Sex & the Single Girl

by Joanne Rock

  “Holy shit. You mean I can go pull up that whole account if I type in Go Marlins? That’s damn brilliant.”

  “The words run together and they have to be in all caps. And you need to know my mother’s maiden name at one point. It’s McCormick.” A surge of pride swelled through her at his compliment, but she felt compelled to point out she only possessed the skill because she’d never been the type to step into the spotlight. “And it’s not brilliant—it’s just me. I’ve probably spent as much time behind a computer screen as I have behind a camera. When you grow up in a tumultuous environment, you learn to appreciate scenarios that provide you with a little anonymity. And a little space.”

  He could take that however he wanted, but damn it, he needed to know.

  Finally, his voice rumbled back over the line. “I can practically see you drawing your line in the sand.”

  “It’s not a line, Aidan. It’s a simple fact of who I am.”

  “I’m too tired to make intelligent arguments this morning. Now that you’ve uncovered this bit of news I’ve got my work cut out for me for the next twenty-four hours. I probably won’t be at the club until late, but I’ll be there.” He huffed out a sigh. “I’ve got a few ideas on where to look for the source of this influx of cash.”

  They stumbled through awkward good-nights. Brianne had prepped her response in case Aidan offered to drive her home. Like a first-class hypocrite, she couldn’t deny a twinge of disappointment when the offer never came. Apparently Aidan seemed to have decided he wouldn’t push her on the space issue.

  Which was what she wanted. Right?

  Still, she couldn’t deny her sense of disappointment as their tenuous connection cracked a little more when he hung up the phone.

  BRIANNE ARRIVED at the club shortly before sunset the next day and nearly tripped over Summer hunched near the floor in the corridor.

  “Sorry!” Summer straightened, still holding a chunk of ceramic tile in one hand, a heavy tool belt hanging around her hips. “Lainie said we don’t have the budget to redo the whole floor to the spa so I’m just scattering a random pattern of tiles I like better among the old ones to spruce it up a bit.” She moved aside so Brianne could see the sandy-color tiles mixed in with the solid red terra-cotta. “I’d better pick up now that you’re here though. Giselle wants us all to meet at eight-thirty before opening tonight.”

  “The new tiles look great, Summer.” The woman might be unconventional in a lot of ways but she had an amazing eye for design. “Will we be in the conference room?”

  “Are you kidding?” She scooped up a small pot of some sticky substance and a small stack of tiles. “I’m hoping we’ll never have to meet in the conference room. See you at the hot tub!”

  With a wink and a grin, Summer sashayed away in her pinstriped overalls and pink paisley tank top.

  Leaving Brianne to scramble for a swimsuit so she could make the hot tub appointment. She’d hardly slept the night before. The morning before, rather. She hadn’t gotten home until 8:00 a.m. and then she’d been too busy thinking about Aidan to sleep.

  She’d finally given up trying at noon and had worked on her master control remote for the house instead. So far she’d incorporated the security controls, the house intercom system, her sprinkler system and the chandelier-lowering device into the remote. Tomorrow she’d work on adding her alarm clock and all the timed devices—coffeepot, dishwasher, dryer and so on.

  But the technical work that had been her safe haven in the past hadn’t provided the usual comforts. Thoughts of Aidan still slipped through her guard, causing her to make beginner mistakes. She’d forgotten to give the sprinklers an override shutoff switch and then she’d set the chandelier to raise and lower much too quickly.

  Still, she preferred spending a sleepless night thanks to sensual memories of Aidan than spending a sleepless night scared her ex would show up on her doorstep. And for that added security, Brianne counted herself truly grateful.

  Tossing a hotel robe around her shoulders she made her way to the hot tub for the meeting. As she levered open the tinted door to go outside she spied Giselle and Summer already neck high in bubbles and engaged in a squirt gun battle.

  Behind Brianne, a pair of high heels picked up speed.

  “Hold that door.” Lainie wore an elegant silk caftan bearing a fire-breathing dragon and toted an overstuffed briefcase. She stepped through the smoked glass then sighed as her gaze landed on the water fight in progress. “I could stand her sleeping with my husband, Brianne, but if she splashes me I can no longer be responsible for my actions.”

  Brianne didn’t need to ask who she was. Poor Giselle still hadn’t found a way to heal her rift with Lainie.

  “I think I’ll be able to make them hold their fire.” Brianne whispered the words as they neared the hot tub. Not that their squealing partners would have heard them over the roar of the bubble jets and their own laughter. “You realize she had absolutely no idea that Robert was married at the time, don’t you?”

  She had never considered herself much of a friend in the pseudo-counselor, advice-dispensing department, but the rift between Giselle and Lainie had the power to wreak havoc in their four-way partnership if they couldn’t solve their problems.

  Lainie dropped her briefcase on to a beach lounger with a thud and Brianne thought she might have seen the other woman bite her lip. But then, Lainie faced her again, her eyes as fierce as the dragon’s on her robe. “On my charitable days—yes. While PMSing, however, I tend to forget. Feel free to muzzle me if you see any fangs start to sprout.”

  “Got it.” Brianne waded into the fray in the small pool and disarmed both combatants, but not before sneaking in two squirts for each of them with her confiscated weapons. “All clear, Lainie. I think it’s safe.”

  With that, Lainie cruised into her lawyer manner to run the meeting from a built-in lounger seat in the hot tub. While the waves rolled a steady thrum on to the beach behind the resort, they watched the stars come out overhead and waded through new business under a waning Libra moon. At least that’s what Summer assured them.

  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.

  13

  AIDAN 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—”