Girl Gone Wild

by Joanne Rock

  “Frankly, no.” She scooped up her clothes from the floor and started dressing, her body a sudden flurry of movement, tension. “I feel guilty for being the final straw that broke up Lainie’s marriage, but no matter how much I tell myself I should have known better, how would I have known better? If a man isn’t honest about his marital status, is it really a woman’s responsibility to sniff it out for herself? I’m tired of tiptoeing around my partners in deference to Lainie’s heartache.” She yanked on her blouse and stepped into her skirt, buttoning, tying and zipping as if her life depended on it. “My heart hurt, too.”

  Damn. Now he’d not only riled her up and pissed her off, he’d also unwittingly reminded her of how much she’d gotten her heart broken by another guy. Brilliant freaking strategy.

  “Wait.” He stood, reached for her as she whirled around the living area, adjusting the position of the furniture they’d moved around. “Just hold up a minute.”

  “How do I even know you’re being honest with me?” She stopped moving furniture, but her body still vibrated with churning emotions he didn’t even fully comprehend. “Would it be my fault for sleeping with you if you were married, too?”

  Him? Married? Just the idea was enough to make him break out in hives. His mother’s plentiful marriages had gone a long way toward dissuading him from the institution, and his commitment to globe-hopping in search of his next story was enough to assure him he wasn’t cut out for home and hearth.

  What the hell happened to full body massages after sex? Shouldn’t they be prepping for round two right about now instead of arguing about this? He definitely needed to learn to keep his mouth shut.

  “You’re right. This is your business, not mine.” And as much as he liked jumping in to fix other people’s problems, he knew damn well he didn’t always have the right answers. He just hated to see her upset. “I shouldn’t offer up suggestions when I don’t have all the facts.”

  Some of the tension seemed to seep from her shoulders as she leaned one hip into a bright red portion of the sectional. “And actually, I don’t always take direction real well because I have four brothers who love nothing better than to dole out advice.” She flashed him a crooked grin. “Sorry.”

  Relief flowed through him. Hope for maybe turning the night around. He still wanted to see the bed she’d been laying in earlier when they’d talked on the phone. “Does that mean you’ll stay a little longer?”

  Biting her lip, she shook her head. Retreated. “I should get back downstairs. I still need to do a few things before locking up the kitchen for the night.”

  And she also needed to put some space between them. He got the message without her having to spell it out.

  As he pulled on his clothes and kissed Giselle good-night, he reminded himself that some space was a good thing considering he wouldn’t even be in South Beach for that much longer. Better that he didn’t get too close to this woman in the first place.

  Still—wise decisions be damned—as he walked away from the Pleasure Parthenon, Hugh was already plotting how to talk his way back.

  7

  GISELLE WAS ALREADY PLOTTING a trip to the local newsstand at 5:30 a.m. when the Herald delivery truck finally pulled up to the curb on Ocean Drive.

  About damn time.

  Nearly tackling the unsuspecting delivery guy in her haste to see the first edition containing Hugh’s article, she had wriggled a copy free before the man even managed to cut the ties on the first stack.

  And there it was. Front page, just below the fold. “Con Artist In Hiding.” Robert would hate the headline, would resent being depicted as scared. No doubt that was part of Hugh’s plan to stir controversy. She had to admire his cleverness, but his timing really sucked. Nervous butterflies already fluttered through her belly as she worried how Lainie would react.

  There wasn’t a chance Giselle would be able to sleep, knowing that the Lainie Reynolds storm clouds would be gathering until she rained down eight months of pent-up fury. Giselle debated buying a few bottles of antacid and trying to sleep anyway, but wouldn’t that be hiding from her problems?

  Hugh’s suggestion that she should confront the whole mess head-on came back to her while she rolled up the front page of the newspaper into a tight cylinder. She hadn’t given the idea a second thought at the time, but now that she stood here, faced with insomnia and possibly a full-blown panic attack, she decided maybe it was worth considering.

