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One Naughty Night
Joanne Rock
The sweet, innocent blonde on the dance floor is way out of her league in this hot singles club. And the minute Renzo Cesare recognizes that, his protective instincts step up to the plate while he tries to rescue her.If that means pretending to be Esme Giles's blind date, well, so be it. But before he can escort her to safety, she starts whispering some not so innocent suggestions in his ear. How is a guy supposed to be noble when all he can think about is hitting the sheets?Esme Giles is turning over a new leaf–starting with a seduction. Sure, it's a bold move, but one look at her sexy date and she'll do almost anything to convince this hottie to spend a sizzling night with her. Too bad he's the wrong man! But Renzo's red-hot kisses convince her that she's found the right man…for more than just a night!
Renzo’s brain told him to be careful
Too bad his instinctive side was already caught up in the soft flame of Esme’s embrace and the unmistakable message of her lips planted against his. How could he interpret the signs as anything but a blinking neon-green light?
Breaking away from the liquid fire of her kiss, Renzo sought confirmation. He needed her to make the call tonight, since she had pushed him away last time.
“What is it you want, Esmerelda? I need to be sure.”
“I want the kind of pleasures you started to give me the other night,” she whispered. His body reacted immediately, an automatic spike of temperature between them.
“You like the way I touched you?” He trailed a hand down her hip, stretched his fingers across her thigh. His thumb pressed into the soft flesh, eliciting a throaty hum from the back of her throat.
“Yes. I liked it too much.” Her restless hands moved over him, sending those rising temperatures into the red-hot zone
“Esme, there’s no such thing as liking it too much.”
Dear Reader,
SINGLE IN SOUTH BEACH meets THE WRONG BED miniseries…oh, the possibilities! What a glamorous backdrop, and I already had the perfect hero in mind, since one of the owners of Club Paradise has a slew of gorgeous, overprotective brothers. I couldn’t wait to put one of them in the path of an unsuspecting female to see what happened!
The result is One Naughty Night, a classic case of an immovable object colliding with an irresistible force. I loved watching the way Esmerelda Giles learns to work around this particular immovable man, Renzo Cesare!
I hope you’ll join me for a very special SINGLE IN SOUTH BEACH story coming in January 2004. Look for Valentine Vixen in a volume entitled Strangers in Paradise with author Stephanie Bond. And there will be more SINGLE IN SOUTH BEACH books in spring 2004.
Visit me at www.JoanneRock.com to learn about future releases or to let me know what you think about the series!
Happy reading,
Joanne Rock
Books by Joanne Rock
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
863—LEARNING CURVES
897—TALL, DARK AND DARING
919—REVEALED
HARLEQUIN BLAZE
26—SILK, LACE & VIDEOTAPE
48—IN HOT PURSUIT
54—WILD AND WILLING
87—WILD AND WICKED
104—SEX & THE SINGLE GIRL* (#litres_trial_promo)
108—GIRL’S GUIDE TO HUNTING & KISSING* (#litres_trial_promo)
One Naughty Night
Joanne Rock
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For the fantastic community readers at eHarlequin.com—thank you so much for the shared support, encouragement and twenty-four-hour entertainment. Also, I’d like to invite new readers and writers to join us. I’m often in the Blaze Boudoir or at the Temptress Tales thread on the Books & Authors board, but I bet you’ll find lots of other great chats to enjoy, as well!
Contents
Chapter 1 (#u2ccc52d7-b4bd-5e80-8691-d033f33d347d)
Chapter 2 (#u7d96d7ab-908a-5577-9578-c92b8a4c1f0a)
Chapter 3 (#u211ce2fe-d8cf-5aec-bf6c-598058689f89)
Chapter 4 (#u013eed5b-e088-52ee-b45a-89e52d4985d2)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
1
BAD DECISION number five thousand thirty-eight—overdressing.
Esmerelda Giles rocked back on the low heels of her sandals and sighed as she watched the parade of half-clad bodies strut down Ocean Drive toward the swanky new dance club that would be her destination tonight.
Even though the hands on her antique silver-and-turquoise watch pointed to 11:32 p.m., the well-lit street hummed with activity. A steady stream of cars rolled down the avenue at a snail’s pace to see and be seen. Foot traffic converged on Club Paradise from every direction as if all of South Beach wanted a chance to meet and mingle at Miami’s most risqué hot spot.
And every single person Esme laid eyes on wore considerably less than she did.
Shoot. How could she have made such a mistake after spending at least forty-five minutes deciding what to wear for this ridiculous blind date?
Esme fingered the featherweight silk of her outfit—a vintage gypsy dress she’d unearthed at a consignment shop on one of her antiquing outings. The gossamer garment ranked as the most seductive item of clothing she’d ever owned, yet it looked like a schoolgirl’s frock next to the sexy getups sported by every woman in line at Club Paradise’s side entrance across the street.
