What a Girl Wants (10 page)

Her hand clutched the cookie until there was nothing left but oatmeal dust.

I need a distraction.

She shook the crumbs into the sink and walked to the patio doors, focusing her attention on the beach. The clear morning sky was as blue as a robin’s egg, and the white sand glittered like a carpet of tiny diamonds under the sun’s rays. She opened the patio door, inhaled the salty air and gazed at the tranquil aquamarine ocean, projecting a picture of her and Alex in that ocean…naked.

So much for distractions.

She turned and prowled the length of the suite and found herself smack in the middle of Alex’s bedroom.

Music from a radio wafted from the bathroom. She heard Alex’s baritone voice singing off key.

She winced. Way, way off key. The man was a hottie, but he could not sing.

Glancing around, she noted his jogging clothes in a neat pile inside a laundry basket in the corner of the room, unlike her own messy heaped floor piles. She imagined his clothes folded in perfect order inside the dresser drawers. She preferred open suitcases for easy rummaging.

A bottle of Nautica sat on the nightstand. She picked it up and closed her eyes, inhaling its refreshing citrus, sandalwood fragrance. On Alex, it merged into his skin’s heat and exuded its own provocative masculine scent.

She turned to the bed where a pair of gray Docker shorts, a navy T-shirt lay and—she sucked in a breath—black Calvin Klein boxer briefs.

“Oh, my.” The man packed a serious seduction kit that vibrated all her senses. She slumped onto the edge of the bed. Her body was delirious with desire and her hormones were as revved up as the night their lip lock had led to the delicious tongue tango.

Why did he have to take so long in that shower?

Well, she could always leave.

To do what? Go to her room and fantasize with her battery-operated seducer when the real deal was a few yards away? Alex wanted her as much as she wanted him. She hadn’t missed his pole-in-the-jogging shorts earlier.

Stubborn man.

Before she could stop herself, she kicked her shoes off and shimmied out of her clothes. An electric charge sparked below her navel, combusted, and shot the remnants to the tips of her breasts. She was naked, and she was primed.

Opening the bathroom door, her breath quickened. She stepped onto the cool ceramic tiles.

The music switched to a hip country song. Appropriate background music for what she had in mind. Oh yeah. On the money with the no inhibitions lyrics. Maddie fully intended to get out of line.

Big time.

She took a few seconds and admired him through the glass doors. The water pelted his firm bronze ass and ripped back. She watched him shampoo his hair, hands above his head, covered in big white soapy bubbles.

Yummy.

A naked Alex was so much more scrumptious than she’d ever imagined, and she had a damned good imagination.

She opened the shower door, stepped inside, clicked the door shut and stood close behind him. First, she wound her arms around his waist, then she pressed her breasts into his back. Up on her tippy toes, she peppered his shoulders with kisses. “Mmmm. You feel delish
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”

Alex swung around and knocked over the shampoo bottle. “What the
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?”

The bottle landed with a thud behind him.

He backed up, stepped on the bottle and his foot slipped out from underneath him.

“Eeek! Alex! Careful!”

In a vain attempt to keep them both from tumbling over, she reached out to grasp the steel bar on the wall.

She landed on top of him, her face inches from a pair of dark eyes so chilling they could end the global warming threat.

“Alex?” She swallowed hard. “You okay? Speak to me.”

“Mr. Donovan has a nasty bump on the back of his head,” Dr. Noa, the hotel doctor, told Maddie. “But he’ll be fine.”

Maddie clutched the collar of Alex’s black bathrobe she had grabbed to cover her nakedness. “Do we need to get him to a hospital?”

Dr. Noa shook his head. “He didn’t lose consciousness. His neuro exam was normal, and he showed no sign of concussion. The cut on his head is minor.”

“Minor? But there was so much blood.” She shivered, remembering how she’d heard Alex’s head thump on the ceramic floor when he’d broken her fall. “That’s why I called you, even though he asked me not to.” Alex hadn’t exactly asked. He’d demanded she not call anybody, in fact.

Doctor Noa smiled. “Because of so many capillaries in the skull, often even small cuts on the head can produce an alarming amount of blood. I’ve cleaned it up. He’ll have a mild headache for a few days, but that’s about it. I’ve given him acetaminophen and left him an ice pack for the swelling.”

Relieved, Maddie blew out a breath.

“Ms. Saunders, you look pale. Meet me in my office. It will be a quick examination.”

Maddie shook her head. “I’m good. I’m just worried about Alex.”

