“Wrong,” she muttered. “I can do something about it.” She got to her feet and consulted her closet. Her lingerie armoire was seriously lacking in actual lingerie. In fact, there were a lot of socks—and quick inventory said about half had mates that had disappeared in the wash.
Tonight she’d visit an after-hours adults-only boutique and revamp her undies collection with what made her feel sexy and confident. Tomorrow, no one but Gabrielle would know she was business on top and party underneath, and when she sat down with the record producer she would rock the meeting and celebrate with a good time in LA and a guy who might just help her forget the stranger who’d signed himself up for her fantasies when he’d barged into her kitchen and switched on her libido.
Grabbing her keys, Gabrielle congratulated herself on a plan well schemed. When you had a great plan, what could go wrong?
*
Confirm concert venues. Turn around contracts to his legal group. Ensure that his assistants toured his hot springs studio retreat and had it prepared for next week’s VIP-guests-only recording session weekend party. Those were only a few of the demands that Geoffrey could be confronting this morning. Each item was important and tried to seduce his attention, but in the end nothing had deterred him from taking the Bugatti Veyron out early to drive from his cottage suite rental to the Pearl.
In steel-colored Armani and prepared with notes loaded onto his smartphone, Geoffrey arrived over an hour before his meeting with the restaurant’s executive chef, and it wasn’t because menu pitches and plays for his business got him excited.
He was here because he wanted another look at the waitress from yesterday. No, what he wanted was a conversation with her outside the restaurant, on neutral grounds where she wouldn’t feel the need to dart her gaze left and right every few seconds to see if someone would catch her at his table.
The woman was natural, inside and out. Real.
In his universe, real women were rare and real connections were things only idiots put stock in. He lived sagely, dating women who agreed to sex and a few enlightening conversations. He didn’t commit himself to complex relationships that would only fall apart on a damned gossip site’s homepage. The predictability of his hookups was a double-sided coin: good because he always knew what to expect, and bad because there was no adventure in saying hello, tapping it, saying goodbye and repeating with someone new when the next urge hit.
“It’s under your skin, isn’t it?” a velvety voice said. The bombshell hostess. “The Pearl, of course. It must be under your skin now, because you’re back so soon.”
“Hey… Charlene, is it?”
“Mmm-hmm,” she whispered, stepping around her desk to lean enticingly against it. “Very few things, sir, are more flattering to a woman than when an attractive, accomplished man remembers her name.”
“I’m looking for someone,” he said. Charlene had the kind of body a brother could write songs about and her forwardness was hot as hell, but he didn’t see the gain in forcing attraction that didn’t exist. “A waitress. Curly-haired, slender, short…”
He almost said pretty, but that would’ve been a generic lie. The woman wasn’t pretty; she was addictive.
“You mean Gabby.” With a shrug, Charlene rounded the desk. “She’s got a meeting later today, but knowing her she’ll still come in early to crack the whip. I can sit you at a table if you want to wait. And meanwhile, I can keep you entertained—”
Geoffrey intercepted the proposition. “Doesn’t a woman find it flattering when a guy she gives her number to follows through with calling her?”
Obviously remembering that she’d circled her phone number and handed him her business card yesterday, Charlene swallowed and stared back at him.
“If I’d wanted to flatter you like that,” he continued, firmly enough to infiltrate her agenda, “if I’d wanted you, Charlene, I would’ve called you.”
Leaving her at the desk to glower and grumble words he hadn’t heard since his last high-roller poker game in the Hills, he selected his own table and waited for the waitress. He was there, leaning forward on his chair, his fingers steepled, when she came up to him in a black short-sleeved jacket secured with a ribbon over a thin white top and white jeans. The leopard print high heels gave her a few borrowed inches of height, but when he stood up, he still had an easy foot on her.
Yesterday he’d worn sunglasses. Today it was her turn. Would she take them off if he asked, so they could look at each other naked eye to naked eye?
