Sex & the Single Girl

by Joanne Rock

  10

  HOW OFTEN DID a woman hear an invitation like that?

  Brianne knew Aidan was trying to pull the intimidating FBI-guy routine on her with his “you’re not leaving until you tell me everything” spiel. But she couldn’t remember any man in her entire life—and that included numerous boyfriends and several stand-in fathers—being so adamant about hearing what she had to say.

  Pouring the wine into their glasses as they stood in the lushly appointed harem room, she reminded herself that part of the reason Aidan wanted to hear about her past was because of his case. But as she handed him his merlot and their eyes met in the flickering light of the electric candelabra scattered about the room, Brianne saw more than professional interest in his gaze.

  He wanted to know more about her.

  What could it hurt to unburden herself just a little? Aidan’s shoulders looked as though they could stand the weight.

  “It’s not a pretty story,” she warned him, visually searching the room for a place to sit that wasn’t draped in silk and satin. Had it ever occurred to Summer to install bar stools in a room with a bar? “And I guess I’m going to have to concede today as a loss for getting anything done. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “Sure. Let’s grab a seat and—” Their eyes fell on the bed at the same moment. Draped in hangings of light purple silk and situated next to a miniature stone fountain, the high mattress surrounded by pillows ranked as the most substantial piece of furniture in the room. “I take it pasharinas aren’t fond of chairs?”

  “So it would seem. What if we just sit on the floor and we can use the—” She stared at the bed and the pristine white spread. And quickly conjured a vision of her and Aidan rolling, writhing on that cool, clean expanse of silky fabric. “—that as a backrest.”

  Had she really just suggested they step within five feet of a mattress?

  Aidan nodded slowly—as if under protest.

  But she’d never been the kind of woman to back down. And damn it, if she had to tell this painful story, she would be at least physically comfortable in the process.

  Plunking down on the carpet, Brianne tugged two rattan baskets over from the foot of the bed and dropped them in between her and the spot Aidan had chosen a few feet away.

  Tan and smooth, the covered baskets measured about the size of hatboxes and would make the perfect coffee table for the wine. They also created a nifty physical barrier to Aidan just in case she felt herself weakening in his enticing male presence.

  She’d learned a long time ago that a girl didn’t necessarily need to be born with great willpower and emotional reserves to have strength. A strong woman knew how to stack the deck in her favor.

  Or, in this case, the baskets.

  Aidan peered at her across the rattan divide and gulped back half his wine. “This guy never hurt you, Brianne.” He stated it as fact, as if by sheer force of his will, he could make it so. Then, when she didn’t respond right away, he raised an eyebrow. “Did he?”

  “Not in a physical way. But he definitely dragged me through the wringer emotionally.” What a mess that had been. “He’s a musician. And I guess that accounts for part of the reason I found myself drawn to him. He seemed like a more emotionally intuitive person. Sort of the antithesis of me.”

  “Not true.”

  Brianne rolled her eyes. Sipped her wine. Welcomed the warmth of the drink in her throat before she reached the next phase of her story. “Either way, I soon discovered that what I’d perceived as sensitivity was actually just one phase of extreme mood swings. When I told him things weren’t working out between us, he turned even creepier.”

  Aidan stiffened. No amount of rattan would disguise the light shift and ripple of muscles beneath his suit jacket. His jaw flexed. “Creepy in what way?”

  “He started calling my apartment, my office, my cell all day, every day. I changed my own phones, but I couldn’t do anything about my work number. He’d wait for me outside my building, follow me home. He wrote me lots of weird letters, song lyrics—” she hesitated, wishing she didn’t have to admit much more of the nightmare “—and poetic threats. Beautifully scripted, lovingly worded pleas for compliance so he didn’t have to hurt me.”

  “Jesus, Brianne. Why didn’t you show any of this to the cops?”

  She bristled. And welcomed an opportunity to bristle, actually, because thinking about that whole scary chapter of her life tended to make her ill. “I did show all of it to the cops.”