  She called out a thank you to the newspaper delivery guy while he arranged copies of the Herald in a freestanding dispenser. Clutching her copy of the article to her chest, she headed for the elevator and made up her mind. Better to confront the Club Paradise CEO now and get it over with.

  Two minutes later, she rapped on the door of one of the few suites that hadn’t been overhauled since they’d revamped the resort. Lainie had staked out the corner suite for herself as soon as Flynn shipped out of Florida. Although the room had been dubbed Lovers Lane by the former ownership because of the gorgeous view of the South Beach strip, Giselle, Brianne and Summer had privately renamed it the Diva Penthouse in deference to its always-in-control current resident.

  “Who is it?” Lainie’s voice floated through the wooden barrier, laced with a tentative note Giselle hadn’t heard from her partner before.

  “It’s Giselle.”

  Long silence.

  Screwing up her courage and ignoring the boatload of guilt she’d been carrying around all year, Giselle tried again.

  “I figured you’d still be awake and I have news that can’t wait,” she called through the door. Unless, of course, you want me to develop ulcers. Silly thought, because of course Lainie would love it if she developed holes the size of saucers in her stomach lining. And maybe some warts and a hairy chin to go with them.

  Finally, the deadbolt slid on the other side and the door swung open to reveal Lainie dressed in her black silk dressing robe. Giselle didn’t need to see the back of the garment to recall the red embroidered dragon that breathed fire over its wearer’s shoulder blades. The first time she’d seen Lainie wearing it out by the resort pool, she’d thought the outfit did a credible job of branding the woman. Could Giselle help it if she saw a few similarities in the dragon lady standing in front of her?

  Smoothing one perfectly manicured hand across an already neat blond chignon—didn’t most women just put their hair in a ponytail when they got off work?—Lainie raised an eyebrow. “This must be some kind of news if it warrants even more hoopla than the bomb you dropped earlier. Maybe I’d better sit down first.”

  Giselle hesitated at the door while Lainie turned on one bare foot and withdrew into the suite.

  “Come on in,” Lainie called over one shoulder, her voice deceptively casual while her fire-breathing dragon seemed to huff a warning Giselle knew she should heed.

  Crossing the threshold into the room, she let the door shut behind her and followed her business partner into the kitchenette area where a half cup of tea steamed on the small wooden table. Because the room hadn’t been refurbished, the decor was vintage seventies hotel fare—lots of heavy faux finishes on the furnishings and yellow-gold tones in the linens. But the kitchen area predated the rest of the room, maintaining some of the clean-lined, thirties style that marked the Art Deco district. The countertops were bright white, the cabinets equipped with simple silver handles. Some kind of exotic potpourri burbled in a pot on the stove, filling the suite with a complex blend of spicy and fruity fragrances.

  “Sorry to bother you—” Giselle started, but Lainie waved away the niceties with a flick of her red-painted fingernails as she dropped into one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

  “Not a problem. I know damn well you wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t important.” She sipped her tea, wrapping those red fingernails around the mug and clutching the cup closer like some sort of elixir. “Did you manage to pry anything loose from this reporter friend of yours?”

  Giselle took a deep breath be
fore sinking into the chair opposite her. “Not exactly.” She tugged the front page of the newspaper out from under her arm. “By the time I spoke to Hugh again, he’d already turned in a story for today’s paper.”

  “You’re kidding.” She didn’t even spare a glance for the folded newspaper. “Is it bad? If that son of a bitch ex-husband of mine thinks he can drag Club Paradise through the mud from afar, I swear—”

  “I haven’t read it yet.”

  Lainie’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

  “I was getting ill just thinking about it. I figured I’d rather just be here with you if you’re going to blow a gasket than have to worry about it for the next eight hours until we can all reconvene to discuss it.”

  Lainie waggled her fingers impatiently across the table. “Hand it over. Now I’m ill, too.”

