Seduced by Mr. Right (5 page)

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

“T
ell me more about your background.”

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. S
low 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.

“Were you raised in Atlanta, or did you relocate like everyone else in this fine city?”

Struggling to keep a straight face, Sharleen raised her right hand, as if she were pledging allegiance to the flag, and said, “I'm a native. Scout's honor.”

“Great. The next time I need a tour guide I know just who to call.”

A witty retort tickled her tongue, but Sharleen slammed her mouth shut. She was supposed to be evaluating Emilio, not flirting with him.

The second floor was filled with flat-screen TVs, pool tables and leather couches, but only a handful of people were relaxing in the lounge. Sharleen preferred the intimate setting, liked that they were far away from the crowd. She didn't want to share Emilio with anyone, especially not the British bombshell in the eye-catching pink number downstairs.
I wish I could wear dresses, too, but I can't. Not with my
—

“How long have you been a life coach?” Emilio asked.

Sharleen dismissed her thoughts and put her utensils down on her empty plate. “Five years. I got hired at Pathways Center right out of college, and I've been there ever since.”

“Have you always dreamed of being a life coach?”

“No, actually. When I was a kid I wanted to be a mechanic—”

“A mechanic?” he repeated, a bewildered look on his face. “Why?”

“My dad owned a repair shop, and by the time I was ten I was answering phones, making coffee for the staff and tinkering on old cars.” Sadness overwhelmed her, but she pushed past her feelings and spoke in a clear, strong voice. “My aunties were up in arms when I started trade school, but my parents told me to ignore them. They encouraged me to follow my heart, and that's exactly what I did.”

Emilio frowned. “If your dream was to follow in your father's footsteps, then why are you a life coach and not a mechanic?”

Sharleen opened her mouth, but her throat ached, and it hurt to swallow. She'd told her story hundreds of times over the years, everywhere from churches to schools and youth centers, but when she remembered that cold winter night, her vision blurred with unshed tears, and the room spun. She sipped water to help steady her nerves and focus her thoughts. “My parents died in a house fire when I was seventeen,” she said. “I gave up on life and quit school.”

“I am sorry for your loss.” Emilio placed a hand on hers and held it tight. His touch was welcome, and his eyes were full of sympathy. “Unfortunately, I know how you feel. After my nephew died, I didn't have the strength to get out of bed, let alone go out in public.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, alone with their thoughts. The waitress arrived, cleared their empty dinner plates without saying a word and sped off.

“I never would have guessed you experienced such a devastating loss,” Emilio said quietly. “You're so bright and bubbly and passionate about life.”

It wasn't always that way. I wanted to die when I woke up in the hospital.

“How did you survive losing your parents? How did you overcome your grief?”

“In the most unlikely way.” Dropping her hands in her lap, she fiddled with her silver gemstone bracelet. It had belonged to her mother, and although it was nicked and scratched, Sharleen wore it every day. It was her good-luck charm, the only piece of jewelry she owned, and her most valuable possession. “I moved in with my aunt Phyllis, and after months of me moping around the house, complaining about how unfair life was, she let me have it—”

“That's terrible.” Emilio's face darkened, and there was a bitter edge to his voice. “How could she turn on you in your time of need? You were grieving the loss of your parents—”

“And squandering my life away,” Sharleen explained, feeling compelled to defend her favorite aunt. “I stormed out of the apartment in a huff, but deep down I knew my aunt Phyllis was right. My parents wouldn't want me wasting away to nothing. They'd want me to make something of myself, and that's what I'm striving to do.”

His gaze bored into her, zeroing in with acute precision. Sharleen never imagined their lighthearted conversation would turn into a serious, soul-baring discussion. She took a moment to catch her breath. Antwan's words came back to her.
Treat Emilio like a friend, not a patient
.
Be his confidante. Someone he can trust.
This was her moment to get through to him, to use her personal story to reach him, and she wasn't going to squander the opportunity. “The way I see it, you have two choices. You can either heal or allow grief to consume you. It's as simple as that.”

He lowered his head, dropped his gaze to his lap.

“If I can overcome the pain of my past, then you can, too. I promise to be there to help you every step of the way, Emilio. You can do this.” Sharleen raised an index finger. “Give me a month. If after thirty days, you still think I'm full of it, I'll give Antwan a refund.”

“That won't be necessary. Antwan says you're worth every penny, and I believe him. We've only been talking for a few hours, but I'm already impressed.”

So am I
.
You're kind and sweet
and
fine as hell!

“I'm not averse to counseling, but I can't come to your office.” He shrugged and gave a small smile. “I can't risk the paparazzi or my family finding out that I'm in therapy. My cousins and brothers would tease me mercilessly.”

“How many siblings do you have?”

“Hell if I know,” he said, with a wry laugh. “My father's been married four times, and I lost count of how many siblings I had years ago!”

Emilio chuckled, and Sharleen did, too.

