“How can I refuse when you asked so nicely?” he teased, his eyes alight with mischief. Emilio took his keys out of his pocket and rose to his feet. “Let’s go.”
“Oh, wait, we haven’t paid the bill.”
“It’s cool. I have a running tab.” He winked and pulled her close to his side. “My cousin Nicco owns the Dolce Vita franchise. He knows I’m good for it.”
Sharleen sighed in relief. “Thank God. I thought you were pulling a dine and dash!”
As they stood at the restaurant entrance, waiting for the valet to return with Emilio’s car, he told her more about growing up in Italy, his troubled teenage years and his first amateur race. He spoke with great passion about his career, and Sharleen couldn’t help but wonder if he exhibited the same level of excitement in the bedroom.
There’s only one way to find out, whispered her inner voice. Tell Emilio you’re attracted to him, and let the chips fall where they may.
Sharleen chased away the thought, booted it out of her mind. Not because she didn’t desire him—she did, more than she’d ever desired anyone—but deep down, she knew that Emilio Morretti would never be interested in someone like her.
Chapter 8
“Got a minute for your favorite client?”
Antwan glanced up from the document he was reading and dropped his Montblanc pen on his desk. “Emilio? Is that you?” Rising to his feet, he rubbed his eyes as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing and gave his head a hard shake. “My eyes must be playing tricks on me, because you haven’t been to my office in years!”
Indulging in a hearty chuckle, Emilio glanced around the lavish surroundings. Proud of his accomplishments and wealth, Antwan had decorated his office with the best furniture, artwork and electronics money could buy. Electric blue walls and Oriental rugs gave the room a luxurious feel, and a glass shelf held more baseball memorabilia than a sports museum.
“It’s great to see you, man.” Dressed in a three-button suit and burgundy tie, Antwan strode confidently around his desk and clapped Emilio on the back. “I haven’t seen you look this good in years...”
I know, and Sharleen’s the reason why.
“I was planning to come to Greensboro this afternoon to speak to you.”
“You were? Why? What’s up?”
“I’ll share my good news in a minute, but first I want to know what’s up with you,” he said, leaning against the front of his desk. “The last time we spoke you were bummed out and depressed.”
“I miss Lucca, and it hurts like hell that he’s gone, but I’m in a good place right now.” At night, in moments of despair, when he relived his nephew’s accident, he didn’t reach for a bottle of scotch. During those dark, depressing moments he thought about Sharleen. She’d lost both of her parents as a teenager, but she still maintained a positive outlook on life. She inspired him, encouraged him and cheered him up when he was down. He admired her keen mind and the sexy, curvy package it came in. He’d fallen hard for her and often imagined their lives together as a couple. It was a shocking thought, considering he’d never had a successful relationship, but he wanted her to be his girl, and he wasn’t afraid to admit it. Problem was, every time he tried to talk to her about his feelings, she swiftly changed the subject.
“How are things going with Sharleen?” Antwan adjusted his suit jacket and crossed his legs at the ankles. “Are you guys butting heads or getting along swimmingly?”
A proud grin claimed Emilio’s mouth. He felt as if he’d known Sharleen all of his life, and he still couldn’t believe they’d met only three weeks earlier. He was comfortable with her, completely at ease in her presence, and looked forward to seeing her every day. During their coaching sessions, they exercised in his home gym, whipped up healthy meals in his kitchen or hung out in his media room, talking and playing pool. Emilio enjoyed her fun-loving personality, her optimistic nature and their poignant discussions about life. He found it refreshing to be with someone who’d rather discuss social issues than Justin Bieber’s latest run-in with the law.
He thought back to their coaching session last Friday and smiled as their flirtatious exchange played in his mind. Despite being only twenty-seven years old, Sharleen always looked so prim and proper, as if she were going to lunch with the First Lady. When she’d arrived at his estate in one of her trademark outfits, he couldn’t resist teasing her.
“Do you ever wear anything besides cardigans and dress pants?” he’d asked.