One Night With Gael

‘Thank you,’ he bit out.

‘Uh...you’re welcome...’

She looked as if she wanted to continue the conversation. But Gael turned away, cutting short the familiar look that preceded a gentle but firm demand for something. A phone number. A favour for a friend. A personal favour. At any other time he would have been inclined to grant the mousy receptionist another minute of his time, even reward her for her help. He’d long accepted how things worked between him and the opposite sex. He gave when the mood took him. They took all the time—until he called a halt to their schemes and often naked greed.

But not tonight.

Not when an alien urgency rubbed under his skin, demanding he find the elusive Miss Goldie Beckett.

He rushed out into the street, already condemning the futility of his actions. This was New York City. Finding a single person in a throng of people on the sidewalk, even after nine at night, was insane. And yet his feet moved inexorably in the direction of the subway station. Behind him his chauffeur kept pace in the limo. Probably he was wondering what had possessed his employer, Gael mused.

He knew her name. All he had to do was pass it to his security people and let them find her. He’d witnessed her naked ambition for himself. All he needed to do to entice her was offer his name and the once-in-a-lifetime project he had in mind and she would come running. There was absolutely no need for him to pound the pavement.

He’d slowed his footsteps, thinking how idiotic he looked when he heard a scuffle in the alleyway.

Gael almost walked past. Unsavoury characters lurking in dark places were commonplace in cities such as this.

A husky cry and the flash of golden curls caught the corner of his eye. He stopped in his tracks, wondering if he was conjuring her up in his irritated desperation.

The alley was poorly lit, but not deep. His eyes narrowed as he tried to peer through the wisps of smoke pouring out of a nearby restaurant vent.

‘No, damn you, let go!’

The distinctive voice coupled with the decisive sound of clothing being ripped firmly altered his course, hurrying him towards the night-shrouded scene.

‘Lady, I won’t say it again. Give me the bag.’ A low, menacing voice sounded through the gloom.

A bold, mocking laugh. ‘At least you have the good manners to call me lady as you attempt to steal my property.’

‘It’ll be more than an attempt in a second if you don’t let go of the damn bag!’

The warning was followed by more sounds of a tussle. Then a muted scream, the distinctive thud of a body landing heavily and a hiss of pain.

Gael arrived at the scene in time to see a dark shadow loom at him, then rush past. The blocking move he threw out missed by a whisker, and the assailant was already rushing out of the alley. He had a split second to debate whether to go after the mugger or aid the victim. Gael chose the latter.

The vision before him scrambled upright from the grimy concrete. ‘God, no! Stop him! He’s got my purse!’

This time he caught the bundle that attempted to launch past him. Arms flailed in his hold. A firm, sinewy body twisted in his arms as he held her tight.

‘Dammit, let me go. He’s got my belongings.’

‘Calm yourself. You won’t catch him. He’s long gone by now,’ he replied, attempting to keep hold of the wriggling creature.

‘Only because you’re letting him get away. For God’s sake, let me go.’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Hell, you’re his accomplice, aren’t you?’ she accused.

Gael reeled back in amused shock. ‘Perdón? You think I’m a thief?’

‘I don’t know what the heck you are. All I know is you’re stopping me from going after that piece of scum who’s just stolen my purse. What am I supposed to think?’

She pulled at his hold. Gael thought it was probably wise to let her go, but his hands wouldn’t co-operate.

‘You’re supposed to thank a person who has just come to your aid,’ he suggested.

Eyes of an indeterminate colour widened in disbelief. ‘He got my stuff before you arrived. You let him get away—and you think I should be grateful?’ she spat with quiet fury.

She had fire—he granted her that. But it was the shaking in her voice that drew his attention.

Gael gripped her arms in a firmer hold, careful not to spook her further. Although he was still mildly amused she thought him a thief, her agitation meant she might take flight if he let her go. ‘I’m not a thief, Miss Beckett. I assure you.’

She froze. And in the darkness he was beginning to become acclimatised to her gaze searched his with growing suspicion.

‘How do you know my name?’ she demanded, her voice husky with a different kind of emotion.

Fear.

