by Joanne Rock
“Why would I open my eyes when I’ve got nothing good to look at in this bed of mine?” She sighed and the breathy sound went right through him. “Maybe I just need some company.”
His body responded instantly to the suggestion. But damn it, hadn’t he just experienced some profound revelation about why it was a really bad idea for them to keep indulging in these carnal interludes?
“I don’t know, Giselle. I’m afraid if I provided the company, there wouldn’t be much sleeping going on.” He closed his eyes, thinking about exactly what she looked like naked. Now that he’d seen her for himself, his imaginings were all the better.
“No?” The innocence in her voice this time was all for show. “Then how about, if you do me the favor of your company, I’ll be a gracious hostess and let you determine the nature of our activities?”
He could almost picture her over him, issuing sexy dares while her long hair trailed to skim his chest and she gave him one of those smoldering stares with her ultra dark eyes. How could he ever turn this woman down?
“Hugh?” The gentle note of concern in her voice reminded him exactly why he needed to redirect. There remained a vulnerability about Giselle that didn’t deserve to be toyed with.
“Actually, I need to take another trip today or tomorrow.” In this case, the truth served as the best defense from her too-tempting offer. She wouldn’t be happy to hear his next destination.
“You’re not going back to the Cayman Islands?” He pictured her sitting up in bed at the news, her sheet falling down around her bare breasts.
Damn. Where had that thought come from?
He reminded himself of the boundaries he was going to resurrect to make sure he didn’t hurt her. He’d been a noble guy his whole life where women were concerned. No way would he allow a libido gone berserk to start controlling him now.
“I’ve got to go back for the interview. My editor has been getting calls about the story all morning and now she can’t wait to get behind the project.” And just like that, Hugh had been forgiven for his last transgression abroad when he pissed off British intelligence. He was once again the favored son, with a healthy budget at his disposal to nail down the Flynn story. The Herald had three other journalists working to provide companion pieces about assorted high-profile criminals who had escaped justice.
Hugh should have been flying high today to be back in his element chasing stories. Instead, all he could think about was whether or not Giselle slept naked every night.
“What more do you want to know from a crooked slimeball who cheated more people than I can count?” She shifted on the other end of the phone. He could hear the swish and slide of her sheets as she sighed.
“Personally, I don’t want to know a damn thing. I just want to lure this bastard home and raise public awareness to a point where he’ll get convicted faster than you can say ‘gotcha.’ It’s a little known or respected power of journalism to institute positive change, but it’s definitely out there for those who know how to flex it.”
So shoot him for sounding arrogant. He’d lost enough battles in his life to have earned the right to crow over those he’d won. Twenty years hadn’t been nearly enough to make him forget what it felt like to be powerless to effect change as a ten-year-old trapped in a hostile foreign country with a mother he worried about daily. He would never wield his current power lightly.
She was silent for a long moment before she spoke again. “I can see where jail would be a good thing for this man, Hugh.”
It warmed his heart to hear the steely note in her voice. And despite all his good intentions of drawing boundaries today, he found himself thinking a really dangerous thought. A thought he definitely shouldn’t share.
“Then why don’t you pack your bags and come to the West Indies with me today?” Too bad the words spoke themselves without his explicit permission. Damn it, but he wanted to be with her now. “I’ll even let you have the window seat.”
ALL HER LIFE, GISELLE HAD been waiting for an invitation like this one. What woman’s heart wouldn’t beat just a little bit faster at the notion of a whirlwind trip to the tropics alongside a man sexy enough to start a fire with one sizzling gaze?
And her heart was more susceptible than most, given her slew of burly brother protectors. As much as she adored Vito, Nico, Renzo and Marco, she’d often wished she could have some more room to make her own mistakes. To take spur-of-the-moment trips to the Caribbean.
