Page 17 of One Naughty Night (Single in South Beach)

“I can make reproductions as good as anything you see in this room.” He made a sweeping gesture to include the darkly unique Neo-classical pieces that had delighted her. “If you can find buyers for that sort of thing, we might have a very viable business on our hands.”

She stared at the exquisite table with the embroidered insert beneath its glass top and then glanced back to Renzo’s construction T-shirt. “It’s difficult to give the pieces the proper aged look. Creating reproductions is an art that takes trained furniture makers years to perfect.”

“I’ve got a room full of stuff like this that I’ve already made. Why don’t you take a look at it? If you don’t think it’s good enough, obviously, the deal’s off.”

Hadn’t he surprised her last night by being able to pinpoint the style of the pieces? She hated to get her hopes up, but what if he really could deliver the goods?

“You already have some pieces completed?” The flea-market fanatic within her awoke. She’d been lured to estate sales and bargain basements all over Florida to seek out hidden treasures on fewer assurances than this. What would it hurt to see what sorts of things Renzo had crafted?

“I’ve got an attic full of oddball pieces I made for kicks.” He leaned to one side in his seat and reached to skim his fingers along the surface of the water that gurgled past them in the manmade stream. “Whenever the thought of putting together another set of cabinets starts to feel a little monotonous, I like working on a Shaker chair or an oversized Colonial table—something really different.”

Esme resisted the urge to fan herself. She knew her passion for antique furniture went beyond the average Saturday garage-sale shopper, but the thought of getting her hands on some quality reproductions seriously pushed all her buttons.

“Do you have time to show me the pieces today?” As an out-of-work art historian, her time was all her own.

Grinning, Renzo righted himself in the chair, gently shaking the water from his fingers. “Are you going to consider my proposition?”

Distracted by his glistening hand, she couldn’t help but wonder what it might feel like if he were to trail those damp fingers over her bare skin.

“Esme?”

She blinked. Dragged her thoughts back to business. Chairs. Tables. Profits.

“Let’s just see what the pieces look like and then we’ll go from there.” The clients she occasionally worked with through the museum had very exacting standards. She rose to her feet, eager to set aside thoughts of Renzo’s hands on her body. She needed to view his work and judge it for herself. “I can’t make any promises until I view your work. But if the quality is there, I’d say we have a deal.”

No matter what her personal feelings might be for Renzo Cesare—and Esme wasn’t even sure she cared to investigate that right now—she couldn’t refuse the chance to earn some cash while she looked for another job.

Renzo rose from his chair, his big body taking up more space than she’d counted on, putting him too close to her. He stared down at her, his warm gaze somehow keeping her near when she knew it would be wiser to step away.

“I don’t suppose you’ll want to seal the deal with a kiss?” His voice hit a gruff note despite his light, teasing tone.

She backed a step, her feet connecting with the chair behind her and threatening her balance.

But Renzo’s hands were suddenly on her shoulders, steadying her. Righting her. Luckily, his touch evaporated almost as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Esme with just a vague sensory memory of warm palms and strong fingers. Strange how the man whose lies had devastated her last night could also be the man who kept her on her feet—in more ways than one—this morning.

“Sorry.” He held his hands up where she could see them. The gesture of an innocent man. “The kiss comment was uncalled for. I definitely want to work on this project with you, Esme, and I can promise I’ll hold up my end of the business, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t still want you.”

Her heartbeat stumbled to a slow-motion pace, each thump louder than the next as those words washed over her. Still, as much as they might appeal to her wounded pride, she knew they didn’t mean anything.

“Wanting” her was a guy euphemism for wanting to get laid, right? Frankly, other than her one attempt to be daring last night, she wasn’t much for relationships based solely on sex.

Though God knows, if any man stood a chance at changing her mind, it just might be this one.

She eased toward the table where her checkbook still lay and scooped the remnants of the paperwork into her purse. “I appreciate your honesty this morning so I’m going to be straight with you, too. To my way of thinking, if you were really interested in any kind of relationship with me that would last more than twelve hours, you wouldn’t have tried to meet me through subterfuge. So excuse me if I don’t feel like flirting. I really think if we’re going to work together we need to quit the whole romantic pretense, okay?”

She hefted her small overnight bag onto one shoulder, prepared to check out of the hotel.

He stalked closer, his dark eyebrows knit together as if in fierce concentration. Seemingly without thinking about it, he lifted the bag off her shoulder and tossed it easily over his own. “How about this—I agree to absolute hands off until you tell me otherwise?”

“Until?” She rolled her eyes as she tugged open the door of the Sensualist’s Suite. “What makes you think I’ll ever tell you otherwise?”

“Wishful thinking, I guess.” He followed her out into the corridor and pushed the elevator button to take them downstairs. “Do you want to follow me in your car out to the house where I keep the furniture, or do you want to ride with me?”

* * *

Renzo had noticedEsme go completely still when he asked her that question.

Now, nearly an hour later as he drove his truck out to the family home in Coral Gables, he stole covert glances at her in the passenger seat and wondered why she’d been so hesitant. He’d thought he was being at his non-pushy best when he’d offered for her to follow him out to Coral Gables in her car. She didn’t seem all that thrilled to be riding with him, yet she’d haltingly told him that’s what she would prefer since she’d apparently caught a ride out to Club Paradise in the first place.

---