen. Her iPhone never left her side, and she always responded to texts within seconds—unless she was watching Dating in the City.

“Hey, girl, it’s me,” Sharleen said, tapping her pen absently on her desk calendar. “I haven’t heard from you all day and just wanted to touch base. Give me a ring, or swing by my office when you get in. I’ll be here for the rest of the day, so stop by. We really need to talk.”

Hanging up the phone, she glanced at the wall clock above the door. Her next session didn’t start for an hour, but if she was going to survive her conversation with the disgruntled housewife from Malibu, she needed to meditate. Like exercising, it was an unshakable part of her daily routine, and she felt ineffective without it. Sharleen loved her career and couldn’t imagine ever doing anything else, but being a life coach was emotionally and mentally draining.

Unbuttoning her blazer, she kicked off her sandals and sat back in her chair. Blocking out the noises around her, she closed her eyes and exhaled every stress, every anxiety. Sharleen turned toward the window and welcomed the sunlight as it warmed her face. As her thoughts cleared and a sense of peace washed over her, she reflected on the events of the past week. There were plenty of lows, but only one high. Desire flared inside her body. Forty-eight hours after my disastrous consultation with Emilio Morretti, and I’m still thinking about him. That’s insane! He’s curt and serious and...and...oh, so dreamy. I wish he was my man.

For the second time in minutes her thoughts went off track. In her mind’s eye, she saw Emilio stalking toward her. His gaze was intense, and he was wearing a broad grin. One so captivating it made her skin tingle and her heart soar. Emilio took her in his arms, held her close to his chest and caressed her cheeks with his fingertips. Licking her lips, she waited anxiously to feel the pleasure of his kiss. He lowered his mouth to hers, and—

“Ms. Nichols, are you okay?”

Her eyes flew open. Embarrassed that her boss had caught her daydreaming, Sharleen stuffed her feet back into her shoes and stood. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Fontaine.”

“May I have a word with you?”

Adjusting her glasses, she fervently nodded her head. “Yes, of course.”

“This won’t take long.” Her boss, a petite woman with mocha-brown skin, had a no-nonsense demeanor and impeccable style. As she marched into the office, her wavy hair and leopard-print scarf flapped around her. Her colleagues gossiped that Mrs. Fontaine and her second husband, Jules, were having serious marital problems, but Sharleen didn’t believe them. Her boss looked chic and well put together, not like a woman having man trouble.

“Please have a seat.” Coming out from behind her desk, she gestured to the glass table beside the window. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine.”

Mrs. Fontaine sat down on one of the wrought-iron chairs, and Sharleen did the same.

“Over the years, you’ve become good friends with Ms. Calhoun, and I want to ensure her departure doesn’t cause you any unnecessary grief.”

Confused, Sharleen furrowed her brow. “Her departure? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.”

“You’re surprised she didn’t tell me what?” she repeated, wishing her boss would quit talking in circles and tell her what the hell was going on. Sharleen knew Jocelyn was worried about her mother’s health and wondered what had happened.

“Has she taken a leave of absence?”

“No. Ms. Calhoun has been relieved of her duties.”

Sharleen struggled to find her voice. “B-b-but everyone loves her,” she stammered. “She’s the best life coach here and—”

Mrs. Fontaine scoffed. “No, she’s not.”

Oh, that’s right. Brad is. He’s your favorite. He’s everyone’s favorite. Sharleen despised Brad McClendon, and that would never change. When he wasn’t talking trash about her to their colleagues, he was stabbing her in the back and trying to steal her clients. All because she’d spurned his sexual advances at last year’s Christmas party. His boy-next-door charms fooled everyone—including their boss—but Sharleen saw through his phony, I-love-everybody facade. He was a know-it-all, with an ugly attitude, and she didn’t trust him.

“I didn’t come here to gossip. I came to discuss your career.” Mrs. Fontaine clasped her hands around her knees. “You’re a valuable member of the Pathways team, and I have high hopes for you.”

You do? Really? Then why are you so hard on me?

“I hope you’re not still upset about your performance review last month...”

Sharleen was, but she would never admit it. She didn’t want Mrs. Fontaine to think she was overly sensitive, so she dismissed her boss’s concerns with a flick of her hand. “Of course not. I appreciate your honesty, Mrs. Fontaine, and your thorough assessment of my performance. I love working here, and I’m going to do everything in my power to promote this wonderful, life-changing center.”

