by Kristi Gold
Mary Alice’s eyes narrowed into a menacing glare. “Oh, I’m sure Mitch has room for you out in the bunkhouse. He’s always kind to the common folk.”
With that, she pivoted and headed away, leaving Tori clamoring for some scathing comeback. But wasting energy on the likes of Mary Alice Marshall was futile. She had learned that at a very early age.
Finally, Bobby and Stella were alone, holding each other in a death grip and acting as if no one else existed. Tori hated to interrupt, but she wanted to congratulate them one more time before she grabbed some champagne to bolster her courage before she sought out the senator’s son.
When she approached, Stella held out her hand and they hugged each other for a long time. Tori pulled away first and said, “Guess you’re an old married woman now.”
Stella held up her left hand that now sported a plain white gold band. “Yep, and one of these days, I expect to serve as your maid of honor, as long as you don’t make me sing.”
Bobby sent Tori a comical grin. “That would clear a room real fast.”
Stella smacked him on the arm. “We’ve been married less than hour, and already you’re in trouble.” She turned back to Tori. “Speaking of singing, you did a beautiful job.”
“She looked damn beautiful doing it, too.”
Tori went into freeze mode at the sound of the voice behind her. A deep, provocative voice that generated enough heat to thaw her quickly.
She faced Mitch and murmured, “Thank you.”
“So here we are again,” he said when Stella and Bobby turned their attentions back to each other.
Obviously, the feline Tori had momentarily become in Mary Alice’s presence had its claws in her tongue. Or maybe it was Mitch’s smile, his face, his hair, his tuxedo or any myriad aspect of the man that kept her momentarily mute.
“You look nice tonight,” she finally managed. “Very debonair. And your lip is barely swollen.”
“And you look great in that dress. I told you that when we were walking down the aisle.”
Mystery solved. “I guess I didn’t hear you. But thanks again.”
“I’m also wondering what you have on underneath it.”
Tori had definitely heard that, loud and clear. But that was the last thing she heard, because the hired band picked that moment to begin a lively number, making normal conversation impossible, which became evident when Mitch said something else that Tori couldn’t begin to understand. “What?” she practically shouted.
He leaned closer to her ear, his warm breath trailing over her jaw. “We need to talk. Alone.”
Exactly what Tori had been thinking all night. “Okay. I have something I need to ask you, too. After Stella and Bobby cut the cake. “
Mitch nodded toward the dance floor now containing the bride and groom melded together, cheek to cheek. “That could be a while. I suggest we talk in the meantime.”
Tori looked around. “Where?”
“Outside. In the truck.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
He gave her a knock-me-out grin. “Inside the truck this time.”
This time. A vision of another bout of lovemaking in the cab of Mitch’s truck attacked her.
No! No! No!
She could not go there again, even if she dearly wanted to take that trip. This encounter would be about business, and she hoped that after she made her proposal, he wouldn’t boot her out of the truck onto her behind. “Okay. But I need to be back soon.”
“No problem.”
Mitch gestured toward the door and on the way out, picked up two champagne glasses, stuck one in each pocket, and then grabbed an open bottle of bubbly from the startled bartender.
Tori followed Mitch out the door, thinking his charisma mixed with cheap champagne could prove to be a fatal combination. She would only have a small glass, just enough to give her a little bravado.
Once they were settled in the truck—Mitch behind the wheel and Tori crouched in the corner of the cab—he turned on the ignition.
“Are we going somewhere?” she asked.
“No. I just want to turn on the heat before you freeze to death.”
Although the temperature was somewhat milder tonight, Tori still shivered when a draft of air from the blower hit her full force.
“It should warm up in a minute,” Mitch said as he poured the champagne.
Tori was already heating up from his presence alone. Just watching his hands in action turned her on. Ignoring him would be a lost cause.
After he was finished, he situated the bottle between his thighs, drawing Tori’s gaze to the male terrain much more obscure in dress slacks than in jeans. But she remembered how those thighs had felt against hers, the tickle of masculine hair, the tensile muscles, the absolute power.
