Sex & the Single Girl (5 page)

In reality, he spread his fingers and thumbs a bit farther apart on her waist to cover a little more territory.

And in reality, he knew he didn't stand a chance of letting go without just one taste.

 

I
F
A
IDAN HAD TRIED
a frontal approach, Brianne would have been prepared.

She would have fended him off with a few well-chosen words, maybe another decorator crack, and she would have been on her way to her office right now.

She hadn't counted on this sneak offensive from behind.

Funny thing was, now that she stood so close to him, encircled in his arms and surrounded by enough muscle to bench press her several times over, Brianne didn't feel like fending him off.

To fight against an attraction that had plagued her since high school seemed foolish. And damn it, she hadn't spent ten years in New York's balls-to-the-wall film industry only to run away from a little confrontation.

She'd take what she wanted from Aidan and move on. Follow the heat right into the fire of the kiss she wanted so badly and then get on with her life. Nothing like tackling your demons to excise them.

Aidan had started this sultry interlude. But
she
was going to finish it.

Right here, right now.

She didn't give him a chance to retreat. Turning in his arms, she faced him in the deserted hallway, stared up into eyes she'd seen in more dreams than she could count.

But instead of allowing Aidan to come to her, as he always had in her overactive imagination, Brianne rose up on her toes to meet his lips with her own.

Consciously, she choreographed the moves as carefully as if she were behind a camera directing the action. This was not a kiss to indulge in for selfish reasons. This would be a tongue-tangle with a mission. Not only would Brianne demolish her old infatuation with Aidan, she also intended to wipe all memory of Daisy Stephenson from his mind while she was at it.

Her hands smoothed over his white T-shirt, appreciating the sculpted perfection of his body. Her fingers twined in his hair, tripped along the back of his neck.

He tasted like toothpaste and Tic Tacs—minty but warm. She anchored herself to him, savoring every inch of his hard masculine planes next to her soft, compliant curves. She couldn't have molded to him any more perfectly had she been made of Play-Doh.

It would be a challenge to break away from the heat of his body, the seductive taste of a kiss she had been waiting ten years for. But she had no choice.

She
had
to walk away from him.

And then
he
touched
her.

Perhaps she'd been so absorbed in playing out their kiss just the right way that she hadn't noticed he wasn't participating fully.

Until right now.

Aidan's hands cupped both her hips, steering her exactly where she needed to be between his legs as they stood in the hallway. Brianne didn't dare open her eyes to peek at their reflection in the swimming-pool size mirror because she had a feeling the image of them pressed together would be too erotic to bear.

But then, keeping her eyes closed proved to be an incredibly sensual experience as well. Without the distraction of her sight, Brianne seemed all the more in tune with her other senses. The slight evergreen scent of his soap mingled with the fragrance of her perfume, the heat of their bodies amplifying the normally subtle smells.

Aidan's hands continued to hold her prisoner through pleasure. He ran his palms up her shoulders and outlined her collarbone with his fingers. The palms of his hands hovered a scant inch above her breasts, making them tingle and tighten in response.

But more intoxicating than anything else was the
wet slide of his lips over hers. His tongue teased and tasted her, made her a full participant in her own seduction.

She could feel herself swaying on her heels, recognized the approach of a sensual tidal wave sure to drag her under. Still, she couldn't take her hands off Aidan if she tried. Her fingers moved with restless energy over every available inch of him, cataloguing the shape and feel of his chest through his cotton shirt. She pressed him as close as possible to the needy greed of a body gone too long without a man.

Every ounce of her energy went toward remaining on her feet or she might have ended up sprawled across the Moroccan tile with Aidan Maddock.

Instead, a shrill rendition of a pop anthem reached their ears.

She was saved by Summer's bad taste in music.

Brianne broke away, still reeling from the out-of-control mouth mating. Her heart slammed against her ribs as if she'd sprinted a mile. She simmered with need, her body on fire for more.

But she couldn't let Aidan know. The man had already refused her once. She would make sure he never had that opportunity again.

