What a Girl Wants

by Selena Robins

  All his blood had rushed south when she had opened the door to her suite tonight. He had barely been able to put together a coherent sentence as he took in her hotness.

  Spectacular.

  The black dress had caused hard wood; this red, off-the-shoulder number—both seductive and elegant—would probably kill him. He was sure sleep would elude him again tonight. Last night had been torturous; he’d dreamed of nothing but her mouthwatering legs wrapped around his waist.

  However, there were more pressing matters to focus on. He would arrange to have Tim tour the island with her for the next couple of days while he carried out an investigation to confirm his suspicions.

  He forced a smile, headed toward her and cupped her elbow. “You keep that up and you’re going to need Chocoholics Anonymous.”

  “Mmmm. Good idea. Never be twelve steps away from chocolate.” She grabbed another éclair and took a healthy bite of the pastry. “I’ll be ready to go in five.”

  He grinned, even though his mind was filled with reservations and distrust.

  Hollister Empire: Hidden Secrets, the headline screamed.

  Maxwell Hollister finished reading the tabloid Reckless Times in his private living room.

  Most of his guests had left the party, which enabled him to concentrate on the situation that could shatter his carefully guarded privacy before he was ready for the world to know the truth. Not to mention get one of his closest friends and confidante into serious trouble.

  He slammed the tabloid on the mahogany coffee table and glowered at private investigator Victor Grant, who sat in the suede armchair. “How the hell did this happen?”

  “Mr. Hollister,” Victor said. “We think one of the maids you fired spoke to a reporter. I’ve instructed my contacts to get in touch with the editors to squash—”

  “The hell with your so-called contacts. I want you to personally find and smother the leaks before those damn rags start naming names. While you’re at it, get them off my ex-wife’s trail. Jesus Christ. I don’t need anyone to dig that up after all these years.”

  “I’ll start on it right away, sir. I wouldn’t put too much stock in those papers. They’ve only printed veiled innuendos. The headline’s only there to sell their rag.”

  Maxwell poured two fingers of brandy into a crystal glass. He shot the fiery liquid down his throat. “If one of those paparazzi assholes goes within a hundred feet of that little girl, or if they hint at my association with Galvin, I’ll personally see to it that you never work again.”

  “I understand your concern, sir, but Ms. Saunders is hardly a little girl—”

  “She is to me.”

  Victor nodded. “There has never been a connection leading Mr. Galvin to you. What is his story?”

  “You know better than to ask me anything about that.”

  “Understood. I’ll notify the hotel staff and ask them to keep an eye out for anyone asking questions.”

  Maxwell drained the brandy and set the glass down. He turned when he heard Carl enter the room. “Did you connect George Saunders on the phone?”

  “Mr. Saunders is on hold.” Carl refilled Maxwell’s glass and left the room.

  Maxwell pressed the speakerphone button. “Saunders, answers. Now.”

  “What are you talking about? Didn’t you meet her?” George asked.

  “I met Madison.” Maxwell’s voice softened when he mentioned her name. “Listen carefully. If you want me to bail your sorry ass out of bankruptcy, you’d better have a good explanation as to why Donovan is on my case.”

  “On your case? Look, I did everything you requested,” George said. “I arranged for Maddie and Donovan to travel to the island. I said I’d make sure Donovan’s interview and article would be light, focusing mainly on the island. What’s the problem?”

  Maxwell prowled the length of the room. “You told me Donovan and Madison were platonic friends.”

  “Correct. They’ve been friends for over five years.”

  “Bullshit.” Maxwell undid his tie and tossed it on to a nearby chair. “No sooner were they on the island than they were in each other’s arms in that damn bar. Didn’t you get the PI’s report the other night?”

  “I did.” George sighed aloud. “I can’t control her every move. She’s a strong-willed adult now, Maxwell. Look, he won’t take advantage of her. Alex is a good man.”

  “He’s not good enough for Madison. He’s a felon—”

  “Jesus, he was fifteen years old and he more than paid for his juvenile mistakes. You gave me your word you would keep that confidential. Right?”

  Maxwell ignored George’s question. “Madison should be introduced to suitable young men from society’s finest families. Not an arrogant reporter.”

  “Donovan isn’t exactly a pauper.”

  “He’s right, Mr. Hollister,” Victor interrupted. “Our thorough background check indicated that Alex Donovan has a lucrative portfolio and owns two apartments in New York City—”

  “Your supposed expertise is well noted.” Maxwell turned to Victor, grinding the words out between his teeth. “It took Donovan five minutes to figure out your minions were following them.”

  “I told you he was sharp,” George said. “Now, let’s all calm down. Alex may be leaving in a few weeks. He’s a top candidate for England.”

  “Then offer the position to him. Now. We can get another reporter to write my story.”

  “I can’t do that.” George sounded stressed. “There’s a complication, but I’m sure it will sort itself out.”

  “Fix this complication.”

  After a slight pause, George said, “I’ll see what I can do. Why do you dislike Donovan so much?”

  “He’s cocky and pushy with his damn questions. I don’t have to explain myself to anybody.” He jammed his hand through his hair. “It was a reporter like him who forced me into exile and ruined my life.”

