Yeah, right! You have a better chance of meeting the president!
“You used to have my back, and now I don’t know who you are anymore,” Francesca said.
Nose in the air, she stepped past him and stomped off. He watched with a heavy heart as she stormed down the cobblestone walkway. He called out to her, told her to come back, but she ignored him. Francesca jumped into her Mercedes-Benz convertible—the one he’d bought her for Christmas—and tore through the gates of his estate like a bat out of hell.
Chapter 13
South Beach, the infamous Miami district Sharleen had seen on TV and read about in magazines, lived up to its hype. Latin music blared from bars, and the air smelled of tantalizing aromas. Street performers entertained tourists, and fabulously gorgeous people cruised down the block in luxury vehicles with personalized license plates. Excited to be in such a vibrant city, she shielded her eyes from the hot, blistering sun and soaked in the world around her.
“Are you having a good time?” Emilio asked, resting a hand on her back.
“I shouldn’t have let you talk me into going in-line skating.” Sharleen lowered her shoulders and swung her arms to increase her speed. “I haven’t done this in years.”
“Don’t sweat it. You’re doing great.”
Yeah, until I trip and fall flat on my face!
They’d arrived at the Fisher Island Club last night, and after checking out their cozy, two-bedroom cottage, they’d set out on foot to explore the secluded island getaway. Unbeknownst to her, Emilio had arranged for them to have a private cooking lesson with reality star chef Chaz Romero and a candlelit dinner on the beach. His thoughtfulness made her desire him even more, and they’d laughed the night away over filet mignon and Italian wine. They’d laughed and kissed and danced in the moonlight to the distant sound of Latin music. Emilio made her feel cherished and adored, as if she mattered to him more than anything. It was a heady feeling, one she’d never experienced before.
“I’m not used to skating ten miles in ninety-degree temperatures.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You could have fooled me. You’re a natural.”
Sharleen skated over to one of the picnic tables at South Pointe Park, sat down and fanned a hand to her face. “I need a break and a cold drink.”
“Coming right up,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a few.”
Her eyes followed him, moved over his chiseled physique with deliberate slowness. Emilio skated over to the food truck parked on the sidewalk and joined the slow-moving line. Like vultures, a group of bikini-clad women crowded around him, batting their eyelashes.
Sharleen shot evil daggers at the young, perky quartet. Emilio couldn’t go anywhere in Miami without females asking him for his autograph or slipping him a phone number when they thought Sharleen wasn’t looking. They’d spent the morning exploring art galleries and museums, and everywhere she turned women were undressing him with their eyes. It was annoying, and although he never gave her reason to feel insecure, she was. His admirers had perfect skin and great bodies, and Sharleen couldn’t help envying their gorgeous looks.
“You look handsome on TV, but you’re even sexier in person,” she overheard the redhead say. “I’ve seen all of your races, and I’ve always dreamed of meeting you...”
Sharleen scoffed, rolled her eyes. She wanted to take off her skates and fling them at the redhead, but she didn’t want to get arrested for assault with a deadly weapon.
“Since we’re in South Beach, I figured we could try some of the local cuisine...”
Sharleen blinked and stared up at Emilio. He looked smokin’ hot in his aviator sunglasses, navy polo shirt and cargo shorts, but it was his strong, masculine cologne that aroused her. It overpowered her senses, made her thoughts take an erotic detour. X-rated images consumed her mind, but she kept her hands in her lap and off of his chest. “Something smells delicious,” she said. “What did you buy?”
“The works. Ceviche, Cuban sandwiches, fruit salad and sangria iced tea.”
“I said I wanted a cold drink, not a buffet lunch!”
“Eat up. You’ll need your strength for what I have planned for you later.”
She hid her nervous excitement and sipped her sangria. As they ate lunch, they discussed how to spend the rest of the afternoon, the Exotic Car Show and their evening dinner plans.
“I’m a bit nervous about meeting your cousin and his wife,” Sharleen confessed.
“Don’t be. Nicco’s a great guy.” Emilio finished his sandwich and then cleaned his mouth with a napkin. “I haven’t met Jariah yet, or her six-year-old daughter, but I’ve heard nothing but good things. Nicco adores Ava and treats her like his own flesh and blood.”