But he wouldn’t be staying in her guest bedroom forever. If he had his way, he’d be out of there in a week, maybe less, and back on active duty, leading his team. Who knew how and when Derrick might strike again.
“A broken heart can make a man do stupid things,” he said. “Christ, Maggie, he showed up at your doorstep with a box of muffins.”
“I sent him away. It’s over.”
“For now. If he comes back with something more threatening than muffins and I’m not here, you bolt the door and call the cops, okay?”
She nodded. That was the best he could do for now.
“How about I whip us up some eggs and toast?” he asked, opening the egg carton. “That tasteless, fat-free thing didn’t do it for me.”
“You can cook?”
“You don’t need to sound so surprised. Breakfast is my specialty.” Turning around, he opened a cabinet and found a glass bowl. Returning to the island, he cracked two eggs into the bowl and began whipping them with a fork. “I’m hoping if I impress you with my cooking skills you might let me crash in your guest room again. It’s a hell of a lot nicer than the motel.”
She hesitated. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. We need to maintain a professional relationship.”
He set down the bowl and studied her. Those loose blond curls, that smooth skin and those bright blue eyes—he wanted her more than he’d wanted anything in a long time. Looking at her now, he realized that the reasons he couldn’t have her paled in comparison to his desire.
He turned his gaze to the open fields beyond her. He’d ridden a freaking horse through Afghanistan on a saddle made out of wooden boards and goat hide. He’d negotiated with warlords, evaded capture more times than he wanted to count and completed dozens of successful recon missions. He was a goddamn U.S. army ranger. He could keep his personal and work life separate. The question was could she?
“What happens if we don’t?” he asked.
“If anyone found out, your colonel, my editor,” Maggie said. “It’s not professional. I can’t sleep with you and interview you.”
“Not at the same time.” Hunter went to her side, put his hands on her waist and turned her to look at him. He kept his hold on her, feeling her body tense with nerves and indecision. “But what if we kept the two separate? We’ll do the interviews during the day, and then at night...”
He leaned forward and brushed his lips against her ear. “At night, you’re mine.”
“Yours?” She lifted her hands to his chest, but she didn’t push him away.
“Whatever drew us together that first night—lust, chemistry, call it whatever you want. It’s still here between us. You feel it, too, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I made a promise to you that first night, Maggie. A promise to blow your fantasies out of the water.” He drew back. “Look at me, Maggie.” She lifted her gaze to meet his and he saw the desire in her eyes.
“But that was just for one night—”
“I’m not asking you for a commitment, Maggie. I don’t do long term. I’m here for as long as this assignment lasts, but that’s it. I’m not going to lie to you. You have my word on that. I’m not your ex. But none of that changes the fact I made a promise to you, and I keep my promises.”
11
ONE MINUTE HE’D been making eggs, the picture of domesticity, and the next he had her body purring with need, asking her to throw away her career for wild leave-your-control-at-the-door sex.
Deep down Maggie knew the career risk was an excuse. Yes, having sex with an interview subject was unprofessional, but once she finished interviewing Hunter, the lines blurred. Even then, fear would linger, holding her back. If she went to bed with him again, he’d claim control of her body, bringing her sexual fantasies to life. Part of her wanted that. Desperately. But she wasn’t sure she was ready. If the panic she’d felt Saturday night had taught her anything, it was that letting a man take charge involved trust. And she wasn’t sure she could trust the injured Ranger standing in front of her.
Hunter cupped her jaw with his hand, his thumb stroking her cheek, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Say yes, Maggie.”
“I’ll think about it.” It was the best she could do.
Smiling, he released her and went back to cooking. “Don’t think too long. I’m not here forever.”
No, he wasn’t. This might be her only chance to make her fantasies come true. She clenched her thighs. Work. She had to work before they could play. “But first I want an interview. A real one.”
“Okay.” He opened a cabinet. “Where are your plates?”