“I'm kidding. I have six brothers and two sisters. My old man loves kids and thinks having them around keeps him young, so I wouldn't be surprised if he decided to have more children!”

The waitress, who was clearly a college student trying to pay her way through school, arrived with the bill.

Emilio took out his wallet, slid his platinum card through the portable debit machine and punched in his PIN. “Thanks for everything, miss. The food was great.”

The waitress retrieved the machine and cupped a hand over her mouth. “A thousand-dollar tip?” she shrieked. “This is awesome. Thank you so much!”

Sharleen was impressed by Emilio's generosity, but she wondered if it was all for show. Did he give the waitress a huge tip just to impress her? Or was this just another day in the life of a superstar athlete worth millions? Watching him with growing interest, she felt enthralled by him—and aroused, too. It wasn't every day she met a sensitive, thoughtful guy with a big heart.
No wonder I'm hot for him. Who wouldn't be? He's every woman's dream man!

“It's time to switch gears.”

Emilio stood, came around the table and helped Sharleen out of her chair.

“Let's have another round of drinks and play pool.”

“I hate to brag, but I won several pool tournaments in college.”

“Famous last words...”

“Want to bet?” An idea came to mind and a smile filled her lips. “If I win, you're going to be my guest at the Mind, Body & Soul Conference this weekend—”

“And if I win you're going to be my live-in chef for the rest of the month.”

As if!
Sharleen made her eyes wide, as if she were shocked, but she was secretly amused.

“I love Southern cuisine, and the pictures of your bayou fried shrimp and coconut cream pie look delicious.” He moved closer, swallowed the space between them. “Can I get a taste?”

Anytime, anyplace.
His voice tickled the tips of her ears. His gaze held her captive, awakened every cell in her body. Sharleen stood as still as stone, but her heart was pounding inside her chest, racing erratically. “What were you doing poking around my Instagram page?”

“Just doing my research.”

Sharleen felt a glimmer of pride when she caught Emilio steal a peek at her butt, but she pretended not to notice. In the arcade, she selected a cue stick, gripped it in a loose, relaxed manner and hit the cue ball so hard it shot down the pool table at lightning-fast speed.

Ten minutes into the game, Sharleen realized Emilio had no hope of beating her. He was more interested in shooting the breeze with her than playing the game. He asked dozens of questions about her family and career life, and the more they talked, the less tense he seemed, the more relaxed. He was lowering his guard, finally opening up to her, and she was thrilled they were finally getting along. They chatted effortlessly about current topics, their favorite hobbies and activities, and swapped hilarious stories about their childhoods.

“Tell me something about you that no one else knows.”

Sharleen shook her head. “You first.”

“That's easy. I'm addicted to golf, ESPN and the video game ‘Need for Speed,' of course.” He reached out and touched a hand to her cheek. “
And
I have a weakness for women who wear red glasses.”

“Sure you do. And I love men with long, curly chest hair!”

Emilio laughed, and her heart soared. Sharleen didn't know if he was flirting with her just for the hell of it or because he was genuinely attracted to her, but she enjoyed his attention. Although, she wasn't a gullible fool—she knew better than to take him seriously.

Relationships didn't work, and love didn't last. Screw their attraction and mind-blowing chemistry. A superstar athlete with legions of female fans couldn't be trusted, so falling for Emilio was out of the question.

“If I score here the game is over.”

Emilio cocked an eyebrow and held up his palms. “What, no trick shot?”

“If you insist.” Sharleen slid her pool stick behind her back and lowered her hips as if she were doing the limbo. “Nine ball, corner pocket.”

Holding her breath, Sharleen watched as the cue ball bounced off the rails, sped down the table and dropped into the corner pocket. Thrilled about her win, she danced around the pool table and laughed when the other patrons on the second floor broke into applause.

“Congratulations.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Morretti.”

The epitome of cool, he leaned against the table and crossed his legs at the ankles. “You're a great player, Ms. Nichols. And beautiful, too.”

Scared she was going to fall victim to her desire, Sharleen tore her gaze away from his mouth and sipped her drink.

“I thought the World Series Racing fans were zealous, but they've got nothing on you!” he said.

“Do you miss racing?”

“Promise you won't tell Antwan?”

Sharleen nodded, instinctively moving toward him. She narrowed her eyes, locked in on him, and everyone else in the room faded to the background. “You have my word.”

“Racing is in my blood. It's what I was born to do. And I feel incomplete without it.”

“Then why don't you enter the All-Star Race?”

His tone was filled with skepticism. “What do
you
know about the All-Star Race?”

“I know you won the event three consecutive times,
and
that your last record-breaking win cemented your place in the Hall of Fame,” Sharleen said, glad she'd done her research. “You're a global icon, with legions of fans, and the league just isn't the same without you.”

Smiling politely, he bowed his head. “You're giving me too much credit.”