Girl Gone Wild

by Joanne Rock

  He would have crossed the threshold but Giselle halted his progress by sticking out her foot as a barrier. “That’s Renzo’s room to share with his new bride until their house is finished. Isn’t the wedding quilt pretty?”

  Definitely the wrong room.

  “Renzo?” He gulped, panicked at the mention of wedding and bride in the same breath. And why the hell did she share her house with a guy?

  “One of my brothers. This is the house I grew up in and my old room is two doors down.”

  Ah, great. He’d just screwed Giselle on her parents’ kitchen floor. Didn’t he used to be a cautious guy when it came to sex?

  He hadn’t realized he’d halted their progress until she wriggled in his arms. “It’s okay to be here. Renzo is in Italy on his honeymoon for another couple of weeks and Nico won’t be back until the weekend.”

  Now there was a Nico, too? With plodding footsteps he found her bedroom crammed full of off-white furniture stenciled with flowers. Sort of French-looking, maybe. Unlike the vibrant woman herself, the colors here were muted and soft. Blues and golds combined with an occasional pink to give the room undeniable feminine elegance.

  Laying her gently on the bed, Hugh tilted her on her side just enough to see the slight smudges of red on her lower spine. While he cursed his carelessness, she settled the wine and the fruit on her nightstand and made room for him.

  “What about your parents?” Tossing their clothes on the floor beside the bed, he realized he felt as though he was back in college, sneaking conjugal visits with his girlfriend. Seating himself on the edge of the bed, he peered around the room. Studied Giselle as her shoulders stiffened. “Where are they?”

  She shook her head a bit too quickly and reached for the raspberries again. “My parents both died years ago.” And without giving him a moment to absorb the notion, let alone offer any sympathy, she plowed ahead as if eager to blurt out the rest. “We lost my mother to a difficult childbirth when she had twins—my brother Marco who’s now a freshman at Harvard and a little girl who died with my mom. We lost my dad to a heart attack years later and my oldest brother Vito stayed at home to raise us.”

  From the way her fingers danced with jerky movements over the fruit while she seemed to select one, Hugh recognized the hurt of the loss.

  “I’m sorry.” The words were inadequate. Sparse comfort against an ache he suspected could never fully heal. He stretched out beside her, drew her close as if somehow that might help. “How old was Vito?”

  “Twenty-two and just out of college. He put off his career, his whole life to be here, until Nico and Renzo ganged up on him and made him go follow his own dreams of auto racing on the European circuit. By then, they were old enough to watch over Marco and I.” She sipped the sparkling wine straight from the bottle and then passed it to him. “All my brothers take the whole protector thing pretty seriously.”

  “With everything that they’ve lost, it doesn’t surprise me they’d want to hang on with both hands to whatever they have left.” He sipped the bubbly brew, slowly savoring the taste the way his personal culinary expert had taught him. “I suppose that protectiveness extends to you in double doses, right?”

  She snagged the bottle back again. “You’re pretty smart about human nature, Duncan. Does that come from years of being a reporter, or are you some kind of pop psychologist on the side?”

  Withdrawing the pint from her fidgety grip, he returned the raspberries to the nightstand so he could touch her, smooth her dark brown hair away from her cheek to see her face better. “The best stories are the ones played out against a big human drama. It’s never been my schtick to try and be objective while reporting. I wouldn’t write a story unless it had real faces and real names. A sense of rising action and plot. It’s what I enjoy most about my job.”

  “You’re very passionate about your career, it seems.” She chugged more wine, then pulled a throw blanket from the bottom of the bed and tossed it over them. “Do you think you’ll always be a jet-setting reporter who travels the globe at the drop of a hat?”

  He went on instant alert at the question. Did she ask him because she was curious, or was she feeling him out about the possibility of becoming more of a home-and-family guy? The kind of guy her protective Italian brothers no doubt expected for her. The kind of guy that Giselle would certainly ultimately choose.