“I wish I could. But even if I concede that maybe it’s a good idea to lure Flynn back here on the chance it might bring him to justice, you have to see where his presence is going to make things uncomfortable for me.” Then again, maybe Hugh didn’t really understand how uncomfortable it would be given her tenuous position as a part owner of Club Paradise. She couldn’t allow Robert the slimeball cheater to jeopardize what she’d worked so hard for here. “If you were taking this trip for any other reason, I would already be wearing my bikini.”
“And I bet you’d look good enough to eat. Let’s say I let you off the hook on the trip today. Would you tell me exactly what you’re wearing right now?” Hugh’s tone was light and teasing, but Giselle didn’t miss the silky, heated thread beneath.
“Wouldn’t you love to know?” She teased right back, determined not to cave in the phone sex department until he was willing to occasionally turn up and put out the fires he’d started. She’d learned a thing or two since her disastrous go-round with Flynn.
For starters, don’t do all the compromising in a relationship. Would it kill a man to occasionally fulfill a few of her needs? Maybe Hugh was too wrapped up in his career to be involved with her now.
She had thought she could handle a week of no-strings sensual exploration until Nico returned home to give her hell. But no matter how much she tried to keep pace with the hip, fearless women she worked with, she couldn’t fully escape the traditional woman within. And when push came to shove with Hugh—or any man that she’d ever dated—she didn’t want just the sex.
She craved some affection thrown in there, too. Some respect. A bit of compromise…
Who was she kidding? She wanted a relationship like Summer and Brianne had both found. But she wanted it on her own terms, and she wasn’t willing to sell herself short for a man who wouldn’t share any part of himself with her in return.
“You don’t understand.” Hugh’s teasing words hummed with a hint of underlying frustration. Hunger. “I’m an investigative reporter. I can’t handle not knowing the answer to my questions. If you can’t tell me what you’re wearing, it’s going to kill me all day.” He lowered his voice. “All night.”
She allowed herself a smile at the thought that she wouldn’t be suffering alone today. “Sorry, Hugh. I couldn’t possibly share that much of me until you’re ready to share more of you.”
Although part of her just really wanted to blurt out that she was utterly naked once again, this time because her sensitized skin couldn’t handle wearing a nightgown when she only craved Hugh’s hands on her.
“Then I’ll settle for just knowing, does it involve panties?”
“Nice try, but I’m afraid I can’t answer that, either.” She curled one end of the phone cord around her finger, delighting in the exasperated male huff on the other end of the receiver.
“You’re killing me.”
Her heart clenched at his softened tone. “You know where to find me.”
Not that he would.
She knew it. And he knew it. His story would come first today, as it surely always would.
Whispering her goodbyes in his ear, Giselle replaced the phone in its cradle and lay back down, eyes closed.
Alone once again.
8
ALONE WAS OKAY. Alone could be a good thing, Giselle told herself three days later as she hauled an overnight bag out of the trunk of her car and walked up the driveway of the home she’d grown up in. With Renzo out of the country on his honeymoon and Nico away on a road trip with his hockey
team, the Cesare house was empty this week, luring her back to spend her days off from the resort.
She’d slept at the hotel that morning, but when she woke shortly past noon, she gathered up her things for a two-day getaway in the vacated family home. She would relax, cook for her own pleasure, sing lots of Sinatra and try to forget that Hugh’s in-depth interview with Robert was splashed all over the Miami Herald, rubbing salt in everyone’s old wounds. Or that Hugh hadn’t bothered to call her since he left for the islands.
Not that she was broken up about it.
She hadn’t stuck around long enough to hear Lainie’s reaction, but overall the new piece wasn’t damaging to the hotel. It just stung to be reminded how naive she’d been and no doubt it hurt Lainie in that same way as Robert bragged on and on about everything he’d gotten away with. Since the new reports seemed to be raising the sense of public outrage about Flynn, Giselle wondered if Hugh was simply out to draw awareness to the case and maybe some renewed interest by the police.
Not that she wanted to ask Hugh in person.
