Seduced by Mr. Right Read online

  “I don’t care,” Mrs. Fontaine snapped, sounding exasperated. “Put on some makeup, get rid of that hideous hair bun, and for goodness’ sake, show some cleavage!”

  Sharleen cracked up. She couldn’t help it. Mrs. Fontaine was in her thirties and was a chic dresser with a unique sense of style, but the more her boss encouraged her to “sexify” her look, the harder she laughed.

  “You have a great figure, but you dress like someone twice your age,” Mrs. Fontaine complained. She paused, as if deep in thought, then adamantly shook her head. “I take that back. My mother’s sixty-one, and she dresses way sexier than you.”

  Oh, my goodness, she’s serious; I thought she was joking!

  “I’ll give you one more crack at Mr. Morretti, but if he blows you off again, Brad’s in, and you’re out. Understood?”

  Sharleen nodded and stepped aside to let Mrs. Fontaine pass. She was happy to see her boss go. Her next session was about to start, and now she had a business dinner with Emilio Morretti to prepare for, too. Mrs. Fontaine marched down the hall without another word and disappeared into the staff room.

  Slumping against the door, Sharleen released a deep sigh. This was her last chance to impress Emilio Morretti, but she wasn’t going to dress like a Pussycat Doll to get his attention. She was better than that. And besides, she didn’t own any tight, low-cut dresses.

  I’m not sexy, that’s why. I could never pull off that kind of look.

  Sharleen dismissed the outrageous advice Mrs. Fontaine had given her seconds earlier. More determined than ever to prove her worth—and land that coveted VP position—Sharleen stalked over to her desk, snatched up her phone and punched in Antwan’s number.

  Chapter 4

  Where is everyone? Emilio glanced at his platinum wristwatch and scanned the waiting area for his golf buddies. He had a gnawing feeling that something was amiss and sent another text message to Antwan. His friends were thirty minutes late, and if his seafood appetizer hadn’t tasted so damned good, he would have left a long time ago.

  Signed jerseys hung from the ceilings, country music blared from the overhead speakers and a tantalizing aroma consumed the air at the sports bar. Emilio was sitting at a corner booth, far away from the other patrons, but he felt them staring at him, watching him on the sly. A redhead sashayed past his table, switching her hips and flipping her hair, but he ignored her. He didn’t want female companionship. He enjoyed sitting alone at the back of the lounge—thinking about Sharleen Nichols.

  For the first time in years, he didn’t ponder his nephew’s death or his overwhelming sense of loss. Instead, images of the bubbly life coach with the infectious smile filled his mind. The Southern beauty had an aura of youth and vitality, and if he hadn’t been in a miserable funk on Wednesday he would’ve spent the rest of the morning getting to know her better.

  Emilio tasted his soda. Though his conversation with Sharleen had been brief, she’d made an indelible impression on him. She was full of personality—a bundle of excitement and positive energy that intrigued him. She was just that lively, that appealing and engaging. He didn’t date and hadn’t been intimate with anyone since losing his nephew, so his attraction to Sharleen shocked him.

  Emilio considered what he’d learned about Sharleen in the past forty-eight hours after an extensive online search. The Duke graduate was everything Antwan had said, and more. She was active in the community, passionate about health and wellness and a self-described foodie. Her Instagram page was filled with recipes, pictures of her gourmet kitchen and her closest friends. He liked that she wasn’t obsessed with money and fashion like the women he’d hooked up with in the past, and he wondered if she was dating anyone.

  Why do you care? You kicked her out of your estate, remember?

  Emilio felt like an ass for the way he’d treated Sharleen. Her words returned to him, played in his mind. Was there any truth to what she’d said? Could she help him manage his grief and discover his purpose in life? Or was she all talk? He considered going to her office to find out—and to apologize for his behavior on Wednesday—but abandoned the thought. Who was he fooling? He didn’t want to risk getting in a scuffle with the media hounds if he ventured outside of Greensboro. Plus, he didn’t even know what he wanted to do with his life anymore. And he seriously doubted someone on his manager’s payroll would give it to him straight.

