Seduced by Mr. Right Page 2

  “Are you going to the cemetery this afternoon with Francesca to release balloons?”

  Emilio nodded. “Yes, I’m going to pick her up at two o’clock—”

  The telephone rang, and a long-distance number flashed on the TV screen. It was his cousin Rafael calling from Washington, DC, and although they hadn’t spoken in months, Emilio didn’t answer the phone. Francesca loved family gossip and had told him just yesterday about the birth of Rafael’s first child—a baby girl named Violet—with his wife, Paris St. Clair-Morretti. The news still boggled his mind. His cousins Demetri, Nicco and Rafael had found true love and were completely devoted to their partners. And according to Francesca, Nicco and his wife, Jariah, were expecting, and Demetri was planning the wedding of the century with his fiancée, Angela Kelly. I hope my invitation gets lost in the mail, because there’s no way in hell I’m going to Demetri’s over-the-top wedding.

  “The guys are meeting at Halftime Bar on Friday night to celebrate Jamieson’s promotion.” Antwan sat down on a stool, grabbed one of the beers and took a swig. “You promised you’d be there, so don’t even think about flaking on us.”

  Antwan’s concerns were valid. Emilio often broke plans at the last minute, and it had earned him a reputation for being a mood killer. Going out in public made him nervous, and on the rare occasions that he met up with his golf buddies, he always regretted it. Gold diggers flocked to him in droves, and the more he spurned their advances, the more aggressive they were. “I’ll come, but I can’t stay long.”

  “Why? Got a hot date with Ginger?”

  “Man, please, she’s ten years my junior. And she’s my sister’s best friend.”

  “I know,” Antwan said with a sly wink. “But you like curvy women, and that girl has booty for days!”

  Yeah, and a thirst for wealth and stardom that could rival a reality TV star! Emilio wasn’t interested in the British nanny, and every time she dropped by his estate unannounced, he ordered his butler to send her away. Francesca was determined to hook them up, but Emilio was even more determined to keep his distance. Ginger was nipping at his heels for one reason and one reason only: to get her hands on his fortune. But Emilio wasn’t having it. He hadn’t been intimate with anyone since his nephew’s death, and he’d rather watch home videos of Lucca than hook up with his sister’s pushy roommate. “I’ll be there.”

  “You better, or I’ll drive back out here and kick your ass.”

  “I thought you were a lover, not a fighter?” Emilio joked.

  “You know it!” Antwan popped his shirt collar. “I couldn’t have said it better myself!”

  Chuckling, the men bumped fists and bottles. Emilio couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed, and it felt good to crack a joke with Antwan. His reprieve didn’t last long, though. His mind wandered, filled up again with thoughts and images of Lucca, and his good mood fizzled. What am I doing? I shouldn’t be yukking it up. My nephew died, and it’s my fault.

  The doorbell rang, and Antwan jumped to his feet as if his bar stool were on fire.

  “I’ll get it,” he said, leveling a hand over his suit jacket.

  Emilio put down his beer. “Who is it?”

  “Your new life coach.”

  “My new what?”

  “You need someone to help you get your life back on track, and Sharleen Nichols is the perfect person for the job.”

  To thwart his escape, Emilio stepped in front of Antwan. He folded his arms across his chest and stared him down. “Are you out of your mind?” he asked. “What were you thinking inviting some strange woman to my estate?”

  “Sharleen isn’t a stranger. I’ve known her for years. She’s worked with several of my other celebrity clients, and they all sing her praises.”

  Emilio wasn’t impressed, not one bit. He sensed Antwan was romantically interested in this life-coach friend. That surprised him, because in all the years they’d known each other, he’d never seen Antwan excited about anyone. Not even the models he routinely hooked up with.

  “Sharleen graduated from Duke University with honors,” he boasted, checking himself out in the mirrored wall behind the bar. “She’s one of the most passionate, energetic people I’ve ever met, and gorgeous, too. You’re going to get along great. I can feel it.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Emilio mumbled.