No, sir. As she juggled bags full of fresh produce from the market and a bottle of champagne courtesy of Club Paradise, Giselle reminded herself there were lots of great benefits to spending time by herself. For one thing, she was determined to take some more responsibility for her own happiness. Confronting Lainie about the first article on Robert Flynn had made Giselle realize she’d spent far too long feeling guilty for what had happened last year.
Hadn’t she done adequate penance by keeping a low profile at Club Paradise lately? No more. She’d never been the kind of woman to stick to the shadows, and she didn’t have any intention of playing conservative any longer.
It was just too bad that Hugh Duncan didn’t want to be around when she rediscovered herself. She was ready to be true to herself, to remember what made her happy and, yeah, maybe even undergo a little sensual renewal. But if Hugh was too wrapped up in his profession to enjoy that with her, then so be it.
Nudging her key into the lock on the side door, she stepped into the kitchen and into a house that had never been so quiet while she’d lived there. Usually the sprawling ranch house decorated in kitschy 1960s Hollywood style had been filled with laughter and music, heated debates and wrestling matches. And that hadn’t been ten years ago. That was just two weeks ago when Nico had been determined to prove to Renzo the carpenter that NHL players were tougher than construction workers any day.
They’d broken a lamp in the process and hadn’t proved a damn thing except that they were as out of control and hopeless as ever. Giselle didn’t have a clue how Renzo had found such a great wife in museum director Esme Giles, but she was pretty sure lightning wouldn’t strike twice for the Cesare men. Nico and his caveman ways were surely doomed to bachelorhood.
As for her…she might not be as rowdy as her brothers, but she was probably just as unmarketable as relationship material given her crappy track record so far. She thought she’d been pretty clear on the phone with Hugh about needing something in return from him, and obviously he didn’t have any intention of providing that since she hadn’t heard from him for days on end.
Not that being alone was a bad thing, damn it. Releasing her groceries on the table, she started to unpack, leaving the door open so she could enjoy the mild spring day. Assuming, of course, she could stop thinking about Hugh. Slamming a head of lettuce onto the countertop with a satisfying thud, she jumped when an echoing rap sounded at the side door.
Turning, she spied the dark brown hair and forest green eyes of the very man she’d been trying not to think about. Hugh stared in through the screen door carrying two mangoes, his tan a little deeper than the last time she’d seen him.
“Hope you don’t mind I dropped by.” He gave her a half-cocked grin. “I needed to see you.”
She tried to remind herself that she’d needed him three days ago and where had he been then? But her insides were already heating up just looking at him. “How did you find me?”
“I tried to catch up with you at the resort, but you were just pulling out of the parking lot as I was driving in. I hope you don’t mind I followed you.”
“You followed me?” The idea made her feel like a movie heroine with a dark and dangerous man on her tail. Definitely enticing.
“Yeah, but you have a hell of a lead foot, lady. I nearly lost you on Ponce de Leon Boulevard and it took me a while to find your car again.” He juggled the fruit he carried in his hands, and Giselle wondered if she ought to let him in.
Then again, she knew where that would lead. And hadn’t she just decided that she would take responsibility for her own happiness? That she needed more than sex from any man in her life?
Of course, that didn’t answer how she was going to fulfill the sensual renewal element of rediscovering herself. She needed a man to help her out in that department. She wanted it to be Hugh Duncan.
Folding her arms across her body to keep from flinging herself on him, she let him cool his heels on the step a moment longer. “I’m used to shaking off my brothers when they try to keep an eye on me. The lead foot is a built-in defense mechanism.”
Hugh nodded, then lifted up the mangoes he carried like an olive branch. “You said on the phone that you needed something from me in return. And I know this isn’t much to offer you, but I thought it might be a start.”
“Mangoes?” Unbelievable. Men never ceased to amaze her. “I’ve been dreaming about sex on demand combined with a little tender affection, and you came up with mangoes?”