  “There’s no record of any of it.” Perhaps he noticed her glare because he hastened to add, “not that you were ever on my suspect list, Bri, but I definitely did a search for information on you in case Melvin sought you out. And I can tell you for damn sure there’s no record of you lodging any complaints with the police in New York.”

  Well, wasn’t that just perfect? “So if I’d been found strangled on my doorstep, they wouldn’t have had a clue as to whom to arrest, I suppose? That’s incredibly reassuring.” Vaguely, she wondered what else Aidan had unearthed about her in his search. She tilted her head back against the white satin bedspread and allowed the cool material to tickle her neck and shoulders. “I have to say, they didn’t seem all that impressed with threats written in rhyming stanzas.”

  “They’re going to be pretty freaking sorry they weren’t more impressed when I call them tonight and raise hell over there.” He turned sideways to face her, sweeping aside the gossamer bed veils and anchoring himself with one long arm across the mattress. “And I can assure you we’ll know exactly where this Vanderwalk guy is by tomorrow.”

  Warmth swirled through her, a tingly, unfamiliar feeling of having someone else look out for her. “Thank you. I’ve been meaning to get in touch with the police down here to at least alert them to the situation. I don’t think Jimmy would ever leave New York to seek me out, but then again…”

  “Never underestimate your enemy. Can you define the nature of the threats he made against you?”

  “They were pretty vague for the most part. He never spelled out any particular form of violence, just expressed a desire not to hurt me. Of course, as soon as he’d say that, he’d invariably follow it up with some sort of line about how I provided him with no alternatives.” And she’d hated the fear that instilled in her.

  Her whole life she’d prided herself on confronting challenges, charging through her male-dominated industry armed with cool professionalism and the drive to get a job done. But those months where Jimmy had been following her around, sending her the letters, she’d retreated from everything.

  When the opportunity arose in South Beach for her to pitch in at Club Paradise, she’d jumped at the chance to escape the prison her life had become. And even though she was pretty certain she’d have moved to Florida no matter what, it bothered her that the decision had been made for her because she’d been living in fear.

  “So there were never any more specific threats made?” Jaw clenched, eyes intense, Aidan had morphed into investigative mode—asking questions and looking for clues. For once, his job didn’t seem dangerous so much as noble.

  “Well, come to think of it, one of the creepiest letters he sent said something about my defection being like a knife in his heart and how he hoped I’d never experience that kind of pain.” In a fit of paranoia, she’d dumped every kitchen knife she owned into the drawer under her oven. Surely no psychotic stalker would think to look for a knife there should he attempt to attack her in her home?

  The string of curses Aidan ripped loose could have made a sailor blush. Undaunted by the phenomenon, Brianne only wished the New York police had been half so enraged on her account.

  When he finished his wine and seemed to have himself under control again, he looked only semi-apoplectic.

  “Do you have these letters?” Maybe Aidan had gleaned that the memory still unsettled her because he retrieved the bottle of wine from the bar and then sat back down to refill her glass. His movements were stiff, his gestures tautly cont
rolled.

  “I left a few of the early originals with the cops in New York, but I still have the note about the knife in my chest.” She’d stashed that one at the back of her closet.

  “If you give it to me, I’ll make sure it’s recorded in police files.” His fingers toyed restlessly with the edge of a scarf tossed across the foot of the bed. Brianne happened to know the gauzy white scarf was part of a belly dancing costume Summer wanted to hang on one of the walls, but all she’d managed to acquire so far were the headpiece and veil.

  Watching Aidan’s big hands adjust the line of beads across the bottom of the veil did shivery things to her insides even though she knew he flipped the fabric back and forth out of thinly controlled frustration.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about all this before?” His gray gaze pierced hers in the soft glow of the electric candlelight, his jaw flexing rapidly. “For that matter, why the hell didn’t you pick up a phone in New York and utilize your FBI contact to leverage some help for yourself, Bri? I would have—” He shook his head, huffed out an aggravated sigh. “You should have called me.”