  Chapter 2

  Peace and tranquillity showered over Sharleen Nichols as she drove through the private gates of the lakefront estate on the edge of Greensboro, Georgia. A light breeze whistled through the magnolia trees dotting the manicured grounds, and sunflowers perfumed the morning air. The stone-and-brick mansion was nothing short of perfection, and the property screamed of opulence and wealth. This isn’t a house; it’s a compound, Sharleen thought, driving up the long, winding driveway. No wonder Emilio Morretti rarely goes out. This place is a dream. If I lived here I’d never leave!

  Sharleen parked behind Antwan’s SUV and turned off the engine. Last night she’d reviewed her notes about Emilio Morretti—the troubled race-car driver with the jaw-dropping good looks—and although she was prepared for their consultation, butterflies danced in the pit of her stomach. I can’t blow this. My boss is depending on me. And if I want to be considered for the vice-president position, I have to prove that I’m a go-getter, a closer.

  To calm her nerves, Sharleen closed her eyes and breathed deeply through her nose. News articles and magazine covers scrolled through her mind. Emilio Morretti was a third-generation race-car driver, and one of the most electrifying World Series Racing competitors of all time. Championships and fame had come fast and furious, and during his fifteen-year career he’d shattered one world record after another. According to the press, he was a quick-tempered man with expensive tastes who fancied models as much as exotic sports cars. At thirty-five, he was one of the most eligible bachelors in the country and also a bona fide star in his native Italy. Or at least he used to be. Two years ago, he’d walked away from the sport that brought him fame, fortune and international prestige, and he’d turned his back on his fans.

  Sharleen grabbed her leather Birkin bag and got out of the car. She knew better than to believe everything she read online, especially on celebrity gossip sites. But there was no disputing the facts. Emilio Morretti was on a self-destructive path, and if he didn’t change his ways, things would only get worse. In recent months, he’d had several run-ins with the paparazzi and had allegedly slugged a photographer for trespassing on his property. True or not, the gossip painted him in a bad light, and Antwan was deeply worried about his superstar client. He’d told her that Emilio was still struggling to cope with the loss of his nephew, and since Sharleen specialized in grief and trauma, she’d agreed to work with him.

  That wasn’t the only reason, her conscience pointed out. Mrs. Fontaine didn’t give you much of a choice, and if you blow this assignment you could lose your job!

  Last month, during her annual performance review, her boss had implored her to drum up more business, or else. Sharleen tried not to dwell on her problems—it wouldn’t be fair to Emilio. And besides, things were looking up. She was speaking at a women’s business luncheon tomorrow and manning the Pathways Center booth at the Mind, Body & Soul Conference on Saturday, so that would definitely bring in more clients.

  Perspiration dotted her forehead, and her legs were shaking, but she strode confidently up the walkway, as if she were on top of the world. She’d learned a long time ago not to wear her heart on her sleeve.

  Sharleen pushed her eyeglasses up the bridge of her nose and straightened her black power suit. Ignoring her erratic heartbeat, she climbed the steps and rang the doorbell. When no one answered, she began to fear that Antwan had forgotten about their ten o’clock meeting. She took her cell phone out of her purse and accessed her contacts list.

  The door swung open, a
nd Antwan stood in the grand foyer, dressed in one of his trademark suits, grinning from ear to ear. “Good morning, beautiful.”

  Sharleen held up her cell phone. “I was just about to call you. I thought maybe you forgot about our appointment.”

  “I could never forget you. You’re my future baby-mama, remember?”

  “Yeah, right! Life coaching is my first and only love, so you’re fresh out of luck, my friend.”

  “Just wait. One day you’ll be singing another tune!”

  No, I won’t. Men and careers just don’t mix.

  “I’m glad you’re here.” Antwan gave her a hug, one that lasted longer than necessary, and kissed her cheek. “Have any trouble finding the place?”

  “No, as usual your directions were bang on. Thanks, Antwan.”

  “Don’t sweat it. You know I got you.”