“The hostess said your name’s Gabby.”
She nodded. “Can I help you?”
“Oh, it’s ‘can I help you’ today,” he said, referencing the blunder she’d probably assumed he hadn’t noticed the afternoon before.
Can I do you? Yeah, that had stayed with him all last night and his unspoken answer still hadn’t changed. Absolutely. After I do you.
“Th-that was an error. A really unfortunate error.”
“Freudian slip.”
“Did you come back to the Pearl for an apology for that, too?”
Geoffrey held up his open hands. “I’m here in peace. And the hope that you’ll let me take you away from here for a cup of coffee.”
“The Pearl has fantastic coffee.”
“The Pearl has dozens of folks all up in your business, and I’d like to get some more time with you.”
Gabby shook her head. “I’m not leaving the resort, so no. I have a can’t-miss meeting shortly and don’t want to take a chance on getting caught in a traffic clog. Sorry…but I need to ask, why me?”
“Because of yesterday. You didn’t look at me and start picturing how you’d spend my money.”
“No, that’s not me. I looked at you and saw a man who’s alpha and arrogant. In my head I called you another word that starts with the letter A, but I probably should leave it at that.”
Geoffrey laughed, and it garnered swiveling heads and prying murmurs.
“Shh!” As she raised a fingertip to her lips, he caught her hand and kissed that finger.
“Gabby…if you have coffee with me, there’s a chance I’ll kiss you again.”
Wiggling her hand free of his grasp, she said, “Kiss me again and people are going to start talking.”
“Then let’s go someplace where they’re not watching.” Geoffrey was all good with letting her lead him out of the Pearl and to an elevator that brought them to the third floor. Their destination was a balcony lined with plants. Just before the balcony was an intimate room that housed vending machines—one being a self-serve espresso machine.
“You said coffee,” she reminded him, plucking two foam cups. “This is where staff occasionally go for self-sentenced timeouts.”
Vending machine espresso in hand, they went to the balcony.
“We can say nothing at all, or figure out what we’re doing here,” she finally said. “Either way, we can’t be making this into some routine.”
“Since I walked out of the restaurant yesterday, it’s been nothing but you. In my head, all night, and I can’t change it. I’m chained here.”
Gabby swallowed a mouthful of espresso with a strangled little gulp. “Oh… That, what you’re saying, you can’t think about me that way.”
“Why not? Tell me, and make me understand, then.”
“Because I work for this resort. I’m an employee.”
“I don’t care that you’re a waitress.”
“No? Do you care that I’m not a waitress?” She led Geoffrey to the balcony, which was empty of staff or guests. Setting her cup on a nearby table, she took off her sunglasses and looked him square in the eye. “Because I’m not. I’m the Pearl’s executive chef.”
Executive chef? Aw, damn it. “Chef…uh… Gabrielle Royce?”
“Yes. Curly-haired, short and slender.” She shrugged a shoulder and revolved on her leopard heels to stroke a robust verdant leaf. “The hostess found it imperative to divulge the ‘unflattering’ way you described me to her.”
/> “You think that’s unflattering?”
“No. I’m each of those things, and proud to be.”
“I could’ve added sexy and smartass, but then that might’ve made our meeting more awkward than it’s already going to be.” Geoffrey set his coffee down, went to her and gently turned her to face him. She was yielding but still challenging…was giving off all kinds of heat, but still harbored cold uncertainty. Extending his hand to hers, he murmured against her feathery smooth curls, “Geoffrey Girard, G&G Records. Your one o’clock’s with me.”
Chapter 3
The man whose face infiltrated her thoughts last night and whose hands touched her in her early morning dreams was Geoffrey Girard, the account she was supposed to win for the Belleza? It had to be a cosmic joke—or, more realistically, a test. Robyn might not have the motive, but Kim had the savvy to challenge Gabrielle’s convictions.