That didn’t sit well with him. He let her go and stepped back, although he made sure to keep himself between her and the exit. Now he had her before him he wasn’t in the mood to go searching for her again should she bolt.

‘You have nothing to fear from me.’

She laughed mockingly, but her trepidation didn’t abate. ‘Says the man who’s keeping from leaving. Don’t think I didn’t notice the body-block. I’m warning you—I know Krav Maga.’

Again a tendril of amusement twitched at a corner of his lips. ‘So do I, pequeña. Perhaps we can spar some other time, when we’re both in the mood.’

‘I don’t spar just for the fun of it. I fight to defend myself. Now, either tell me why you’re here wasting my time, and how you know my name, or get out of my way.’

‘Your assailant is long gone. If you wish to report the incident I’m willing to lend you my phone.’

‘No, thanks. If you want to do something useful will yourself into getting out of my way instead, why don’t you?’

Gael shook his head. ‘Not until we’ve talked.’

‘I don’t know who you are or what you could possibly have to talk to me about that involves us standing in a dark, smelly alley.’

She started to skirt him. He let her go until she faced the exit and her perceived freedom.

‘I’m here because you’re of interest to me.’

‘I highly doubt that.’ She took a few steps backwards. Stumbled. Her breath caught as she righted herself. ‘I don’t know what your problem is, but I assure you I’m not worth stalking, if that’s your thing. And the sum total of my worth—which was eighty dollars—is now headed for the other side of the city, thanks to you. Anything else you want won’t be given willingly.’

She retreated a couple more steps, until she stood beneath the single lit bulb gracing the mouth of the alley.

Gael inhaled sharply. He’d thought her performance captivating across the wide expanse of an auditorium. At the time he hadn’t paid much attention to the woman herself. But he was looking now. And up close Goldie Beckett was...something else. Her dark honey-toned skin, even under the poor lighting, was vibrant and silky-smooth, her high cheekbones, velvety pouting lips and determined chin, a perfect enough combination to make his breath snag somewhere in his chest.

He wasn’t by any means new to the art of appreciating beautiful women. His electronic contact lists were filled with more than his fair share of phone numbers from past and possible future conquests. But there was something uniquely enthralling about Goldie Beckett’s face that riveted his attention.

Perhaps it was her eyes. Gael wasn’t sure whether they were blue, or the violet he suspected, but the big, alluring pools, even though they currently glared at him, were nevertheless absorbing enough to keep him staring.

As for her body... She couldn’t be more than five foot five, but even her lack of height—he preferred his women taller—didn’t detract from her attraction. Nor did it diminish the curvy frame currently wrapped in a black sweater and denim skirt in any way.

A torn black sweater, which gaped wide enough at the shoulder to reveal the strap of a lilac-coloured bra and the top of one voluptuous breast.

A thick silence ensued, during which she noticed where his gaze had landed. He admonished himself to get control in the few seconds before her hand snapped up to cover herself.

Her glare intensified even as her other hand crept around her neck and patted in a puzzled search. ‘Oh, great!’ she muttered eventually.

‘Something wrong?’ Gael asked, forcing his gaze from the hand covering her breast.

‘Don’t you mean something else wrong?’ she snapped. ‘Yes, something else is wrong. That...that lowlife didn’t just take my purse, he took my scarf too.’

Again there was a thin tremble in her voice that struck him the wrong way.

She was probably no longer apprehensive of his presence, but she’d been attacked and robbed. A closer scrutiny of her showed another rip in her tights and muddy scuff marks on her skirt and boots.

‘Are you hurt?’

Her mouth pursed and her eyes darkened. She regarded him, debating whether to furnish him with an answer. Slowly her free hand opened to reveal a bloodied deep welt across her palm.

A quiet fury rolled to life in his belly.

He balled his fist in his pocket to stop himself from reaching out to examine the wound more closely. He was absolutely sure she wouldn’t welcome the move. ‘My car is parked over there.’ He indicated with a jerk of chin. ‘If you come with me I’ll get you cleaned up. Before we talk.’

Her laughter mocked again, deeper this time. ‘I’m from New Jersey, Mr...whatever your name is, not Narnia. I don’t step through cupboards or into limos, however flash they look, out of naive curiosity.’

