Date with a Diva. Joanne Rock

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      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.

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