  “I know. That’s why I recommended Alex,” George said. “He’s nowhere near the type of sleazy ambulance chasers you’ve experienced. Donovan is considered a god among journalists everywhere. You’ve read his bio. You must have gathered that he’s a highly acclaimed reporter. He also contracts out for CNN. He has ink running through his veins and could probably extract secrets from Al Qaeda, given the chance.”

  Maxwell stiffened when he heard the pride in George’s voice. “God among journalists? You media trolls love drama.”

  “Let me remind you, you wanted this interview,” George said. “And as we discussed, I told him to treat this as a reward for his hard work and to relax for a few weeks. But the guy is one of the best news hounds in the business.”

  “Saunders, let me remind you, that you sold your niece’s information.”

  A few seconds passed before George answered. “You agreed to have Alex interview—”

  “Because you told me that he’d write a light interview and support Madison when the time came.”

  “I’m sure he’ll help her through it.” George sounded anxious. “When do you think that time will be?”

  Maxwell drew a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. “Soon. I’m not ready yet.” He had to do more research, get the test done and wait for the results. He’d accomplished this without alerting Madison. Donovan was sharp, he’d give him that, and getting the test done without raising the smug reporter’s suspicions was going to be a challenge. “I’ll see you tomorrow night in New York.” He released the speakerphone button and turned to Victor. “Comb every inch of this island and make damn sure there are no paparazzi around.”

  Victor nodded. “Is there anything else, sir?”

  “Confirm my appointment at the Plaza with Crystal Washington.”

  Maxwell peered out the bay window into the moonlit sky. He looked across and eyed Madison and Alex, strolling along the flagstone pathway by his living room wi
ndow.

  He turned to Victor. “You can leave now.”

  Maxwell looked at Madison and swallowed past a lump in his throat. Donovan glanced around as if checking the area. He stopped and stared at Maxwell through the glass. Donovan lifted his brows and swung his arm around Madison’s shoulders.

  Maxwell caught and held the reporter’s glare. He bit down hard on his molars.

  Cocky bastard. I’ll wipe your arrogance off your face when I blow up your past in front of the world.

  Donovan turned his head away from the window and continued walking.

  Maxwell closed his eyes and visualized the hidden fragments of his life that had begun to emerge from the shadows of his past.

  He wondered if the confrontation of the truth would finally set him free, or hurt the wrong person.

  Chapter Nine

  “That would be a good thing for them to cut on my tombstone:

  Wherever she went, including here, it was against her better judgment.”

  —Dorothy Parker

  By eight o’clock the next morning, Alex had put his body through his version of a stress-management circuit—pumping iron, running on the beach and swimming laps.

  He tossed the empty Gatorade bottle into his suite’s garbage bin. Yawning, he stretched his arms above his head. Exhaustion had finally crept into his punished muscles. He’d had another sleepless night. His suspicions surrounding George and Hollister had whirled through his mind stronger than a desert sand storm.

  When he did manage some shut-eye, he was haunted by images of Maddie in a black mini, Maddie in a red dress and Maddie in a bikini.

  Christ. Maddie wearing his grandma’s flannel could cause an impressive erection.

  He wanted her. She wanted him.

  Why the hell was he resisting it?

  Because he wanted to protect their relationship. Their platonic relationship.

  There was also loyalty to George, his possible move to England and memories of another affair with a colleague turned bad. He’d been reminding himself of those reasons day and night, but that didn’t stop him from wanting her.

  He shrugged out of his T-shirt and heard a knock. He wrapped the shirt around his neck and yanked open the door.

  “Morning.” Maddie smiled. One hand was on her hip and the other clutched her laptop. “Can I come in?”

  He stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. “Morning, doll. Come.” If only.

  She ambled into the room, her lavender scent assailing his senses and reminding him of how it felt to have her soft body in his arms and taste the sweetness of her lips. A wild jackrabbit replaced the even beating of his heart when he looked at her freshly scrubbed, pretty face.

  A vivid fantasy materialized in his head of a naked Maddie stepping out of a steam-filled shower, beads of water clinging to her curves. He projected himself into that picture, kissing each drop, one by one.

  A fresh layer of perspiration coated his skin and of course, his groin tightened.

  “Looks like you’ve had a strenuous morning.” She raked her gaze from his chest to his waist. “Hope it was worth it, big guy.”

  He whipped his T-shirt off his neck and hung it in front of his body to hide his morning wood. “To what do I owe the pleasure this early? You, who loves to sleep in more than eating junk food.”

  “Nothing beats junk food.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Well, maybe one thing. Mind-blowing—”

  He shook a finger in her direction. “Maddie.”

  “I was going to say, mind-blowing chocolate fondue.” She batted her eyelashes. “What were you thinking?”

  His T-shirt slipped out of his hand and tumbled to the floor. He bent to pick it up and paused, taking advantage of the opportunity to admire her pink-tinted toes and shapely ankles for three thumping heartbeats.

  What was it about her ankles?

  Answer—he’d envisioned them slung over his shoulders.

  Damn.