Gael gritted his teeth, reached into his pocket and brought out his business card. ‘My name is Gael Aguilar. I’m working on a project I think you might be interested in. I saw your...performance this afternoon and came back to look for you. The receptionist mentioned you’d just left. I came in this direction in the hope of finding you. Need I go on?’

She eyed him warily. ‘You hesitated before you said “performance”. Why?’

Gael was a little surprised that she hadn’t immediately jumped at the mention of his name, and that she wasn’t preening at the thought of being pursued as he’d pursued her. Most women would find that a compliment. But what shocked him more was that she’d cut through everything he’d said and singled out the slight trip in his voice triggered by what he’d witnessed after her audition that afternoon.

It wasn’t a flaw he wanted to dwell on. This wasn’t personal. It was business.

The reminder, and the fact that he’d been in this alley too long, tautened his voice. ‘It’s not productive to dwell on the cadence of my speech, Miss Beckett. You have my word that I mean you no harm.’ His gaze dropped to her hand. ‘My advice, though, would be to see to that wound before it gets infected. I can help. Then we can talk. I don’t want anything more from you.’

A slight frown marred her forehead before she looked over his shoulder at the limo. His driver stood to attention next to the back door and inclined his head at her. Her frown cleared.

Pressing home the advantage the sight his burly bodyguard and driver provided, Gael continued. ‘Unless I’m mistaken, you now have no means of reaching your destination tonight or contacting anyone for help?’

‘I’m far from as helpless are you’re making me sound, Mr Aguilar,’ she muttered, although her voice lacked conviction.

He remained silent, gave her time to arrive at the conclusion he needed. After a minute she held out her hand.

He handed her his card and she stared down at it. If she recognised the information there she gave no indication. She looked from him to the car, then at the card, and back to him.

‘You have a first aid kit in your car?’ she enquired, quietly but firmly.

He probably did, but he shrugged. ‘Possibly. I’ve never had occasion to use one. But my hotel is fifteen minutes away. We can get you cleaned up more efficiently there.’

She immediately shook her head. ‘No, sorry—that won’t work for me. That Narnia thing again, you know...?’

Gael stopped himself from growling his frustration. Never had he had to work this hard to get traction with a member of the opposite sex. Had he been in a better mood he would have been vastly amused. He shoved both hands into his pockets and thought fast.

‘I was supposed to attend a dinner party tonight, with thirty other guests, on the Upper East Side. I pulled out because of the prospect of a business meeting with you. We will go there. Is that enough reassurance for you?’

She stared back at him, her injured fist slowly curling. Gael knew the abrasion would be causing her discomfort by now.

‘Maybe...but how do I know the party is real and not some made-up fantasy?’

He compressed his lips before reaching for his phone. A few clicks and Pietro Vitale’s face filled his screen.

‘Gael, your presence has been missed. I’ve tried not to be insulted by a few of my female guests complaining that the party isn’t the same without you,’ his friend complained.

Gael’s gaze shifted from the screen to Goldie. Her mouth was set in a firm, mildly disapproving line. He angled the screen towards her and addressed Pietro. ‘I can remedy that, provided I can bring a guest?’

‘Of course, amico. More is merrier, sí? Also, the sooner, the better. Arrivederci!’

The Italian signed off.

‘Will that suffice or do I need to request a police escort as well?’ he drawled.

Goldie slowly shrugged. ‘This is fine.’

Gael exhaled, a curious tension leaving his body as he nodded. ‘Then come.’

Her eyes widened a fraction at his curt command, but she fell into step beside him. She summoned a tiny smile for his driver as he opened the back door for her. When she stooped to enter Gael forced his gaze from lingering on her rounded backside and shapely legs.

He entered after her and settled back in his seat. When she slid as far away from him as possible he experienced that mild irritation again. Considering what he’d witnessed in the auditorium this afternoon, her stand-offish behaviour was getting old.

‘We’ve established that I’m not about to force myself on you, Miss Beckett, so perhaps you could drop the terrified lamb routine?’

‘I’m not a lamb,’ she snapped. ‘And this isn’t a routine.’