“Above the dishwasher.” She hesitated. She had to know, before this thing between them went any further, didn’t she? “There’s something else.”
“Shoot.”
Who’s Sierra? The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she remained silent. He was offering her a chance to be a wild, sexy woman at night and to focus on her work during the day. Part of her wanted to push away her reservations and say yes. Part of her wanted to pretend she’d never overheard his conversation. Could she do that? Bury her head in the sand for a few days? Sierra could be a cousin or family friend.
Or she could be his girlfriend, and mentioning her name would end the fantasy before it had even begun.
“Maggie?” he prompted.
“It’s nothing.” When they’d first met, he’d told her and Olivia that he was unmarried. She would have to take him at his word. If going to bed with him meant trusting him, it had to start here and now. “Just that I like my eggs cooked through.”
* * *
SEVEN HOURS LATER, Maggie collapsed onto a kitchen chair, exhausted. She’d conducted dozens of interviews, but none like this one. He’d answered all of her prepared questions except the one she was burning to ask.
How do you plan to blow my fantasies out of the water?
She had a feeling he knew that question stood front and center in her mind. His gaze fell to her lips when she spoke, drifting farther south on more than one occasion. Not that she’d behaved much better. She’d spent the entire interview undressing him with her eyes, which had left parts of her aching and wanting. Very professional.
When she’d suggested they break for a few hours, he’d agreed. She’d offered him lunch, but he’d turned down food in favor of a run. She’d spent an hour working on her blog before she’d set out for a run, too. Then straight to the fridge for leftover pasta, grabbing the phone on her way. After this morning, she didn’t trust herself to make this decision—to sleep with him or not—on her own. She needed another opinion.
“Olivia?” Maggie pressed her cell phone between her ear and shoulder as she rummaged through the fridge. “I need to get out tonight.”
“Ready for another one-night stand already? What about your Ranger?”
Maggie pulled a half-eaten container of pasta from the bottom shelf and set it on the counter. “He refuses to stay at his motel. He insists my guest room is more comfortable.”
“The downstairs one with the fancy marble shower?” Olivia asked. “No one in their right mind would stay at a motel when they could have access to that shower.”
“Well, that doesn’t change the fact that he is still here and that I need a break.” She opened the silverware drawer and selected a fork. “A girls’ night out.”
“Did you have someplace in mind?” Olivia asked.
“Frida’s. I want guacamole and margaritas.” She’d been on the bride-to-be, low-fat-muffin diet for too long. If she was going to let herself go, she might as well go all the way.
“It’s ladies’ night at Frida’s. It will be packed with single men,” Olivia warned.
“And single women. The men won’t even look at me. I’ll wear my usual boring clothes. Something gray. I promise.”
“And a bra?”
“Yes, I promise to wear a bra.” The kitchen door swung open as the words crossed her lips and a shirtless, sweaty U.S. army ranger
sauntered into the room. Her mouth went dry and her fork fell into the take-out container. Setting the pasta on the counter, she reached for her water and took a gulp.
“I’ve got to go,” she said once she’d swallowed. “I’ll meet you there at seven.”
Maggie studied the rim of her glass, determined not to stare at the way his waist narrowed until it disappeared from view, hidden by his running shorts. If she looked, she’d want to touch, and she couldn’t touch. Not yet. “I’m going out with Olivia. A girls’ night out.”
“And this time you’re wearing a bra,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
“Exactly.” She picked up the cell phone without looking at him. She could feel his eyes on her chest as if he was trying to determine if she was wearing one now. Her traitorous breasts responded to the heated look and the building tension between them.
“You’re on your own for dinner,” she said quickly, moving toward the door. “But there should be plenty of leftovers in the fridge. Help yourself. And you’re free for the rest of the afternoon. I have some work I need to finish on my computer.”
