Girl Gone Wild

by Joanne Rock

  Someone like Giselle.

  She stirred her lemonade with her straw. “I’m very in favor of the good guys winning.”

  “Don’t tell your brother that. I have the feeling Nico doesn’t exactly view me as one of the good guys.”

  “I’ll bet not.” She went round and round stirring the ice in one direction, then round and round stirring in the other direction. Hugh remembered her stirring the spaghetti sauce that first night they’d met in the same manner, recognized the little stirring idiosyncrasy that was pure Giselle.

  “How did everything go after I left this morning?” He lifted a hand to sift through the thick, dark waves that fell past her shoulders.

  “Pretty well.” She set aside her cup and seemed to give herself over to his touch, her eyes closing briefly at the gentle intimacy of him stroking her hair. “I didn’t let him distract me from having a real conversation this time. Sometimes in the past I’ve let my brothers get away with too much because it takes a lot of energy to argue with them all. But sitting down one on one today was a good thing. I think Nico might have understood where I was coming from. Finally.”

  “Yeah?” Hugh trailed a finger over the long column of her neck and out the graceful arch of her collarbone. “I don’t suppose that means he’s anxious for me to spend the night again anytime soon.”

  “Maybe not. But I think he might understand he really doesn’t have a say in the matter anymore.”

  Hugh wanted to ask her about their conversation, but his thoughts were interrupted when the door to the Herald opened behind them. A voice shouted across the pavement. He turned to see one of the newsroom interns waving him inside the building.

  Loath to leave Giselle’s side for anything that wasn’t urgent, he took his time rising, waiting to hear the nature of the business before he went back to work.

  Out of breath and eyes alight with excitement, the twenty-year-old college kid who’d been following him around ever since he got back to Florida hollered loud enough for all of Biscayne Bay to hear. “Mr. Duncan, you wanted me to keep an eye out for any developments with the Robert Flynn case and it looks like things are starting to heat up. The channel thirteen news team just announced an upcoming interview with Flynn, and they claim it’s taking place on U.S. soil.”

  Well, hot damn, but that sounded pretty urgent to him. Because Hugh had every intention of making sure the first journalist Flynn talked to this week was him. Hugh hadn’t unearthed this story only to get scooped by channel thirteen. If there were any more interviews to conduct, it would be Hugh who did the talking.

  He would have sprinted into the building then and there if it hadn’t been for the yelp of alarm behind him.

  12

  GISELLE DIDN’T REALIZE HER FEET were stuck to the pavement until Hugh reached for her. Drew her forward.

  She went nowhere.

  Robert was back in the U.S.? And preparing to talk to the media?

  “Are you okay?” Hugh’s voice soothed her, steely and quiet. His arm around her shoulders, she relaxed beneath his touch, willing herself forward.

  “Yes.” Step. “I’m fine.” Another step. If she was this afraid to watch new video footage of the guy, how could she handle living in the same state—maybe the same city—as her lying cheat of an old boyfriend? “I’m just surprised he would really make a reappearance here.”

  Hugh waved the overexcited college kid back into the building while he crossed the wide, paved section of the sidewalk with her. Steadying her. “It could be a hoax for all we know. Manufactured news to tap into the public interest in Flynn.”

  “Do you think it is?” She hoped he was right. Knew in her gut he wasn’t.

  “Honestly, no. I think Flynn is the type who would jump at the chance to do something high-profile. Rumors were flying all day yesterday that he was going to do a show with Geraldo, and I heard some other industry insiders claim Flynn would only talk to someone of Barbara Walters’s caliber.” He opened the door for her to let them inside the air-conditioned building. “Of course, he doesn’t have a shot in hell of that. My guess is he made a deal with a local network for some unannounced, remote location appearance even though he promised that he’d talk to me first.”

  “You knew he was returning to the States?” She took deep breaths, ignoring the niggling of betrayal she felt at his obvious familiarity with what was going on.

