Adrienne Giordano Page 8

  Manny—all big teeth and brown eyes—gagged. “My pits are good and smelly, dude.”

  “You got nothin’, kid. I can show you smelly pits.”

  Enough. Kristen held up her hands. “Boys, let’s not go there, shall we? Besides, I’m ready for lunch.” She turned to Billy. “Lunch plans?”

  “Uh, yeah. Izzy texted me a while ago.” He batted his eyes. “She’s afraid I’m lonely. Raincheck?”

  “Of course.”

  “How about we meet tomorrow?” He grabbed his phone from his pocket and tapped the screen. “You name the time. I can work on what we discussed here and go over everything with you then.”

  She shouldn’t do this. If she had any sense, she would keep it to meeting in her office, where her business mind would stay firmly intact and not be distracted by the fact that Billy Tripp was criminally handsome and made her laugh. “Sure. Check with me in the morning and we’ll figure out a time.”

  * * *

  That evening, Billy dialed Kristen’s cell. Voice mail. Did the woman ever answer?

  Screw it. He went to her office, letting himself into the executive suite with the key card she’d given him, but didn’t find her. He checked the time on his phone. Eight-thirty.

  Ten to one she’s hiding again.

  If so, telling her the camera situation was fixed could wait until tomorrow because, workhorse that she was, she deserved her solitude. But, as hard as he was trying to stick to this backing-off thing, he had plans for her. Big plans. Naked, sweaty plans.

  Mindsnap.

  He took a breath, shook his head to settle his rioting thoughts and headed out to search for Kristen. He stopped at the bar on the first floor and ordered a dirty martini and a beer before heading out to the pool deck. If she wasn’t there, he’d have just wasted fourteen bucks on a drink and he’d rather put a bullet through his eye than force down a martini.

  Once on the pool deck, he stopped, inhaled the ocean air and closed his eyes. Yeah, South Beach in December. Something about this place settled him. Gave him solitude from his constantly streaming thoughts. Made him feel like he could control his mouth enough to save him from his boss’s wrath. Maybe what he needed were casual trips to South Beach between assignments. Time to shut down, stop thinking so damned much and relax. And let’s not forget possibly hanging out with one Kristen Dante. He filed it in the to-be-considered drawer in his brain.

  Rustling palm trees brought him back to his mission of finding M.H. The clearing for her hiding spot was a few feet in front of him. He took a step, but halted, listening for any signs of life. Aside from kids splashing in the pool, he caught the chink of a fork against a plate from the general direction of Kristen’s haven.

  He shouldn’t sneak up on her. What to do? Call her?

  And say what? “I’m ten feet away with cocktails and want to utilize your hiding space for obscene things done in a variety of positions that will leave us both smiling and extremely satisfied.” Maybe calling her wasn’t a class-A plan.

  “Psst! Kristen?”

  What kind of jackhole stood whispering into a clump of trees? This had to be a man card violation. Vic would have the mother of all cows. Billy couldn’t help it if he sucked at this backing off thing. The little voice in his head said, “Go, go, go.”

  Screw it. Martini and beer in hand, he moved closer. “Kristen?”

  “Billy?”

  “Yeah. Can I come back there?”

  “What, are you an idiot? Of course you can.”

  Oh, honey, how I think I love you.

  He stepped into the clearing and there she sat, fork in one hand, an iPad in front of her, tapping the screen with her free hand. Talk about a multitasker.

  “Quartz. Take that!” She dropped the fork into her salad bowl, shoved the iPad away and held her arms up. “I love when I beat the computer.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you. It’s the small stuff, you know.” She eyeballed the martini glass. “What have you got there?”

  “I brought you a fresh drink.” He spotted the empty on the table. “Perfect timing.”

  “Thank you. Tonight I’ll indulge in a second. Why not? Have a seat.”

  “Sorry to interrupt. I called, but you didn’t answer.”

  She dug into the pocket of yet another of her tent sweaters. He needed to have a sweater burning rally. Just round up all those suckers and torch ‘em.