Mrs. Fontaine’s face came alive and visibly relaxed. “That is wonderful news. You looked upset after our meeting, and I feared you were going to quit.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” she joked. “I’m one tough cookie!”

Mrs. Fontaine laughed, and Sharleen did, too. Her joke lightened the mood, and the tension in the air abated. They spoke about ways to attract new clients and how to boost staff morale. Moments of levity with her boss were few and far between, and she enjoyed their one-on-one time. Finally, after working together for years they were starting to make some headway.

“I look forward to working with you and the rest of the Pathways team for many more years to come.” As Sharleen spoke, her boss’s smile got bigger, brighter. Encouraged, she went on. “I’ll miss working with Jocelyn, but her departure won’t have a negative effect on me. I’m committed to my clients, and I’d never do anything to impede their personal growth.”

“As you know, I’m expanding our services and planning to open centers in Seattle, Houston and LA later this year,” she said proudly. “I’m going to need someone I can trust to be my vice president, and I wanted you to know you’re one of the top contenders for the job.”

Sharleen wanted to break out in song, but she squelched her excitement. “When will you make a decision about the position?”

“By the end of May, if not sooner.”

Great! That gives me eight weeks to prove I’m the perfect woman for the job.

“I better go.” Mrs. Fontaine glanced at her gold wristwatch and rose from her chair. “I need to speak to Brad about Emilio Morretti before he leaves for the day.”

Oh. Hell. To. The. No! Sharleen surged to her feet. She didn’t want to get on Mrs. Fontaine’s bad side, but she had to set her boss straight. “I met with Mr. Morretti on Wednesday morning, and he made it very clear that he doesn’t want a life coach.”

“He’s still grieving the loss of his nephew. He doesn’t know what he wants.” Her tone was brisk, matter-of-fact. “Mr. Tate has given us a lot of business over the years, and we can’t afford to disappoint him.”

Sharleen wanted to roll her eyes, but she nodded her head in understanding. One minute we’re sharing a laugh, the next she’s taking jabs at me. Go figure! Mrs. Fontaine’s words were a veiled insult, a slap in the face, but Sharleen didn’t argue. She saw the bigger picture, understood what was at stake, and knew if she played her cards right there’d be a promotion in her future. Listening with half an ear, she considered her next move.

“Mr. Tate is a successful business manager, and every time one of his celebrity clients is photographed leaving our center the phones ring off the hook!” Dollar signs twinkled in her eyes. “Brad is a stellar life coach. He can get through to Emilio Morretti. I know it.”

And what am I? Chopped liver? Her body tensed, and her mouth curled in disgust. Pressing her lips together to trap a curse inside, she fumed. If I lose another client to Brad I’m going to scream! On the surface Sharleen remained calm, but she was annoyed with her boss and angry at herself. If she’d signed Emilio on Wednesday, instead of making googly eyes at him, she wouldn’t have to go toe-to-toe with Brad for her client. “I deserve to be Mr. Morretti’s life coach. I specialize in grief and trauma, and furthermore, I booked the initial consultation.”

“But he dismissed you shortly after you arrived at his estate.”

Sharleen winced, as if in physical pain. What the hell? Is Antwan my friend or not? She didn’t appreciate him talking to Mrs. Fontaine behind her back and planned to tell him just that the next time she saw him.

An idea came to her in a flash. Bingo! That was it! She’d have drinks with Antwan and Emilio at the Halftime Bar and convince Emilio to sign with her. It’s either that, or lose him to Brad-the-blue-eyed-schemer! Sharleen felt guilty about missing her uncle’s retirement party, but she couldn’t give Brad the upper hand, not with the VP position at stake.

“I’m meeting Mr. Tate and Mr. Morretti tonight to finish our consultation.” The lie came out of her mouth in a breathless, nervous gush, but she continued full speed ahead, before her boss could question her. “I’m confident Mr. Morretti will sign with us once I tell him more about our top-notch, award-winning agency.”

Her boss gave her a bewildered look and scratched her head. “I’m confused...”

Sharleen gulped. Her palms were slick with sweat, but she maintained her poise. She desperately needed another crack at Emilio Morretti. But when she opened her mouth to plead her case, Mrs. Fontaine raised a hand to silence her.

“I spoke to Mr. Tate at length this morning, and he never mentioned your meeting.”

