by Joanne Rock
Damn.
As Hugh made excuses and trotted out apologies, he thanked his aunt and snagged a handful of petit fours for the road. Dropping a kiss on her cheek, he was surprised by the fierce hug he received in return.
“Don’t be a stranger, Hugh,” she warned, patting him on the shoulder and stuffing a few lemon drops into his shirt pocket. “I don’t want to wait two more years to see you again.”
“You won’t. I promise.” And damn it, as he walked out the door, he realized it wouldn’t be. Because his trip to his aunt’s house hadn’t just been about delivering mangoes or checking up on her. He’d done it for himself, too.
The family thing worked both ways, apparently. You took care of somebody—give a visit, a piece of fruit—and they took care of you. Very nice how that operated.
Well aware that he’d been abrupt in taking his leave, he promised himself he’d send Aunt Pauline some kind of kick-ass teapot the next time he traveled. But he’d had to leave before he started thinking too much about Giselle in a serious light.
Too late, some asinine inner voice told him.
He didn’t have a clue how he’d come to care so much about what Giselle thought of him after knowing her for less than a week. Somehow he’d gone from wanting a pleasant diversion for his time in Miami to wondering how in the hell he’d be able to leave once his series of articles on Robert Flynn were complete.
If Flynn continued to follow the pattern of behavior Hugh had suspected, the series would be done all too soon. So far, Flynn had walked into his plans and onto U.S. soil with total predictability.
Now all Hugh needed was to solidify his interview with the guy, and then he’d set a trap for the bastard who’d hurt Giselle. His plan might require finally meeting Pauline Wolcott’s daughter Brianne and this FBI agent fiancé of hers. And then—like it or not—his work in Miami would be done.
GISELLE’S WORK IN THE Club Paradise kitchen was done for the night, but she didn’t stand a chance of sleeping.
Restless and edgy from a day fraught with too many tensions, she took the long way back to the Pleasure Parthenon, telling herself it was a good thing that Hugh hadn’t shown up at the resort tonight. She’d been able to perfect a new recipe in peace, and she’d called the reviewer from the Herald to confirm he would make a surprise visit to one of the hotel’s three restaurants within the week. She’d also managed to avoid Lainie, assuring herself that confronting Nico and working up the courage to talk to the food critic counted as being assertive enough for one day.
Promising herself she’d deal with Lainie tomorrow to discuss potential ramifications of Robert being back in the U.S.—very possibly in Miami—Giselle neared the door to her temporary suite. She sang an old Sinatra tune under her breath, her way of celebrating a good day.
Even if it hadn’t ended with a certain hottie journalist to share her bed.
Inserting her key card into the electronic entry system, Giselle tried not to remember that she could be sleeping at his apartment right now if she’d taken him up on his offer of he-man protection this week. Then again, if she had her way, they most certainly wouldn’t be sleeping.
As she slid out of her high heels, her bare feet taking comfort in the cool ceramic tiles beneath her toes, the phone started ringing. She checked her watch, noting the time, and her heart skipped a beat.
On a whim, she double-timed her way into the bedroom to answer the phone on the nightstand beside the sprawling mattress. Just in case she wanted to conduct this call from the comfort of the bed.
“Hello?” She tried to suppress the breathless excitement humming through her.
But the voice on the other end didn’t disappoint.
“Sorry to call so late, but I’m trying to write a story tonight and I keep getting distracted by something.” Her caller didn’t identify himself. Not that he needed to. Giselle’s blood already heated in recognition.
She wriggled out of her dress before sliding between the sheets. “Oh, really? And what might that be?”
He lowered his voice, his pitch vibrating right through the line. Right through her. “I’ve got to know what you’re wearing right now.”
13
“THAT’S GETTING TO BE A familiar question, Mr. Duncan. Care to tell me why you’re always so interested in my attire whenever we talk on the phone?” She ran an idle finger down the skinny shoulder strap of her bra, wondering how much she should share with him tonight.