  “Look at that. It went straight to voice mail.”

  “Doesn’t matter. There’s no emergency. Figured you’d want to know your cameras are fixed.”

  “Already?”

  After the three goons in the shed? Fast wasn’t fast enough. Holding his hands wide, he made a pffting noise. “Babe, please. This is me we’re talking about. Besides, my boss wants to keep the Dante clan happy. Vic called one of his contacts at a local company and the guy came out a couple hours ago.”

  “I love Vic.”

  Knowing he shouldn’t do it, Billy leaned in and ran a finger over the back of her hand. “Do I get any credit? At all?”

  Mirroring him, Kristen slowly came toward him, her gaze hot on his. “Sure—” she slapped at his hand and smiled, “—but you’re a total failure at backing off.”

  He laughed, sat back and settled himself more comfortably into his chair. Yep, he had a serious case of smitten. “That’s actually not true. If I weren’t backing off, I’d have parlayed getting those cameras fixed into something a whole lot more personal.”

  “Who says I would have given in?”

  He shrugged. “I never assume, but it works more times than not.”

  “And is that enviable? Keeping track of how many times women fall victim to your advances?”

  Ouch. “Okay, well, first, I don’t keep track. I don’t need to analyze my success ratio to know I’m successful more times than not. Second, I’ve outgrown it. I have no problem admitting I’ve been a male whore in the past. That’s over now.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  He shrugged. “Some chick went fatal attraction on me, parking herself on my doorstep every day until I begged Vic to send me overseas.”

  “She wouldn’t leave you alone?”

  “Not for a second. I never gave her my phone number. Even went to her place rather than taking her to mine.”

  “How did she find you?”

  “I told her where I worked and she followed me from the office. The first time she showed up at my door, I couldn’t remember her name. I’ve never been a morality nut and I like to think I’m loose in terms of how people live their lives, but I went to bed with her and forgot her name. I’d say that falls smack into the fairly disgusting category.”

  Kristen shrugged. “I’d say disgusting is harsh. This is South Beach. Party central. Money and indiscriminate sex are as common as ocean waves. I personally don’t agree with it, but my sister partakes and considers it her right to do so. If two people consent and they’re safe about it, I don’t think anyone has the right to tell them they can’t do it.”

  A freethinker. Yeah, I might definitely be in love. “I bet you’d pass the ‘it’s me’ test.”

  “I can’t wait to hear this one.”

  “One of my buddies told me about this and—as butt-crack stupid as it is—I have to agree with it. If someone you’ve taken out once or twice leaves a voice mail and says ‘Hi, it’s me,’ it’s an indicator.”

  “Oh, dear God. An indicator of what?”

  “It implies a familiarity, don’t you think? A settling in before you even know each other. I hate that. Why does it need to be rushed? If I’m dating someone, I want it to unfold slowly so I can discover things along the way. That’s more fun.”

  “You like the chase?”

  “No. No patience for it. But if I want someone, I’ll take the time necessary to discover her needs. For instance, I want you and I will sit here all night trying to figure out what makes you who you are. And, my guess is you’d never call me and say �
�Hi, it’s me.’ You’d say, ‘Hi, it’s Kristen.’ And I like that about you. You don’t need to push yourself onto people.”

  Kristen picked up her martini, held it in front of her in a mock toast and sucked down half. For the tenth time since he sat down, Billy laughed. He liked that about her too. Her ability to make him laugh. To not be condescending when he admitted his ADD. To make him never want to leave this table.

  Yeah, South Beach in December.

  “So, now that I’ve scared the hell out of you…”

  With the martini safely back on the table, she waved him off. “You don’t scare me Billy Tripp. Wait, that’s a lie. Part of you terrifies me. You distract me. I’m extremely self-disciplined. Right now, my rule of taking an hour to eat in privacy is over. I should be walking the hotel, checking the restaurants and the clubs, schmoozing our VIPs. Yet, I’m sitting here with you having a second martini. And I’m enjoying it.”

  “That’s a problem?”

  “I don’t have the luxury of time spent distracted.”

