Sex & The Single Girl
She edged around a half-erected piece of scaffolding and headed for the door.
“Wait, Bri—”
“Oh, and because I like you, Aidan,” she turned when she reached the gilded archway of cherubs and vines that led to the hall, “let me give you a little friendly advice.”
Hell, this meeting had gone so abysmally, maybe he ought to be taking advice from the crook’s daughter. He folded his arms and waited.
She cocked a hand on one gently curved hip. “Next time you want to pull a covert snooping mission, why don’t you choose a room that’s not under camera surveillance?”
Aidan would have liked to have argued he hadn’t been trying to be sneaky. But of course, that would have been a flat out lie. By the time his gaze discovered the tinted panel in the mirrored ceiling, Brianne’s high heels were already clicking their way down the Moroccan tiles of the hallway floor.
Didn’t that go over well?
He was supposed to be investigating Florida’s biggest thief of the last decade yet he waltzed in here tonight making rookie mistakes left and right because Brianne Wolcott was involved in his case.
Sure, he’d wanted Brianne to find him tonight—he’d needed to talk to her. But he hadn’t meant for her to discover him kissing the cigarette girl or to record his antics on film. His mistake in not noticing the camera panel ought to damn well teach him not to wear sunglasses past dusk.
Brianne had been right. She had, without a doubt, caught him with his pants down.
But not for long. Aidan might have been surprised at the level of awareness she sparked in him, but next time they met, he’d be prepared. He’d think about baseball while he spoke with her, if that’s what it took to safeguard against inappropriate thoughts.
He was going to have a real conversation with Brianne now. A talk that didn’t involve sexual innuendo or past recriminations. A talk that focused solely on his case.
Chucking his shades in a cupid-covered trash can on the way out the door, Aidan rooted around his brain for enough baseball trivia to stifle all sexual thoughts while he talked to Brianne. As if that were possible.
He could read Baseball Weekly cover-to-cover and not find enough to distract him from mile-long legs and her I’m-in-charge strut.
Nevertheless, as he made his way through the lobby toward the offices at the back of the club, he started ticking off slugging percentages for the whole Marlins’ roster.
OBVIOUSLY, BRIANNE HAD been immune to the Good Fortune Potion. Having the FBI show up her first night in business definitely equaled bad mojo. Especially when the guy with the badge happened to be the object of an embarrassing ancient crush.
She wound through the darkened resort lobby on her way back to her office, all the while wondering why the federal investigator assigned to her smarmy stepfather couldn’t have been fifty and balding. Or a woman. Or even a guy who looked remotely like a Fed was supposed to—sharp suit, regulation haircut, clean-shaven.
Instead, she got all six-foot-four of non-conforming Aidan who looked more like a Hells Angel.
Sighing, she slipped into the safety of her office and cursed her predilection for rebels. Hadn’t she learned anything from dating that psycho guitarist in New York? Sure, his tortured music had appealed to her as a fellow social outsider, but maybe she should have taken the electric-blue highlights in his hair at face value. Jimmy had been out of control.
Not bothering to flip on the light, Brianne checked her monitors and slid out of her shoes, padding silently around the glass-and-mirror studio in her bare feet. Summer had puzzled over how anyone could work in an environment so coldly sterile, but Brianne had never been one to reveal too much of herself. She preferred her remote haven to the raucous party taking shape on monitor number one.
She turned up the volume on the video feed from the stage camera in the Moulin Rouge Lounge. The floor show was just getting underway with dancers in white-feathered headdresses that were far more elaborate than their skimpy costumes. Yet as Brianne absorbed the images of half-dressed women striking deliberately erotic poses, all she could think of was the even more enticing video in her possession.
The archived footage of Aidan Maddock prowling around Honeymoon Heaven.
Assuring herself she only wanted to look at it for a minute, Brianne flicked the appropriate switches on her control panel until the cupid quarters flashed up on the main screen. The gilded white room was vacant now.