“It’s the reporter in me. I’ve gotta know all the details in order to pull the whole story together in my mind.”
Her finger faltered on its lazy path. “Are you always thinking about writing?”
“It was only a metaphor. Trust me, I’m not exactly thinking about writing at this moment.”
She relaxed then, eased back into the mountain of pillows that covered the bed. Still, she realized that Hugh worked too hard. Thought about his personal mission in life too much. The nurturer inside her couldn’t help but think he needed some distractions in his life. This man needed more than her Miami-famous teriyaki. Whether he realized it or not, he needed sustenance for his heart and soul.
For now, however, she settled for a diversion of another kind. “Why don’t you tell me precisely what you were thinking about before you called me, and then I’ll decide whether or not to divulge the details of the very sexy little something I happen to be wearing?”
She heard the low growl on the other end of the phone. Knew he had no choice but to comply.
“Well, it started out simply enough. I was trying to work on a story and ended up thinking about the conversation I’d had with my aunt today.”
She tilted her head to one side, leaning into yet another pillow, getting comfortable for one of Hugh’s stories. “Your aunt?”
“Convoluted tale.” Sounds of the surf rolling into shore rumbled in the background while he talked. Or maybe it was just the waves outside the windows in her suite. “She’s no blood relation, just another link in a long line of steprelatives. But I went to see her this afternoon and it occurred to me that the two of you would hit if off. Maybe you’ve met her. She’s also Brianne Wolcott’s mother.”
She hadn’t met Pauline Wolcott, but she’d heard Brianne talk about her mom. Surprised that a loner like Hugh would maintain a connection with such a distant relation, she saw the strains of tenderness within him. That same kind of warmth of feeling had always flowed deeply among her family even if they fought and bickered on a daily basis. She hadn’t been sure Hugh possessed the sensibility, and to see hints of it now melted still more of her limited defenses when it came to this man.
Call her sentimental. Sure she wanted to live her life on her own terms. That didn’t mean she wasn’t still a sucker for family. “I haven’t met her, but I’d like to. Besides, you’ve already had the opportunity to be charmed by one of the Cesares. I’d love to meet someone from your clan.”
“Yeah, I’d forgotten what a nice lady she is. I get so caught up in work sometimes I don’t remember to take care of the people in my own backyard.” Again, the churn of waves sounded in the background as he spoke.
She pried herself out of bed and headed for the balcony overlooking the ocean. Dragging a sheet with her, she covered herself so as not to give the 2:00 a.m. beachgoers too much of a show. Staring out over the dark expanse of beach she wished he’d appear. “Where are you calling from?”
She thought she heard a stifled curse on the other end of the phone and her suspicions mounted. “I thought I’d write down by the beach tonight. Sometimes I sit on a pier to work. The white noise from the waves helps me think. What exactly did you say you were wearing again?”
“I didn’t.” Sensing his presence somewhere in the night, Giselle stepped onto the balcony in her sheet. Screw her modesty. It would be worth sacrificing if she could draw out this man who liked to lurk on the fringes of life. “How can you see what you’re writing in the dark?”
“Lighted laptop screen. It’s definitely a s
train on my eyes.”
Curious, she walked to the edge of the balcony, allowing the breeze off the water to wreak havoc with the hem of her haphazard cover-up. If there were any sober and observant night owls wandering the shore tonight, they were about to get an eyeful.
She rather wished there was one particular someone out there.
Edging the fabric of the sheet up her thigh, she shifted on restless feet and sighed in Hugh’s ear. “Well, I’d like to give you something that wouldn’t be such a strain on your eyes.” She turned her back to the darkened shore and peered over her shoulder at any audience that might be prowling the seaside. “Do you want to see it?”
“HELL, YEAH.”