  “Not in a million years would it have occurred to me to call the guy who investigated my former stepfather’s crimes to ask for help.” She’d worked hard to put Aidan Maddock—and her boundary-pushing behavior with him—out of her mind once she started college. “As for why I didn’t say anything about it the last couple of days… I guess I’ve been preoccupied with getting the club off the ground.” Normally, she would have stopped there, but the wine on an empty stomach seemed to rob her of her usual reserve. Her smooth control. “And maybe I was a little embarrassed to admit I’d gotten involved with a guy like that. It scares me to think I’m turning into Pauline.”

  “Embarrassed? I can’t believe you just said that. You’d ream out any of your girlfriends if they ever said they were too embarrassed to point the finger at a loser-ass stalker. And pardon the clueless guy over here, Bri, but what does being embarrassed have to do with your mother?”

  “She’s got a bad habit of choosing guys who are no good for her. That’s always driven me crazy about her and now I’m convinced I’m following that same self-destructive path in her size five footsteps.” She finished her second glass and peered down at the miniature monitor screen on her wrist—the remote monitoring system was rotating views of various rooms depending on the time. Now, she was able to access the darkened dance club, the Ocean Drive entrance to the club, an elevator bank and…the Pasharina’s Palace.

  Complete with a lovely view of her and Aidan lounging next to one another on the floor.

  She wanted to turn off the lighted display, but something about the intimate picture captured her director’s eye. The lighting in the room flickered with suggestive intimacy. The couple on the floor floated on a backdrop of washed-out colors—barely-there lavender bed hangings, the white bedspread in the background, a pale carpet below them.

  “Everything okay?” Aidan’s long arm was already breaching the rattan basket barrier to brush her wrist and catch a glimpse. Brianne shut off the display.

  She didn’t have to wonder if he’d seen the image on the screen. The new heat in his glance told her he had.

  “You’re going to get in a hell of a lot of legal trouble if you rent out hotel rooms with video cameras in them, Brianne.” His voice hit a gravelly note that rumbled right through her.

  “The cameras in private rooms will be removed before we open. I just move them around among the rooms Summer will be working on so I can make sure she’s safe. And so she can act out her lunch order for me when she gets hungry.” Of course, her charades were always a challenge given she ate things like tofu on rye and bean sprout salad. “The cameras will be available on a closed circuit for making private videos once we reopen, however.”

  He lifted a brow. “Which brings me back to an interesting point we started to discuss earlier today before we went to your mother’s. How exactly are you marketing Club Paradise given all the erotic statues and provocative themes? I thought I heard you were leaving behind the couples theme with the new renovations.” Loosening his tie, he sent her a look that would have flash-fried a lesser woman.

  As it stood, she was merely a little singed around the edges.

  “Actually, we are stressing the singles angle with the revamped club. None of the new owners were too excited about the schmaltzy lovebirds logo on every blanket, towel and bathrobe in the place.” Her throat went dry as the atmosphere in the room shifted, thickened.

  “So instead of catering to people who are in love, you’re creating the ultimate setting for people looking to hook up. No wonder you’re calling it Club Paradise. People are going to flock here in droves.”

  Brianne watched as Aidan flicked open the top button of his shirt. He’d ditched his jacket earlier, maybe when he went to retrieve the bottle of wine.

  The man looked damn good in a tie.

  Crisp cotton outlined his sinewy arms, stretched across his chest. She knew if she tunneled her fingers through his shirt she’d find solid, defined abs and more tan skin. Not that she could reach him even if she had allowed herself to touch him.

  Some genius with no clue about sex drive had put a wall of baskets between them.

  “My years as a director assured me sex sells.” Sex also made even the smartest of women do stupid things. Like scale perfectly good barriers to get to the object of their lust. And Aidan sure looked tempting right about now. “Or at least the promise of sex sells.”

