Sex & the Single Girl (14 page)

The group approved several new decorating themes, reviewed their first few nights' operating expenses on spreadsheets conveniently tucked into plastic protectors, and confirmed their reopening for at least a portion of the hotel in two weeks' time. The redecorating effort would continue for months but they needed the
income of renting rooms out to support further updates in the resort.

As they finished business and poured the champagne—a must for keeping spirits up in a new venture, they all agreed—Giselle proposed a toast to their success. “And although I tried to tell my family I didn't need their help,” Giselle continued between sips, “my brothers said they will be stopping by the club in the next couple of weeks. So if anyone stumbles on a bunch of Italian guys who look like Mafia dropouts, don't panic—the Cesare brothers have arrived. You can just point them toward the kitchen and I'll try to keep them out of the way.”

Summer clinked her glass against Brianne's. “Woohoo! Just what we need. More men.”

“Speaking of which,” Brianne settled deeper into her neck massager seat and let the jets soothe some of the edgy tension away that had been dogging her ever since Aidan showed up at Club Paradise. “Anything new to report in the men department?”

She was much better at asking the questions than being on the receiving end so why not beat them to the punch?

Lainie rolled her eyes, Giselle shook her head full of pinned-up dark hair and Summer snorted. “Any guys I've talked to here are either too wild or as interesting as cardboard. Nothing in between.”

“Amen.” Giselle obviously seconded the notion.

“What about you, Brianne?” Lainie posed the question with her attorney in cross-examination mode voice—friendly enough on the surface, but probably
ready to pounce. “Is Agent Maddock still determined to be your lover?”

Brianne nearly choked on her sparkling bubbles. “Excuse me?”

“I thought our FBI friend planned to manufacture an affair with you as a cover for his presence in the club,” Lainie replied easily while Giselle and Summer smothered laughter. “But I guess no one has seen enough of him for him to need a cover. Except for you, of course.”

Brianne had the sinking feeling the cat had leapt out of the bag. In a hurry. “I take it I'm caught?”

“The girls in housekeeping were suspicious that they were getting laundry orders before we opened for business,” Summer supplied helpfully once she got her smirk under control. “I don't think any of us are going to be able to keep secrets around here.”

Brianne floundered for how to respond to conversation she would categorize as girl talk. Something she'd done an excellent job of sidestepping up until now in her life. “Unfortunately our attraction makes no sense.”

“That's the best kind!” Giselle protested, topping off the champagne Brianne had gulped down in a hurry. “I think that's totally romantic.”

Brianne failed to see what could be romantic about falling for a guy who carried a gun and spent his nights in raucous clubs, his days in the most dangerous parts of town.

Although she couldn't deny she'd been a little weak-kneed when she'd discovered the big, bad-ass federal
agent had pretended to be a telemarketer to make sure her psycho ex-boyfriend was still far away.

“Just don't toss aside a chance for happiness because Maddock doesn't fit your idea of the right guy for you, Bri.” Summer added her wisdom to the pile while Brianne waited to hear Lainie's verdict on the situation.

And waited.

“Call me Machiavellian,” Lainie finally began, tapping one shiny red nail on the smooth concrete rim of the sunken hot tub. “But I just keep thinking how cool it would be for one of our partners to have an ‘in' with the FBI. Voila—instant credibility again. I'm thinking it would be a sound corporate investment for us to spring for the wedding.”

“A wedding?” Brianne didn't waste any time reaching for the confiscated squirt gun and letting Lainie have it—red nails, perfect hair and all.

And as the Club Paradise management meeting erupted into a full-scale water war, Brianne couldn't help but think she'd done pretty well at her first foray into girl talk.

She just hoped her diversionary tactic of a squirt gun battle had concealed the fluttery panic attack that had accompanied Lainie's mention of Aidan and a wedding.

And she really, really hoped that the fluttering feeling she'd experienced had indeed been a panic attack, and not—as some inner voice kept insisting—a little bit of hope.