“He’s a very busy man. It must have slipped his mind,” she said, shrugging her shoulders good-naturedly. The fib fell off her lips with ease, sounding plausible, convincing, too. “Since Halftime Bar is only a few blocks from here, I’m planning to head straight over once I finish my last session of the day.”

Her boss’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “You’re going to meet Emilio Morretti dressed like that?”

“Is there something wrong with my outfit?”

“Not if you’re going to a funeral!” she scoffed, her thin lips curved in disapproval. “Emilio Morretti is an international superstar and one of the sexiest bachelors in the world.”

“And?” Sharleen asked, puzzled. “What does his relationship status have to do with me?”

“I want you to knock his socks off, and that boring, navy blue suit isn’t going to cut it...”

You’re a fine one to talk! You always wear pantsuits!

“Your outfit does nothing to enhance your curves.”

Sharleen touched a hand to her fitted, three-button blazer. “But this is Chanel!”

“I don’t care,” Mrs. Fontaine snapped, sounding exasperated. “Put on some makeup, get rid of that hideous hair bun, and for goodness’ sake, show some cleavage!”

Sharleen cracked up. She couldn’t help it. Mrs. Fontaine was in her thirties and was a chic dresser with a unique sense of style, but the more her boss encouraged her to “sexify” her look, the harder she laughed.

“You have a great figure, but you dress like someone twice your age,” Mrs. Fontaine complained. She paused, as if deep in thought, then adamantly shook her head. “I take that back. My mother’s sixty-one, and she dresses way sexier than you.”

Oh, my goodness, she’s serious; I thought she was joking!

“I’ll give you one more crack at Mr. Morretti, but if he blows you off again, Brad’s in, and you’re out. Understood?”

Sharleen nodded and stepped aside to let Mrs. Fontaine pass. She was happy to see her boss go. Her next session was about to start, and now she had a business dinner with Emilio Morretti to prepare for, too. Mrs. Fontaine marched down the hall without another word and disappeared into the staff room.

Slumping against the door, Sharleen released a deep sigh. This was her last chance to impress Emilio Morretti, but she wasn’t going to dress like a Pussycat Doll to get his attention. She was better than that. And besides, she didn’t own any tight, low-cut dresses.

I’m not sexy, that’s why. I could never pull off that kind of look.

Sharleen dismissed the outrageous advice Mrs. Fontaine had given her seconds earlier. More determined than ever to prove her worth—and land that coveted VP position—Sharleen stalked over to her desk, snatched up her phone and punched in Antwan’s number.


Chapter 4 (#ulink_0f6694f7-2890-5b7f-a357-09225611ad0d)

Where is everyone? Emilio glanced at his platinum wristwatch and scanned the waiting area for his golf buddies. He had a gnawing feeling that something was amiss and sent another text message to Antwan. His friends were thirty minutes late, and if his seafood appetizer hadn’t tasted so damned good, he would have left a long time ago.

Signed jerseys hung from the ceilings, country music blared from the overhead speakers and a tantalizing aroma consumed the air at the sports bar. Emilio was sitting at a corner booth, far away from the other patrons, but he felt them staring at him, watching him on the sly. A redhead sashayed past his table, switching her hips and flipping her hair, but he ignored her. He didn’t want female companionship. He enjoyed sitting alone at the back of the lounge—thinking about Sharleen Nichols.

For the first time in years, he didn’t ponder his nephew’s death or his overwhelming sense of loss. Instead, images of the bubbly life coach with the infectious smile filled his mind. The Southern beauty had an aura of youth and vitality, and if he hadn’t been in a miserable funk on Wednesday he would’ve spent the rest of the morning getting to know her better.

Emilio tasted his soda. Though his conversation with Sharleen had been brief, she’d made an indelible impression on him. She was full of personality—a bundle of excitement and positive energy that intrigued him. She was just that lively, that appealing and engaging. He didn’t date and hadn’t been intimate with anyone since losing his nephew, so his attraction to Sharleen shocked him.

Emilio considered what he’d learned about Sharleen in the past forty-eight hours after an extensive online search. The Duke graduate was everything Antwan had said, and more. She was active in the community, passionate about health and wellness and a self-described foodie. Her Instagram page was filled with recipes, pictures of her gourmet kitchen and her closest friends. He liked that she wasn’t obsessed with money and fashion like the women he’d hooked up with in the past, and he wondered if she was dating anyone.

Why do you care?You kicked her out of your estate, remember?