  “I knew he’d show up here sooner or later, Giselle. I told you that. He wants to revel in his renewed five minutes of fame, try to close a book deal to secure all the more funds for his retirement, and then he thinks he’s going to slink back to some far-off island. But it won’t happen that way, I promise you.”

  Two minutes later, ensconced in a private midsize conference room with four different televisions tuned to various news channels, Giselle and Hugh watched as networks all over the city confirmed Robert’s interview.

  At one point, three out of the four televisions flashed up the same file photos of Robert from his heyday as the Club Paradise manager, making her stomach clench and her nerves fray as her eyes wandered his handsome face and engaging blue eyes. Lying eyes.

  She’d been so blind.

  Did she continue to be blind even now with Hugh? Sure Hugh was selfless in a way that Robert could never be. But was she committing some of the same mistakes again by being with a man whose goals were so different from hers? A man who freely admitted he’d never give up traveling for the stories that were so important to him.

  How was she any smarter now than she’d been a year ago when Robert had broken her heart?

  One of the clips they watched on television finished their hasty update by saying police were already investigating the whereabouts of the upcoming interview in the hope of capturing the wanted criminal.

  “He’s going to jail.” Hugh said it with complete certainty as he clicked off the bank of television screens. “And then you won’t have to worry about ever seeing him again.”

  “But what about before they capture him?” She didn’t realize she’d said the words aloud until she sensed Hugh’s eyes on her. Watching her.

  “You can stay with me.” He looked as startled by the invitation as she felt.

  Maybe a kinder woman would have let him off the hook then and there by saying that wouldn’t be necessary. But since Giselle suspected the offer was the extent of the tender overtures she’d ever receive from this hardened, no-frills man, she wanted to revel in the moment for just a little longer.

  So she reached for the word that would force him to repeat himself. “What?”

  He shrugged as he stacked the remote control devices for the televisions into a pile at the end of the conference table. “I just thought if you were uncomfortable at the idea of a criminal showing his face on your doorstep, you’re welcome to stay with me until the police capture him.”

  Her heart picked up speed at the expression of warm concern in his eyes. She couldn’t possibly stay with him, though. She’d barely dragged Nico out of the Stone Age early that morning. He’d never morph into a total Joe Progressive by nightfall. He would have a conniption at the idea of her staying with Hugh.

  More importantly, she feared she would grow too attached to Hugh if she allowed herself to spend that much time with him.

  “I appreciate that. And I have to admit the offer is tempting.” For more reasons than avoiding Robert. “But I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

  “You wouldn’t be putting me out.” His hands wrapped around her arms as he tugged her closer. Intense green eyes mesmerized her. “It’s my fault he’s on the loose for one thing. And for another thing, I want you to be safe, damn it. Who knows what kind of desperate measures a criminal like that will resort to in order to protect himself?”

  The warmth that had been spiraling through her just moments before fizzled. Died.

  Hugh didn’t want her to stay with him for any reason other than the one burning in his idealistic eyes. He wanted to protect her. Keep her safe.


  And she’d been protected more than enough for one lifetime, thank you very much.

  “That’s okay. I appreciate the offer.” She stepped backward out of his arms, away from the lure of the man himself. “But I’m trying to confront my problems head-on these days.”

  He frowned. “When I suggested that head-on strategy, I didn’t mean for you to exercise it when wanted criminals were on the loose.”

  “I’m not concerned for my safety.” When it came to Robert Flynn, she was more worried about her relationship with Lainie and her security as part of the Club Paradise management group. She was worried about the damage the man could do to the hotel and to her career.

  With Hugh, her worries were fewer, but no less dangerous. When it came to the journalist who’d resurrected the skeletons of her past, she only needed to fear for her heart.

  GREAT. GISELLE WASN’T IN the least concerned for her own safety, and an hour of very rational arguments hadn’t come close to swaying her to stay with him.