A
IDAN SHOULDERED
his way out the back doors of the Moulin Rouge Lounge toward the patio late that night. Stepping on to the sprawling deck behind the club, he took deep breaths of the fresh ocean breeze blowing off the water, a welcome respite after the smoke-filled labyrinth of the A-list hot spot he'd just left.

Would this be enough space for Brianne?

Him outside, her ensconced in her office a few hundred yards away through concrete and steel. She seemed most at home in her sterile, high-tech world without messy complications—where she held all the controls.

In charge. Alone.

He walked away from the club, through the expanse of deck loungers and patio tables and toward the water to meet his contact. Tonight's earlier appointment with Daisy had come up empty. The club's cigarette girl had been more interested in romance than relaying in formation so Aidan had cut ties with her. He wondered if Brianne had realized that from her office perch on the other side of the camera that had no doubt witnessed the incident.

Did she understand Aidan had been freeing her from
her services, or did she only see Daisy's ever-ready kisses?

A man could only escape an anaconda so quickly.

Feet zigzagging in and out of the surf, Aidan dared the water to touch his shoes while he looked for his next contact and thought about Brianne.

The meeting with Daisy tonight might have been professionally frustrating, but it had also been personally enlightening. Those few seconds of being accosted by a relentless female had made him realize he didn't want to waste any more time in his life hanging out with women only interested on the most basic of human connection.

Sex in South Beach was pretty damn easy to come by after all. He hadn't exactly been deprived in that department since his divorce.

Being groped by the overenthusiastic Daisy helped him see he'd reached a point in life where he wanted more than sex. And he wanted
more
with Brianne Wolcott.

But first he needed to convince her to give up a little of that space she seemed too intent on keeping.

He'd covered about a quarter of a mile before his feet got wet. Funny how thinking about Brianne had the power to shatter his focus every time.

“Aidan?” The masculine voice of his new contact carried through the dark on the wind.

Turning, Aidan spotted Jackson Taggart reclining on a low-slung lounger amid a grouping of resort chairs left on the beach. Jackson sported a golf shirt and jeans—not his usual jacket and tie getup. His short hair
stood on end as if he'd run restless fingers through it more than once.

Lowering himself into a seat beside his rumpled college roommate, Aidan settled back against the weathered canvas to stare out over the waves. “Sorry I couldn't meet you any earlier. I'm finding myself with several leads all of a sudden and a lot to follow up on.” Not to mention Brianne's close encounter with a stalker.

He'd taken time away from his investigation this afternoon to cash in favors with every agent he knew in and around New York. If Vanderwalk took a flight out of the city or used his credit card to purchase gas in another state, Aidan planned to know about it.

Jackson nodded, only half listening. His gaze swept the dark water as if searching for a horizon he wouldn't find for hours. “No problem. I just wanted to let you know I have reason to believe Melvin Baxter is on the move. Probably within Florida state lines. Possibly in the city.”

Aidan thought the same thing. But he knew damn well Jackson would never make a statement without proof. “I'm really hoping you're not going to cop out on how you heard this by offering up some bogus attorney-client privilege.”

He held his breath while he waited for an answer.

The response could make or break his case.

Finally, Jackson shook his head. “It's nothing like that. I'd never betray a confidence that way. This is a hell of a lot more esoteric. I don't have a clue if I'm doing the right thing by coming to you.”

Shoving up to a sitting position, Aidan confronted
his longtime friend. “You're a grade A straight arrow. What choice would you have besides coming to the FBI if you had information pertaining to the case?”

“I overheard my father talking to Mel on the phone tonight.”

His father the former FBI director. His father the popular politician and reigning head of the sprawling Taggart clan. His father the betrayer whom Aidan had come to suspect of thwarting his first case ten years ago.

“Shit.” Aidan knew that had to suck. He'd been avoiding a conversation with Jackson about his dad for weeks because nobody wanted to hear their parent might be operating on the wrong side of the law.