‘Are you saying you’re always this suspicious of everyone?’

‘I’m suspicious of men who come out of nowhere and accost me in dark alleys—and, yes, men who are possibly wolves dressed in lambs’ clothing.’

‘And yet here you are,’ he said.

Her expressive eyes snapped at him. ‘What exactly are you saying?’

Gael stared at her as the car slid into traffic. ‘I mean your options aren’t looking very good right now. So perhaps a little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss. I might decide you’re not worth the effort and leave you to your fate. Is that what you want?’ he asked, watching her closely.

‘I’ve just been attacked. I’m within my rights to be wary,’ she replied.

‘Yes, but I think you trust your instincts too—which is why you’re here, no?’

‘You think you know me?’ she enquired, narrow-eyed.

‘I think my assessment is right. Instinct first, then after that you let other...urges guide you.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean? What urges?’

His mouth twisted. ‘You tell me.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. And if this is the way our supposed business meeting is heading perhaps I’m better off cutting my losses right now.’

Gael sighed. ‘While you decide on that will you allow me to put your seat belt on for you? I wouldn’t want you to suffer another injury en route to what you imagine is your gruesome end.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’re mocking me?’

He reached for the seat belt. ‘I’m trying to find a way to have a conversation without getting disagreed with at every turn.’

She inhaled long and hard, her gaze going from the buckle in his hand to his face. When he cocked an eyebrow she nodded and pressed herself back against the seat. Moving closer, Gael wondered whether his offer had been a good idea. Underneath the distinctive smell of her intimate acquaintance with alley concrete he caught the scent of apples and honeysuckle. And at close quarters he saw her pulse racing at her throat, her skin flushing when he drew the belt between her breasts.

The stirring in his groin wasn’t surprising—he was a red-blooded male, after all—but he cursed its presence all the same, especially when he cradled her hip for a precious few seconds before the lock slid home and his blood heated up to discomfort levels.

When he finished the task and sat back it wasn’t without a modicum of relief.

He was almost glad when she cleared her throat. ‘So, what do you want to talk to me about?’

He brought his mind firmly back to task. To business. ‘I have a proposition for you. If you’re agreeable we’ll get you cleaned up first, then we’ll talk, sí?’

CHAPTER THREE

GOLDIE TRIED TO FOCUS as the sleek, luxurious car rolled down Columbus Avenue and turned on to Central Park West. She didn’t think she’d hit her head when that horrid brute had wrestled her purse away from her. And yet a hazy sensation, as if she’d fallen down a rabbit hole, swirled all around her, making her wonder if her faculties were intact. Making her wonder if she’d heard him right.

What had this unfathomably riveting stranger said? A proposition.

She wanted to snort under her breath. Nothing good could come out of a proposition from a man like that. A man with the face of a fallen angel, hell-bent on practising his sorcery on unsuspecting women. A man with a voice so hypnotic she wondered if he’d practised that precise cadence and for how long before he’d attained that perfect sizzling-you-to-your-toes note that accompanied each faintly accented word.

He was the kind of man who was everything her mother had always yearned for and never achieved. The exact type of man Goldie had sworn off after witnessing time and again the way they used their God-given attributes mercilessly.

Goldie didn’t hate all men. But she drew a particular line at playboys with enigmatic eyes and captivating faces that defied adequate description and bodies to match. Throw in the type of wealth and raw power this man next to her exuded and her warning bells clanged loud enough to be heard on the Long Island Sound.

So what was she doing in his car?

Goldie frowned, then answered her own question. Circumstances had forced her into it. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t still in control. Of her mental faculties and of her body. That zing she’d felt when he’d secured her seat belt had been a temporary aberration. The whole last hour had been a surreal sequence of events she intended to put behind her as soon as possible.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. When she was certain his phone had absorbed his attention, she turned and stared at his profile.

Seriously, he was like a Roman statue she’d once seen at the Museum of Natural History when she’d visited with her mother. Their trip had occurred on one of the rare times when her mother had been sober and coherent enough to make the visit. They’d stared at the statue for what had felt like an eternity, absorbing its unspeakable beauty. Her mother had sighed wistfully before her eyes had filled with tears.