  After taking her hand, he led her inside the mansion. Everything in the vestibule gleamed and sparkled. The foyer was dripping in gold, and it was elegantly decorated with Italian furnishings. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and the vintage lamps, decorative bowls and glass sculptures were eye-catching. The air smelled of hazelnut coffee, and the heady aroma made Sharleen think of her parents.

  Memories of her childhood played in her mind. She thought of all the mornings she’d made breakfast with her mom, the summer days she’d helped her dad wash his rusted, old Buick and their family movie nights at the local drive-in. Biting the inside of her cheek kept her tears at bay, but there was nothing she could do to alleviate the crushing pain in her heart.

  “After we finish up here, I’m taking you out for lunch,” Antwan announced. “I was at Sushi Huku a few weeks ago, but it just wasn’t the same without you.”

  “I can’t. I have another consultation at noon.”

  He made a puppy-dog face, but Sharleen wasn’t moved. Antwan was used to having his way with women, but his childish antics had never worked on her. Not even when she was a lonely college graduate with no friends and a broken heart.

  “Tell me something.” Eyes narrowed, he studied her like a painting hanging in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. “How come you shoot me down every time I ask you out?”

  Oh, brother, not this again. Sharleen groaned inwardly, but maintained her bright, everything’s-great smile. Dating Antwan had never crossed her mind. Not once. Why would it? He collected women like trophies, and she wasn’t interested in being his flavor of the week. “Knock it off,” she quipped, playfully swatting his shoulder. “I came here to meet Emilio, not shoot the breeze with you.”

  His grin was back. “I rarely get to see you, so I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone.”

  Dodging his gaze, she turned toward the pale blue walls to admire the framed photographs hanging above the mahogany side table. There were pictures of family barbecues and birthday parties, and even a Christmas-day wedding. The images were touching, not at all what she’d expect to see inside Emilio Morretti’s estate. Again, Sharleen thought of her parents. They always loved the holidays, especially Christmas—

  “This cat-and-mouse game has gone on long enough.” Antwan leaned in close and affectionately squeezed her forearm. “Why are you playing hard to get?”

  Who’s playing? Sharleen respected Antwan and valued their friendship, but they could never be more than friends. He didn’t have a faithful bone in his body, and if he ever discovered her secret, he’d run for the hills.

  Didn’t they all? She was damaged goods to the opposite sex, and that would never change. Although Sharleen longed to have a family of her own, she knew she had a better chance of winning the lottery than finding her one true love. No matter. Advancing her career was all that mattered, all she cared about. Being a life coach was her passion, and she woke up every morning excited to go to work. She wished she had more time to spend with her girlfriends, but she wouldn’t change her life for anything in the world.

  “Where’s Emilio? We have a lot of ground to cover this morning, and I’m anxious to get started.” To prove she meant business, Sharleen took a clipboard and a pen out of her purse. “Are you going to take me to Emilio, or do I have to find him myself?”

  Antwan wagged a finger in her face. “We’ll talk later, because this isn’t over.”

  Oh, yes, it is. You and I would never work, so quit while you’re ahead!

  Sharleen spun on her heels and was surprised to see that Emilio Morretti had silently entered the vestibule. Her heart stopped dead in her chest. Her head felt fuzzy, as if she was hungover, and her pulse beat out of control.

  To look that fine should be criminal, illegal in all fifty states.

  He had creamy olive skin, thick eyebrows and the most beautiful eyes Sharleen had ever seen. They were soulful, a light brown shade, and tinged with gray around the edges. Dark stubble covered his jaw, and although he was casually dressed in a white polo shirt, loose-fitting pants and leather sandals, there was no disputing his dashing looks.

  Good God. I didn’t think it was possible, but he’s even more attractive in person than he is on TV! He had chiseled features, a head full of dark hair and a body that would make Hercules jealous. Antwan was the one in the designer threads, but Emilio was the one who reeked of power and affluence. He had a guarded vibe, and he didn’t look happy to see her. But for some inexplicable reason Sharleen was drawn to him anyway.