“You also fell, right?”

Maddie hesitated and then nodded her response. Her face now burned like five-alarm chicken wings. At least she wasn’t pale any longer.

The doctor looked away for a few seconds. “When was your last tetanus shot?”

“I’m fine. No bumps or scrapes, and I’m up to date with my shots.” She swallowed hard. She could bike through rough terrain, snowboard down double diamonds and rock climb up steep mountains, but she was a certifiable wimp when it came to needles. With a guilty pang, she was glad her minor blood disorder disqualified her from enduring a needle to donate blood.

Dr. Noa’s hazel eyes held compassion. “You don’t like needles?”

She waved off the question and managed a weak smile “Tell me what to do to help Alex.”

“Mr. Donovan indicated…” He cleared his throat. “He gave me explicit instructions…”

“I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Dr. Noa glanced back at the bedroom, picked up his medical bag and headed to the hallway. “He had a nasty fall. Some irritability is inevitable because of the headache. Is there someone else you can call to check in on him?”

Oh brother, she could only imagine the expletives that had come out of Alex’s mouth. “What exactly did he say?”

She could practically hear the doctor blushing. “He said something about asking the Green-Eyed Angel of
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”

“
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Planet Crazy?”

“Yes, something like that. To fly back to where she came from and leave him alone.” The doctor turned the knob, definitely looking like he wanted to escape. Maybe he actually believed she was crazy. “Can you call someone to come and check in on him for a few hours?” The soft-spoken doctor appeared uncomfortable. “If you cannot find someone else I can arrange for a nurse to—”

“No need for you to do that.” Maddie clicked her tongue in frustration. “I’ll call our friend Tim. What should I tell him to look out for?”

“Mr. Donovan needs a few hours of bed rest. If he complains of dizziness, vomiting or if his headache worsens, tell your friend to call me.” He took a business card out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Maddie. “Main thing for your friend to watch out for is that Mr. Donovan doesn’t lose consciousness.”

Maddie put the business card on the glass coffee table.

“Don’t worry, Ms. Saunders, he should feel better in the morning.”

After she thanked the doctor, she bid him goodbye and tiptoed into the bedroom. Alex sat on the edge of the bed, wearing only his boxers. After helping him from the bathroom to the bed, she handed them to him before the doctor arrived.

She sat next to him. “How do you feel?” Taking his hand in hers, she rubbed her thumb along his knuckles.

He jerked his arm away as if he’d been stung by a bee. “Did you come back to finish the job?”

She swallowed a lump of guilt. “Can I get you something to drink?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, wincing.

She stood and picked up the ice pack that lay on the floor. “Here.” She handed it to him. “The doctor said you need
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”

He threw the ice pack to the other side of the bed. “The only thing I need is to be alone.” He skewered her with the glare he reserved for those who had pushed him to his limit and growled. It wasn’t her ears playing tricks on her. It really was a growl.

As unsteady as a drunk, he stood. “I’ve fled from rebel factions in Columbia.” He bent to pick up his T-shirt from the ground. He continued in a strained voice with beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. “I survived a hole in a ground that the Mexicans used as jail cells.”

He slipped his T-shirt on over his head, his hands trembling. “Tim and I barely escaped machine-gun fire when we helped three journalists in Peru. But your guerrilla ambush
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”

“You never told me about Peru. You could’ve been killed.”

He sat on the bed, rubbing his neck.

“Sorry, go on.”

His darkened eyes narrowed. “All that was a bloody cakewalk compared to spending time with you.”

“I am sorry.”

“Yeah.” He winced again. “You’re sorry, and I’m fine.”

“You know how you’re always nagging me about a balanced diet?” She tried for a chuckle, but didn’t make it. “Spontaneity is an important part of a balanced diet.”

“You’re kidding right? Forget it. I want to be alone.”

“I didn’t think I’d surprise you enough that you’d fall over like that.”

He heaved a huge sigh. “You’ve been like Lucille Ball on Red Bull ever since we’ve arrived.” Between wincing, he managed another dirty look. “I see some serious medication in your future.”

She placed her hand on his shoulder. His muscles were as rigid as chiseled stone. “Please try to relax. The doctor mentioned that you need to use that ice pack and
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”

“Didn’t he also mention that you were to leave?”

“Yeah, he did. I’m sorry about all this.” She stood, scooped up her clothes from the floor and twisted them in her hands. “I’ll go now.” She hung her head low in time-honored guilty fashion.

