LITMIR.BIZ

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at Club Paradise while furthering his own very personal interest in Ms. Lainie Reynolds.

      “You can’t be done. You took what—two sips? What kind of enabler would I be if I let you off the hook with that?” He took a swig and nearly fried his throat. “Jesus, woman, what have you got in here?” His words croaked with the firepower of her beverage of choice.

      She didn’t smile, but he could see the hint of humor in her eyes. He’d been watching her on and off at Club Paradise over the last few weeks. In that time, Nico had never caught Lainie in a full-out grin.

      “It’s homemade Kentucky bourbon.” She came damn close to smiling when he coughed. “I know it’s not exactly smooth, but it’s—sentimental.”

      “No way in hell you’re a Kentucky girl.” His reaction leaped out of his mouth before he had a chance to weigh the pros and cons. A frequent, unhappy affliction of his since childhood.

      “I may be a big-shot Miami businesswoman, but everyone has a past.” All traces of smiles and shared humor disappeared as she looked out to sea. The sunset painted the water warm pinks and oranges, giving the whole beach a surreal glow. Even Lainie’s shoulder-length blond hair was tinged strawberry.

      “What were you saying about yours, Cesare?” she prodded. “You lost your spot on the hockey team and then what?”

      He’d been hoping for commiseration, not interrogation. But he had the feeling that if he wanted to keep his place next to her, he needed to put himself out there.

      “I’ll spill the whole sordid story if you share the bourbon and whatever’s got you down today.”

      “You go crazy with the bourbon.” She waved him on with a hurry-up gesture. “I know it well enough to respect it.”

      “Hey, I’ve had a shit year, too.” He took another, more careful sip of the bourbon. This time he could better taste the appeal. It wasn’t smooth, but there was a hell of a kick. “I’m not above a little comfort where I can find it.” He peered across the bench at her again. “And you did make it clear I wouldn’t be finding it with you tonight, correct?”

      One side of her mouth hitched up. Not a smile. More like a wry smirk. Still, he counted it as progress.

      “Correct.” She eyed him as he leaned his head back against the bench. “But if we were to debate who deserves comfort of any kind here, I think I’ve still got you beat.”

      “Ah, but you haven’t heard my story yet. The gut-wrenching drama of professional sports, complete with passion, fame, heartbreak… It’s practically a prime-time special in the making.” He didn’t want to push too hard, but he didn’t want her to leave now that they were finally talking. He’d been waiting for weeks to get this close to her. Failure was not an option. He hadn’t been interested in the chase since Ashley booted him out after his career ended. For the first time since then his hormones were on full alert.

      And yeah, maybe after watching his career go up in smoke and his love life land in the crapper, he liked the idea of slaying some dragons for a lady. In spite of her tough exterior, he could see Lainie had more than a few shadowy demons lurking in her eyes right now.

      “Then bring it on, superstar. Your story and the bourbon.” She gestured for her flask with an impatient waggle of her fingers. Her nails gleamed with dark copper polish, each one as long and perfectly shaped as the next. “If we’re serious about drowning our sorrows, I’d better have a few more sips. I’ve never been the sort of woman to do anything by half measures.”

      He handed over the flask. “Damn but you’re scary. No wonder Giselle spent all year hiding from you.”

      “Is that right?” Her eyebrows rose as if she was enjoying a compliment. She stole a sip of her backwoods brew without a wince. “It’s a skill carefully cultivated by ambulance chasers. I’m not in that business any longer, but you know what they say about old habits. However, we are not talking about me tonight.”

      Yet.

      Nico wasn’t about to let her off the hook without finding out more about her, but he’d honor the deal they’d made.

      “Okay, chapter one—my hamstring shreds in a combination of old muscle problems and a skate blade to the back of my thigh. I’m out of the game for good.”

      “Just like that?” She crossed her legs, distracting him with the shifting of slim thighs against her short white skirt. “No second opinions from other doctors?”

      “Actually, this is after ten different opinions from hapless doctors who are thanked by me raging and shaking my fist. I guess I omitted the part where I act like a two-year-old and endear myself to no one.” Nico watched as she smoothed the hemline of her already straight skirt. Memories of her in tight black leather blared into his brain, the same mental pictures that had haunted him ever since the night she and Giselle told Robert Flynn where to get off.

      Nico had been getting off on the memory for weeks.

      “Didn’t you have a contract?” Her question forced him to blink away the black leather.

      “Absolutely. But in my egomania at the time, I signed a one-year deal knowing I’d have a monster season of career highs and then I’d be in a position to sign a longer deal for more money.” Stupid, selfish move, but then he’d always been the kind of guy to go for it all and put himself on the line. If he hadn’t been thinking about having a record-breaking deal quoted on ESPN, he would have just gone for the very reasonable long-term option the Panthers had offered him. He’d chosen to gamble.

      “So you’re bummed because after years of living on the big-league paycheck, you’re back to nothing once your contract year is up.” She took another sip and passed the bottle back. When he set his Hacky Sack down to take the flask, she nodded at his new toy. “May I?”

      “Sure.” He couldn’t picture her playing Hacky Sack but he handed it over. “Only I wasn’t upset about the money so much as the lost glory. Hockey is—was—my whole life. You remember Field of Dreams and how the people in the movie were so nuts for baseball?” He waited for her nod. “That’s how I am about hockey. It’s—it was—a way of life.”

      Pointing one of her perfectly painted fingernails at him, she stared him down. “I hope you’ve already talked to a financial planner.”

      Bad enough he was spilling his guts, he’d be damned if he would take financial advice, too. He made a noncommittal shrug.

      “Okay. After six years in corporate law, I had to at least warn you. Chapter two?” She squeezed the Hacky Sack between her fingers the same way that he liked to when he wasn’t kicking the hell out of the thing.

      Distracted by her hands, he was surprised when she handed the beanbag back to him.

      “Chapter two?” She prodded like an impatient trial lawyer nudging the witness.

      Nico wondered if she would be that aggressive in bed. And if he’d ever have a chance to find out for himself.

      “Chapter two finds me without a job, which quickly leads to my girlfriend walking out.”

      “She sure wasn’t much of a girlfriend.”

      “I didn’t discover until too late that groupies are only interested in the fame and the paycheck.” Although Ashley had done a hell of a job convincing him they wanted the same things in life—kids, family, roots. He’d laid his heart on the line for her, too, only to have it booted back to him. “To be fair, though, I guess I’d always been pretty interested in the fame and the paycheck, too.”

      “And not to stick up for this piranha of a girlfriend, but is there any chance you were just flat out bad company once your luck changed?” She recrossed her legs in the other direction, calling his attention to the lean thighs that he’d been dreaming about for weeks. “Sometimes people can turn superornery when the rug has been pulled out from under them.”

      “I’m

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