“Tori, do you want some of this?”
Oh, yeah.
Mortified, Tori tore her gaze from his lap and focused on his chin. Darn him, he didn’t even try to hide the fact that he knew what she’d been thinking. That knowledge was etched all over his gorgeous face, sparkling in his eyes, present in his smile that sent the mercury rising in her body despite the chilly interior.
She took the glass he offered and a quick drink of champagne. The bubbles tickled her tongue, but not as strongly as Mitch Warner tickled her feminine fancy.
He held up his glass and said, “To the happy couple. Thank God they actually went through with it.”
Tori tipped her glass to his. “Amen.”
They sipped in silence until Mitch grimaced and said, “You know, I’ve hated this stuff since my first glass at sixteen. I’ve only had it once more in the past ten years.”
“Another celebration?”
“The day I graduated from Harvard.”
A reminder of exactly who he was and why Tori needed to tell him who she was. First, she would concentrate on congenial conversation. “I would have taken you for a beer drinker.”
“I am. But the Warner household didn’t serve something as lowly as beer, unless it was a high-dollar import.”
The venom in his tone took Tori aback. Obviously he did have somewhat of a temper. She gulped another quick drink, keeping her distance in order to thwart the temptation to smooth the tightness from his clean-shaven jaw.
“I guess I should say I’m sorry about last night,” he said after a bout of silence. “But I’m not sorry it happened.”
Neither was Tori. “I really can’t believe we did it in the bed of a truck.”
“All things considered, it was still great.”
“Was it?”
His gaze zipped to hers. “You didn’t think so?”
She chewed her bottom lip. “I guess on a scale from one to ten, I’d give it an eight.” In reality, she’d give it a twenty.
He set his champagne on the dash, tipped his head back against the seat and streaked both hands through his hair. “Only an eight?”
“Well, considering it was rather frigid—”
“I don’t think anyone qualified as frigid.”
“You know what I mean. We didn’t really get undressed, understandably so.”
“I thought we did pretty well improvising.”
“You could say that.”
He lifted his head and aimed his intense blue eyes on her. “I could also say that I didn’t notice the cold at all because, lady, you were pretty damned hot last night.”
Oh, Lordy. Hot behavior was not normally her forte. But then, Mitch Warner was pretty darned hot himself. She’d spent her life learning to compose words to fit the situation, describe the mood, in this case, the man. “Powerful,” came to mind. A sensual, magnetic field. A lean, mean love machine. Not enough adjectives of praise existed to do him justice.
Tori stared at her glass instead of him. “If you say so.”
He reached over and tipped her chin up with his thumb, forcing her to look at him again. “I definitely say so.” He ran one fingertip over her jaw then down her neck. “And I want to apol
ogize again for being so careless.”
“We really don’t have to go there, Mitch.”
His toxic blue eyes melted her from the inside out. “I want to go there again, Tori. With you. All night.”
Before Tori had a chance to prepare, he leaned over and slid his tongue across the seam of her lips. “Champagne tastes pretty damn good on you.”
“Mitch, I don’t think—”
“Don’t think, Tori.” He took her glass and placed it next to his on the dash, then shoved the open bottle between his seat and the door. “Thinking is overrated.”
Tori was overheated, on the brink of incineration when he took her into his arms and kissed her deeply. The tart taste of wine lingered on his tongue, his slow, steady thrusts displaying his need that matched her own. In spite of her previous goal, she couldn’t garner the strength to stop him. Couldn’t even consider anything but the softness of his tempting lips, the scent of his tantalizing cologne, the glide of his talented hand over her hip as he pulled her closer.
Breaking the kiss, he murmured, “This velvet feels great.”
So did his mouth on her neck, hot and damp as he graced it with soft kisses, working his way to her ear. “I want to take this dress off of you. Then I want to rub it all over your body. And mine.”
Tori wanted that too. Boy, did she want that.
And she just might get it, she decided, when he reached for the back zipper and slid it down. “You mean take it off here? Now?” Her voice sounded unnaturally tinny and shrill.
