THE SOUTH BEACH STRIP was kicking into high gear by the time Aidan found an empty parking space near Club Paradise the next night. The club wouldn’t open for another hour, but he wanted to stroll through the grounds, get the lay of the land before he crossed swords with Brianne again.
Thanks to her and her knack for sexual innuendo, Aidan hadn’t slept the night before. Her implication that he wanted to see more of her had been dead-on accurate and his mind had obligingly created an image of naked Brianne for Aidan to drool over until the crack of dawn.
Now, tired and irritable, he faced the prospect of sitting next to her all night with as much enthusiasm as a suspect being read his Miranda rights.
Good thing Aidan knew how to focus on his job. As long as he ignored the sexual chemistry between him and Brianne, he’d be fine.
Winding his way through the palm trees and vacant cabanas on the resort’s flawless beachfront property, Aidan made mental notes of the terrain and tried not to remember he hadn’t been able to ignore the chemistry thing with Brianne when she’d been all of eighteen.
How could he ever pretend he wasn’t attracted to her now that she was every bit a consenting adult?
Well, maybe not completely consenting. Yet. Damn it, why did he keep thinking she might be if he applied a bit of effort to the task?
Tugging open a tinted glass door to one of the resort’s four connecting Mediterranean-style buildings, Aidan welcomed the Arctic blast from the air-conditioned interior. He’d been overheating from more than just the sultry Florida air.
A pop tune blared from the disco, bouncing through the marble and tile hallways to the small reception area between the hotel and the club. The sound would be more muted once carpets were installed, but for now, Aidan was subjected to a warbling soprano belting out bubble-gum lyrics along with the reigning pop princess who sang over the speakers.
Curious to see the source of that brazenly out-of-tune voice, Aidan peered into the club to find two women congregated with Brianne at the end of the low stage and a colorful blonde with braids in her hair sashaying down the runway like a model for hippie-wear. Her see-through skirts were layered so you couldn’t truly see through them, but the effect was intriguing, especially given their rainbow hues.
The singing woman taking center stage provided a perfect foil for austere Brianne on the sidelines in a chocolate brown, sleeveless cat suit. Brianne looked like a jewel thief ready for her next heist, minus only a ski mask. Her every move was elegant, her tall body as quietly graceful as the blonde was noisily ostentatious.
“Well, who do we have here?” The blonde stopped in mid-chorus, drawing the gazes of the three other women toward Aidan.
He could sense the slight stiffening of Brianne’s already perfect posture, feel the thread of tension emanating from her.
She laid down the clipboard she’d been holding, but she didn’t exactly run over to greet him. “Summer Farnsworth, say hello to Aidan Maddock, our very own federal agent.”
Brianne reminded him of the other women’s names. He’d questioned them both after Melvin and company took flight. The blonde on the runway stared down at him with unmasked surprise.
“You’re the FBI guy?” Her gaze roamed over his backward baseball cap and his white T-shirt that advertised a regatta from three years ago.
“That’s me. But I’d prefer if we kept that as low-profile as possible. Sort of an undercover thing.” He turned to Brianne and nodded toward the doorway. “Can I bother you for a few minutes?”
He needed to get this initial face-off with Brianne behind him so he could move on with his investigation.
She didn’t answer, but she picked up her handheld computer and sauntered toward the door, long legs perfectly outlined by the slim fit of her outfit.
Aidan took the opportunity to stage whisper to Brianne’s friends, “If anyone asks, I’m her new lover. It’s part of the cover.” Could he help it if his work provided fun perks?
“I heard that,” Brianne called over one shoulder, not even pausing as she plowed through the doors toward the hotel.
Aidan nodded to Brianne’s partners before he followed her, thinking he’d probably need to investigate them a little more fully. Summer Farnsworth and Giselle Cesare seemed like face-value women, but Lainie Reynolds might have a few things to hide. She’d been married to Robert Flynn, Melvin’s closest partner, when the Rat Pack had pulled out of South Beach.
Of course, he wasn’t thinking about anyone but Brianne by the time he caught up to her slim silhouette strutting down the hall toward her office.
“Wait up, Bri.”
She had obviously inherited the New York pace while living up north.
Brianne spun on him in the middle of the opulent corridor. Perfectly centered under a massive crystal chandelier, she stared him down and began her advance. Her high heels clicked an ominous tone on the Moroccan tile floor as she closed the space between them.
“If I’m going to allow you to invade my life over the next few weeks, don’t you think you could at least do me the courtesy of keeping up with me?”
She looked pissed, and he would guess that didn’t have anything to do with him not keeping up with her. Still, some demon drove him to provoke her.
“But how are we going to perpetuate the idea that we’re a couple when we can’t even stroll along side-by-side?”
The spark in her green eyes practically burst into flame.
“And how dare you put me in a position of having to look like your…” She gave him a thorough once-over, as if she couldn’t believe she’d have to attach herself to him even if it was only in rumors. “…lover. Did it ever occur to you I might object to such a ludicrous cover story?”
“You really think it’s ludicrous?” He peered down at his three-year-old regatta shirt, wondering if she had a point. Brianne definitely looked more uptown than Aidan ever would.
She continued to advance, backing him right into a marble table beneath a mirror the size of a swimming pool.
Not that he was complaining. He finally got a whiff of that perfume that had teased his nose all last night.
Sort of musky and dark. Almost as if she’d gone out and bought a bottle of sex stimulant and spritzed it on her neck.
“It’s utterly preposterous. Daisy, for one, is going to see right through it given that you were her lover just yesterday.” She pointed a finger dead center at his chest and held it a fraction of an inch from his sternum. “You could have told them you were my neighbor, my brother, my mechanic or my decorator, Aidan. Any of them would have been more plausible.”
“Your decorator?” He wasn’t totally certain he’d heard her correctly. He was too busy taking small breaths so the aphrodisiac she used as perfume wouldn’t bring him to his knees.
“Yes. My decorator.” The idea made her smile. Not the real Brianne smile, but the half-cocked version that made her look like a sultry pinup girl.
Okay. He was a politically correct guy and all. And he was pretty sure there were plenty of heterosexual male decorators in the world. But from the wicked gleam in her eyes, Aidan would stake his badge she was trying hard to insult him.
And she was doing a damn good job.
“But I bet I can pull off a convincing kiss a hell of a lot better than I can hang wallpaper.” He inched forward just enough to back up his claim.
Her eyes widened. The finger she’d been jabbing at him fell to her side. She even backed up a step before regaining her take-no-crap attitude.
“Don’t forget I critiqued your kisses, Maddock.” She pivoted as if