“First of all, they’re not just any mangoes.” He reached for the handle on the screen door, keeping one eye on her as if to ask permission. When she didn’t protest, he let himself in, carefully placing his offering on the countertop beside her salad ingredients. “These were just picked a few hours ago and they are at the peak of ripeness.”
The woman in her still wasn’t impressed, but the chef within could already smell the luscious fruit. Thoughts of Robert Flynn and the articles Hugh was writing about him fell by the wayside.
“Second of all, sun-ripened fruit happens to be a very sensual symbol, as any English or Psych major would be happy to inform you.” He was so serious when he spoke, so intense, yet calm at the same time.
“Is that what you English majors talked about in class?” Her mouth was already watering for a taste of the mango, damn it, but she didn’t want to be too much of a pushover for this man. She sniffed. Tilted her chin at him. “It must really be a stretch to find anything sexy in all that dry classical literature if the best you could come up with is that fruit equals copulation.”
He took a step closer, his T-shirt and khaki shorts showing off way too much tempting male muscle. “The night we met, you were getting ready to devour a pomegranate, Ms. Cesare. How many modern women indulge themselves in pomegranates without being fully aware of the sensual nature of the red, fleshy fruit?”
She cleared her throat, willing away the attack of hormones that were oh-so-happy to see him. “As a chef, I make it my business to be familiar with many types of exotic foods. It’s simply part of the job.”
She didn’t realize she was backing up until her hip met the solid barrier of the kitchen counter. Pausing, she stood perfectly still while Hugh stalked closer.
Closer.
Pulse beating wildly at her throat, she hoped he wouldn’t spy the telltale sign of excitement. Attraction. She shouldn’t be so happy to see a man she hadn’t heard from in three days.
His arms bracketed her body as he flattened his hands against the counter on either side of her. “Liar. I saw you eating a peach at the beach that first day.”
“You’re indicting me on the basis of a peach?” Her heart pumped an erratic rhythm while her skin started to heat.
“All I’m saying is that you are a sensual woman who is perfectly familiar with the sexual connotation of fruit.” His shoulders flexed as he leaned forward to put them nose-to-nose. “In fact, I’m willing to bet you could tea
ch me a thing or two about using your mouth as a means to find pleasure.”
He traced the outline of her lips with his thumb.
Slowly. Softly.
Honey flowed through her veins, thick and hot as she breathed in the scant tropical scents of ocean and coconut oil from Hugh’s skin. Her lips trembled from that slow, deliberate touch. Her mouth watered with want of him.
Giselle recognized that he hadn’t given her what she’d asked for yet. But he had hunted her down today, following her all the way out to Coral Gables the moment he got back to town. Surely that said something about how much he’d been thinking about her? And she had to admit he seemed to be getting the hang of the whole sex-on-demand thing pretty well. For once, he was right there in person when he turned her on instead of at the other end of a phone line.
And if ever her body had felt demanding, it was right now. Right. This. Moment.
She wouldn’t be a pushover if she took what they both wanted now. Later she would figure out how to coerce the tender affection.
“Then let the lessons begin.” She drew his thumb into her mouth and suckled before relinquishing it. “The first rule of oral pleasure involves testing the fruit for ripeness.”
THIS WAS WHY HUGH HAD BUSTED his ass to finish his interview and edit his story in record time.
Giselle Cesare’s temptress ways had lured him home even though he’d been embroiled in one of the most reader-anticipated stories of his career. Sure he’d written about issues a damn sight more important than Robert Flynn’s escape from justice. But his pieces tended to be the kinds of stories that helped change foreign policies and won critical acclaim. They weren’t usually wildly popular.
But Flynn was a hometown boy who’d screwed the whole city—not to mention a quarter of the female population. Literally. Local readers couldn’t wait to read more about him, and Hugh’s editor had promised him his choice of assignments for the whole year if he could continue to boost rack sales with his coverage of the con artist in hiding.