“Good plan.”

She closed the bedroom door behind her, leaned against the wall in the hallway and let out a thankful breath that Alex’s injury wasn’t as serious as she’d thought. She’d been genuinely scared when she saw all that blood.

The memory of Alex’s anger had her feeling like a snowflake lost in the ocean. She wiped the tears that had slipped and took a deep breath.

Cripes, it was an accident. He’s acting like I meant to crack his head. Alex can be such an ass sometimes.
Well, she wasn’t a snowflake, and she wasn’t going to melt over this.

She slipped into her shorts, shirt and flip-flops. Anxiety gripped her. Maybe this time she
had
gone too far and their friendship wouldn’t survive.

Nah, he just needs some time to cool off.

Again.

She dug out her cell phone from her pocket to dial Tim’s number and noticed she had a message on her voice mail. Walking over to collect her laptop case, she glanced at the number. Message from Bernie.

Hope he’s not asking for more money,
she thought with a loud sigh.

She punched in her password and listened to his message.

“Yeah, Bernie here. Calling to give you a heads up,” he said. “Just found out a few other folks are going around asking the same questions I’m asking. Hitting some of the same spots. Anyway, I’ll dig around and try to get a name. I’ll be in touch.”

End of message.

Maddie stared at her phone.
Who the hell is sticking their nose into my business?

Chapter Ten

“When you grow suspicious of a person and begin a system of espionage upon him,

your punishment will be that you will find your suspicions true.”

—Elbert Hubbard

A seagull swept across the deck below and pecked at the vacationers’ crumbs before it soared to the next feast awaiting him. Alex leaned on the patio railing the next morning and envied the seagull’s life. Soaring freely. Mating with no attachments. Floating in the ocean and waddling on the quiet beach at sunrise.

He drained the last of his orange juice, set the empty glass on the table and rubbed the golf ball-sized lump on the back of his head. He attributed the fact that he now wanted to morph into a bird to the mother of a headache he had all night that could rival any frat boy’s hangover.

He recalled Maddie telling him at some point that she couldn’t get a hold of Tim. He had been too tired to argue and hadn’t had the energy to kick her out.

“Listen,” she had said. “Tim’s busy and the doctor told me to keep an eye on you. So you’re stuck with me. Get over it.”

It hadn’t taken long for his anger to vanish, and he had been impressed with her nurturing abilities. He felt guilty for having been such a hard ass with her. In all the years he’d known her, this was the first time he’d seen her so subdued. Cold toward him, actually. Oh well, he probably deserved her coolness. He had acted like a big jerk when she apologized to him.

He still couldn’t figure out why a woman like her would have to go to such lengths to get any man to make love to her.

The same could be said for why a man like him kept dodging her offer.

Too bad his conscience kept winning the wrestling match against his desire for her.

Don’t start that again.

He knew she had never behaved this way with other men, and he also knew why she lacked confidence. For all her talk and bravado she still had no idea how truly sexy she was. He wanted to tell her so many times that she didn’t have any reason to doubt her sex appeal. But from now on any sex-oriented conversations with Maddie were off-limits.

It was no use dwelling on it. This assignment would be over in a few weeks and with any luck, he’d soon hear that he got the promotion to England.

He went inside and made a pot of coffee.

While the coffee brewed, he sat and turned his laptop and Blackberry on. He might as well get some writing done.

Shuffling his chair, his foot crunched one of the papers he had ripped out of his printer earlier and thrown on the floor. When he was working, it didn’t matter how big a space he had, it would never be organized. Journalists were notorious for using the floor as a big flat filing cabinet.

And Maddie thinks I’m a neat freak.

He bent and scooped up one of the printed e-mails with her name in the subject line. Rubbing the space between his brows, he read the information over again.

“What the hell is the link between Maddie, George and Hollister?” His gut told him there was one, and it also told him Maddie had no idea of any such link.

For the third time he scanned the information. Felicia and George’s parents—George Sr. and Virginia—had been killed in a car accident when George and Felicia were thirteen and eleven years old. Shirley, Virginia’s younger sister, was given custody of the children. Shirley never married and had no children of her own. She died sixteen years ago.

After the cocktail party the other night, Alex thought for sure Maxwell Hollister was tied in to the Saunders family somehow, but nothing connected the two families that he could see.

He shredded the papers into strips and dumped them into the waste can under the desk. He clicked on his e-mail messages, sending them to the printer icon and poured a cup of coffee.