Place an intriguing stranger in Gabrielle’s path, then have him reveal himself as a big shot client who’d tempt her beyond all common sense and expose her for the hypocrite she was. Not that she could blame her friend for it. After the way she’d blatantly taken on some holier than thou attitude toward Kimberly’s relationship with Jaxon, she rationalized that a bit of clever retaliation was justifiable.
Justifiable, but not effective. Gabrielle hadn’t crossed the line—yet. She was on the line with this man, so close to crossing it. In fact, if she let him come any closer, the heat swirling between them might burn the line to ash and there’d be no saving herself. “So did you owe Kim Parker a favor?”
A confused squint was all he gave her.
Oh, my stars. He’s gorgeous as hell when he frowns.
“I’m a good sport when it comes to pranks, but this is a little much,” she went on, though she’d give her friend points for creativity and execution. Geoffrey was every undefined detail she wanted in a man. And he was supremely off-limits.
“I don’t owe anyone a favor, and I’ve never met Kim Parker. But I want to know why she’d want to prank you and how I could be involved in that.”
“Oh.” So it was a cosmic joke. “Kimberly’s my friend and the gist of a very complicated story is that I recently began to realize how extremely wrong I was about something, and I thought Kimberly had put us together to show me the error of my ways, I guess.”
“I wouldn’t see you as someone who often admits she’s wrong.”
“That’s because I’m not often wrong.”
Geoffrey started to smile and something began to shake loose inside her. Control. It was failing her, but thank God she caught herself in time to get a grip on her senses. Always in tune with herself, Gabrielle could blame no one for her choices. She was her own true best friend. No one could ever know her better than she knew herself. She wouldn’t let a man with a startlingly fascinating smile change that.
“But when I am wrong,” she added, “I admit it.”
He continued watching her.
“Well, eventually.” She would’ve shrugged if he’d given her enough room. Instead he had her framed in, with leaves hugging her and his scent stroking her from all angles. That the man didn’t overdo it on the cologne was a plus.
Wait—what was she doing? She shouldn’t be giving him pluses now that she knew he was even more than a Belleza guest. She should be searching him for flaws. The alpha attitude aside, he wasn’t perfect and she’d be setting herself up for doom to start thinking he was.
Flaw, she thought. Find a flaw.
The hands. He had intimidating, ugly hands. Except they were sexy and this morning in the shower she started to think her loofah was prepping her skin for his touch. Recognizing the thought as completely silly, she’d doubted she’d even see him again and had been shocked to her leopard-print Manolo Blahnik pumps to find him waiting for her at the Pearl.
“What you asked me yesterday, about starting over,” she said. “I’m thinking now would be a great time to give that a try.”
“If we started over, the attraction would still be here.”
“Attraction’s not good for business.”
“Pretending it’s not here…what’s that good for?” he challenged.
“I don’t know. In addition to being wrong on occasion, I also on even rarer occasions am totally without an answer. I don’t know what to do with…” She would not say attraction. Saying it would give it more dimension, a degree of realness she wasn’t equipped to handle.
“With what?” he said.
“Wanting you.” Oh, no. Attraction would’ve been a tamer option, compared to blunt wanting you. “I…”
“You want me, Gabby?”
“Gabrielle. Not Gabby.”
“Okay. You want me, Gabrielle?”
“I—” She twisted away from him. “I think we should talk about our professional dilemma. You’re Geoffrey Girard and until you realized that I’m the executive chef you were considering naming this resort as the venue for your event.”
“I didn’t say I’m no longer considering the Belleza. A client of mine stayed here last month. Cole. He recommended this place.”
Demanding, tough-to-please Cole had recommended the resort? The singer had been an especially difficult guest, but he had a way of getting past a person’s defenses and was an okay man. That he was sending the Belleza new elite business made him a very okay man.
“I talked to your assistant,” Geoffrey said.