“My thoughts exactly.” Jackson met his eyes in the dim light cast by a long line of resorts built on the water. “I went by my parents' place for dinner tonight and ended up catching snippets of my dad's call while he was talking on a phone in the garden. I should have walked away. Or else I should have confronted him about it afterward.” He scrubbed a hand across his forehead and back over his scalp, causing his close-cut hair to stand up even straighter. “But the whole thing reeks of bad news and I didn't know who else to call.”

The time had arrived for Aidan to be honest about his suspicions of the elder Taggart. Jackson deserved to know everything Aidan could tell him—which sure as hell wasn't much—but he damn well wouldn't like it.

First, Aidan needed to cut through the personal ramifications of the situation to figure out what Mel was
up to, however. “What exactly went down during this conversation?”

“Hearing only one side of it, I can't know for sure. But it sounded to me like Mel was asking my dad to move money around for him.” Jackson huffed out a sigh. Drummed his fingers on the polished wooden armrests of his lounge chair. “Possibly he only called to ask my father to represent him, but that seems unlikely since Dad hasn't practiced criminal defense in almost twenty years. He would never consider taking on a high-profile case with such a well-known crook, especially as he's up for a judge's seat if the fall elections go his way.”

Of course they hadn't been discussing that. Mel hadn't even been arrested yet. He sure as hell wouldn't be shopping for an attorney.

And Aidan had a new reason to face old man Taggart with his accusations. No way would he stand by while Jackson's father was appointed to the judge's bench if the guy had conspired with criminals in his past.

“What makes you think Mel needed him to move money around?” Aidan liked to think Melvin sat in a hotel somewhere under an anonymous name, growing more and more nervous about his U.S. bank accounts.

Growing more and more nervous that Aidan breathed down his neck.

Jackson quit his drumming rhythm. “Dad said something about banks needing extensive identification to withdraw that much money.”

Bingo.

And if Mel begged a favor from a prominent Miami
politician when he needed to remain underground, he must be getting desperate for his cash. Now that Taggart had said no, Aidan had a good idea who would be next on Mel's list.

Too bad Aidan would talk to her first.

Before Aidan could comment, Jackson pounded the armrest with his fist. “If Dad had some sort of long-ago attorney-client relationship with Melvin and I'm breaking that confidence by talking to you—”

“He couldn't have and you know it.” Aidan wouldn't let Jack beat himself up over this. He was too honorable of a guy to be caught up in crooked politics. “Your father could have never supervised my investigation into the Baxter case ten years ago when he was a director at the Bureau if he'd ever worked with Melvin.”

A string of curses unlike anything Aidan had ever heard issued forth from Jack's mouth. And that was saying something considering some of the bad-ass trash talkers Aidan had tangled with in his day.

Then Jackson's shoulders slumped, yet his body remained taut with a tension Aidan couldn't begin to imagine. He knew he needed to hash this out with Jackson tonight, he just hoped he'd have enough time left to face Brianne before she hotfooted out of the club. He'd given her some space, but he'd be damned if he'd back off.

Aidan glanced back up at Club Paradise and wondered if Brianne had thought about him half as much today as he'd thought about her. About what they'd shared.

Yeah, he definitely needed to talk to her about last
night. But first, the time had come for him and Jack to have a long conversation. “I've been meaning to talk to you about your father….”

 

B
RIANNE'S FINGER HOVERED
over the rewind button for camera number seven. If she nudged the surveillance tape back by just a few hours she'd be able to see Aidan fending off some major tongue work from Daisy the cigarette girl.

Again.

Tapping the key, she reminded herself she didn't want to watch any such thing. Bad enough she'd had to view them together—again—on live video feed earlier that night. Yet some inner demon kept reminding her of their odd interaction, urged her to roll the tape one more time so she could tell herself Aidan was a player.

That he would never be the man for her.

Her finger twitched, wriggled. Then finally stabbed the stop button with resounding force.