Even knowing he was busted in tonight’s halfhearted spying mission didn’t deter him from cheering on whatever Giselle had in mind with her impromptu striptease. He really had intended to work on his story but Robert Flynn still hadn’t called him to set up an interview. Maybe the guy had wised up and beat a path back to the Caymans after all. Or maybe he’d figured out that Hugh didn’t have a track record for scandal sheet-style news and grew suspicious of his motives for wanting to do another article.
Not much he could do about it at this point other than make sure he kept an eye on Giselle while her crooked ex-boyfriend was rumored to be stateside. And keeping an eye on Giselle was proving to be a very, very pleasant task.
Her late-night voice steamed over the phone lines. “Then don’t blink, Hugh. I wouldn’t want you to miss anything.”
His eyes couldn’t be wider if he’d pried them open with toothpicks. He stared up at her balcony from where he lounged against a nearby palm tree.
Her dark hair grazed the tan sheet, curling about her shoulders and trailing down the middle of her back while she shifted with restless movements around the balcony. She looked sweet and sinful at the same time.
Until she dropped the sheet.
He licked his lips at miles of bare skin, and the sheer pink and black thing she wore that must pass for some kind of undergarment or negligee. The pink satin bra was low cut to unveil the tops of generous breasts. Some frilly, floaty see-through stuff covered her to her hips, but it was slit open at the navel for an unobstructed view of black and pink panties.
“You’re killing me.” He reached to loosen his collar only to realize it was already unbuttoned, his shirttails flapping open in the breeze. The ocean air that had been cool and refreshing ten minutes ago was powerless against the heat climbing over his skin.
“But you haven’t even seen all the details yet,” her voice teased in his ear. “How can you appreciate the full story without taking in a few of the finer points?”
He couldn’t distinguish her features clearly enough to know where her gaze rested, but when her head turned as if to sweep the shore with her eyes, he realized she hadn’t spotted him yet.
Shifting his position against the palm tree, he gave himself away to draw her gaze. Keep her eyes on him the way his were glued to her.
Her hand moved from the phone cord to skim the top of one plump breast. “Cat got your tongue out there? Or do you want to delve a little deeper into this late-breaking story?”
Her finger dipped below the pink satin and he thought he’d turn to stone, every inch of him rock solid. But the seductive female on the balcony above him was no Medusa. She was pure goddess with her heavenly body and powerful ability to move him.
His hand scratched over his bare chest, craving Giselle’s touch. But he couldn’t have moved from his spot if his life depended on it. He needed to see the rest of the show.
“More.” He barely managed to wrench the word from a throat that had closed up tight.
Another gust of wind blew in off the ocean, shifting the sand beneath his feet and lifting the featherlight fabric of the material floating around Giselle’s waist. She slid her hand down her shoulder, capturing the strap of her bra and edging it off. The other strap followed the first, leaving the silky pink cups of her bra barely clinging to her curves.
With an effort, he tore his gaze away from her for a split second to scan the beach. A couple kissed and groped one another in a bubbling hot tub close to the hotel. Normally his eyes might have lingered on the pair since they happened to both be female. But not even a normal male eye-catcher like potential lesbian action compared to the show on the second floor.
A show given not just by any woman, but Giselle.
Since the beach was otherwise quiet except for a few stumbling drunks, Hugh’s gaze snapped back to the balcony where she eased the fabric of one satin cup down. Down.
“I hope you’re taking notes,” her throaty words whispered over his senses as she cupped one full breast in her hand, her thumb circling the dark nipple.
“I’ve got a photographic memory.” And this image would be scorched into his brain with sizzling clarity until he was a hundred and two. “I don’t need notes for this part.”
He wanted to see what else she would do. His feet were leaden weights beneath him, holding him to the sand so he could view the rest of the show. But if he didn’t force himself into motion now, he might not be able to budge later. Already he’d have a hell of a time moving through the hotel while sporting the erection of a lifetime.
“Why don’t you tell me what you want next?” Her voice called him into action, her hand already curving down her belly to skate across the top edge of her pink and black panties.