“Roarke.” The office manager from heaven. Roarke was steady, a paperwork genius and a people whisperer. If he wasn’t dating his own heaven-sent angel, she could see herself electing him to be her better half.
“Then I had a talk with the lead event planner—”
“That’d be Robyn. She’s my friend, as well.”
“We discussed some options for the party. No pranks came up in the conversation, I swear.”
Laughing, she was relieved. Somehow, knowing her friends weren’t out to catch her sexing up a guest made her feel safe about enjoying him in private like this. Yes, she was setting herself up for trouble, but as long as she realized it she could control how far things went and how much trouble she invited. “Maybe the hookup rules are lax in the music biz, but at this resort staff and guests don’t get personal. It’s just not a common practice.”
“Common, meaning it does happen, though.”
“Yes, but not for me. I have to be honest, okay? I want you, and that’s personal and chances are it’s an extraordinarily bad idea. But I want your business more. I want your account for the Belleza.”
“If I chose another venue, what would that mean for us?”
“I can’t entertain that, Geoffrey. I’m sorry, but this has to be about business. It needs to be about me showing you why you should choose the Belleza to host this party. Let me show you my vision. Let me show you why it’d be a mistake to choose another venue.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” No debate, no pressure, no persuasion?
“Yeah. Okay.” He went to the high-backed chairs surrounding the table. Sitting, he relaxed his form, stretched his long legs out in front of him.
“Everything’s in my office,” she said. “My assistant’s there. We have a presentation prepared. 3D graphics.”
“We can hold our next meeting in your office, Gabrielle. We’re already here and I’d rather listen to you talk.” He gestured to the seat beside him, so she took the one across. “Hey, how’s your friend? The chef who had the accident yesterday?”
“She’s not in life-threatening danger. There’s a small-scale third-degree burn, a broken bone.” Damaged would’ve been more accurate. She’d visited Shoshanna this morning to find her vibrant friend broken beyond the snapped tibia now set in a cast. Bandaged and emotionally wrecked, Shoshanna lay crying soundlessly and Gabrielle had to prod her to confess that she was worried about being permanently replaced as sous-chef. Gabrielle had already made up her mind that a replacement would be only temporary—but after sitting with Shoshanna she intended to make
sure she, Kimberly and HR were all on the same page and had their loyal and talented sous-chef’s position waiting for her to resume once her injuries healed.
“Roarke told me you were set on an after-dark party, but I’d like to present the option of taking advantage of the slow sunset. Get things rolling earlier in the evening and you’ll see that a sunset backdrop will heighten the atmosphere. If you prefer a more temp-controlled location, the Pearl’s dining room is a fabulous choice. We’d reserve the entire space and transform it to suit the theme we agree on. There are also a couple of premiere outdoor spots on the property that offer spectacular views of the sun dropping over the mountains. Think about it. Drinking a glass of—what do you like? Scotch? Brandy? Vodka?”
“No preference,” he said, and though his voice was strangely tight, she didn’t let it slow her down.
“Drinking a glass of brandy, the mood relaxed yet elegant, the background splendid but not intrusive. The sun slowly melts behind the mountaintops, quietly telling you that the night belongs to you now. It belongs to your guests and your celebration. What do you think?”
“I think I want to take the time to watch the sun set tonight.”
“Do it. Of course I’ll be jealous that you’d have the time.”
“If I asked you to watch it with me, you’d say you don’t have the time?”
“Afraid I don’t. I’m on shift tonight. Closing again. But you watch it, and imagine what it’d be like to share that kind of wonder with your guests.”
“Or I’d imagine sharing it with you.”
Gabrielle crossed her legs, leisurely swinging her foot to disguise the giddyup of her hormones. The man was so single-minded, had laser focus and had it trained on turning her into happy, hot putty. “Is this your roundabout way of adding me to your guest list? Because as chef in charge, I’d be there anyway. As would my assistant, Roarke.”
Hot Summer Nights Page 4