Emilio felt like an ass for the way he’d treated Sharleen. Her words returned to him, played in his mind. Was there any truth to what she’d said? Could she help him manage his grief and discover his purpose in life? Or was she all talk? He considered going to her office to find out—and to apologize for his behavior on Wednesday—but abandoned the thought. Who was he fooling? He didn’t want to risk getting in a scuffle with the media hounds if he ventured outside of Greensboro. Plus, he didn’t even know what he wanted to do with his life anymore. And he seriously doubted someone on his manager’s payroll would give it to him straight.

Whistles went up in the lounge, drawing his attention to the front of the restaurant. His gaze fell on the statuesque woman in the waiting area and he felt his eyes widen. Emilio shook his head, but the image still remained. It was Sharleen Nichols.

Desire consumed him like wildfire.

Their eyes met, and a radiant smile exploded across her face. Sharleen waved in greeting, then strode purposely through the lounge, as if she owned the place. He straightened in his seat like a pupil at the head of the class. Narrowing his eyes, he zeroed in on his curvy, moving target. His heart revved louder than an engine, and an erection hardened inside his dark blue jeans. Short of breath, sweating uncontrollably, he leaned forward in his chair. She’s even more beautiful than I remember. How is that possible?

Emilio looked Sharleen over, gave his eyes permission to roam. She was fashionably dressed in a tunic blouse, straight-leg pants and black high heels. She moved with a poise and grace that belied her age. Her red eyeglasses brightened her face, made her stand out from everyone else in the room. The suits at the bar were drinking beer and talking trash, but when Sharleen walked by, they fell silent.

Before Emilio could gather himself, Sharleen was at his booth, sitting down across from him. She smelled of jasmine and seemed to glow from within. Her inner beauty shone through, instantly seizing his attention. He was stunned to see her, and it must have shown on his face, because her smile dimmed.

“It’s wonderful seeing you again. How have you been?”

Emilio couldn’t speak. There was something magnetic about Sharleen, something so captivating he couldn’t get his bearings. His heart thundered in his ears, beat out of control. For the first time in his life, he was speechless, more nervous than he’d ever been.

“You don’t remember me...” Disappointment flashed across her pretty oval face. “I’m Sharleen Nichols from Pathways Center. We met on Wednesday at your estate.”

Emilio parted his lips and forced his mouth to move. “I remember you.”

“You do?” Sharleen sighed in relief. “Thank God for small miracles!”

Her eyes twinkled when she laughed, and the effervescent sound made him smile. The sun had zapped his energy during his afternoon jog, but he suddenly felt invigorated, energized. Sharleen looked genuinely happy to see him, and the feeling was definitely mutual. He was a great judge of character, always had been, and he sensed Sharleen Nichols was a nice girl.

Yeah, a nice girl you want to do very bad things with in bed!

The thought excited him, caused blood to surge to his groin. Sharleen was in her twenties, likely the same age as his sister Francesca and inexperienced in the ways of the world. He sensed it, felt it. Bits and pieces of his conversation with Antwan on Wednesday morning resurfaced. Emilio didn’t remember much, but he knew one thing for sure: his manager had the hots for her. And that was reason enough to keep his distance and his eyes off her perfect shape.

That’s right, his conscience said. Dial it back, dude. She belongs to someone else.

“Where’s Antwan?” Sharleen asked, glancing around the lounge. “Is he still at the bar?”

“No. He’s not here yet.”

Lines of confusion wrinkled her forehead. “But I just spoke to him. He said you guys were drinking beer and shooting the breeze.”

Emilio heard his cell phone buzz and picked it up off the table. He read his newest text message, then held up his iPhone. “Antwan isn’t coming. He’s stuck at the office.”

A frown marred her delicate facial features.

“I didn’t know you were joining us tonight,” he said, to fill the long, awkward silence that descended over the table. “How do you know Jamieson? Is he a client of yours?”

“You lost me.” Looking more confused than ever, she slanted her head and folded her arms across her chest. “This is supposed to be a business dinner, not a booze fest with the guys. Right?”

Mulling over her words, he stroked the length of his jaw. The truth came to him in a flash, and his face hardened like stone. “Antwan set us up, and I bet he told the other guys to stay away.” He was annoyed with Antwan, pissed that he’d been tricked, but he kept his temper in check. “He played me, and I never saw it coming.”

“This is ridiculous.” Sharleen took her iPhone out of her purse, dialed a number and put it to her ear. “Un-be-liev-a-ble. Now he isn’t answering his phone. How convenient.”