Once again, Esme’s judgment had been faulty.
Surprise, surprise.
In the weeks since she’d lost her job, her car, a little bit of her self-respect and her life’s dream to boot, Esme had been trying really hard not to exercise her own judgment. In fact, following the explosion of her previously well-ordered life, she’d realized that every decision she’d ever made had led her to lose her job, her car, some self-respect and her life’s dream. Therefore, she couldn’t trust her horrendous instincts.
Which accounted for her new desire to do the opposite of everything her instincts suggested.
She would have never considered going on a blind date before, but now as she waded through the rubble of her old existence, she’d decided maybe she ought to try it. She’d accepted her kindly new neighbor’s matchmaking attempt and had agreed to meet the woman’s nephew at the Moulin Rouge Lounge inside Club Paradise tonight.
Yippee.
While she stood on the street corner where the bus had deposited her and debated what to do about her overdressed condition, Esme was jostled by a pack of young men. She stepped aside quickly, mindful that she needed to quit dreaming and pay attention to her surroundings. A tall guy with spiky hair and a red silky T-shirt swept past her making breathy little psst sounds at her in the way one might call to an animal.
Is this how people communicated attraction these days, or was the man trying to insult her with his catcall? God, she was so out of touch with the real world. She hadn’t been on a genuine date since grad school and even then she’d only gone out with history geeks who were as socially inept as her.
But no more.
Tonight marked a symbolic change in Esme’s life. A new mode of thinking, a new take-charge attitude. She’d thought the way to keep her touchy-feely former boss at bay was by buttoning up to the gills in conservative suits and layers of clothes, but Mr. Too Many Hands had probably read her insecurities in her wardrobe and thought he could help himself.
Steam hissed through her as she remembered those moments trapped in his grip and the ugly fallout of her resistance. She’d been fired in short order for sexual harassment even though he had been the one harassing her. Using his techno-nerd skills, her ex-boss had managed to manipulate the company computer system into printing out manufactured obnoxious e-mails supposedly from her to him. And now here she stood a week later.
Pissed and unemployed.
But ready to make a few changes in her life.
Stepping back into the shadows of an alleyway between two of South Beach’s historic, ice-cream-colored art deco buildings, Esme decided to make a few last minute adjustments to her wardrobe before she embarked on her blind date. The little overnight bag she planned to drop off in her complimentary hotel room before her midnight rendezvous didn’t include a change of clothes other than the casual outfit she’d wear tomorrow.
And frankly, she didn’t even want to cross over to that swanky, sexy side of the street looking like she did right now. She couldn’t do much about overdressing since she had no intention of stripping off her dress. But ditching another item of clothing might make her feel a little more daring and a lot more naked.
Reaching beneath her blouse, Esme unhooked her white lacy bra and wriggled out of the straps one arm at a time. Her barely-34Bs didn’t really require the support and somehow going braless seemed even more bold than baring a little midriff.
Old Esme never would have taken such a risk. New Esme planned to do just the opposite.
Flinging her bra off to one side to drape across a stainless steel trash can, Esmerelda Giles prepared to meet her blind date—one Mr. Hugh Duncan, journalist—with a serious take-charge attitude.
And possibly a little jiggle.
“RENZO, NO WOMAN is ever going to snap you up with that kind of old-fashioned attitude.” Giselle Cesare, head chef at Club Paradise and part owner of the popular singles playground, stirred her teriyaki sauce and glared at her older brother.
“Since when has it been my mission in life to get snapped up?” Renzo stood propped in the half-open door shortly before the resort’s main kitchen closed for the night and stared out over the writhing, wriggling bodies on the dance floor of the Moulin Rouge Lounge. He reached behind him to poke his mouthy sister in the ribs and steal a hunk of bread from the crusty Tuscan loaf sliced on the counter beside her. “I’m swearing off women since Celeste anyhow, remember?”
He’d been engaged to a woman raised as old-school Italian as him, but even she’d gotten scared off at the last minute by the idea of lifelong commitment. According to Celeste, she couldn’t allow her first lover to be her last.
Not that he blamed her exactly, but he sure as hell would have liked to have been informed of her decision before he showed up at the altar in his tux.
No, he definitely wasn’t in any hurry to be snapped up by any one right now. He shoved his pilfered bread in his mouth and resumed watching the erotic flow of scantily clad bodies out on the dance floor. Still leaning in the doorway, he could easily monitor the activity outside the room while occasionally helping Giselle with her work in the kitchen. Even after all formal food service ceased at midnight, the main kitchen still buzzed with activity until almost dawn thanks to twenty-four hour room service and the prep work that needed to be done before the hotel’s three restaurants opened for breakfast.