  Whistles went up in the lounge, drawing his attention to the front of the restaurant. His gaze fell on the statuesque woman in the waiting area and he felt his eyes widen. Emilio shook his head, but the image still remained. It was Sharleen Nichols.

  Desire consumed him like wildfire.

  Their eyes met, and a radiant smile exploded across her face. Sharleen waved in greeting, then strode purposely through the lounge, as if she owned the place. He straightened in his seat like a pupil at the head of the class. Narrowing his eyes, he zeroed in on his curvy, moving target. His heart revved louder than an engine, and an erection hardened inside his dark blue jeans. Short of breath, sweating uncontrollably, he leaned forward in his chair. She’s even more beautiful than I remember. How is that possible?

  Emilio looked Sharleen over, gave his eyes permission to roam. She was fashionably dressed in a tunic blouse, straight-leg pants and black high heels. She moved with a poise and grace that belied her age. Her red eyeglasses brightened her face, made her stand out from everyone else in the room. The suits at the bar were drinking beer and talking trash, but when Sharleen walked by, they fell silent.

  Before Emilio could gather himself, Sharleen was at his booth, sitting down across from him. She smelled of jasmine and seemed to glow from within. Her inner beauty shone through, instantly seizing his attention. He was stunned to see her, and it must have shown on his face, because her smile dimmed.

  “It’s wonderful seeing you again. How have you been?”

  Emilio couldn’t speak. There was something magnetic about Sharleen, something so captivating he couldn’t get his bearings. His heart thundered in his ears, beat out of control. For the first time in his life, he was speechless, more nervous than he’d ever been.

  “You don’t remember me...” Disappointment flashed across her pretty oval face. “I’m Sharleen Nichols from Pathways Center. We met on Wednesday at your estate.”

  Emilio parted his lips and forced his mouth to move. “I remember you.”

  “You do?” Sharleen sighed in relief. “Thank God for small miracles!”

  Her eyes twinkled when she laughed, and the effervescent sound made him smile. The sun had zapped his energy during his afternoon jog, but he suddenly felt invigorated, energized. Sharleen looked genuinely happy to see him, and the feeling was definitely mutual. He was a great judge of character, always had been, and he sensed Sharleen Nichols was a nice girl.

  Yeah, a nice girl you want to do very bad things with in bed!

  The thought excited him, caused blood to surge to his groin. Sharleen was in her twenties, likely the same age as his sister Francesca and inexperienced in the ways of the world. He sensed it, felt it. Bits and pieces of his conversation with Antwan on Wednesday morning resurfaced. Emilio didn’t remember much, but he knew one thing for sure: his manager had the hots for her. And that was reason enough to keep his distance and his eyes off her perfect shape.

  That’s right, his conscience said. Dial it back, dude. She belongs to someone else.

  “Where’s Antwan?” Sharleen asked, glancing around the lounge. “Is he still at the bar?”

  “No. He’s not here yet.”

  Lines of confusion wrinkled her forehead. “But I just spoke to him. He said you guys were drinking beer and shooting the breeze.”

  Emilio heard his cell phone buzz and picked it up off the table. He read his newest text message, then held up his iPhone. “Antwan isn’t coming. He’s stuck at the office.”

&
nbsp; A frown marred her delicate facial features.

  “I didn’t know you were joining us tonight,” he said, to fill the long, awkward silence that descended over the table. “How do you know Jamieson? Is he a client of yours?”

  “You lost me.” Looking more confused than ever, she slanted her head and folded her arms across her chest. “This is supposed to be a business dinner, not a booze fest with the guys. Right?”

  Mulling over her words, he stroked the length of his jaw. The truth came to him in a flash, and his face hardened like stone. “Antwan set us up, and I bet he told the other guys to stay away.” He was annoyed with Antwan, pissed that he’d been tricked, but he kept his temper in check. “He played me, and I never saw it coming.”

  “This is ridiculous.” Sharleen took her iPhone out of her purse, dialed a number and put it to her ear. “Un-be-liev-a-ble. Now he isn’t answering his phone. How convenient.”

  “I should have known better. This is the oldest trick in the book—”

  A devilish gleam filled her eyes. “Let’s drive to his office and egg the place!”