“Maggie.” His hand wrapped around her arm, gently pulling her to a stop. Every nerve ending in her body jumped to attention, both annoying and thrilling her at the same time. What was it about this man that turned her on so much? She met his heated gaze. No question he felt it, too, and God if that didn’t turn her on more. “Don’t think too long.”
She nodded as he released her arm, not trusting herself to speak in case the only words that came out of her mouth were “Orgasm. Now.” And then she hustled into the hall.
* * *
BY SEVEN-THIRTY Maggie and Olivia were seated in a corner booth at Frida’s. Maggie dug a chip into the mammoth bowl of guacamole on the table. One margarita down and she already felt better. She chased her chip with a sip from her second frozen taste of heaven. When was the last time she’d said, “Screw the low-calorie beer, I’m having tequila”? So long ago, she couldn’t remember. She couldn’t even recall the last time she’d been to Frida’s. Probably before Derrick, and even then she’d never braved ladies’ night.
But tonight she didn’t care. She’d worn jeans, canvas slip-ons and her old gray hooded sweatshirt over a white tank top. Her underwear, including her bra, was boring beige. No one, man or woman, spared her a second glance, and she didn’t bother looking at them. She kept her eyes on the guacamole and her drink.
“How’s everything with the Ranger?” Olivia asked over the rim of her sangria.
Maggie looked up. Olivia had decided to dress for ladies’ night. A man would have to be blind to miss her friend’s bright orange blouse and white pencil skirt. “He’s driving me crazy.”
“You could ask him to leave.”
“I don’t want him to leave. I don’t have a book without him. That’s part of the problem.”
“And the other part?”
“I want to tear my clothes off every time I see him.”
“Not very professional.” Olivia caught their server’s attention and signaled for another round.
“He’s the one who started it. If he’d just stay at his motel.”
“To be fair, you started it. You’re the one who picked him up at the car show,” Olivia pointed out.
“I started a one-night stand. He’s trying to make it into something more.” Maggie set aside her empty second drink. Just saying those words made her body tingle with need. Or maybe that was the alcohol. She was starting to feel a little fuzzy. “I just keep wondering, what would happen if I let him?”
“Let him what?”
“Touch me. See me naked. Again,” Maggie said as the server deposited their drinks and scurried away into the crowd of women.
“You would have sex.” Olivia spoke loud enough for the table next to theirs to pause mid-conversation to listen.
“Liv, that’s part of the problem.” Maggie leaned forward, dropping her voice to a near whisper. “This isn’t just sex. He made me a promise.”
Olivia leaned in. “What sort of promise? And why are we whispering?”
“We’re in public.” She looked down at her drink. “And this is personal.”
“Go on.”
Maggie hesitated. But this was what best friends were for—spilling secrets over margaritas and asking for drunken advice. “He promised it would be better than my wildest dreams.”
“And this is a problem because?”
“I’ve never told you this.” Maggie met her friend’s questioning gaze. “I’ve never told anyone this. Except Hunter. But he didn’t count at the time because I never thought I’d see him again.” She paused and took a breath. “I have some pretty wild fantasies.”
“Good for you.” Olivia reached out and patted her hand. “You’re wound up so tight from all the pressure you put on yourself that sometimes I worry you might explode. Like I told you Saturday, sex is just what you need. Look at it this way, you’re simply searching for a way to vent your sexual frustration and explore your hidden desires so that you can concentrate on your work.”
When Olivia put it like that, it sounded completely sane. Why shouldn’t she have sex with Hunter? She wasn’t looking for a ring and a promise from him. As long as she knew that up front, what did she have to worry about? Olivia might be right, if she wanted to focus on her work, put her book first, she should sleep with him. She turned this logic over in her tequila-filled mind. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. He offered to fulfill your fantasies, for goodness’ sake. Go get him!”
“I need to call a cab.” Maggie pushed back from the table and pulled her wallet out of her purse. Tossing a pair of twenties on the table, she looked at Olivia. “Will you be okay if I leave?”