  Billy’s phone buzzed. Incoming text. He ignored it. Instead he shot her one of his no-fail smiles. “I don’t require a lot of time. I can be thorough in an amazingly short time span.”

  The phone screamed “Maneater.” Shit—er—ship. He yanked it from his pocket to shut the thing up. He really needed to change that. These ringtones were causing all kinds of problems. “Hey, Iz.”

  “What are you doing?”

  The age-old question. “I’m talking to Kristen. What’s up?”

  “Peter is tired. I’d like to hit one of the clubs. You interested?”

  Eh, wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen. “I guess. For an hour.”

  “Good. Meet me in front of Paradiso at ten.”

  “Got it.” He ended the call and immediately set a reminder for 9:55 p.m. “Izzy wants to hit Paradiso tonight. I love the names of the clubs, by the way. The whole Dante’s Inferno reference.”

  Kristen nodded and sat forward. “Here’s a little Dante family trivia for you. It’s a secret though.”

  “Ooohhhh, do tell.”

  “Our childhood nanny used to call Jess Inferno. I was Paradiso. When we designed the hotel I thought it would be fun to have two towers. That’s why the decorating is so different. Inferno tower has more drama and dark colors. That’s Jess with her fire. Paradiso has a lighter, more subdued palette. That’s me.”

  “Inferno is a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there.”

  Billy’s phone buzzed again. What now? He was busy here. He grabbed it. A text from Monk. “This should be good.”

  The message read Make sure nobody puts hands on my girl.

  “Shut the front door, man, you gotta get a life.”

  “Everything okay?” Kristen asked.

  “Yeah. Monk doesn’t want anyone making time with Izzy. The guy is whacked. I’m good, but I’m not that good. I mean, has he met his girlfriend? She can’t walk three feet without someone hitting on her.” Billy shook his head and, having had enough of Monk and Izzy and their antics, stuck the phone in his pocket.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what is it with you two? I’m sensing tension there.”

  Understatement of the century. “Uh, yeah. That would be the other part of me being down here. Last summer, I mouthed off to Monk and he beat the crap out of me.”

  “Seriously?”

  Billy tapped his fingers on the table. “Yep. Put me in the hospital for three days.”

  The shock in her wide-eyed look couldn’t be denied. Yeah, sweet thing, I can be that much of a dick.

  “What did you say to him?”

  “What didn’t I is the question. One of our teammates died a few months back. Killed during an op. Monk was supposed to be working that day, but he was sick so Roy filled in. Our guy Monk, you may have noticed, thinks everyone is his responsibility and the guilt drove him nutso. He didn’t sleep for days and I was ragging on him about being crabby. Let’s just say, I rode him too hard during a time I shouldn’t have and he blew his stack. Sky high.”

  “And you’re still friends?”

  “Sure. We just haven’t dealt with it yet.”

  “As in you haven’t discussed it? At all? You haven’t apologized to each other?”

  Apologize? Maybe Billy shouldn’t have dogged him, but Monk didn’t have to beat him to coughing up blood.

  Or did he?

  Billy had been asking himself that question for months now and still found himself twisted tight over whether he was a crappy person or if the ADD sometimes prohibited him from doing the right thing. Add to that his own mental warfare over losing two well-liked team members in separate incidents within months of each other and he found himself teetering on an emotional ledge. Monk, their defacto leader, the go-to guy when the shit hit the fan, whacking out after Roy’s death didn’t help, and Billy flat out lost control of his mind. Which led to him forgetting to renew his passport and landed him in trouble with Vic. Right now, all he knew was since the fight with Monk, he constantly felt unsettled and self-destructive. “He put me in a hospital for three days.” He held up three fingers. “Three days.”

  “I realize that. And he needs to apologize, but Peter seems levelheaded. In my limited dealings with him, he doesn’t strike me as someone who loses control to that extreme. If you instigated the problem, you should take responsibility for your part in it. Maybe he’s waiting for you to do that and he’ll apologize.”

  Apologize.