Maybe Aidan had realized Club Paradise was exactly what the new ownership purported—a legitimate business out to recoup the losses of its former incarnation. All the women involved in rejuvenating the scandal-mired resort either wanted a chance to make back the money they’d lost when the Rat Pack left town, or they wanted an opportunity to prove themselves career-wise. Some of them were hoping for a little of both.
Brianne rewound the archived footage until she found the moment Aidan entered the room—only about five minutes before she’d discovered him. She smiled in spite of herself as she watched him in action. Instead of breaking out his fingerprint kit or high-tech phone tap equipment, Agent Maddock had pumped six quarters into the hospitality cabinet to earn himself a Milky Way bar that was probably a year old.
Then, as if testing the mattress, he’d bounced on the heart-shaped bed for a minute before peering into every nook and cranny of the saccharin-sweet accommodations.
Her gaze drank in the sight of his rangy body. He’d been that tall ten years ago, but his frame hadn’t been quite as solid. Muscles filled out his Harley T-shirt now, stretching the well-worn fabric in a way that made Brianne’s mouth water.
No doubt about it. Aidan Maddock still sizzled her from the inside out and no amount of her in-your-face bravado was going to change that.
She just hoped to God Aidan would never realize as much.
No sooner had the thought occurred to her, then the office door swung open behind her. An awful premonition flitted through her mind—a scenario she did not want to contemplate as she stared up at the big-screen version of sexy Aidan Maddock.
Please let it be Giselle with another round of Good Fortune Potions. Or maybe it was Summer ready to yell at her for watching television in the dark again.
Please let it be anyone except…
“Looks like you couldn’t wait to see me again after all.” A far-too-cocky voice filled the studio. A masculine bass that definitely hadn’t originated on her tape.
…Aidan.
2
BRIANNE REACHED FOR the remote to pause the videotape, but Aidan’s hand beat hers to the control.
“I’ll take that.” He swiped the electronic device behind his back, allowing the tape of himself to continue rolling. “I want to see the part where you walk into the room. I’ve never seen anyone make an entrance quite like you, Bri.”
The man could be all charm when the situation warranted. No wonder she’d fallen for him a lifetime ago.
Good thing she knew better now.
“My entrance isn’t until after Daisy’s.” Brianne tried not to notice when the curvy blonde sashayed her way across the television screen in her micro-miniskirt. “But by all means, enjoy the show until then. You wouldn’t want to miss the footage of your lip lock.”
Aidan hit the pause button on the remote, stilling the picture on the television just as Daisy entered Honeymoon Heaven.
“Actually, I’m not here for the show. I’m here to discuss Club Paradise.”
Brianne stiffened, recognizing the FBI-guy tone creeping into Aidan’s voice. “If you want to talk business, maybe you’d better make an appointment.”
“Does that mean if I want to talk personal, you’ll listen to me now?”
Was it her imagination, or had he somehow moved closer? The heat of his body warmed Brianne’s purposely sterile office. If she let him stay in here long enough, she had the feeling he could single-handedly steam all the mirrors and glass.
“I’m saying, make an appointment.” She held out her hand for the remote. “Can I have my equipment back? I’m trying to run a smooth operation here tonight—a fact you seem to be repeatedly forgetting.”
But Aidan was already walking away from her, keeping her remote hostage in the back pocket of his jeans. Damn the man.
Of all the places she wouldn’t touch, he couldn’t have picked anywhere more off-limits.
“You’re pretty interested in technology gadgets, aren’t you, Bri?” He trailed a finger across her master control board, an action that drove techno-types as insane as nails on a chalkboard.
“Touch my buttons and you’re dead, Maddock.”
“Seems like I’m already hitting all your buttons.” He gave her a wicked grin and dropped into a black leather chair in front of the control panel. “Seriously, I heard you studied some major technology while you were at film school. I thought you’d always wanted to be a director?”
With his big body sprawled across her office furniture and his thinly disguised nosy questions, Aidan might as well have hung his FBI shingle on her front door. Despite his lazy posture and casual approach, Agent Maddock was clearly at work.
Brianne sighed, sinking into the leather chair beside his. She didn’t stand a chance of getting any work done until she’d answered at least a few of his questions. “I am a director. As I’m sure a professional snoop like you already knows. I just happened to enjoy the engineering aspect quite a bit.”
