Taming the VIP Playboy / Promoted To Wife?: Taming the VIP Playboy

He took another sip of his drink. The February breeze blew around them stirring a tendril at the side of her face. Each time the wind blew, the strand of hair brushed over her high cheekbones and caught on her lips.

He reached up and brushed it back, tucking it behind her ear. “There you go.”

“Thanks,” she said, but her voice was softer, huskier than it had been moments earlier.

“What did you want to be famous for doing?” he asked.

He couldn’t stop touching her skin. It was soft, maybe the softest he’d felt in a long time. The women he usually kept company with were concerned about their looks and how they appeared to others—seldom did they let him touch them except in bed when they were making love. But Jen let him touch her face.

He stroked his finger over her lower lip until she pulled back. Her lips were parted and her breath brushed across his finger.

“I can’t think when you do that,” she said.

“Then don’t think,” he replied. He tightened his arm along her shoulders and drew her closer to him. Her mojito glass brushed against his chest wet and cold.

She licked her lips and her eyes started to close as he lowered his head. He wanted this night to go on forever but he knew he couldn’t sit here on the rooftop another minute without kissing her.

She tempted him on so many levels and he wasn’t sure how to deal with a woman who had that effect on him. He wanted to pretend that it was simply the unknown and the curiosity of being with someone who seemed so natural here with him. He didn’t have the feeling she was with him because she wanted to meet his famous friends or have her picture in the papers.

And that was a heady aphrodisiac.

Jen was surprised by her reaction to Nate—a non-dancer. She shook her head reminding herself dancing wasn’t her life anymore. It still was a shock to think of her world the way it was now.

“I’m sensing you aren’t thinking about kissing me anymore.”

She pulled back, nibbling on her lower lip. The smell of hibiscus filled the air from the potted plants that were stationed near the edge of the railing.

“No—I mean yes. I was thinking about you. How different you are than the other men I’ve dated.”

“I don’t want to hear about the other men in your life,” he said, his voice sounding tight.

“Why not? I’m just your one-night girl, right?” she asked. It was imperative to her that she keep her focus here. No matter that Nate was a life-changing man for her. The first guy she’d wanted to kiss since Carlos.

He tipped his head to the side, staring over at her. “Normally, I’d say yes, but I’m jealous, honey. I don’t want to hear you talk about other men when you’re with me. I want to be the only man on your mind.”

She understood that. She was finding herself struck with an uncharacteristic shyness as they sat here alone. It was because he was so different for her … no, he wasn’t, she thought. She was the one who was different. She wanted to own this change and not let it own her.

“You are staring very fiercely at me.”

“I’m sorry. I just had an epiphany.”

He leaned in. “That you should be kissing me?”

“Actually, yes,” she said. She should be kissing him. Like Alison had said, life was short and having fun wasn’t overrated.

She leaned over and let the shyness that really wasn’t a part of her drop away. She was a woman who had always been comfortable in her own skin. She hated that Carlos had stolen that from her.

And Nate was just the man to give it back. Nate Stern was the man she’d regain her womanhood with because she was tired of just existing. It was time to start living again. She glanced up at the full moon and made a promise to herself that starting this moment she would live with no regrets.

She leaned in close and Nate’s pupils dilated. “That’s more like it.”

Yes, it was. She brushed his lips with hers. His were firm and full and when he parted them the warmth of his breath brushed over her. He smelled like the minty mojito and she closed her eyes to just enjoy this moment.

To take from this night the gift it had given her in Nate.

He drew her closer to him. She felt the warmth of his body and slowed this moment down in her mind. The way she did when she was dancing. She wanted to capture every bit of this evening so that when she was old and gray and she told her grandkids about kissing the famous Yankees baseball player she’d be able to do it right.

Then his lips brushed over hers again and she stopped thinking about the future or capturing anything. She thought instead of the way his flesh felt against hers. She thought of the way his lips parted against hers and his tongue pushed past the barriers of her lips and teeth tasting her deep.

The way he took control of the entire embrace, the same way he’d taken control of her night. Control. It had always been something she prided herself on but now it hardly seemed worthwhile.

His arms were big and strong as he wrapped them around her and she felt the muscles of his upper arms, the strength in him. Though he was no longer a professional athlete, Nate Stern was still a very strong man.

She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed back to look at his face. The genial smile he’d worn all night was gone and in its place was a fierce expression.

“Too much?”

“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe. I came to work tonight expecting everything to be the same, Nate, and now it’s not.”

“Good. Life should never be predictable.”

She shook her head. “Yes, it should. How else do you find your balance if life is always throwing you off? “

He stood up and drew her up beside him. “You find it in the people.”

“Family?” she asked as he led the way to the railing.

“Or the city,” he said. “Miami never changes. Not really. Not at its heart. Sure there is a different political climate sometimes but for the most part, the beach and subtropical climate encourage a more laid-back approach to living.”

His arm around her waist was strong and guiding as he brought them to a stop at the far end of the railing. The sounds of Luna Azul’s rooftop club were even more muted here and she looked out over Calle Ocho and Little Havana.

“Did you grow up here in Little Havana?”

“No. I grew up on Fisher Island.”

“Oh,” she said. She’d known that from the reading she’d done on him and his brothers before she’d taken this job. But the way he spoke about Miami, well, it had sounded as if he knew the city. The city she’d grown up in. Being middle class—okay, lower-middle class—she’d grown up in a far different neighborhood than the affluent community of Fisher Island.

“You?”

“Here in the city.”

He tipped her head up. “Then you know what I mean.”

She closed her eyes and thought of the city and the rhythms of the Calle Ocho. She thought of the struggling lower-middle class who still knew how to have fun and remembered birthdays spent on the beach.

“Yes, I do.”

“Show me what you see,” Nate said. He moved around so that he stood behind her. His chest and front pressed along her back, his hands settling on her waist and his chin resting on her shoulder. “Show me your city.”