  Kristen reached over and patted his hand. “Be the better man, Billy, and tell him you’re sorry.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “You do that. Tell me about the ADD.”

  “What’s to tell? They tested me in grammar school. Found I was borderline.”

  “Do you take medication?”

  “No. Since I was borderline, my parents—my mother specifically—wanted to try behavioral therapy. She busted her ass keeping me on a regimented schedule, controlling my diet, staying consistent with discipline and making sure I got enough physical exercise to burn off the energy. When it comes to parenting a kid like I was, she’s a rock star.”

  Kristen tilted her head. “I don’t hear a lot of people say that.”

  “Hey, not medicating isn’t for everyone. Some kids need the medicine and should have it, but for me, for the most part, we managed without it. With the right conditions, I can handle it. Sometimes I go astray.”

  Like recently.

  “So, when your mother asked you to quit swearing, you agreed.”

  “For what she gave me, the understanding and faith she had, I owe her at least that.”

  Kristen tapped her hands against the martini glass. “Sometimes you are the most refreshing man, Billy Tripp. You never quite say what I expect.”

  He smiled. “I’ve heard that before. And not in a good way.”

  “I meant it in a good way.” She stood and straightened the tent sweater. “I need to get back to work. Thanks for the martini.”

  He shoved his chair back, stood to walk with her. “Anytime.” As long as you get rid of the muumuu and give a guy some skin.

  Then she not only surprised him, she made him fall a little bit in love by kissing his cheek. “This was fun. I like talking to you.”

  “And to think, you didn’t like me at first.”

  “That’s because you wouldn’t stop staring at the girls. You were being typical, and you are anything but.”

  “I do try to give people something to remember me by.”

  Chapter Seven

  Strobing blue and red lights flashed as hot women, seriously hot, suntanned women wearing swatches of gauze for dresses, rocked and twisted their bodies in directions that shouldn’t be possible for the average human.

  The guys didn’t seem to mind. Hell, Billy didn’t mind, why should the other men?

  Cripes, this place was packed. Holding Izzy’s arm, he squeezed through the crowd toward the bar where partygoer
s stood four deep.

  Rather than shout at Izzy over Chris Brown via the DJ, he jerked his head to the end of the bar. One of the cocktail waitresses, a college-age blonde in killer heels, micro shorts and an even more deadly black tank top with a sequined neckline, spotted him. He dropped a fifty on her tray. “That’s for you,” he half shouted. “Can you grab me a couple of drinks while you’re at the bar?”

  She pocketed the fifty and took his order.

  “Good job,” Izzy said. “I wish Peter were here.”

  Yeah, me too. In this meat market, some jackass would be crazy not to hit on her and he didn’t want to deal with it.

  In front of him, someone pushed through. The back of the guy’s head looked familiar.

  “Hey,” he yelled and—jackpot—the guy turned toward him. Jess’s boyfriend. The preppy jagweed. She’d better not be, once again, blowing off Kristen’s order to stay away or he’d bust her ass out.

  “What?” The boyfriend looked Billy up and down.

  “Where’s Jess?”

  “How should I know? Haven’t talked to her today.”

  With that, prepster moved on, leaving Billy dreaming about kicking his ass a time or two. Something about his elitist attitude. He couldn’t worry about it now. He would however, keep an eye out for the little sister from hell. Jesus, these Dantes were a lot of work.

  Forty-five minutes later, sweating like a distance runner, Billy hauled Izzy off the dance floor. He reached for his phone to check the time because, yes, folks, he was tired and ready for bed. Izzy didn’t look so tired. But he’d promised her at least an hour and she’d get it. Dancing. Someone save him.

  A couple of texts and a voice mail had come in. One from Kristen. Go, me. Some guy dressed in white slacks and a light pink button-down stepped up to Izzy and gave her a perusal. Izzy—bless her heart—did her soft-on—inducing, staring-at-the-package trick and smirked. The guy, clearly not getting the message, nudged closer until his torso connected with the side of her arm.

  Guess that staring-at-the-package stunt wasn’t so sure fire in South Beach.