While enjoying the caffeine jolt, he pulled an e-mail out of the printer, a reply to a message he had sent to one of his sources. He rubbed the back of his head while he read the information. “Really?” Hollister had a shellfish allergy
and
a hemoglobin disorder called Thalassemia minor.

Maddie also had both.

“Coincidence?”

He logged on to the Internet and googled Thalassemia minor.

In Thalassemia minor the hemoglobin genes are inherited during conception, either from the mother or from the father. Thalassemia is common in the Mediterranean region and in portions of Africa, Asia, South Pacific and India.

From his research on the Saunders family, he knew none of Maddie’s blood relatives had come from the Thalassemia regions.

However, there was one blood relative who was not named in any of his Saunders research.

Maddie’s biological father.

He reached for his phone to call George, but changed his mind. No use asking George about any of this. Last time he talked to him, Alex had to move the phone away from his ear while George reamed him out and then ordered him to conduct a soft
interview with Hollister. At this point, Alex was sure George was covering for somebody. Hollister? His sister Felicia?

From all this information, Alex could only conclude one thing. He read the e-mail containing the information on Hollister again. Maxwell Hollister’s mother had been born in Italy.

Alex’s journalism m.o. had always included being able to engage his emotions enough to get to the heart of the story, but never enough to be permanently touched by what he had seen or heard.

Until now.

He scrunched the paper into a ball and tossed it in the can. “Dammit.” The only logical explanation Alex could come up with was that Hollister was somehow related to Maddie. He connected the dots, and it wasn’t hard to figure out that the man may be her biological father, even though none of his research pointed to a connection between Felicia and Hollister.

But where the hell had Hollister been all these years? Why wasn’t he listed as her father anywhere?

If this were true, and he still wasn’t convinced it was, then why would the man not just come out with it and tell her?

Until he could get a reasonable answer, he wasn’t going to share his theory with Maddie. At least not yet.

His Blackberry pinged, telling him an e-mail had arrived from his trusted friend and colleague, Sam Funacelli. He had given Sam some of his groundwork research on Hollister and had asked him to follow up.

He opened the e-mail.

[email protected] wrote
:

Hey, Donovan, here’s a name for you—Liam Galvin. No idea if it will help, but the guy’s bio is an interesting read. I’ve attached his info and background. Also attached three pictures of the dude. Bit fuzzy but still viewable. This guy’s info isn’t on the Internet. Called in some favors to get this. Also attached some information about the Manhattan Private Chamber. You were right, damn hard to get a lot of info on that place, but this may help.

Happy hour is on you when you get back, buddy.

By the way, ran into Crystal Washington the other day. She bragged about having lunch with Hollister. I didn’t spill anything about you snaring the interview with him for a feature.

Later, S.

Alex sent Sam a quick reply, then printed out the information and pictures he’d sent.

He knew damned well that Hollister had gone to Crystal to dig up dirt on him. Alex had to hand it to Hollister; he’d probably wined, dined and schmoozed Crystal into believing he’d appear on her trashy late night talk show to get the dirt he was after.

Why would Hollister even care about him?

Not that it would be hard to get Crystal to spill, even if they did have a legal contract binding them both not to talk about what had happened. If sleaziness was a gender and had a name, she would be called Crystal.

A sharp pain traveled from his shoulders and landed on the back of his head. He rolled his shoulders and drained his coffee.

There was only one reason Hollister would be so hell-bent on discrediting him and obsessed with Maddie’s whereabouts and activities on the island.

If his suspicions weren’t on full alert before, they sure were now.

His printer stopped and he gathered the sheets. “Hmmm. Interesting indeed.” He went through each page Sam had sent him and kept reading. “Holy shit.”

He took a closer look at the pictures. They were not the best quality
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small in size and obviously older
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but he recognized this man. If this information was accurate, he was not only an IRA terrorist, but also a fugitive.

“Pay dirt.” He’d only seen him a few times, but this fugitive, Liam Galvin, was now working as a valet for Maxwell Hollister, and went by the name Carl.

He glanced at his watch and calculated what time it would be in Ireland. His uncle Patrick would probably be in his office at the
Irish Times
, where he was Senior Editor. He scrolled through the phone numbers listed in his Blackberry to find his uncle’s number and dialed. While waiting for the connection, he opened up a blank document on his laptop.

Balancing the phone between his ear and shoulder, his fingers glided across the keyboard, typing a string of words that he related to all too well.

“Secrets and lies will lead to the truth…”