His gray eyes held hers a second too long, reminding her of the best kiss of her life….
“You always were into electronic contraptions, weren’t you? Remember that remote key finder you gave me?”
Her cheeks warmed. Did he have to remind her of her schoolgirl crush on him?
She frowned, hoping maybe he’d think she gave useless widgets to everyone she met.
“It’s the envy of every Fed in my office,” Aidan continued, oblivious to her discomfiture while he warmed to his topic. “I left my keys in a Chinese restaurant once and that remote led me right to my beeping key chain. Of course, I had to dig through a little chow mein in the back alley to retrieve them, but it beat walking home.”
Brianne blinked, surprised at the genuine appreciation in his voice. “I’ve progressed since then,” she found herself saying before she could question the wisdom of sharing anything about herself with this man. “Now I can program a menu into my refrigerator so that it reminds me what to take out of the freezer every morning.”
“You’re kidding.” He looked at her like she’d just solved one of his cases. “You ought to work for the Bureau, Brianne. Sort of like Q in those James Bond flicks.”
She had to admire his skillful way of bringing the conversation back around to business. Frankly, she welcomed the distancing reminder of their opposite worlds. She’d been enjoying their conversation just a little bit too much. “Joining the Bureau isn’t going to make me start spilling secrets about Melvin Baxter. I have no idea where he is.”
His gaze met hers as she denied it, as if he was subjecting her to some sort of mental lie detector test.
“Do you think your mother has been in contact with him?” Aidan leaned forward in his chair and pulled her remote control out of his back pocket to study it, as if he didn’t place much importance upon her answer.
Brianne saw straight through the act. Aidan took his job seriously and he was on a mission tonight. She couldn’t buy into his cool FBI guy with a Fu Manchu facade this time around. Aidan might look laid-back, but she knew firsthand he tracked down his personal “most wanted” with single-minded focus.
“I don’t know, Aidan. Even if I did, I’m not certain that I’d discuss it with you.” Too much ancient history between them. Too much hormonal short-circuiting if she sat within touching distance. “Now, can I have my remote back? I’ve got work to do.”
He lifted one dark eyebrow, a quirky expression Brianne remembered well. Her eighteen-year-old self had tried for at least half an hour to raise only one eyebrow like that, and she’d ended up with a massive headache.
“And you think you can just snap your fingers and make the FBI disappear?” Aidan pitched the remote from hand to hand, never taking his eyes off her.
While she admired the man’s dexterity—and didn’t that give rise to intriguing questions about what else he did well with his hands?—Brianne couldn’t afford to allow him to distract her with his sleight of hand.
She snatched the device away from him in midair. “I might not be able to make you vanish this minute since I’m working solo tonight.” Besides, he didn’t exactly pose an immediate danger the way a drunken patron could if she took her eyes off the screens. “But I do know I’m entitled to go about my business while you’re here. Either cut to the chase about what you want from me, Aidan, or let me do my job.” She pressed a button on her recaptured electronic controller and flipped through several camera feeds to monitor the action throughout the club.
Of course, she needed to then follow through on her action and swivel in her chair to view the various monitors off to her side. A position which left her staring up at several small televisions along with an oversize, frozen image of Aidan and the cigarette girl, Daisy, on the middle screen.
She had larger-than-life Aidan on camera in front of her, and all-too-real Aidan emanating pheromones behind her.
A pretty powerful combination.
Good thing Brianne had gotten over her crush on him long ago or this situation might have presented a problem.
A shiver tripped through her while she waited— hoped—he’d give up. Maybe he could go search for Daisy Stephenson’s mouth again. Surely anything would be better than just sitting there behind her.
She could feel the weight of his stare along the back of her neck. She was also pretty damn sure she felt every one of his 98.6 degrees heating the boundaries of her personal space.
And he was getting closer.
Brianne didn’t know how she knew it, but the hair on the back of her neck stood on end with awareness. To turn around would be like acknowledging her curiosity. Something she definitely did not want to admit—even to herself.
But what was he doing back there?