  Passing the copy across the table, Giselle half-wished she’d brought another so she could read at the same time. Now she would be stuck trying to discern the news from Lainie’s expression.

  She watched Lainie’s eyes travel back and forth across the page with a speed that had probably enhanced her career as an attorney. With her attention completely engaged by Hugh’s article, Giselle noticed she wasn’t wearing any makeup. Her face looked softer, younger without it. Not that she would ever in a million years suggest she’d seen anything soft in a woman who seemed to pride herself on being all sharp angles and edgy wits.

  Every now and then, Lainie would mutter darkly as she read, peppering her unintelligible commentary with occasional exclamations of “that son of a bitch.” At one point she glanced up long enough to declare Hugh a sadistic genius. Then finally, when she reached the end of the story, she took another long drink of tea as if to steel herself.

  “Well? Is it damaging to the resort?” Giselle’s nervous butterflies kicked into hyperactive mode as she tried to discern whether or not Lainie was already plotting ways to kick her out of their management group.

  “Not yet. But if this reporter…” She peered down at the newspaper again. “If Hugh Duncan actually meets with Robert and interviews him in order to continue pursuing this, I could see where the shit might hit the fan. I’m concerned Hugh is interested in stirring controversy here since he deliberately uses verbiage that will piss off Robert. Mostly he just re-hashes the old scandal and lets all of Miami know that the guy who ripped his investors off is living the good life at our expense.”

  Giselle mulled over that bit of news, telling herself she’d read the story carefully later. What was it about Hugh that made him want to be in the center of brewing trouble?

  “So I’m curious.” Lainie settled back in her chair and eyed Giselle across the table. Something about Lainie’s expression gave Giselle the sense she was about to be cross-examined. “Did you sleep with this reporter?”

  Direct hit.

  She definitely hadn’t seen that one coming. And even if she’d wanted to dance her way around the question, she had the feeling her suddenly heated cheeks were giving her away. Lifting her chin, she told herself she wasn’t going to be intimidated by the dragon lady. “Yes.”

  Bracing herself for the next round of questions, she was surprised when Lainie let out a wry laugh, shaking her head. “I don’t know how you did it.” Shoving her empty tea mug aside, she planted her elbows on the table. “Wait, let me rephrase. I do remember how it’s done. I just can’t imagine jumping back into bed with any man after such a short length of time considering how asinine we both know men can be.”

  Great. Now Lainie felt as if she was the world’s biggest slut in addition to being a home wrecker. “I hadn’t been with anyone since…” Well, hell. She couldn’t even explain herself without talking about the Robert affair. She shrugged, deciding sometimes no words were needed.

  She’d followed enough of Hugh’s “confront your problems head-on” advice for one day. Though she had to admit the results so far had been pretty surprising. She’d effectively managed to ward off the ulcers that had been threatening only an hour ago, and she’d confronted Lainie about a nonbusiness issue for the first time all year.

  Not a bad start to her mission to take charge of her life again.

  Lainie raised a blond eyebrow. “Neither have I. And as much as I miss the sex, I can’t imagine putting myself through the hell of a relationship again to obtain it.” She shoved the newspaper back across the table toward Giselle. “I’m only just beginning to recover from the last one.”

  Giselle didn’t miss the barb as she scooped up her newspaper. But Lainie had said she was recovering, right? Surely that was a good thing. Still…Giselle had never said all the words that needed to be spoken between them.

  “About what happened last year—”

  Lainie waved her hands in protest the moment Giselle opened her mouth. “Please. No need to embarrass the hell out of both of us. It was bad enough to have lived through the whole mess. The last thing I want to do is rehash it.”

  Oookay. So much for apologies.

  Ignoring the voice inside her that said Lainie deserved the words even if she didn’t want to hear them, Giselle stood to leave, ready to end this meeting while it remained on a civil note. As long as Lainie’s ex-husband stayed out of their lives and kept his secrets to himself, maybe they still had a chance at healing the rift between them.

