“This wouldn’t have been my first choice, that’s for sure. Who was it you said you were meeting again?” He glared around the room as if surprised to find himself here.
“Hugh Duncan.” She snagged a fresh prepoured glass off the champagne fountain at one end of the bar and helped herself to a little more of the bubbly drink. As part of ladies night, the Moulin Rouge Lounge offered free champagne to its female guests until 1:00 a.m., according to a sign in the lobby. She’d had a glass a few minutes ago, but the nervousness chugging through her and the tingly awareness of the man standing next to her urged her to indulge in a little more. Between the rapid pounding of her heart and the swift whoosh of air in and out of her lungs, the sedative effects of alcohol would be most welcome right about now. “I’m so glad I found you. I have to admit I’m a little out of my element in here. I feel better already to be with someone I can trust.”
He was quiet for so long, she hesitated before sipping her champagne.
“Assuming you are my date tonight?” A wave of nervousness threaded through her. She’d be a little bit embarrassed at this point if he wasn’t.
He reached for the glass just as she put it to her lips, covering her hand with his own, effectively seizing the drink and awakening a long slumberous desire she hadn’t known she’d harbored until just this very moment.
“Why don’t you let me get you a drink?” He leaned closer as he spoke in soft, serious tones. The gesture was at once totally innocent and thoroughly intimate. His dark eyes cut through the shifting blue and red lights, making the rest of the noisy club disappear for one heated moment. “And I am most definitely your date tonight, Esme Giles.”
2
RENZO EASED the champagne glass out of Esme’s hand slowly, not wishing to scare her away by appearing too domineering. Didn’t she know the dangers of picking up a prepoured glass of anything in a crowded nightclub?
He’d have to talk to Giselle about getting rid of those filled glasses on top of the champagne fountain right away. The drinks were perched in a place where anyone could have access to them—not a good setup when date-rape drugs were so widespread. It took half a second for someone to drug a drink, a stat savvy club-goers kept in mind.
Not Esme Giles.
Her brand of innocence could be downright dangerous.
Applying light pressure to the small of her back, Renzo nudged her toward the table he’d staked out for himself in the back. Over her head, he crooked his finger at one of Giselle’s waitresses.
“Why don’t you let me order you a fresh drink?” He rolled out the Cesare charm, needing to keep Esme entertained and out of circulation in the lounge. “My sister is something of a food and drink wizard and she works in the back. How about if I ask her to prepare us something a little more exotic?”
Esme seemed to weigh the idea for a moment. Then she smiled up at him in a half-cocked grin that struck him as a rusty movement. “Yes. Absolutely. Exotic is exactly what I’m looking for tonight.”
God help him.
If she’d said as much to Don Juan the barfly who’d tried to corner her before, the guy would have hustled her out of the club and back to his room in five minutes flat.
Apparently Esme had no sense of how to protect herself in the bar scene.
And although Renzo hadn’t intended to misrepresent himself tonight, he also wasn’t about to allow Esme to wander the club alone looking for her idiotic blind date.
What kind of moron lured an innocent woman like Esme into the most scandal-ridden hot spot in South Beach? A guy who didn’t deserve her, that much was for damn sure. For that matter, maybe this Hugh person had sleazy intentions.
In which case, Renzo definitely wasn’t going to let him have a shot at her.
As he and Esme slid into the seats of the round booth table in the back corner, Renzo asked the waitress for a couple of Good Fortune Potions, Giselle’s most recent creation.
He’d simply enjoy a drink with Esme until he could put her safely in a cab back home. Surely he could justify not telling her the truth since he was only protecting her. It’s not like he had designs on her for himself.
Still, in an effort to forestall any questions about him, Renzo thought he’d better take the conversational lead.
“Esme is a great name.” Okay, admittedly his dating small-talk skills needed a little sharpening up, but it was the best he could come up with on short notice.
“Short for Esmerelda, but that’s a bit of a mouthful.” She peered around the club from the safe haven of their table, her dark-blue eyes absorbing the action with the passive interest of a woman accustomed to observing life rather than taking part. “My mother thought if she gave her daughter an exotic name I would eventually live up to it.” Esme gave a shrug, her exposed shoulder calling attention to itself a few feet away from him. “But no luck so far. I’m an out-of-work art historian with an interest in antiques. Not exactly the outgoing and adventurous type.”
Renzo allowed his gaze to wander over her again with this new information in mind. But his eye was distracted by the shadow of her body beneath her dress and the…
Holy hell.
She was naked underneath that dress.
Thank you, God, he wasn’t in the middle of taking a drink or he would have spewed it for sure. Luckily the waitress chose to make a reappearance just then, bringing with her a tray laden with the exotic concoction his sister had demanded he taste just last night for the first time. The blend of fruit juices, rum and who knows what else, garnished by a fortune cookie had been delicious.
Esme reached for hers, a gesture that put her breasts in close contact with the silky thin fabric of her lavender dress. Breasts he could now see that were shaped like small apples, tipped with dark, tight nipples.
A rush of male appreciation swamped his senses, alerting his every stray blood cell that a sexy woman sat within tantalizing reach. Heat crawled over his skin, making his whole body edgy and very…ready for action.
Great. This was just what he needed—he was trying to be noble and in the course of two steamy seconds his body had turned traitor to the cause.
How had he ever thought that dress of hers was conservative?
“I’m sure you’re living up to the name.” His words scratched across a throat gone slightly hoarse. Maybe this swearing off women thing hadn’t been such a good idea. His self-imposed sexual deprivation of the last few months was robbing him of necessary objectivity. “You risked accepting a blind date tonight. That takes a healthy sense of adventure.”
“Maybe a little.” She sipped her drink through the straw, her forehead puckered in wary concentration as she tasted the concoction. And smiled. “My compliments to your sister. This is delicious. Much better than champagne.”
She bent forward for another sip, her breasts grazing the fabric of her dress again. Not that he had a clear view with the table in the way and her sitting at a forty-five degree angle to him in the round booth. Still, his imagination easily supplied what he couldn’t see with his own eyes.
“You’re an art historian?” Think conversation. Think conversation. He refused to morph into some slick pickup artist just because he’d caught a glimpse of bare breasts. He could maintain an intelligent discussion even if Esme was naked beneath her dress. He hoped.
“I just left a position with the South Beach historical museum that I held for five years. We focused on preserving Floridian culture and we recently added a small exhibit on native architecture.” She did