Goldie had known what those tears were about. What they were always about. Wishes unfulfilled. A past thrown away because she’d made the wrong choices. The biggest one of which had been letting Goldie’s father get away. A lump had risen to Goldie’s throat as she’d watched her mother stare hard at the statue, wishing it was flesh and blood.

It had been a fruitless wish, of course.

Except Gael Aguilar was a living, breathing version of that statue.

A version who turned his head and stared straight at her in the next moment, blasting her with long-lashed light hazel eyes. Goldie attempted to look away, but for some stupid reason she couldn’t drag her gaze from him.

‘This proposition of yours...what’s it got to do with your occupation?’

The scrape in her palm was filthy and stinging badly. Enough that it made unclenching her hand difficult. She dropped her other hand from her ripped sweater long enough to pull the business card from her pocket. It read ‘CEO, Atlas Group’. She’d made it her business to research every TV and movie production company in New York, Hollywood and Canada, just so she wouldn’t miss any opportunities that might whisper past the hallowed halls of Othello. She’d never heard of Gael Aguilar’s company.

‘It’s a new arm of my company.’

‘So you were trolling the halls looking for guinea pigs?’ she asked.

For some reason that amused him. Both sides of his sensual mouth lifted. Even that small action lightened his face in a way that made her breath catch. Made her wonder what it would be like to be the recipient of a full, genuine smile.

‘We really need to get off the subject of animal references. I’m a man. You’re a woman. Let’s refer to ourselves as such, sí?’ he drawled with a raised brow.

Something in his gaze made her self-conscious. She cursed silently when heat rushed up to redden her face. Because of her chosen career she’d needed to train herself not to blush at the drop of a hat, and yet she was doing just that, simply at the droll, slightly mocking look in his eyes.

‘My question still stands,’ she sniped, to cover her uneasiness.

‘And it will be answered in the fullness of time. I need your undivided attention for that discussion.’

‘What makes you think you don’t have that now?’

‘You mean in between trying to hang on to your modesty and the swelling of your hand?’ he enquired, his tone almost gentle.

For some reason that made something tighten in her midriff. Before she could form a disagreeable response he was leaning forward. He snagged a bottle of water from the well-stocked bar at his side of the car. Snapping the plastic top free, he wet a handful of tissues and turned to her.

‘May I?’ he requested, again in that gentle voice she didn’t want to associate with him. Men like him weren’t gentle. Men like him were predators, only intent on taking, taking, taking and leaving behind callously discarded husks.

Goldie wanted to refuse on principle, in solidarity with her poor mother and with the bitterness that sometimes spilled into her just from being close to it. She didn’t doubt that her mother’s bitterness had stained her in some way, made her wary of certain types of men. Men like the casting director from today’s audition, for instance.

She silently shook her head, veering away from the subject even while admitting she was old enough to know some of the blame for her mother’s current circumstances came from Gloria Beckett herself. It took two to tango, after all.

Tango.

Okay, she wasn’t going to allow an image of her tangoing with this man to cloud her already dizzying thoughts. Determinedly she clenched her gut against any more fanciful thoughts and held out her right hand.

Gael Aguilar cupped her hand in his. Goldie forced herself to ignore the alarming tingling where they touched and watch clinically as he cleaned her wound as best as the meagre supplies allowed. He worked quickly and efficiently, his manner gentle but firm. When he was finished, he disposed of the tissues and eyed her with a steady look.

‘Better?’

She tested the flexibility in her hand and gave a short nod. ‘Yes, thank you.’

‘You see, we’re not above civility after all, Miss Beckett.’

Despite the amusement in his voice there was a thin veil of something else in there...something she couldn’t pinpoint. Or perhaps she wasn’t willing to pinpoint it?

She’d puzzled over this man for far longer than common sense dictated was wise. ‘Are we there yet?’ she asked instead, then cringed at the juvenile question.

His amusement increased.

Certain he was about to make another joke at her expense she hurried to add, ‘I don’t have all night.’ She glanced at her watch, her heart lurching when she realised the time. ‘In fact, I don’t think I can do this thing tonight after all. I need to be somewhere else.’