Date with a Diva

He was cut off by the arrival of her big, burly concierge, an endlessly tall Cuban man with heavy horn-rimmed glasses and an accent to die for when he wasn’t shouting over top of people.

“Ms. Reynolds!”

Even Nico backed up a step at the man’s raised voice, which wasn’t loud as much as very well projected.

Still, she didn’t appreciate being interrupted. Especially when she was just about to explain to her sexy-as-sin companion why they couldn’t work elbow to elbow like this.

She quirked an eyebrow in Dante Alvaro’s direction, not trusting herself to speak. Rumor had it she’d scared off a few of the employees at Club Paradise in their first year of business, and while she didn’t think rock-solid Dante would be easily intimidated, she didn’t wish to blow her stack in such a public forum.

“Sorry for interrupting you, Lainie.” His sour expression didn’t look in the least sorry. Dante was usually a very charming man, dazzling the guests with his well-connected sleight of hand as he provided primo tickets and dinner reservations. Today, however, he looked positively grim. “But I knew you’d want to be informed immediately that the new chef quit an hour ago.”

No. No. Nooo.

Lainie closed her eyes, fending off a mixture of stress headache, hangover and dangerous levels of frustration threatening to explode. Her well-run hotel was suddenly splitting at the seams, making her feel like an amateur. God, she hated that.

Nico cleared his throat, edging his way into the conversation with his broad shoulders and his cute butt that should have left an hour ago. “You can hire someone temporary in the morning while you conduct a new search, right? You must have résumés still on file after hiring this woman.”

“We have Hollywood royalty in the hotel. They’re probably already phoning in room-service orders for green M&M’s only and organically grown vegetables prepared according to their latest diet specifications. I don’t think even Giselle would have been ready to cook according to the Sugar Busters plan, so I’m damn sure that some culinary temp worker isn’t going to have a clue how to handle all the specialty orders.”

If she was hoping Dante would contradict her with some good news, her hopes were dashed when he began shaking his dark, bald head. “We already had over fifty special orders for breakfast tomorrow when I left the kitchen an hour ago.”

Exasperation draining her of ideas, Lainie peered around the lobby and noticed more people who were obviously Californians crowding the reception area. They were easy to spot with their neat manicures and tans that were probably misted onto their perfect bodies. Cell phones were already ringing in cheerful time like an AT&T symphony.

“I thought these people weren’t supposed to arrive for another three days.” She would have had security in place by then. And she most definitely wouldn’t have shown up on site with a few shots of bourbon muddling her brain and a sexy hockey player muddling her hormones.

Dante’s deep brown eyes darted around the busy lobby, exchanging some unspoken message with his assistant currently manning the concierge’s desk. “There was a hurricane in the Texas gulf that upset the location shooting schedule so they decided to visit Club Paradise early.”

“You realize I’m so screwed?” For once she had no idea what to do, no clue who to call to straighten out this mess. This should all have been Giselle’s department, damn it. She might have resigned her position as executive chef to pursue true love, but she still maintained an active share in the ownership of the resort. “We need to contact Giselle.”

“Wait.” Nico’s voice halted her in her scramble for her cell phone.

Could the man be any more presumptuous, insinuating himself into her crisis?

“Nico, I really need to take care of this now.” She felt Dante’s keen gaze on her and knew if she didn’t handle this carefully, the news of her odd friendship with Nico Cesare would be whispered all over the hotel.

“I agree.” Nico nodded slowly, as if he’d just reached a grave decision. “But Giselle has been unreachable for nearly two days so she must be in some really godforsaken country at the moment.”

So much for her great plan. She banged the cell phone slowly against her forehead, willing a solution to flash into her empty brain while Dante excused himself to get back to his desk.

“I know what we can do.” Nico slid the phone out of her hand between forehead thunks.

We? Still, she couldn’t afford to waste time arguing while her business reputation teetered on the brink of disaster.

“And that is?” She didn’t care where the ideas came from as long as they came.

“I’ll cook.” He announced it with so much authority, a stranger to the resort would almost believe he had the decision-making power here.

Arrogant man.

“What do you mean you’ll cook?” Was he insane? “You’re not even a chef.”

“Where do you think Giselle got all her best recipes?”

“Gee, I don’t know.” She rolled her eyes. “Culinary school, maybe? It would make sense since she’s a chef and you’re a hockey coach.” After yanking her phone out of his hands, she stuffed it back in her purse. She would speed dial Brianne and Summer for an emergency conference call in a minute, but first she needed to send Nico back home where he wouldn’t make ridiculous suggestions about how to run her business.