  Emilio cracked up. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so hard, or so long, and it felt damned good. There was nothing sexier than a woman with a wicked sense of humor, and Sharleen cracked jokes with the skill of a comedy heavyweight. She spoke expressively, with her eyes and her hands, and her energy made him sit up and take notice.

  “Let me buy you a drink.” Emilio tried to sound casual, but his heart was pounding so hard it drowned out the noise in the room.

  He saw her eyes widen and smiled to show his sincerity.

  “You want me to stay?”

  Emilio tried to play it cool, but he was desperate for her to stay. Eating alone was depressing, and he didn’t want the other patrons—especially the nosy, female ones watching him like a hawk—to join him if Sharleen left. “Antwan wants us to talk, so let’s talk,” he said. “I’m curious about you, and I’d like to hear more about your work.”

  “You don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that. To get through to you, I thought I’d have to break into your estate and corner you in your home gym!”

  Please do. An erotic image, one too hot for TV, flashed in his mind. Emilio wet his lips with his tongue and returned her gaze. His pulse was pounding, clanging in his ears like the Liberty Bell, and his breathing was labored. I can see you now...naked...bent over my weight bench...legs spread wide open...rocking those hips—

  “This is going to be fun. I want to learn more about you and explain more about life coaching...”

  Emilio’s testosterone level soared to unimaginable heights. His reaction to Sharleen embarrassed him, made him realize he was long overdue for a good, hard screw. But suddenly there was only one woman he hungered for.

  Forget it. You have a better chance of winning the Masters Golf Tournament than getting Sharleen into bed. And besides, she belongs to Antwan, not you.

  “There you are, you sexy beast. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  Emilio groaned. He didn’t have to turn around to see whom the high-pitched voice belonged to. Hanging his head, he cursed under his breath in Italian. His sister must have told her roommate where he’d be, because Ginger Barnes showing up at his favorite sports bar was no coincidence. The British nanny was the most obnoxious person he’d ever met, and the more she propositioned him, the less he liked her. Ginger latched on to anyone with wealth and success, and he suspected she was using Francesca to get close to him. Not that it mattered; she didn’t stand a chance in hell of becoming Mrs. Emilio Morretti.

  Bitter memories infiltrated his thoughts. Back in the day, before his life fell apart, he would’ve slept with Ginger without a second thought. He’d hooked up with a wide assortment of beauties during his fifteen-year racing career. But he was a different man now. Older, wiser and more discerning about the opposite sex, he no longer felt pressured to live the playboy lifestyle. Sadly, it had taken the loss of his beloved nephew for him to learn the errors of his ways.

  “Hi,” he muttered, as he clenched his teeth. Emilio didn’t hide his displeasure, didn’t pretend he was happy to see her. He didn’t want his plans with Sharleen to go to ruin, so the sooner he got rid of Ginger the better. “What are you doing here?”

  She cocked her head in his direction and licked her thin red lips in an exaggerated fashion. “What do you mean? I love sports.”

  “Really?” Emilio didn’t believe her, not for a minute. “What team does LeBron James play for?”

  Ginger wrinkled her nose. “Who’s LeBron James?”

  Checkmate! Emilio sneaked a glance at Sharleen, saw a grin dimple her cheek and knew she was amused. He stood, took Sharleen’s hand and helped her to her feet. Winking at her, he rested a hand on the curve of her lower back and leaned in close. He’d always preferred pretty, natural types, not high-maintenance divas, and as he glanced between the women he realized they weren’t even in the same league. Sharleen was a bombshell, with brains and personality, and that was damned hot.

  “Let’s head upstairs,” he proposed, gesturing to the second floor with a flick of his head. “It’s crowded down here, and I want us to have some privacy.”

  Her eyes brightened, and a bashful smile claimed her lips. Emilio envisioned kissing her, but struck the thought from his mind. She was his manager’s girl, and although he was attracted to her, he’d never do anything to screw over his longtime friend.

  “Y-y-you’re on a date?” Ginger stammered, her voice an earsplitting squeak. A horrified expression covered her face. “I thought you were alone.”

  “See you around. Take care.”