Despite the high titillation factor of the action in the lounge, Renzo wasn’t here to take in the floor show. He usually spent his few evenings away from his carpentry work at Club Paradise in order to keep an eye on his baby sister, although tonight there was an added chore. Later he needed to meet his older brother Nico to discuss the Cesare family finances and how in the hell they were going to cover their little brother’s law school expenses without going broke. Renzo was already working every spare second of the day. He needed to figure out a way to channel a more high-end product to a higher-paying clientele, but so far he hadn’t come up with how to accomplish this.
“Oh please. Renzo Cesare the monk?” Giselle ladled her sauce over a fresh batch of spinach noodles and slivers of grilled chicken. “Don’t try and tell me you’re swearing off women. It’s been six months since Celeste went back to Rome. Move on already.”
“And you’re such an expert on heartbreak, Ann Landers?” Renzo hadn’t mentioned his new financial concerns to Giselle, knowing his sister felt guilty enough about spending her inheritance by investing in Club Paradise. And although the idea of Giselle opening her own business where she could indulge the full extent of her culinary skills had sounded great at the time, none of the Cesare men had been prepared for her to bake bruschetta among half-naked bodies in South Beach’s most racy club.
Giselle garnished the teriyaki dishes with a curly strip of orange peel and a healthy chunk of Tuscan bread while Renzo rang a pager to signal one of the wait staff.
“Admittedly, no. I’m not an expert since men never get close enough to me to break my heart thanks to you.” She frowned up at him, her forehead damp with steam from the stove.
“Just because the last guy you dated didn’t break your heart doesn’t mean he didn’t cause you a hell of a lot of grief. Excuse me for trying to make sure that doesn’t happen again.” Some married SOB had lied to Giselle that he was single and taken her for a ride last winter. Renzo still hadn’t forgiven himself for not keeping a better eye out for her.
“I’m entitled to make my own mistakes, damn it. You and Nico have suffocated me with big brother watchfulness ever since then. If you don’t hook up with some majorly distracting females soon, I may be forced to strangle the both of you.”
“Sorry, sis. Cesare men don’t throw their women to the wolves, and this place of yours is crawling with them.” He snagged a plate of teriyaki for himself along with an extra slice of bread. “But since you’re feeding me tonight, I’ll give you a reprieve and you can have the next hour to yourself.”
Giselle shoved him toward the door. “I swear you and Nico are only playing watchdog so you can eat for free. Will you at least try to look mildly charming and less like a muscle-bound bouncer while you chow down so maybe some naive woman will steal you away for a few days?”
Renzo reached for a bottle of water before he backed out of the kitchen and into the club. “I’m not interested in the kind of women who want to steal me away. Neanderthals need to do all the stealing.”
As the heavy metal door swung shut behind him he heard Giselle call him a chauvinist pig and he smiled. No news there.
Dance music flooded his senses as he melted into the crowd to search for a table. Snippets of conversation around him drowned out his own thoughts, escalating into an unintelligible, continuous rumble of noise and laughter.
Although Renzo made no attempt to look charming while he ate at his table for one in the back of the bar, tempting women approached him twice. Part of him responded to their frank come-ons and slinky attire. It had been six months since Celeste, after all. Old-fashioned values be damned, his sister had been right to suggest he was no monk.
But he had more on his mind than sex—even with the thumping bass of R&B music pulsing through the dance club and the swirl of moody red and blue lights above him. As the clock behind one of the bars struck midnight, Renzo told himself he needed to do a better job keeping the wolves from Giselle’s door—a sacred trust passed along to him and his brothers by their father on his deathbed. More importantly, he had to figure out how in the hell to pay for his younger brother’s latest bills in law school while the rest of his family built their careers.
Obviously he needed a second job to supplement his carpentry, but—
Holy hell.
Renzo’s attention snapped from finances back to the action on the dance floor. The scene that a moment ago had been a mass of rump shaking, thigh flashing and heavy breathing got a little more interesting as a petite blonde dressed like a fairy in a high-school play glided into view.
Renzo had her pegged for the glasses and hair-in-a-bun type in two seconds flat. Her fluttery lavender dress looked like the kind of thing other women wore to church. Yet here she was, flitting through South Beach’s most notoriously exotic club in an ankle length skirt.
She had a schoolteacher walk too. Very proper. No lazy hip rolling or swinging of arms going on there. In fact, she seemed to take up as little space as possible, edging her way through the crowd, shoulders delicately drawn in and her blue eyes wide with palpable surprise at the sex-drenched atmosphere.
She stood out in the crowd to him—a conservative anomaly in the room packed full of skintight clothes and do-me high heels.
