Girl Gone Wild. Joanne Rock

was so freaking naive.

      Combine the different last names with Robert’s lack of a wedding ring, and before she knew it, she’d slept with another woman’s husband.

      “That was it, wasn’t it? Robert Flynn?” Hugh tilted his head as if to meet her gaze even though she stared at the sandy floor of the open hut.

      “Yes.” She closed her eyes for a long, bracing moment, unwilling to let Robert cheat her out of something good with Hugh. She’d already lost more than enough to Robert Flynn, thank you very much. “That’s him. He’s one of the men they never captured.”

      Giselle met his gaze, read the interest in his eyes.

      “Sometimes renewed coverage by the media can lure criminals out of hiding. Ever see America’s Most Wanted? It’s the same premise.” He reached behind the minibar and pulled out two glasses, then poured them both a glass of water from a jug on the counter.

      Giselle accepted the offering even though this pseudo-date was rapidly crashing and burning. She couldn’t allow Hugh to write any story that would “lure” Robert Flynn back to town. Having that man within a fifty-mile radius of Club Paradise would have explosive consequences for them all. She needed to squelch the idea as soon as possible.

      “Apparently Flynn is living in comfort in the Cayman Islands and local authorities don’t have a prayer of extraditing him.” End of story.

      Too bad the chemistry between her and Hugh—and her growing desire to learn much more about this man—wasn’t as easily dismissed.

      NOW SHE WAS TALKING his language.

      Hugh had made a name for himself in journalism by delving into stories full of problematic foreign ex-traditions and crooks in hiding.

      He’d parlayed that talent into something even bigger and more important as far as he was concerned. He wouldn’t trade his specialty of shedding light on harmful foreign policy for anything. No woman would ever decide lightly to enter a foreign country hostile to females with her young son in tow again if Hugh could help it. Information about frightening foreign customs hadn’t been readily available when his mother had decided to pack him off to a little known Middle Eastern hellhole at a young age, but Hugh had made it his mission in life to ensure things were different now.

      For as long as he was a journalist, he would always choose to write those kinds of stories over some fluff piece on the local tourist scene. But if he had to write something about Club Paradise, at least he finally had an intriguing angle.

      He’d have his story written and his path cleared to Giselle’s bed within the week. And if the article broke the way he anticipated, there would surely be a few follow-up pieces that needed to be written. A fact which would keep him in South Beach long enough to revisit that bed.

      Often.

      “Looks like I’ve found the angle I need.” He downed the rest of his water and set the glass back on the wooden bar inside the small tiki hut. Now he was ready to start his research. Sleep could wait once adrenaline started fueling him this way.

      Giselle, on the other hand, seemed to have grown quiet over the last hour since the sun had fully risen. She was probably feeling the effects of having been up so long since she didn’t have the benefit of a new journalistic undertaking to keep her going.

      She looked ready to speak, but Hugh swooped closer to spare her the effort. He kissed her with all the longing that had been plaguing him since he’d laid eyes on her. She molded to him, her soft curves and pliant limbs conforming to the hard angles of his body.

      A vision of the pastry she’d fed him flitted through his brain as her breasts flattened against his chest. He couldn’t wait to see the real thing, to taste her nipples instead of the bright red cherries she’d served him.

      And just like that he wanted her naked. Needed her naked.

      With a groan of regret he pulled away, knowing he wouldn’t be able to fulfill his end of their bargain if he continued to kiss her. Especially since a lush hotel full of exotically decorated bedrooms loomed fifty yards away from their tiki hut retreat.

      “I’m going to write this story faster than I’ve ever penned anything in my life.” He stroked a hand through her mane of thick, glossy curls and calculated the days until he could feel that hair spilling over his bare chest. “If I come by later, do you think you could answer some questions for me?”

      She blinked, hesitated.

      “I can ask someone else if today isn’t a good time. It’s just that I usually end up with a handful of simple questions after my first round of research. You might be able to answer them faster than I could scout around for the information.”

      Biting her lip as if weighing indecision, she finally nodded. “Okay. I’ll probably be awake around two this afternoon. I’m living at the hotel for a few months while we build our business, so you can just ask for directions to my room at the desk.”

      Picturing the two of them together in a hotel room—especially a room at the hedonistic singles playground Club Paradise—painted wicked visions in his mind.

      “Are you sure that’s a good idea considering our deal to wait until after the story runs?” He was having a hard time keeping his hands to himself in broad daylight on a public beach. How would he ever maintain distance in a decadent bedroom?

      “We can head to the kitchens if we get too tempted. Where are you going now?” She smoothed her palms over the lapels of his lightweight jacket.

      Even that simple touch set him on fire. Something about this woman lit a torch to his insides in a way no one else ever had.

      He backed away before he gave in to the urge to scoop her off her feet and beg her to tell him the exact location of her hotel room. Right then. “I’m going to head into the Herald offices to check out the archives.”

      She looked distraught but Hugh didn’t dare to hope that was because he had to leave. He might know a hell of a lot about luring criminals out of hiding by hitting the right story buttons, but he was man enough to admit he didn’t have a clue when it came to understanding female emotions.

      Scrambling for a gesture that would make it all okay, he reached for her hand and kissed the back of her soft, bronze skin. Inhaled the perfumed scent at her wrist that lingered even in the growing heat of another South Beach scorcher. “Until later.”

      As he straightened, he spied a hint of a smile at her lips. A trace of the woman he’d seen dancing around the kitchen while singing Sinatra at the top of her lungs.

      Something inside him shifted. Lightened. For a chef who baked erotic pastries for fun and liked dancing barefoot, Giselle Cesare had a surprisingly deep, potent effect on him. An effect he couldn’t wait to explore in detail as soon as he finished this story.

      Robert Flynn would be headline news before the guy knew what hit him, and Hugh could get back to what he’d wanted to do ever since he’d glimpsed Giselle’s bright red panties.

      Indulge in pure and simple uncomplicated sex that would leave them both hungry for more.