  Her skin tingled with desire. Sharleen wanted to introduce herself to Emilio, but the words didn’t come. Her thoughts were racing, her breathing was labored and her tongue wouldn’t move. She ordered herself to quit gawking at him, but she didn’t have the strength to turn away.

  “This beautiful young woman is your new life coach. Isn’t she stunning?”

  Her cheeks burning with embarrassment, Sharleen glared at Antwan. She hated when he made a fuss over her, but instead of whacking him upside the head with her purse, she stepped forward and extended a hand to Emilio. “Thank you for inviting me to your lovely home. I’m thrilled to be here.” Sharleen heard her voice crack, but she continued. “Antwan’s told me a lot about you—but don’t worry. I never believe a word he says!”

  A grin dimpled Emilio’s cheek, yet he didn’t laugh. She could tell he wanted to—his eyes were smiling, and his nose was twitching—but something was holding him back. He took her hand in his and held it for all of five seconds. Yet it was long enough to make her body quiver. Sharleen didn’t make it a habit to drool over her celebrity clients, but everything about Emilio Morretti turned her on. His full lips, his broad, strapping shoulders, his quiet disposition.

  “The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Nichols.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. Ooh, that voice! His Italian accent was a sensuous treat, and the sound made her heart flutter in her chest like a butterfly. Her gaze strayed to his mouth, lingered there for a beat. Every inch of her body was aroused, infected with lust, and her legs felt rubbery, as if they were about to give way. She was nearly undressing him with her eyes, couldn’t stop herself from admiring his fit physique. Knock it off—he’s a client!

  “Welcome to my estate.”

  Her nipples hardened, strained against the soft, silky material of her satin bra. She wondered how it would feel if Emilio kissed her, imagined his hands stroking her body. Sharleen slammed the brakes on the illicit thought. What’s the matter with you? Why are you acting like a desperate housewife? In the five years she’d worked at Pathways Center, she’d never been attracted to a client or ever crossed the line. Her desire for Emilio scared her, made her question if she could work effectively with him. Thank God our weekly sessions are on the phone and not in person, she thought, sighing in relief. Because with those eyes, and that voice, there’s no way I’d ever be able to concentrate!

  “I feel terrible that you drove all this way, but I won’t be needing your services.”

  His wor
ds turned to garble in her ear. Is this a test? Am I being punked?

  “Emilio, she just got here. Give her a chance.” Antwan sounded like a teacher exasperated with a troublesome student. “I wouldn’t hire Sharleen if I didn’t think she could do the job.”

  “I don’t need a life coach.” He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t lash out, but there was no mistaking his anger. His forehead was creased, and his mouth was a firm, hard line. “I can run my own life, and I don’t need you, or anyone else, telling me what to do.”

  Emilio aimed his gaze in her direction, but he seemed to look through her, not at her. He made her feel unimportant, and Sharleen didn’t like it one bit. But what am I supposed to do? Throw a hissy fit and demand he talk to me, not at me?

  “It’s not my job to tell you what to do.” Her voice quavered with emotion, but Sharleen was determined to speak her mind. “My goal is to help you overcome your grief and rediscover your purpose in life. I’ll support you and hold you accountable, but I won’t boss you around or cram my opinion down your throat. I’m a life coach, Mr. Morretti, not a bully.”

  Surprise showed on Emilio’s face. He gave her the once-over but didn’t speak. His eyes were weapons of mass destruction, dark and dreamy, but Sharleen didn’t wither under his piercing stare. Her heart thumped so loud her ears throbbed, and it was hard to think when he was looking at her like that. This is what I get for watching HBO last night, Sharleen thought, chastising herself. That erotic movie excited me, and now I can’t think of anything but kissing Emilio!

  Sharleen cleared her mind and deleted every conflicting thought. She couldn’t afford to screw this up; her boss was counting on her. During her performance review, Mrs. Fontaine had given her an earful, and every day her searing rebuke played in Sharleen’s mind.

  “As a senior life coach it’s your responsibility to help build the business, develop new strategies and create buzz on social media, and sadly you’re not carrying your weight...”