She wouldn’t ever dream of…
Her thumb hooked into the elastic resting on her hip. Began tugging it down.
“Wait.” He couldn’t let her. Wouldn’t let her. At least not without him. “I want to be there to see this.”
He forced his feet in front of one another, his eyes still stuck on her. Her hand twisted in the elastic, suspended at the point of no return.
“By all means.” Her breathless words teased his ear. “I wouldn’t want you to strain your eyes.”
Clicking off their connection, he pocketed his phone. His leather shoes pounded the pavement around the hot tubs, startling the necking women into surprised squeals that echoed in his ears as he reached the hotel doors.
The locked hotel doors.
He cast an appealing look toward the only potential hotel guests in the area and—thank you, God—one of the bikini-clad hot tub bunnies was already on her way, key card in hand.
She paused before swiping it through the lock, her swimsuit dripping on the pavement at their feet while she eyed Hugh with blatant curiosity. “Are you going after the brunette on the second floor?”
Had this woman seen what was going on in the balcony after all? Jealousy flared to life. Or did you even call it jealousy when it was a female checking out your woman? Crap, he had no clue.
“She’s mine.” Satisfied that ought to send the right message, he waited impatiently for the skinny blonde to unlock the door.
“She’s very hot.” Swiping the card, the woman finally let him in, shouting something to the effect of “go get her, tiger,” in his wake.
As if he needed any encouragement.
Scaling the emergency exit stairs two at a time with his laptop computer bumping against his leg, he reached the floor where the Pleasure Parthenon and Giselle waited. He plowed down the hotel corridor, heedless of the decadent surroundings and Mediterranean decor. In his mind’s eye he envisioned only Giselle, half dressed and hungry for him.
This time—unlike their other steamy phone calls where he’d needed to think about his work—he would be there for her. Robert the sleazebag Flynn could be ringing his telephone begging for an exclusive interview right now and the only thing that mattered to Hugh was being with Giselle.
He didn’t need to remember which room was hers since a door snicked open as he turned down a connecting hallway. One long, bare leg appeared in the archway. A tantalizing treat that hastened his step, narrowed his gaze to that soft stretch of exposed inner thigh that would be wrapped around his hips in about five more seconds…
; And then he was there.
Pushing his way into the room. Tossing his computer on the floor as he planted his hands all over her body. Shoving the door closed with his foot. The only light in the suite emanated from the bedroom, spilling out into the living area of the Pleasure Parthenon through a door left slightly ajar.
But he could see enough. He spied the heat simmering in her eyes that he hadn’t been able to gauge from his spot on the beach. He’d already memorized exactly what she looked like in her wicked pink and black confection when she’d been standing on the balcony with the light from the bedroom spotlighting her every move.
Now he could feel her. His palms cupped her breasts. Tweaked the already stiff nipples. Molded to her hips and thighs.
And he could smell that lightly exotic fragrance she wore coupled with faint scents of the kitchen. Tonight everything about her was spicy. Hot.
Yet when he leaned in to kiss her, to taste her, there was an icy contrast to her mouth. As if she’d been sucking on ice cubes in the moments it took him to go from beach to bedroom. The chill of her silky tongue sliding over his sent a peculiar tingle through him, making him wonder what it would feel like to have those chilled lips clamped around the hottest part of him.
Groaning with the thought, he deepened the kiss as he backed her closer to the bedroom door. She whimpered, sighed, hooked her arms around his neck as they moved. Breasts pressed deliciously against his chest, Hugh ditched his already unbuttoned shirt. He unhooked the bra-negligee thing that covered the top half of her and let it fall to the floor in a pink flutter.
“What took you so long?” She murmured the words between kisses as she nudged the bedroom door open the rest of the way with her foot.
“I couldn’t tear my eyes away.” He realized he’d finally made it into her bedroom where he’d wanted to be since that first sexy phone call they’d shared. But now that he’d made it, all he could think about was being with Giselle. Unveiling the rest of her. Savoring every sweet inch.