TWO HOME RUNS IN THREE at bats.
Aidan rallied his quickly-splintering concentration to keep his mind off Brianne and his hands to himself.
Think baseball.
The Marlins’ first baseman had been on fire last night—moving his slugging percentage up to almost seven hundred, if Aidan’s math proved semi-reliable.
Which it probably wasn’t, given that the usual appeal of bases gained divided by at bats couldn’t compare to the allure of Brianne Wolcott’s auburn hair spilling over her barely-covered back.
Pale, satiny skin begged his touch while her killer strawberry curls shimmered in the reflected light of ten different televisions.
He might have persevered and calculated stats for the next guy on the roster if only Aidan didn’t remember exactly how smooth that creamy skin felt and how intoxicating her exotic scent had been from their long-ago, accidental interlude.
The faint perfume teased him even now, urging him closer to indulge his memories of Brianne.
As he leaned forward, his hand brushed a button on the elaborate master control board. The oversize screen in front of them came to life in response, setting Daisy Stephenson in motion again.
Saved by the cigarette girl.
Aidan pressed himself back in his seat, as far away from the temptation of Brianne as possible. What had he been thinking to let himself get so close?
Brianne pivoted in her seat, a half smile on her face. “Ready for your big screen debut?”
He welcomed the cool distance in her voice. Hell, he needed an Arctic blast to stay focused on business with Brianne around. He settled for jerking a thumb toward the television, confident his limited exchange with Daisy on screen wouldn’t reveal the woman’s connection to the Bureau. Brianne’s tape didn’t include the audio feed she had for some of the others.
Daisy had been more interested in jumping him than providing information.
“Maybe you can give me a few pointers on how I did.” Aidan needed an excuse to hang out with Brianne, some time to build a rapport with her again.
“Are you sure you can handle an assessment of your technique?” She folded her arms and peered down her nose at him, the ice queen in full battle mode.
Luckily, Brianne’s cool demeanor had never scared him off.
“Since when have I had an ego problem?”
She cracked a genuine smile, a gift all the more special because it was—in Aidan’s experience—so rare.
“You’ve got me there.” She turned back toward the screen just as Daisy flung herself into Aidan’s arms on the archived footage. “Prepare to be critiqued.”
Aidan scooted his chair forward to sit side by side with her, telling himself an essential part of his job was building relationships with people who might have key information on his case. His gut told him Melvin Baxter would be in touch with the ex-stepdaughter he’d always doted on, and Aidan was going to be there when it happened.
His job—his whole badass reputation within the Bureau—demanded it.
His decision to sit two inches from Brianne had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he wanted a better whiff of her perfume.
He stole a glance at her in the dull blue glow radiating from the wall of monitors. Some of the televisions caught the action on the dance floor, around the bars and in the back alleyway. But Brianne stared up at the video of Daisy and Aidan, head tipped to one side as if trying to make sense of the film sequence.
“You bumbled this kiss from the beginning.” She pointed one pale pink fingernail toward the central screen. “It’s all awkward angles and bad timing.”
“That’s not my fault. I got cast with the wrong woman.”
Brianne snorted, her gaze glued to the image of Aidan being clawed into submission by the voluptuous informant.
Okay, maybe he hadn’t exactly fought the woman off. But she’d taken him totally by surprise.
“I’m serious,” he protested, wishing his first meeting with Brianne after ten years didn’t have to take place during a fluke lip lock with an overeager coed. “I’m a foot taller than this girl. I need a leading lady with some major long legs.”
He couldn’t help but smile as Brianne strutted her way into the video scene right on cue.
“Weak excuses. You’d never make it in film, Maddock, no matter how much you flex those ripped muscles.”
Her eyes widened, almost as if she’d said more than she’d meant to. Aidan couldn’t help the slow smile that crept across his face.
She snatched up her remote and smashed the pause button. “Now, I think we can both agree I’ve humored you tonight. It’s time you either get to the point of your visit or you’re really going to have to leave.”
Shit. Aidan needed more time to convince Brianne he wasn’t the devil’s spawn she seemed to think him. Then again, maybe all the time in the world wouldn’t be enough to convince her she could trust him.