“I should have known better. This is the oldest trick in the book—”

A devilish gleam filled her eyes. “Let’s drive to his office and egg the place!”

Emilio cracked up. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so hard, or so long, and it felt damned good. There was nothing sexier than a woman with a wicked sense of humor, and Sharleen cracked jokes with the skill of a comedy heavyweight. She spoke expressively, with her eyes and her hands, and her energy made him sit up and take notice.

“Let me buy you a drink.” Emilio tried to sound casual, but his heart was pounding so hard it drowned out the noise in the room.

He saw her eyes widen and smiled to show his sincerity.

“You want me to stay?”

Emilio tried to play it cool, but he was desperate for her to stay. Eating alone was depressing, and he didn’t want the other patrons—especially the nosy, female ones watching him like a hawk—to join him if Sharleen left. “Antwan wants us to talk, so let’s talk,” he said. “I’m curious about you, and I’d like to hear more about your work.”

“You don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that. To get through to you, I thought I’d have to break into your estate and corner you in your home gym!”

Please do. An erotic image, one too hot for TV, flashed in his mind. Emilio wet his lips with his tongue and returned her gaze. His pulse was pounding, clanging in his ears like the Liberty Bell, and his breathing was labored. I can see you now...naked...bent over my weight bench...legs spread wide open...rocking those hips—

“This is going to be fun. I want to learn more about you and explain more about life coaching...”

Emilio’s testosterone level soared to unimaginable heights. His reaction to Sharleen embarrassed him, made him realize he was long overdue for a good, hard screw. But suddenly there was only one woman he hungered for.

Forget it. You have a better chance of winning the Masters Golf Tournament than getting Sharleen into bed. And besides, she belongs to Antwan, not you.

“There you are, you sexy beast. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Emilio groaned. He didn’t have to turn around to see whom the high-pitched voice belonged to. Hanging his head, he cursed under his breath in Italian. His sister must have told her roommate where he’d be, because Ginger Barnes showing up at his favorite sports bar was no coincidence. The British nanny was the most obnoxious person he’d ever met, and the more she propositioned him, the less he liked her. Ginger latched on to anyone with wealth and success, and he suspected she was using Francesca to get close to him. Not that it mattered; she didn’t stand a chance in hell of becoming Mrs. Emilio Morretti.

Bitter memories infiltrated his thoughts. Back in the day, before his life fell apart, he would’ve slept with Ginger without a second thought. He’d hooked up with a wide assortment of beauties during his fifteen-year racing career. But he was a different man now. Older, wiser and more discerning about the opposite sex, he no longer felt pressured to live the playboy lifestyle. Sadly, it had taken the loss of his beloved nephew for him to learn the errors of his ways.

“Hi,” he muttered, as he clenched his teeth. Emilio didn’t hide his displeasure, didn’t pretend he was happy to see her. He didn’t want his plans with Sharleen to go to ruin, so the sooner he got rid of Ginger the better. “What are you doing here?”

She cocked her head in his direction and licked her thin red lips in an exaggerated fashion. “What do you mean? I love sports.”

“Really?” Emilio didn’t believe her, not for a minute. “What team does LeBron James play for?”

Ginger wrinkled her nose. “Who’s LeBron James?”

Checkmate! Emilio sneaked a glance at Sharleen, saw a grin dimple her cheek and knew she was amused. He stood, took Sharleen’s hand and helped her to her feet. Winking at her, he rested a hand on the curve of her lower back and leaned in close. He’d always preferred pretty, natural types, not high-maintenance divas, and as he glanced between the women he realized they weren’t even in the same league. Sharleen was a bombshell, with brains and personality, and that was damned hot.

“Let’s head upstairs,” he proposed, gesturing to the second floor with a flick of his head. “It’s crowded down here, and I want us to have some privacy.”

Her eyes brightened, and a bashful smile claimed her lips. Emilio envisioned kissing her, but struck the thought from his mind. She was his manager’s girl, and although he was attracted to her, he’d never do anything to screw over his longtime friend.

“Y-y-you’re on a date?” Ginger stammered, her voice an earsplitting squeak. A horrified expression covered her face. “I thought you were alone.”

“See you around. Take care.”

Ginger slid in front of him, thwarting his escape. “If you’re free later, maybe you can meet up with me and Francesca at Magic City. We’re going club hopping with some out-of-town friends, and we’re planning to party the night away.”