  “Frankly, you have me sold.” He ran a finger under a collar now considerably loosened. “Brianne, I think I’d better go check in with the police station, or make some calls before things get…complicated.”

  No.

  She’d been so damn sure they shouldn’t be together again, but after sharing her past with Aidan she felt just a little vulnerable. Emotions she’d tamped down for too long churned at the surface, leaving her confused, restless. She wanted Aidan—needed him—to relieve that edginess. If she were completely honest with herself, she had to admit, she also needed to borrow his strength, indulge in his warmth on a night of confessions that had left her defenseless.

  She ran an idle fingertip over the ridge of woven rattan that formed her makeshift table. Had she really thought that being strong had to do with knowing when to erect barriers?

  Maybe sometimes being a strong woman meant knowing when to tear them down.

  “I think we passed the complicated stage in this relationship ten years ago. And just in case you’re at all concerned about what I want right now, I don’t care about how fast you contact the police or how soon we learn where my psycho ex is hanging out.” She took a deep breath and shoved aside the basket closest to her. “Between visiting my mother, hearing from Mel and then sharing my darkest secret with you, I’m feeling a little unsteady. And I just keep thinking maybe I’d be able to settle down and pull it together if only I could indulge the one thing I’ve been thinking about since we walked in this room.”

  Aidan probably never suspected. Freud had searched half his life for the answer to what women want. How could she expect a bachelor FBI agent with a dating track record as spotty as Melvin Baxter’s income tax returns would ever be able to answer that?

  He quirked a lazy brow in her direction. “Which is?”

  “I think we ought to christen the Pasharina’s Palace with sweaty, no-holds-barred sex.”

  SHE’D BEEN THINKING that?

  Hell and damn.

  Fascinated, Aidan watched in a state of frozen lust as Brianne gave the baskets separating them a final nudge with her knee. She rose up on all fours to close the distance between them.

  Strictly speaking, he supposed she was crawling her way across the carpet. But “crawling” hardly did her slow prowl justice. She covered the terrain on all fours with enough steamy attitude to fog his contact lenses.

  He needed to check out her stalker. Protect her, not sleep with her. Damn it, he’d been prepared to be noble
and do the upstanding thing.

  But then again, it wouldn’t be noble to duck out on a woman who’d just admitted to feeling vulnerable. His need to protect her slowly shifted into the dawning realization that maybe if he claimed her tonight he’d be able to look out for her all the more. Possibly that thought sprang to mind because she hovered mere inches away, her unconventional position giving him an incredible view down her blouse.

  “I’m driving you home later.” If he had to cave tonight, he would at least make that clear up front. “No changing your mind just because you decide to give me the boot in the middle of the night.”

  She ducked her head to brush her lips along his neck, under his jaw. “Maybe if you please me, I won’t be inclined to boot you out.”

  “I hope you aren’t going to suggest for a moment that I didn’t please you last time.” The silk of her tank top slid over his dress shirt, her breasts a soft weight beneath the fabric. “But if that’s a challenge, lady, you can bet your gadget collection I’m taking you up on it.” Only Brianne would issue sexual challenges while experiencing vulnerability.

  Then again, maybe her sudden sexy attitude was simply a cover for deeper insecurities. Hurts.

  Ah damn, he didn’t want to think that.

  Couldn’t stand the idea of someone hurting her below the surface where he hadn’t been able to see it right away.

  She licked a path down his throat to the V of his shirt but Aidan gently gripped her upper arms and righted her so she faced him on her knees.

  “Are you sure about this, Bri?” He’d probably overstepped his bounds a bit with the strip search. He sure as hell wasn’t going to play games with her while she still reeled from all the baggage—the fear—someone else had dumped on her.

  Her green eyes shifted from dull jade to bright emerald. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.” She blinked quickly. Maintained his gaze. “I know I’m engaging in emotional decision-making here, but I want to feel good again. Sexy. Whole.”