  Because as much as he’d enjoyed his time with her, and despite that moment of sizzling intimate connection he’d experienced while they’d been on the kitchen floor, Hugh knew he could never give up his job—the job that had always been his personal mission—for any woman.

  Treading carefully, he couched his words in the most diplomatic terms he could find. “I’m very committed to my job.”

  Shit. That had sounded a hell of a lot more diplomatic in his mind than it had hanging there in the awkward silence between them.

  Clearing her throat, Giselle snuggled deeper into a blue and gold tapestry pillow. “I just wondered because it seems like you have a really good handle on how to draw out slimeballs like Robert Flynn.” Finishing the last of the wine, she reached behind her to slide the bottle down to the floor. “So how did your interview go with him? Was he as horrid as I’d led you to believe?”

  She couldn’t have rained cold water on his egotistic fears any faster. He’d been worried that she was plotting how to maneuver him into marriage when she’d only wanted to discuss her ex-lover. Lucky for him he still had the high of her multiple orgasms comment to carry him through.

  “It went as well as could be expected for a conversation with a megalomaniac.”

  “He’s still a bit self-centered, I gather?” Giselle smiled to herself as she thought of intense, brooding Hugh who never missed a trick sitting across from her utterly self-absorbed former boyfriend. Grateful to steer conversation away from the obviously touchy topic of Hugh and his job, however, she was only too happy to discuss Flynn.

  In fact, she made a mental note never to bring up the question of Hugh and his job again. She could see by his bristled reaction this time that he couldn’t abide any talk of ever leaving his career path.

  Which was just as well given that she merely wanted a nice relationship of give-and-take as opposed to anything serious right now anyway.

  If not now, when?

  Some obnoxious voice inside her head posed the question she wasn’t ready to untangle just yet.

  “I’ll admit, he’s got a very inflated sense of his own worth.” Propping one of her pillows more snugly under their heads, Hugh studied her across the same blue chenille bedspread that had been in her bedroom since she was twelve. “Feel free to tell me to mind my own business, but I’m curious what you would have ever seen in him.”

  Escape.

  She recognized as much now, but she’d been too absorbed in her own hopes and dreams at the time to recognize it. Debating how to explain what she’d felt for Robert meant admitting her weaknesses.

  “His confidence, I suppose.” She’d been dazzled by the way he’d moved through life without a thought for the consequences. Of course, that same quality that could be so appealing could also lead a person to selfishness. Egotism. “I was taking a lot of risks in my career at the time, struggling to make a name for myself as an up-and-coming chef in a city that is overflowing with culinary talent. I was also trying to insert some space between me and my family—something I’ve never been very good at. I guess I was attracted to the way Robert seemed to think he could handle anything, charm anyone.”

  “And you hoped he’d charm this brood of protector types that kick ass to save their baby sister?” He lifted a strand of her hair that curled down onto the bed, twisting it around one finger.

  “Maybe subconsciously. Although I wasn’t the one who did the pursuing in that relationship. He had me targeted from the get-go for some reason, and I was clueless enough to be totally taken in by the full-court press.”

  “Giselle likes romance.” Hugh smiled as he separated the
lock of hair into three skinny sections. “Who do you think did the pursuing when we met?”

  “I’d say we were a case of spontaneous combustion.” Fascinated, she watched him weave the separated strands into a thin braid. “Although I’m getting the impression maybe neither of us were ready for a conflagration just now.”

  He paused his nimble finger work. “Care to expound on that?”

  “No offense, Hugh, but you’re obviously very committed to a career you love that doesn’t leave you much time to socialize.” She hadn’t been going to lay that out there, but the notion had been preying upon her mind. He was the one who’d suggested she confront her problems in the first place, curse the man. Could she help it if the method felt freeing after too many years spent dancing around issues? “And for my part, I’m hip deep in wading through the skeletons in my closet. Add to that the fact that I haven’t experimented with a new recipe all week, and I never did follow up with the restaurant reviewer…” Of course that was neither here nor there. “My point is that I’m too much of a mess to be combusting all over the place.”