  Oddly, the more he stressed the importance of keeping a low profile while Flynn the two-timing bastard was on the loose, the more adamantly Giselle seemed to oppose the idea of taking even the most basic of precautions. No wonder her brothers turned overprotective. The woman apparently gave zero thought to her own safety.

  Now he sped over the Venetian Causeway out to Miami Beach, the bright blue waters of Biscayne Bay sparkling beneath him as he drove. He needed to be on the phone hunting down Flynn tonight, solidifying the agreement they’d made the first time they met that Hugh would have first dibs on the story if the crook showed his face in Miami again. But he’d put his intern on the case and turned his car toward the beach instead, determined to be a stand-up guy and check up on his stepaunt while he was in town.

  He would have much rather been spending the evening with Giselle, but she’d retreated in a hundred different little ways after their encounter at the Herald. And he had it in his head that he ought to take better care of the few family members he had left in his life. The Cesares sure as hell looked out for one another. Would it kill him to check in on his multi-divorced aunt every now and then?

  Pauline Wolcott’s relation to him was distant, but she was his only claim to family in the Miami area anymore. Perhaps because she’d never been close to her own daughter, she’d taken an interest in him and his work, keeping tabs on him long after she divorced out of the family.

  And given his entire clan’s inability to remain married, Hugh’s sense of family extended to people who cared enough to stay in touch with him. Or, at least, it should. It had been two years since he’d seen his aunt in person. Longer since he’d made the trip out to the West Coast where both of his long divorced parents happened to reside now. Giselle wouldn’t have let that much time pass before she checked up on her family.

  Would she care enough to stay in touch with him after he left South Beach?

  As he pulled into the parking lot of the apartment complex, he knew damn well she wouldn’t. Hadn’t she as good as told him she wouldn’t be sticking around for too long in a relationship he’d already warned her could only be temporary? What kind of jackass met a beautiful woman like Giselle and immediately launched into a diatribe about the importance of work in his life?

  No wonder she was already backing away from him.

  He hauled a sack of mangoes out of the car and crossed the parking lot, realizing his aunt would probably think he was a lunatic showing up at her door after two years with tropical fruit. Wondering why the hell he was really here, Hugh hadn’t even realized he’d knocked on the door until the door to her apartment swung wide.

  “Hugh Duncan! What a scowl on that handsome face of yours. Is that any way to greet your favorite aunt?” Pauline Wolcott-Baxter-Menendez-something or other greeted him with open arms. Always a fashion plate, she wore a regal-looking turquoise and yellow caftan thing and high-heel yellow sandals. Gently rounded and scrupulously well kept, Pauline favored the rituals of tea time and polite conversation, but according to their last phone call, she was trying to loosen up a bit in order to relate to her daughter Brianne who also owned a share of Club Paradise.

  “Sorry, Pauline. I’m a little brain-fried with work since I’m following the Robert Flynn story. But I brought you some mangoes.” Handing over his offering, he peered around her apartment as she drew him inside. A big change from the coldly sterile mansion she’d kept in Palm Beach up until six months ago, the new place was decorated with Pauline’s distinctive expensive tastes—lots of leather-bound books, original works of art and crystal pieces. But here and there he spied differences. There were framed photos of her daughter, an artist’s sketch of Club Paradise and—holy cow—even a cat wandering through the room.

  He scooped up the Siamese, which sported a tiny gold bell around its neck, and scratched the creature’s head while his aunt fussed over the fruit. She fluttered about the room to stow the mangoes in a fruit bowl before finding a teacart and rolling out dishes of candy that looked too artfully arranged to actually eat.

  “Robert Flynn? I’ve been reading all about this dreadful man. I hope you’re going to help the police lock him up?” She filled a plate with the treats he’d been too scared to touch. “I don’t want him anywhere near Brianne or the club.”

  Her newfound devotion to her daughter was charming and long overdue.

  “I don’t know that I can do much at this point, but I’ll definitely be on the lookout around the hotel.” Whether Giselle wanted him there or not, damn it.