“Go.” Olivia made a shooing motion with her hands. “Have sex. And don’t forget to come back for your car in the morning.”
Five minutes later, Maggie slid into a cab and gave the driver her address. Before she reached for her seat belt, she pulled her arms into her sweatshirt.
“Hey, lady, what are you doing back there?” the driver called.
Maggie met his gaze in the rearview mirror. “Losing my bra. Just keep your eyes on the road.”
12
MAGGIE MIGHT HAVE finished her work for the day but his wasn’t complete. She’d hidden in her office all afternoon, and Hunter had a hunch she’d been working on her blog. He had to know what she’d written before he could wonder about her answer to his other question.
With his hand on the door to her study, he was on the verge of saying, To hell with it all, just get her naked and into bed. Promising her interviews with every Ranger he’d ever worked with. The moon. Anything.
But if he failed this mission, he wouldn’t be the only one to suffer. He could lose the job he loved and the money he needed to support Sierra. One more overdose and he could lose his sister forever. She deserved a fresh start, and he’d make damn sure she got it.
He opened the door to Maggie’s study. He’d heard the Mercedes peel out of the driveway fifteen minutes ago. Now was his chance. But when he sat down in front of her computer, he hesitated.
If he changed her blog, deleting any information about his injury and any reference to his team as a bunch of cowboys, there was no going back. Once she found out, Maggie would hate him. He’d be cast out of her life as quickly as Muffin Boy.
His hands rested on top of her laptop but didn’t move. That first night at the Marriott, she’d handed him her trust when she’d let him call the shots, and now he felt the weight of it. It was like carrying a forty-pound sack rigged with C4 into a mission. And Miss Maggie’s feelings didn’t end there. He was pretty damn sure she desired him almost as much as he did her. He saw the way she looked at him when he entered the house without his shirt. Her eyes exclaimed green light, come and get me, while her body stepped away.
If she lost faith in him, she’d never welcome him into her bed again. He’d had enough dancing around the hot connec
tion between them. He’d rather ride another wild horse through Taliban country than sit through a second full day of questions with a hard-on. But to give her what she wanted, to coax the wild pound-the-bed-as-she-shatters Maggie out of her shell, she had to trust him.
Making a woman’s sexual fantasies come true had never been high on his to-do list. He generally preferred his sex hard and fast. With Maggie, the idea of taking away her control, having her completely dependent on him for her pleasure, really did it for him. And it didn’t stop there. He liked her.
His hands fell away from the closed computer and landed on his lap.
He admired her courage. She went after what she wanted, pushing her nerves aside like a soldier on a mission. It didn’t matter if her goal was an orgasm or her book, she went for it. Her determination to look beyond her own lousy childhood with a drunken ex-Ranger for a father and see the good side of what soldiers did every day damn near floored him.
Hunter pushed back from the desk. He couldn’t do it. Hell, it wasn’t as if the colonel had specifically ordered him to take down her blog. For all he knew, she’d already changed the content based on their interviews. He’d never know if he didn’t ask her first. And maybe, if he talked to her, she’d agree to make some changes. Maggie wasn’t the enemy here. And this wasn’t a run-of-the-mill recon mission. Maybe this time subterfuge wasn’t the only way.
In his pocket, his phone vibrated. Hunter pulled it out, immediately recognizing the Tennessee area code. He pressed a button and answered. “Cross.”
“Chief,” his colonel said. “How are things in New York? Keeping a tight leash on the professor?”
“Yes, sir.” Hunter leaned back in Maggie’s desk chair and looked out the window across the fields. “Though so far I don’t think we have much to worry about. I don’t think Professor Barlow is digging for secrets.”
“Good,” his commanding officer replied. “But we need confirmation that book of hers won’t raise any questions. Get a look at her notes and whatever else she’s written. Read it, and if it’s all clear, we’ll talk about bringing you home to run your team after the interviews.”
Command Performance Page 11