  Blood rushed south, causing him to harden even more.

  He grabbed the T-shirt and accidentally brushed his arm against her silky leg on his way up. The contact sparked enough chemistry to singe his eyebrows.

  The energy expended to not jump her bones rivaled his vigorous workout, which obviously hadn’t helped him at all.

  “My Internet connection doesn’t work,” she said. “Can I use yours?”

  He mentally threw a bucket of ice down his pants. “Mine doesn’t work, either. Neither does Tim’s.”

  That morning, the front desk had informed him the DSL had been disconnected due to a server problem. He was then told the phone lines could not be used for Internet access due to a high volume of incoming calls. High volume? It would have made sense if not for the fact Makana were a tiny island, catering mainly to the rich and infamous.

  Alex had given the resort the benefit of the doubt, but discovering that Hollister owned the luxury resort had raised one island-sized red flag. Especially when he was told the Internet service wouldn’t be restored for another few weeks. This, coupled with the information in the file on Hollister’s desk, had aroused his suspicions even further.

  His knee-jerk reaction had been to get inside the main computer room and poke around. When he had suggested it to his friend, Tim reminded him of the few days they’d spent in a Mexican jail for their uninvited entrance in a Mexican government office. Which was an experience Alex hadn’t wanted to repeat, either. Neither did he want to do anything that might ruin Maddie’s time on the island, since she was never far behind him.

  He tucked away his sleuthing instincts for the time being. With the information he already had, he was sure he didn’t have to risk bending the law to discover what he needed before he confronted Hollister and George, anyway.

  Maddie placed her laptop on the floor and let out an exaggerated gasp. “We’re marooned.” Raising her fist to her mouth as if it were a microphone, she hummed the Gilligan’s Island theme. She swayed her hips and sang, changing the lyrics, replacing his name with the Captain’s. “No Internet. No e-mail…”

  Maddie was the only woman who could play havoc with his libido and at the same time, make him laugh like the best buddy she was.

  Go figure.

  He clapped his hands. “You finished?”

  “Could this be a conspiracy?” She cupped her hand over her mouth. “Oh my. Maybe someone actually wants you to relax?”

  “Comedian.” He opened his briefcase. “You can use my Blackberry. It has a wireless connection and I was able to tap into a local provider.”

  “I’ll bet the Professor was your idol, huh?”

  He sat and turned his Blackberry on. “Nope. I was in the Mary Ann camp.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her sashay around the desk.

  She stood in front of him. “I’ve always wondered about something.”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “If the Professor could make a radio out of a coconut, why couldn’t he fix the hole in the boat?”

  He looked up and took in her black shorts that bonded to her like paper on a wall and showed off every inch of her mile-long legs. “You got me there.” And in other places.

  She adjusted the collar on her blouse. “You know what else I’ve always wondered?”

  “Hmmm?” She hadn’t heeded his advice about wearing a bra. His overprotectiveness still had him baffled, since he was never one to correct a woman’s personal hold on decency.

  “I’ve always wondered if the Professor and Mary Ann had an island fling.” She twirled a loose strand of hair around her finger. “After all, they were stuck on that island for so long, and—”

  “And it was a family show. Besides, the Professor had other things on his mind.”

  “We’re on an island. You have that professor-like mindset.” She untucked her blouse, and knotted the ends
in the front. “Do I remind you of Mary Ann?”

  He swallowed a groan.

  “You don’t bake pies.” Food would be the last thing on his mind if they were marooned on an island. “But you’d give Gilligan a run for his money.”

  Her laughter floated through the air and landed on his dick. He doubted there was any blood left in other parts of his body now. “By the way, Mary Ann, are you planning to wear that get-up outside?”

  “What?”

  “Because if you think I’m going to let you run around loose dressed like that, you’re crazy.”

  She lightly punched his arm. “Don’t worry, Professor. This is for your benefit only.”

  Great. He had to ask, didn’t he?

  He keyed in his password. She hovered over him, her sweet breath fanning his neck. He shifted to the side to escape her nearness and his shoulder swept the tip of her breast. He rubbed the back of his neck and concentrated on baseball scores.

  “This is so cool.” She pointed to the Blackberry. “You’re going to have to hook me up with one of these gizmos.” Her voice radiated the megawatt energy that was so much part of her attractiveness. “You have any juice?”

  “Fridge.”

  While he waited for the Blackberry to connect to the Internet, he watched as she stood by the window and brought the bottle of orange juice to her full, seductive lips.

  He took in the picture she made and the jackrabbit in his chest hopped around at full force. Her hair was piled loosely on top of her head, with fallen strands around her neck and ears. Different shades of red and brown shimmered as the morning sun beamed through the window.

  He’d forgotten that he’d cranked up the air conditioner after his run and it now had a physical—arousing—effect on her.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Here he was on an exotic island with a hot woman he liked. Everything going on in his life, plus his hands-off-Maddie-policy—it had Greek tragedy written all over it.

  He blinked and turned his attention to the Blackberry screen.

  She walked over to the desk and tugged his earlobe. “You ready for me?”

  Hard and ready. “Not yet.”