Where he wouldn’t be a constant reminder that she’d let her hair down with a man for the first time in forever, and she was already paying the price for her carelessness.

“And I suppose you’re going to do the cooking for all the eccentric eaters on your property tonight?” He looked her up and down as if he could see every one of the flaws she kept carefully hidden.

An illusion, damn it.

“Is that even legal?” Not that she was actually considering allowing Nico into the kitchen. Was she?

“Maybe. Probably. You can call me a guest chef specializing in ethnic cuisine if the health department cares about my qualifications.”

“Ethnic cuisine?”

“Nobody makes Italian food like a Cesare.” His chest puffed up with pride. “You think I’m kidding about Giselle learning all her best recipes from me? Besides, I told Giselle I’d check in at the hotel while she was gone to make sure her investment in the business is protected. She might be overseas, but she’s still a partner. The Cesares have a vested interest in the smooth operation of this place.”

Lainie glanced around the hotel lobby, seeing twenty other places she needed to be right now. The chef disaster couldn’t have come at a worse time. What choice did she have besides accepting Nico’s offer? At least until she came up with a better solution.

She’d simply agree to let Nico and his cute butt stick around Club Paradise a little longer. And if she couldn’t stand the heat, all she had to do was stay away from the kitchen.

“Fine.” She thrust out her hand to seal the deal. “I appreciate the help until I can make other arrangements tomorrow.”

He enveloped her palm in his, his touch too gentle and too deliberate to qualify as a handshake. She shivered with awareness and hoped he didn’t notice.

He smiled, that arrogant grin of his telling her he didn’t miss a thing. “Agreed.”

Extricating herself from that tempting touch, Lainie willed herself to cool down as she walked away. But when a male chuckle echoed in her ears, she had the feeling it didn’t matter how much distance she put between her and the kitchen.

Things were already beginning to heat up.

“THIS MOVIE’S ALL ABOUT SEX, steam and sizzle,” Hollywood A-lister Bram Hawthorne declared around a mouthful of scrambled eggs the next morning as he sat across the table from Nico in the back of the Club Paradise kitchen. “I don’t know if it will have any kind of critical success, but I think moviegoers are going to love it.”

Nico wolfed down his own plate of food in the lull between the insane breakfast hours and the upcoming lunch crowd. He’d cooked his butt off all morning—everything from dry wheat and basic eggs over easy to complicated omelets and breakfast soufflé. Thankfully, a local vendor had been delivering plenty of pastries ever since Giselle left, so he’d avoided that headache. But still, Nico had never worked so hard in his life. Even a full day of practice defending rapid-fire, one-on-one breakaway shots had been a walk in the park compared to cooking for two hundred guests.

And when it was all over, Bram Hawthorne’s manager had come sneaking in the back door with the movie’s most bankable talent so the star could eat his breakfast in peace. Nico might have been more star-struck if he hadn’t been so exhausted.

The discussion of sex and steam caught his attention, however. Especially since his cooking had been impaired by thoughts of sex and steam with Lainie Reynolds.

“From what I’ve heard about the movie, it sounds like it’s got story to spare, too. Critics seem more tolerant of sex and sizzle if there’s some substance to back it up.” Nico had been a closet movie buff since forever. The cinema had been the only place for real escape after he’d lost his mom as a kid, and then his dad as a teenager. Something about a darkened theater gave you the illusion of being able to walk away from your own hurts and step straight into the fantasy world on screen.

Come to think of it, maybe that was part of his obsession with Lainie. She was a fantasy. A tough-as-nails businesswoman who posed an enticing challenge but would never be interested in the long haul. And after his experience with Ashley, that sounded just right to him.

“That’d be a nice bonus.” Bram grinned and a hint of his Mississippi accent drawled through his words. He couldn’t be any older than twenty-five, but he’d been a Hollywood phenomenon since a walk-on appearance as a flamboyant waiter in a Harrison Ford flick. “But I’ve found out firsthand that what the critics say don’t figure into your paycheck. Actors get paid for how many seats they fill at the theater—end of story.”

Nico nodded, a little surprised at the Machiavellian thinking in a twenty-five-year-old, but who was he to judge? Bram seemed nice enough. He had the Joe Movie Star grin going with fifty-thousand megawhite teeth, but he was lucky if he hit six feet in boots. Spiky brown hair and gray eyes made up for a lot with women, apparently. But the guy had to be pretty damn down-to-earth to break bread in the kitchen with a sweaty athlete posing as a cook.