Emilio glared at her. “My sister doesn’t go to strip clubs.”

“Okay,” she shot back, with a knowing smirk. “If you say so!”

Disgusted, he strode out of the lounge with Sharleen at his side. Ginger was a bad influence on his twenty-five-year-old sister, and as he marched past the open kitchen, he made a mental note to talk to Francesca about finding another roommate. Or better yet, moving back into his estate. The thought heartened him, lifted his spirits. He missed seeing his sister every day and liked the idea of her living under his roof again. Francesca was still struggling to cope with the loss of Lucca, but partying with a wild crowd wasn’t the answer.

Do you blame her?Her only child died, his conscience shot back. And you’re a fine one to talk. Had your daily dose of scotch today?

“I don’t see anyone upstairs. I hope we don’t get into trouble for seating ourselves.”

Emilio surfaced from his thoughts. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

“Are you sure we won’t get in trouble with management?”

“I’m positive. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Sharleen burst out laughing, and his chest puffed up with pride. He felt fired up, happier than a kid at SeaWorld.

“Everyone’s staring at us,” she whispered, a note of anxiety in her voice. “But I guess you’re used to it, being a world-famous race-car driver and all.”

“They’re not staring at me.” Emilio fixed his gaze on hers and spoke from the heart. “You’re a light, Sharleen, and they’re floored by your inner and outer beauty. You’re the prettiest woman in the room, and everyone knows it.”

Her eyes revealed nothing, but her lips held a shy smile. As they exited the main floor lounge, Emilio caught the envious glares of the other male patrons and tightened his hold around her waist. “Leave everything to me. I know what I’m doing.”


Chapter 5 (#ulink_6303114c-41e3-5fcd-b202-676d8be483c3)

“Tell me more about your background.”

To buy herself some time, Sharleen picked up her glass and tasted her diet cola. The cold, sweet liquid tickled her taste buds and coursed down her throat in a gush. It didn’t help cool her body down. Her temperature continued to climb, and perspiration drenched her skin. Emilio Morretti—the race-car driver with the quiet, soft-spoken nature—was to blame for her symptoms. Had to be. Why else was her heart racing and her hormones raging out of control? It was hard to concentrate with Emilio around, impossible to think clearly. Every time their eyes met, Sharleen lost her train of thought. Like right now. Try as she might, she couldn’t remember his question.

“Don’t be shy.” Emilio sat across from her at the small wooden table, cutting up his T-bone steak, his gaze never leaving her face. “You’re a fascinating young woman, and I’m enjoying your company very much.”

Me? Fascinating? Really? But I’m a nobody, just a regular girl. “Thanks, but I’m older than you think.” Sharleen paused, debated whether to divulge the truth. Over the past hour, Emilio had asked her tons of personal questions but had revealed little about himself. To gain his trust, she spoke openly. “I’m twenty-seven, but to be honest, I feel decades older. Everyone says I have an old soul, and it’s true. I love crocheting, vintage clothes and The Beatles.”

“We’re kindred souls, then.”

“We are?” she asked. “You crochet, too?”

Emilio chuckled. “No, but I have every song The Beatles ever recorded and a vinyl record player as well.”

“No way! Me too!”

“You should come over sometime and check out my music library. It’s quite impressive.”

His tone was free of arrogance, but Sharleen sensed his pride, felt it radiating off him in waves. “I’d be honored,” she said, touched by the offer. “Thanks for the invitation.”

“Drop by my estate whenever your schedule permits.”

For some reason, the thought of being alone with Emilio at his mansion excited her. Slow your roll, girl. He’s a client, not your soul mate. Sharleen didn’t have a “type,” never had, and often teased her girlfriends who had a boyfriend checklist. But as the night wore on, she realized Emilio was everything she wanted in a man, and more. He was one of a kind, in a class all by himself. Cultured, sophisticated and chivalrous, he made her feel emotions she’d never experienced before, and everything about him—his eyes, his boyish smile, his foreign accent—was a turn-on.

“Were you raised in Atlanta, or did you relocate like everyone else in this fine city?”

Struggling to keep a straight face, Sharleen raised her right hand, as if she were pledging allegiance to the flag, and said, “I’m a native. Scout’s honor.”

“Great. The next time I need a tour guide I know just who to call.”

A witty retort tickled her tongue, but Sharleen slammed her mouth shut. She was supposed to be evaluating Emilio, not flirting with him.





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