It required every shred of her limited acting ability, but Brianne found her motivation in a hurry.

Aidan could
never
be a part of her life.

“That wasn't too bad.” She fluffed her hair and called up a smile for Aidan's benefit, hoping her knees wouldn't cave right underneath her in the wake of that kiss. “Maybe all you needed was a little practice.”

T
HE KISS HAD OBVIOUSLY
fried Aidan's neurons because no way in hell could he have understood what Brianne had just said. Then again, blood blasted through his veins as if his body was fuel injected, so maybe he just couldn't hear over the rush of red blood cells. And the warble of off-key soprano down the hall. “Run that by me again?”

Brianne cocked one hand on her hip, the hall mirror behind her reflecting the stance with an even more interesting view. Her green eyes stared him down even as her lips still trembled from their tongue tangling. “I suggested your kiss was a credible effort. But now I propose we move on to business and quit with the spin-the-bottle games. If you want my help, Aidan, you can't try to downplay your mission with questionable charm. We both know what you're really here for.”

Aidan took a step back, his hands raised to shoulder height to show her he meant no harm. The woman was hot as a pistol—just fired and smoking. He needed to start exercising a little caution around her or they were liable to both get burned.

He had no business kissing her or touching her. No right to prove that her tough-girl guise was all an act. He had the feeling that with another touch—maybe
two—he and Brianne would find out exactly how much heat was left in their attraction to one another.

But he couldn't afford to get wrapped up in her now. Not with his case riding on her cooperation and his residual doubts about her innocence in Mel Baxter's shady dealings still looming.

“You think you know what I'm really here for, Brianne?” Right now, he was wondering himself. Sure, he needed to put Mel Baxter away as a matter of professional pride. Mel was swindling half of Miami by now, but Aidan still held a grudge that the guy had made off with half his grandparents' life savings ten years ago when Mel dabbled in television evangelism.

His grandmother and grandfather had managed the monetary loss, but they'd never gotten to enjoy their retirement.

Still, Aidan didn't have any idea if he was standing in Club Paradise right now because of them. Or because of all the Dade County bigwigs who'd lost money investing in the resort.

Aidan wondered if, deep down, he'd hightailed it over here tonight to see what it would be like to kiss twenty-eight-year-old Brianne as opposed to eighteen-year-old Brianne.

No comparison.

The woman must grow more potent with each passing year.

“I know exactly what you're here for since you made it very plain to me yesterday.” She swiveled on one high heel and continued in the direction of her office, her shoes clicking a fast beat on the colorful corridor tiles. “You want access to the club and you
want to view my videotapes. That won't be a problem assuming you've brought the necessary paperwork.” She paused in her sexy strut. Turned her head in a way that sent auburn hair swishing over her shoulder. “You do have a warrant, don't you?”

Of course she wouldn't forget about that. Aidan had known better than to think he could roll right over Brianne Wolcott.

“About the warrant—”

She folded her arms across her chocolate-colored cat suit. The bare skin on her arms looked far softer than the expression on her face. “Forget it. No warrant, no tapes.”

Shit.

Aidan had practically begged a federal judge for the warrant in addition to presenting credible evidence for why he needed access to Brianne's security archives. According to his informant, those cameras of hers had been running for nearly two weeks. Who knew what evidence they might have captured in that time?

But the judge was a notorious hard-ass and hadn't been impressed. Leaving Aidan with nothing to sway Brianne other than his smooth-talking charm.

And from Brianne's tight-lipped glare, Aidan suspected no amount of cajoling would help him in his cause tonight.

“I couldn't get the warrant. But it's just a damn piece of paper, Brianne. I need to be here if I'm going to find Mel.” His voice was loud enough that his words bounced around the wide hallways and tile surfaces.

“To you it's just a piece of paper, maybe. But it's
a legal necessity to me.” Brianne's voice whispered along the corridor, but her message was every bit as clear. “Contrary to your beliefs, I don't have anything to do with men who circumvent the rules at every turn. I'm on the straight and narrow, and you need to be, too, if you expect me to cooperate with your investigation.”