  “My Brianne is engaged to an FBI agent, you know. I’m sure he’s keeping an eye on things, too.” She ducked into a small galley kitchen he could see from his seat on the living room sofa. Returning with a teapot emitting a small thread of steam, she settled on a chair across from him. “And what about you, Hugh? Any prospects on the romance horizon for you?”

  For a moment, he missed the more formal woman his aunt used to be. When he’d first met her some ten years ago, she never would have asked such a personal question.

  While he debated how to answer she poured his tea and sent him a chiding look. “I met the perfect woman for you just after I moved here, Hugh. I even tried to arrange a date for you, remember? I don’t know how you could go through life never knowing when you’ll be back in the U.S. My lovely neighbor has since been captured by another man, I’m afraid.”

  Hugh remembered his aunt’s instructions that he put in an appearance for a blind date all too well. “I met someone.”

  Shit. Had he really just said that? And to his match-making aunt of all people?

  “Really?” She clapped her hands together in obvious delight. “Do tell.”

  “There’s not much to tell.” He gulped his tea too fast, practically inhaling Darjeeling. Maybe if he finished his drink in a hurry he wouldn’t feel guilty about clocking out on this visit. He’d delivered his mangoes, hadn’t he? “She’s a sweet—” and totally sensuous “—woman with very traditional values. She’s been fun to hang out with but it’s definitely nothing serious. She’s really into putting family first.”

  His aunt stared him down with a knowing eye. “That’s not such a bad ideal, you know. Just because no one in your family has figured out how to make a go of it long-term doesn’t mean that happily-ever-afters don’t exist.”

  Hugh shifted in his seat, popped some kind of lemon tart in his mouth for good measure. How had they gotten on the subject of happily-ever-afters? “I’m sure it’s a great goal for people who like that sort of thing, but I can’t help but be skeptical when I’ve never seen it firsthand.”

  Pauline chose that moment to sip her tea, watching him over the rim of her teacup. Did she insert that sudden awkward silence into the conversation on purpose?

  Since he’d downed his tea in one great gulp already, Hugh had no choice but to plow forward. “Besides, I’ve got a job that’s important to me.” And it wasn’t just a job, damn it. “I can’t turn my back on writing stories that draw attention t
o lack of humanitarianism, and no woman with home and hearth type values would ever want to jet-set to all the crappiest places in the world while I do my job.”

  He waited for feedback of any sort. Or better yet, some note to end the conversation on so he didn’t have to think about how there wasn’t a chance in hell he and Giselle would be able to find a compromise. But his aunt seemed determined to take the world’s most prolonged sip of tea.

  “My work is a part of me,” Hugh rambled on, filling the silence of the elegant little apartment when he so much preferred being in the role of quiet observer. The role Pauline Wolcott was stealing right out from under him. “It’s who I am.”

  Finally, she returned her cup to the saucer with slow, deliberate movements. She seemed to apply as much strategy to the ritual of drinking tea as a chess player invested in an important match. Thoughtful. Precise.

  “I can’t be of much help with your career dilemma, I’m afraid. But I can tell you that you wouldn’t want to miss out on a great relationship simply because you’re scared of failing.”

  Since when was he scared? Hugh opened his mouth to debate the label but now that Pauline had decided to talk, she wasn’t wasting any time.

  “In fact, if you find this woman becoming important to you, you may have to put yourself on the line to let her know that you’re serious. If she’s really the traditional girl you seem to think, she won’t make a decision to be with you lightly.”

  Hugh stood, rising to his feet before he even planned out his exit. All the talk about getting serious was messing with his head. He didn’t know what the future held for him and Giselle, but he damn well knew he didn’t want to talk about it. Analyze it. Find out he was already caring about her more than he’d ever cared about any woman before.

  “I need to go.” So much for his effort to foster better family ties by visiting Pauline. Hell, now that he thought about it, he realized maybe half the reason he’d been so gung ho to make the trip to see his aunt in the first place had been some sort of subconscious effort to be the kind of man Giselle Cesare would respect.