  Ginger slid in front of him, thwarting his escape. “If you’re free later, maybe you can meet up with me and Francesca at Magic City. We’re going club hopping with some out-of-town friends, and we’re planning to party the night away.”

  Emilio glared at her. “My sister doesn’t go to strip clubs.”

  “Okay,” she shot back, with a knowing smirk. “If you say so!”

  Disgusted, he strode out of the lounge with Sharleen at his side. Ginger was a bad influence on his twenty-five-year-old sister, and as he marched past the open kitchen, he made a mental note to talk to Francesca about finding another roommate. Or better yet, moving back into his estate. The thought heartened him, lifted his spirits. He missed seeing his sister every day and liked the idea of her living under his roof again. Francesca was still struggling to cope with the loss of Lucca, but partying with a wild crowd wasn’t the answer.

  Do you blame her? Her only child died, his conscience shot back. And you’re a fine one to talk. Had your daily dose of scotch today?

  “I don’t see anyone upstairs. I hope we don’t get into trouble for seating ourselves.”

  Emilio surfaced from his thoughts. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

  “Are you sure we won’t get in trouble with management?”

  “I’m positive. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  Sharleen burst out laughing, and his chest puffed up with pride. He felt fired up, happier than a kid at SeaWorld.

  “Everyone’s staring at us,” she whispered, a note of anxiety in her voice. “But I guess you’re used to it, being a world-famous race-car driver and all.”

  “They’re not staring at me.” Emilio fixed his gaze on hers and spoke from the heart. “You’re a light, Sharleen, and they’re floored by your inner and outer beauty. You’re the prettiest woman in the room, and everyone knows it.”

  Her eyes revealed nothing, but her lips held a shy smile. As they exited the main floor lounge, Emilio caught the envious glares of the other male patrons and tightened his hold around her waist. “Leave everything to me. I know what I’m doing.”

  Chapter 5

  “Tell me more about your backgrou
nd.”

  To buy herself some time, Sharleen picked up her glass and tasted her diet cola. The cold, sweet liquid tickled her taste buds and coursed down her throat in a gush. It didn’t help cool her body down. Her temperature continued to climb, and perspiration drenched her skin. Emilio Morretti—the race-car driver with the quiet, soft-spoken nature—was to blame for her symptoms. Had to be. Why else was her heart racing and her hormones raging out of control? It was hard to concentrate with Emilio around, impossible to think clearly. Every time their eyes met, Sharleen lost her train of thought. Like right now. Try as she might, she couldn’t remember his question.

  “Don’t be shy.” Emilio sat across from her at the small wooden table, cutting up his T-bone steak, his gaze never leaving her face. “You’re a fascinating young woman, and I’m enjoying your company very much.”

  Me? Fascinating? Really? But I’m a nobody, just a regular girl. “Thanks, but I’m older than you think.” Sharleen paused, debated whether to divulge the truth. Over the past hour, Emilio had asked her tons of personal questions but had revealed little about himself. To gain his trust, she spoke openly. “I’m twenty-seven, but to be honest, I feel decades older. Everyone says I have an old soul, and it’s true. I love crocheting, vintage clothes and The Beatles.”

  “We’re kindred souls, then.”

  “We are?” she asked. “You crochet, too?”

  Emilio chuckled. “No, but I have every song The Beatles ever recorded and a vinyl record player as well.”

  “No way! Me too!”

  “You should come over sometime and check out my music library. It’s quite impressive.”

  His tone was free of arrogance, but Sharleen sensed his pride, felt it radiating off him in waves. “I’d be honored,” she said, touched by the offer. “Thanks for the invitation.”

  “Drop by my estate whenever your schedule permits.”

  For some reason, the thought of being alone with Emilio at his mansion excited her. Slow your roll, girl. He’s a client, not your soul mate. Sharleen didn’t have a “type,” never had, and often teased her girlfriends who had a boyfriend checklist. But as the night wore on, she realized Emilio was everything she wanted in a man, and more. He was one of a kind, in a class all by himself. Cultured, sophisticated and chivalrous, he made her feel emotions she’d never experienced before, and everything about him—his eyes, his boyish smile, his foreign accent—was a turn-on.