Aidan skimmed a hand over his baseball cap-covered head, willing a good idea to pop into his brain before Brianne tossed him out on his ass. He needed to be here tonight. Call it gut instinct. Intuition.

But something told him Club Paradise held the keys to Mel Baxter's whereabouts and Aidan's case.

No way could he allow Brianne's anger at him from a decade ago to overshadow his number one priority.

“If I leave the club tonight, Brianne, I can guarantee you I won't be far away. And I won't really be gone.” He took a step closer, ready to go toe-to-toe with her on this. He lowered his voice, unrepentant about using mild intimidation tactics on a woman who could probably teach him a few things about attitude. “Wouldn't you rather have me in your sights so you know where I am and what I'm doing as opposed to having me in the shadows, watching you when you are unaware?”

He hadn't meant to infuse the question with sexual overtones, but as the words left his lips the provocation was suddenly just
there,
not even remotely subtle.

Brianne didn't betray a thing with her cool expression, but Aidan watched her shoulders rise and fall with the same bracing breaths he was taking to keep his hands in check.

Damn, but he wanted to touch her again.

“Surely you aren't supposed to coerce innocent people in the course of your investigations, Agent Maddock.” In the background, the blaring pop music finally ceased. “Are you certain your superiors would approve of your approach?”

Hell no. But then again, Aidan had never advertised himself as a play-by-the-rules kind of guy. Sure, his unorthodox methods had landed him in the agency's doghouse sometimes, but they had also accounted for a stellar track record on his cases overall.

“Maybe not. But if you don't mention the coercion, I won't dispute your status as an innocent person.”

Before Brianne could reply, Aidan heard the double doors of the club open out on to the corridor several yards behind him. Feminine laughter and a collection of clicking high heels approached.

“I'm a hell of a lot closer to innocent than you are,” she hissed between clenched teeth, no doubt attempting to hide their conversation from her advancing business partners.

“You must have a short memory, Bri,” he whispered back, only too pleased for the excuse to lean closer to her. “The steamy propositions you tossed my way as a wild eighteen-year-old were more inventive than any I'd heard before or since.”

 

B
RIANNE HAD SPENT
the last ten years cultivating a proficient poker face to negotiate with the heavy hitters in her male-dominated profession. But she had the feeling that—despite her best effort—her expression now was nothing short of panic-stricken.

She'd suspected Aidan would remember a few of
the racier proposals she'd issued in her overeager youth. But she really,
really
hoped he wouldn't remember one in particular.

A fantasy of hers—ancient, of course—involving Agent Aidan Maddock in his investigator role and Brianne in her suspect role.

Specifically, a strip search.

Cloaking any sign of her fears with an effort, Brianne recovered just as Summer, Giselle and Lainie reached them.

Summer flashed a thumbs-up as she cruised by in her rainbow-colored skirts and braids. She was a walking fashion emergency today but she still managed to look gorgeous. “I tested the club microphones in your absence, Brianne, and I'm happy to report they are working just fine.”

Giselle settled for winking at Aidan as she tapped past them too, but Lainie paused and donned her cool, face-the-public smile for his benefit.

“Agent Maddock, I trust Brianne has explained to you that all the partners behind Club Paradise are happy to extend our full cooperation to your investigation of the former ownership?” Lainie smoothed an already perfect strand of her blond hair behind one ear, her gold cuff bracelet glimmering in the lighting from an overhead chandelier.

Brianne sighed inwardly at her co-owner's helpfulness.

Aidan responded with the full force of his charm. “Thank you, Ms. Reynolds. Brianne was just getting ready to give me a tour of the resort so I could get
acclimated for making myself at home here over the next week or two.”

Had he told her he'd be here for that long?

“Excellent. Just let me know if you need anything else.” Lainie smiled with more efficiency than warmth, and it occurred to Brianne she probably hadn't ever seen a full-fledged grin on the new CEO's face.

One day she'd ask Summer more about Lainie's story, but now as her partner departed down the hallway, she was too annoyed with Aidan to think about it anymore.