One botched encounter with her that night before she left for New York and he ruined the great connection they’d once had.
Unfortunately, it was time to play hardball because he sure as hell couldn’t walk away from his one and only lead to Melvin Baxter.
“Actually, I’m going to have to carve out a spot for myself at Club Paradise for a little while, so we might as well try to work together.” He scratched an idle hand across his chest, affecting a casualness he definitely didn’t feel. He flexed his bicep for her benefit. “You really think the muscles are looking ripped?”
He would have been golden if he could have teased another one of those killer smiles out of her. But as he met her stormy green gaze, he was pretty sure there would be no smiles forthcoming.
In fact, he was damn certain he was about to experience the brunt of Brianne’s new hell-on-wheels attitude.
A COLD, CLAMMY FEAR SETTLED in her gut, but Brianne would rather be cut off from her remote for all of eternity than let Aidan know. He wanted to settle in here? To work?
That could only mean the FBI had her under a microscope, a notion which scared her right down to the silver rings on her toes. If word got out the new club was being investigated, it would taint the place with an underworld feel she and her partners were working hard to overcome.
Thankfully, she’d learned a thing or two about acting in her time behind the camera as a documentary producer, and it wasn’t that much of a stretch to work up some annoyance at Aidan’s presumptuous, self-absorbed shtick.
“I’m not about to get into a discussion of your physique in light of your earlier comment.” She met his gaze levelly, hoping no barroom brawls would break out at the club in the moments she took her eyes off the security monitors. The scene inside her office promised to be more explosive anyhow. “What exactly do you mean you need to carve a spot out for yourself at Club Paradise?”
He leaned back in his chair as if utterly at ease with the notion, then laced his fingers over his reclining chest. “Melvin pissed off a lot of people with this latest stunt, Brianne. You know he took off because we were ready to nail him with racketeering charges?”
No, she hadn’t known. Didn’t want to know. She’d said goodbye to Melvin and all her mother’s other shady—but well-providing—boyfriends and ex-husbands ten years ago. Brianne was well into a new chapter of her life now.
Thoughts of Jimmy the guitar player niggled in the back of her mind. Had she somehow started her own parade of shady boyfriends?
“That doesn’t have anything to do with me or with Club Paradise.” She stood, eager to walk away from the implied intimacy of the darkened room and the proximity of their seating arrangement. She flipped on all the overhead lights, determined to chase away all traces of shadiness in her life. Starting now.
“Whatever business Mel was running out here, it’s not going on anymore. The women I’m partners with have so much collective fury at the Rat Pack that we could probably take down all of them if they were ever stupid enough to set foot in South Beach again. But they’re not. Mel is gone and he’s going to stay gone.”
Aidan blinked against the sudden deluge of high wattage filling the room. “And you think you can make it so by the sheer force of your will? Mel has connections all over town and a strong racketeering operation in place. He’s not going to walk away from that income forever.”
Why had her mother ever married such a loser?
Bad enough Pauline Wolcott-Baxter-Menendez-Simmons unabashedly married the men for money. Did she have to be so unconcerned with how they made it?
Brianne leaned against the master control board, strung tight and wishing she could appear half as at-ease as the agent lounging in her office chair. She set the remote control on the panel beside her. “He knows better than to contact me.”
“I disagree. And since I’m running this investigation, that means I’m going to hang out at the club, watch the surveillance cameras with you, and generally be your best friend for the next few weeks.”
Like hell. “I don’t think so, Aidan. One of our owners is an attorney, you know. If there’s a way to legally keep you out of here, Lainie will find it.”
He rose, unfolding his six-foot-four frame from his slouchy position in the chair.
To Brianne the subtle physical message couldn’t have been more obvious. He was no longer talking to her as an old friend. He was issuing FBI-guy orders in no uncertain terms.
“I don’t think Lainie is going to find an easy opponent in the justice system, Bri, but good luck. In the meantime, I’ll be here tomorrow night before you open.” He drifted closer, his shuffling walk landing him a scant foot from Brianne.