  Hugh went back to work on that tiny braid, his pace slower, his expression thoughtful. “Are you suggesting you wish we’d quit…flaring up?”

  His words were spoken so softly, almost distractedly, as if he were too consumed with his weaving to pay much attention to the answer. But she’d learned that Hugh wasn’t like other men, that he didn’t express himself in the same raucous, in-your-face manner of her brothers.

  He was listening, all right.

  “It’s not so much that as…” How to express herself? She didn’t possess his ease with words. Oh, she’d shouted enough of them in her noisy household, determined to make herself heard occasionally. But she had little experience with choosing just the right ones. “I can only flare so many times before I’ll start to feel unsettled about what we’re doing. I have needs as much as the next woman, but I can’t approach sex as recreation for any extended period of time.”

  Hugh pinched the end of the braid in his hand and then dug deep in the pocket of his shirt that he’d tossed on the floor. “Since you’re obviously no more ready to get serious now than I am, it sounds to me like you want to put an end to things.”

  Had she meant that? Funny how her heart clenched unhappily at the thought. “Not necessarily, I just wanted you to know that I don’t usually do this and I don’t know how much longer I can be okay with a relationship that’s so casual.”

  A relationship where the only thing he was prepared to give her was tropical fruit and orgasms that would make a grown woman weep with joy.

  Distracted by her own thoughts, she’d forgotten about Hugh’s maneuverings with her hair until she spied a tiny rubber band in his hand and a little golden coil.

  “You’re putting a time limit on us.” He stated it so simply. So starkly. His hands worked to slide the gold decoration over the end of her braid before he secured the hair with the rubber band.

  Ignoring the churning of her belly at the idea of a time limit on what was happening between them, Giselle smoothed her hands over the tight rope of hair. Toyed with the shiny decoration that punctuated the strand. “Where did you get this?”

  “I watched a lady on the beach selling cornrows to the tourists on Grand Cayman. It only took a few times watching her braid people’s hair to see the simple pattern of it.” His gaze moved from his neat creation to meet her eyes. “I bummed one of these little clasps off of her so I could try it out on you.”

  Her heart jumped in her chest, his words doing fluttery things to her insides.

  “Thank you.” Did the fact that Hugh had been thinking of her while he was away count as tender affection? Regard?

  She was surprised how much she wanted it to. But she was even more surprised when Hugh tugged her closer to settle her cheek on his chest. Feeling the thud of his heartbeat beneath her ear, she knew by his long silence that he was thinking about what she said. That he didn’t have a good answer to their problem or he would have already mentioned it.

  Instead he stroked her cheek while she fought off a pang of disappointment. Finally, just when sleep beckoned, she heard his quiet response.

  “I don’t blame you for the time limit, Giselle, because I’ll be damned if I know a way around this.” His voice was soft at first, then turned more fierce. Determined. “But I do know I’m not ready for it to end.”

  10

  HUGH MUST HAVE HEARD A NOISE in his sleep. Listening hard, he waited for another sound as he rolled away from the sweet warmth of the woman beside him.

  Hours after Giselle insisted he show her what kind of sexual payoff could be obtained through the practice of Tantra, she had fallen into a deep sleep beside him while he stared at the ceiling. How could he justify making love to a woman who’d already warned him she needed more from him than what he was prepared to offer? After turning the puzzle over and over in his mind, he’d finally fallen into a restless slumber until something made him bolt upright in bed, immediately alert. Tense. Ready.

  He’d never been a deep sleeper, as if always keeping one ear tuned to the world outside for new story ideas. Besides that, he rarely slept before dawn and Giselle’s nightstand clock radio flashed a time of 5:00 a.m. into the darkened room.