Aidan turned on her, his mask of polite good humor vanishing. His dark brows flattened into a fearsome slash across his forehead. “Care to tell me why you're wasting our time arguing about whether or not I have your authorization to hang out on the premises when your partners have obviously already agreed on it?”

Unwilling to be cowed by the tough-guy act, Brianne decided the time had come for a little cold, hard honesty here.

“Has it ever occurred to you I might not want the object of an ancient and embarrassing crush glued to my side for two whole weeks?” She struggled to keep her tone even, level. Her work had taught her that women were more likely to be written off if they emoted too much. Men had the luxury of acting out when and if they so chose, but thanks to an age-old stereotype of the hysterical female, women had to pull the ice queen facade in order to make men take them seriously.

Usually, she was superb in that particular role. But oddly enough, the subject of Aidan Maddock still had
the power to get her a little more riled than she cared to admit.

Aidan frowned. “You find an old crush on me embarrassing? You think I've gone downhill in the last ten years, Bri?”

A little exasperated sigh broke free.

After ten years of keeping her cool—even with the psycho guitar player former boyfriend—Brianne couldn't believe Aidan was already getting under her skin.

“That's not what I mean and you know it. I don't appreciate having to rub elbows with a guy I once threw myself at as if I were—”

“Some kind of lovelorn teenager?” he supplied.

She glared at him. “Some kind of blind and disillusioned kid.”

Aidan nodded. Placated her. “You're right. I can see where the situation might be a little awkward for you.” Was he hiding a preening male smile underneath that pseudo-charm of his? “But now that we've established that I'm going to be welcomed here by the rest of the owners, why don't we move on to a quick tour of the grounds and then I'll make myself scarce.”

“Then you don't need to be in my office with all the security equipment?” If she'd known they didn't have to be together all the time—

“I meant I'd make myself as scarce as I can be in your office,” he amended quickly as he made a sweeping gesture for her to go first down the hall. “I'm pretty damn good at my job, you know. And the faster I find out where Mel is hiding, the sooner I'll be out of your hair.”

“I can't help you there,” Brianne protested, though she knew Aidan didn't believe her any more now than he had a decade ago. Not that it mattered any longer. “But I can give the tour of the property in less than an hour assuming you can keep up.”

She blew by him, grateful for the distance her long legs could cover in just a few paces. And she didn't wait to see if he followed.

This time, Brianne would be the one leaving him in her dust.

 

A
IDAN TOOK A SHALLOW BREATH
as he sat shoulder to shoulder with Brianne at her master control board later that night. A deep breath would draw in too much of her scent, too much of her. And he was already edgy and restless from spending half the day glued to her side.

They'd only been apart long enough for Brianne to change out of the sleek brown cat suit she'd been wearing and into a skirt short enough to leave him practically drooling in her wake. Apparently this new outfit was the kind of getup a woman wore when she worked in a nightclub.

Getup
being a pretty damn descriptive phrase at the moment.

Now, she stared up at her wall of monitors and spoke softly into her headset to one of her partners. The blue digital clock on the control board turned to 4:00 a.m.—closing time—while she narrated a drunken man's actions to the party on the other end of her connection. It sounded like Brianne was asking if she should intervene in the situation.

Aidan could hardly keep quiet. “If he doesn't make it out the door under his own power in another minute, I'll run him off.” He didn't like the idea of Brianne playing bouncer to a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound biker with spikes strapped around his wrists. Besides, it would probably do him some good to get a breath of air that didn't involve Brianne's darkly complex perfume.

Brianne covered the mouthpiece of her headset with one hand and glared at him in the dim light of the security board in her office. “I don't think so, Maddock. Thanks anyway.”

Had she always been this bristly? Even now in her crisp white man's shirt and shorter-than-short black sequin skirt, she had a cool, hands-off look about her before she said a word.

“You're running a one-woman show here, Bri,” he shot back as he switched screens on the monitors to check out the action on the street in front of the club. Still no signs of Mel Baxter. “Can you really afford to turn away offers to help out?”