Page 36 of One Naughty Night (Single in South Beach)

Rebound material?

Renzo found himself at a strange loss for words at that statement. Esme obviously didn’t know the first thing about him if she thought he jumped into any relationship just for the fling.

He might have only made it to the altar once, but that didn’t mean he had ever dated lightly. His father had instilled too much respect for women into his skull to ever treat a female with anything but high regard.

And Esme inspired the fiercest sense of protectiveness he’d ever felt for any woman. Which— for an overbearing kind of guy—was probably a sure fire sign he was well on his way to starting much more than a fling.

ChapterEleven

Grinding gears as she up-shifted through five o’clock traffic on Ponce de Leon Boulevard the following week, Esme hoped she wouldn’t regret buying a used car without an automatic transmission. Watching the tachometer with one eye and the road ahead through the other, she hit third gear like an old pro and experienced a rush of frivolous pride.

She could do this.

Taking control of her own life since she’d gone into business with Renzo had been tremendously freeing. She’d managed to snag enough orders for antique reproductions that Renzo even needed to hire some extra help.

Or so he’d told her on the phone last night.

She hadn’t actually seen him in person since their close encounter in the sultry grotto. Probably a good thing considering she’d waded in over her head as far as their relationship went. Now, as she sped toward his house to go over the new product orders, Esme tried to tell herself that he’d been right to back off the other night. Although she’d been disappointed to have their time together cut short, she’d realized her life was too much of a mess right now to impose on anyone else. Even though she’d had some success digging her way through the wreckage of her former existence, she still spent as much time ruminating over the past as she spent looking toward the future.

A trend she refused to continue.

She simply couldn’t get involved with anyone until she confronted a few old demons. Well, really just one old demon—her bastard ex-employer at the museum. In order to find some peace with all that happened, she needed to tell that man exactly what she thought of him. She needed to file complaints about him to every organization imaginable.

One thing she’d learned from her new business partnership with Renzo was that her voice deserved to be heard. And it would be.

Just as soon as she worked up a little more nerve.

She steered her dark blue Ford into Renzo’s driveway, grateful for the sense of peace she felt now that she’d made up her mind. Two other trucks loomed in the driveway beside Renzo’s— one jet-black with a short bed and shiny silver mag wheels, the other a pared down version of Renzo’s blue pickup, complete with the words Cesare Construction printed on the door in gold block lettering.

Disappointment pinched as she realized she wouldn’t have Renzo all to herself. Then again, every time they got within winking distance of one another lately, they ended up ripping their clothes off, something she couldn’t risk since realizing she wasn’t fit for any relationship right now. Maybe the extra company parked in Renzo’s driveway could prevent them from giving into that primal urge.

Walking around to the back of the house, Esme skirted an overgrown patch of birds of paradise and a few hibiscus bushes sorely in need of tending to find the workshop in back. Rock music from at least a decade ago drifted on the wind before she caught sight of her quarry— her business partner and the man she needed to convince herself to stay away from.

He stood on a wide canvas tarp beside two other men. All of them hunched over a stout, early American sideboard.

As her heel moved from the soft earth of the lawn to the flagstone of a small garden path right behind them, the three men turned to look at her.

Renzo moved first, switching down the silver boom box perched on the edge of the canvas. One of the other men, a lean blonde sporting a buzz cut and enough muscles for the pro-wrestling circuit, set aside a rag he used to stain the sideboard. The third man who looked so much like Renzo it could only be a brother smiled broadly and took a step closer, but Renzo was at her side first. He slipped a possessive arm around her waist and drew her away from the others.

“How did you get here?” His voice softened to a pitch only the two of them would hear, yet there wasn’t anything soft about the tone. “You didn’t--”

I bought a car.” She dangled her new key chain from the dealership in front of his nose. “Hello to you too.” She would have greeted his friends, but his arm around her waist tightened, the warmth of his fingers spearing through the silk of her blouse.

“You bought a car?”

“Lock, stock and barrel. It was the newest used car on the lot.” And a very good deal too, thanks to her negotiating. “Now, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”

The man had the manners of a pit bull. Still, she had to admit the glint of admiration in his eye definitely make up for a few forgotten pleasantries.

“Okay. But then I want to go check it out myself. Did you know you’re supposed to have a mechanic look at it before you buy?”

She rolled her eyes and slipped out of his grip, curious about the men working with him. Behind her, she could hear him sigh as he followed her.

She didn’t need to wait long for introductions since the taller, dark-haired guy was already offering his hand, “I’m Nico Cesare, the Neanderthal’s brother. Very much at your service.”

“Esmerelda Giles. Nice to meet you.” She shook his hand, noting on closer inspection that Nico wasn’t quite a clone of his brother. His features were sharper, with a nose that looked like it had seen the wrong end of a few street fights. He topped Renzo by maybe an inch, his movements economical and efficient as opposed to his brother’s lazy grace.

She had to tug her hand back from his lingering grasp, yet she sensed he touched her simply to get a reaction from Renzo. Who promptly muttered something about the egotism of professional athletes.

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