  Still, something must have stirred in the house to waken him with a pounding heart, hands already clenched into fists. Sliding from the bed so as not to awaken Giselle, he mourned the loss of her warm body and the long, silky curls that had been his blanket. He slipped into his shorts before cracking open the door to her bedroom.

  Light from the hallway knifed inside the room. Had they left a lamp on in the house? He scarcely had time to remember as he stepped out into the corridor and seemed to collide with an oncoming freight train.

  He had a vague impression of a huge, snarling guy lowering a shoulder into his gut and barreling him to the floor. He couldn’t remember having the wind knocked out of him since he fell off the monkey bars in kindergarten but, sure enough, all the air whooshed from his lungs as a dark-haired, rabid intruder laid him low. Blinking and breathless in the small hallway at one end of Giselle’s sprawling ranch house, Hugh struggled to get his head together before this psychopath got anywhere near her.

  Finding his motivation in a hurry, Hugh knew his options were limited since the freight train got the drop on him and seemed to have the strength of ten men. Even now, the crazed man pinned him to the floor amid a flurry of epithets that would have had Hugh’s mother scrubbing his mouth out with soap for a month. The guy was a total lunatic.

  Hugh conserved his strength until the wild man stared down at him with victory etched in gloating brown eyes. Seeing his opportunity, he snapped his neck forward for a head butt that would make the Three Stooges proud.

  Too bad Hugh recognized the lunatic’s mug in the second before their heads connected with ear-splitting force. The psychopath intruder had the same multibroken nose as the guy smiling away in a framed NHL poster hanging in the Cesare family hallway.

  What in the hell?

  Rolling out from underneath the man who now cradled his face as he howled in pain, Hugh blinked a few of the white spots out of his eyes and tried to focus on the photograph of the hockey player amid Cesare clan portraits. The dark-haired athlete wore a Florida Panthers sweater and a cocky grin as he leaned on his stick. Hugh didn’t need to read the name on the framed print to realize whose skull he’d just rattled. Number nineteen Nico Cesare had been a star goalie until a hamstring injury cut short his career.

  Not in a million years would he have connected the two last names. Giselle’s pissed-off older brother was a hockey goon.

  Shit.

  Hugh looked down at Nico just as the guy shoved to his feet. If anything, the glare on his face had taken on a more menacing twist, the steam from his ears almost visible.

  “Hey, man, sorry about that. I didn’t know you were—”

  “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my sister’
s bedroom at five o’clock in the morning?” Nico seemed to get taller by the second, probably because he was a good six foot five and closing in on Hugh again.

  “Hugh Duncan.” He didn’t bother offering his hand in introduction, partly because Nico looked like he wouldn’t mind breaking it, and partly because he wanted to keep his hands at the ready to deflect potential incoming blows. “I’m a reporter for the Herald and I’m here at Giselle’s invitation.”

  Not exactly much to offer an overprotective brother who came home to find his little sister in bed with a stranger, but it was the best Hugh had to recommend him. He figured he’d be better off not mentioning the fact that he’d followed her to the house without her knowledge.

  Nico looked like he would gladly eat a stalker for breakfast.

  “Apparently my sister neglected to mention she’s taking the veil next month and joining the convent up the street.” Now standing toe to toe with Hugh, Nico Cesare appeared ready to bodycheck him at any moment.

  “Is that right?” Hugh kept his cool, having run into his fair share of tough guys in his career. “I must have missed the nunnery on my way over.”

  “The Sisters of the Ass-Kicking Older Brothers are a cornerstone of Coral Gables spiritual life. I’m sure Giselle will understand if you just leave now and let her get on with her mission.” His nostrils flared as he exhaled, the fury running through him plainly apparent.

  “Look, Cesare. I understand about being protective—”

  “Excellent. Then you can get the hell out of here before I remind you whose roof you’re under.”

  “But I’m not leaving without saying goodbye to Giselle.”

  Nico’s right eye started ticking, the pulse pounding with frightening speed just below his temple. “You’ve got zero right to make demands in my house, you cock-sucking son of a—”