  “You and me both. I never realized how naive I was about men until my brothers left town long enough to let me make my own mistakes.” She shook her head, still disgusted with herself for what had happened with Robert. But at least she’d been able to make her own choices, find her own path. Maybe she would have been better armed for a player like Robert Flynn if she’d ever been given some elbowroom to date during high school. College. Culinary school. Ever.

  Lainie rose to help herself to another dose of hot water from the silver teakettle on the stove. “Good thing you have the Cesare family back up looking out for you this time with Hugh.”

  Smiling one of her placid, I-see-right-through-you smiles, Lainie went about her business while Giselle sought the door.

  Had the Club Paradise CEO known that the Cesare men were all out of town this week again? Or had the comment simply been Lainie’s way of being nice?

  Yeah, right. Lainie being nice to her? Imagine that.

  Of course she knew the Cesares were out of town.

  Giselle closed her eyes as she stepped into the hallway outside the Diva’s Penthouse. She might not have her brothers protecting her this time, but she still knew what she was doing with Hugh. She could get close to him without losing her heart.

  Close, but not too close. It would be her motto for the rest of the week until her family descended on her to tell her how to run her life. And even then, damn it, she needed to find a way to make them see they needed to back off once and for all before she lost sight of her own dreams in favor of living theirs.

  HALF SPRAWLED ACROSS HIS BED shortly past noon, Hugh clicked through the archived newspaper stories about the Club Paradise embezzlement scandal on his laptop. If he had to see one more photo of smiling Robert Flynn with his arm wrapped around his sleekly poised wife at some charity event or another, he’d lose his breakfast. With all the photos of the South Beach power couple that ran in the Miami Herald, how could Giselle not have known he was married?

  Probably because she was embroiled in her own life. Maybe she had been too busy perfecting her brushstrokes on erotically frosted pastries to read the social pages. But it still bugged him to think she’d been hurt by the slick, Armani-wearing player in the archived photographs.

  Despite Giselle’s sexy smiles and provocative pouts, Hugh had seen the more traditional woman beneath. The simple pleasure she took in running on the beach, the uninhibited way she ate a peach—he’d seen a thousand and one indications that she was a woman untouched by jaded cynicism. And the fact that she’d been troubled by his story on her former lover told him she possessed an old-fashioned sense of ethics he couldn’t help but admire. Giselle Cesare definit
ely possessed the traditional values that some people might view as innocent.

  Hugh simply saw them as attractive. After delving into story after story where male-dominated governments helped men exploit their wives and children for their own ends, he couldn’t help a healthy sense of cynicism of his own. How could Giselle have been deceived by a creep like Flynn and still have walked away with so much faith in people? In men?

  In him.

  The realization lambasted him as he scrolled down an article about one of Lainie Reynolds’s numerous courtroom victories as an attorney. His hand stilled on the mouse while he absorbed the thought. Giselle might have bounced back after being duped by her former lover, but even the most trusting souls would have to turn a little more wary at being fooled that way. What did it mean, that Giselle had given in to him last night? And worse, how much pressure did her acquiescence put on him to fulfill her expectations?

  The phone rang before he could wrap his brain around how many ways he’d set them both up for a fall.

  “Duncan,” he answered without preamble, anxious to hear from his editor and nail down his travel plans for the next story.

  “I can’t sleep.” The throaty, sleep-scratchy voice on the other end of the phone definitely didn’t belong to his editor. His body went on instant alert at the hint of restlessness in Giselle’s tone.

  “It’s afternoon.” He’d try to be rational. Logical. Pretend he wasn’t already drooling like Pavlov’s dog at the thought of her in the Pleasure Parthenon. “Maybe you should just give in and pry open those eyes.” He shut down his laptop to better focus on her, knowing he probably needed to draw some boundaries over the course of the conversation. He refused to be the next man to hurt her. To disappoint her.