Date with a Diva. Joanne Rock
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Название: Date with a Diva
Автор: Joanne Rock
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Контркультура
Серия: Mills & Boon Blaze
isbn: 9781472028587
isbn:
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.”
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