No way would she play adolescent games with herself. Or Aidan. They both deserved better from her, especially since she recognized Aidan had ended whatever relationship he'd had with Daisy. Body language told a more eloquent story than words ever could. And judging by Aidan's tense reaction to Daisy's lascivious lips, Brianne knew the petite blonde hadn't exactly been lighting his fire.

Brianne just hoped she'd have the chance to try sparking a few flames with him again one of these days.

Sighing, she shut down the club for the night, lock
ing doors and tightening security with the flip of a few switches. Aidan hadn't returned since early that night when their exchange had been stiff, cool.

She'd been so busy chewing nails over the whole Daisy incident she hadn't bothered to think it through rationally, let alone ask Aidan about it. Instead she'd retreated behind her safe walls and Aidan hadn't seemed to mind giving her the space. He'd been distracted, edgy to leave the office.

And she hadn't seen him—on camera or off—since then.

The empty ache inside her all night told her she missed him. She had no idea how his case had progressed in the last twenty-four hours because she hadn't bothered to ask him in her haste to run away.

Not only was she intellectually curious about his investigation, she realized she cared about it because he did.

All signs pointed to her falling for him hard and fast despite her lame attempts to keep him at arm's length. Maybe instead of pushing Aidan away because of her insecurities, she should be tackling her own problems in the hope that one day she'd be ready for the kind of relationship he seemed to offer.

The notion frightened and excited her at the same time. And as she wondered how she could ever get her act together enough to be with an FBI agent for more than just one night, a knock sounded at her office door.

Just as Aidan stepped into the room.

A thrill jumped through her at the sight of him. A tangible, head-to-toe current that tingled over her
nerves, whispered across her skin and snaked along the hem of her sleek gray minidress.

“Hi.” She stood in the middle of her office with the lights already dimmed for the night. Only her monitors blinked on the wall behind her. Her greeting seemed inadequate for all that she'd been thinking and feeling about him in the last few hours, but one look at him had scattered her thoughts.

Rendered her breathless.

He locked the door behind him. Behind them.

“I'm not leaving.” He announced this with arms folded. Between the stance of his body and the black Harley T-shirt cut off at the shoulders, he looked like a Hells Angel guarding the backstage door at a Rolling Stones concert.

Okay, maybe not quite that intimidating. Despite his resolute posture, she did have the security of knowing she could make at least
one
part of this man move.

“Oh, really?” She leaned back on the edge of her desk, relishing his proximity with her whole body while she ate up his presence with her eyes.

“I don't know what the hell I was thinking letting you scare me off with the old ‘I need space' routine, but I've had time to think it over and I've got news for you, lady.” He stared her down with glittering gray eyes. He looked like a man who had tangled with danger and lived to tell about it. A man who could hold his own no matter what came his way.

“And that is?” Her heart pounded faster. Harder.

“It's bullshit.” He relaxed his stance, walked toward her. Closer. Closer. “Pure, undiluted, smokescreen bullshit.”

Despite the fact that she'd reached a similar conclusion herself, Brianne couldn't help a shade of defensiveness. Or maybe it had more to do with some stray desire to see how far Aidan would take the offensive. “I don't know about that. I shared with you as much as I understood myself.”

Electric emotion crackled between them, heated the very air around them.

“Then you weren't trying too hard.” His hands reached out for her, skimmed her waist through the cotton jersey fabric of her short dress. “In fact, I think all your talk about needing space was just another way of saying you were too scared to try something real with me.”

“I'm not scared now.” Okay, maybe she was a little scared, but not enough to make her turn away. She wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him. To soak up his strength, his warmth that she'd been missing all night.

“That's because you're simmering with the same heat that's firing me up inside.” His hands smoothed a path up her sides until his thumbs grazed the underside of her breasts. Sent a jolt of desire straight to her most secret places. “Tomorrow you'll scram for that door so fast I'd have to tie you down to keep you here. Although, come to think of it…” He seemed to weigh the merit of the idea.