“Not completely,” he whispered. “Only a little. I just want to touch you a little. Then I want to take you to my bed where we can do this right. I want to see you naked.” His voice sounded smooth, but his breathing sounded shallow. So was Tori’s, what little breath she had left.
Tori lost all her will, all her logic, when he slipped the dress off her right shoulder, exposing the top of her bra. She clung to his head, threading her fingers through his thick, dark hair while he brushed kisses across the rise of her breast, using his tongue to make tempting incursions beneath the red lace. Slowly he inched the fabric down until he revealed her nipple for the wicked workings of his lips. The steady pull of his mouth hurtled heat straight to her thighs where his hand now worked the dress upward. In a matter of minutes, she would completely forget why she’d agreed to this rendezvous if she didn’t put an end to this now.
Framing his jaws in her palms, she pulled his head up and gave him a beseeching look. “Mitch, we have to stop before we can’t.”
He straightened and sighed. “I know.”
After redoing her dress, he scooted over to his side of the truck and tipped his forehead against the steering wheel. “You’re going to be hard-pressed to believe this, but I don’t normally come on that strong. It’s you. You make me crazy.”
Tori couldn’t recall when a man had ever said that to her, but she couldn’t let flattery or his sensuality rule her head. And she wondered how crazy he would be once she told him the truth.
He lifted his head and glanced her way again. “Now, what did you want to ask me? Let’s make it quick so we can get out of here, get on with the festivities, then get on with some more pleasurable activities.”
Damn his confidence. She hadn’t even said she was willing to go to bed with him again, even though, if things were different, she certainly would.
The man was sufficiently sucking her mind as dry as an Oklahoma gulch in late summer. For that reason, she focused on the two barely touched glasses of champagne sitting side by side on the dash. “Actually, I have a request. But first, I need to tell you something.”
“You have a boyfriend.”
“No, that’s not it.”
“Husband?”
“I’m serious, Mitch.”
“I can tell. So if you don’t have another lover, what is it?”
“I need something from you.” And that sounded totally questionable to Tori. She could only imagine how it had sounded to him.
She knew exactly how it had sounded when he said, “I’ve already told you I’m ready to give you whatever you need, all night long, this time in a real bed.”
Oh, how tempting it would be to tell him to take her away and make good on that promise. But she couldn’t. “I’m not referring to sex.”
His sigh sounded highly frustrated. “Okay, Tori, you’re confusing the hell out of me here. Just spit it out.”
She drew in a long breath and released it slowly. “I’m a journalist, and I want your story.”
Four
This was the closest Mitch had ever come to being sucker punched by a woman. He sat silent for a few moments to let the revelation sink in. Shock gave way to anger and the bitter taste of betrayal overrode the sweet taste of Tori still lingering on his lips.
He risked a look to find her studying her joined hands. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me this last night?”
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug, the same shoulder he’d kissed only moments before. “I was going to say something when we were at Stella’s, but when you made the comment about the press rifling in your glove box, I just lost my nerve. Later, I, uh, had other things on mind.”
She’d had her hands all over his body. He didn’t need to remember how great last night had been, or how much he had hoped for a repeat performance tonight. He needed to hang on to his anger. For all intents and purposes, she was the enemy.
“I’m not your enemy, Mitch,” she said as if she’d read his mind.
“I’ve never found one friend among the media.”
“Not every journalist buys into sensationalism. Some of us are responsible.”
He shot her a hard look. “I have a difficult time believing that, especially since you didn’t bother to let me in on your little secret.”
She touched his arm then drew back, like she’d forgotten herself. “If you’ll just listen for a minute, I’ll explain why I think it will be to your advantage to let me do an interview.”
Under normal circumstances, Mitch would admire her persistence. But nothing about their relationship so far had been even remotely normal. Not their initial meeting. Not their sexual beginning. Not his undeniable attraction to her that still lived on even after what he now knew. “There’s nothing advantageous about spilling your guts. I value my privacy. I’ve worked damn hard to escape the attention. No need to stir it up again.”
“It’s going to get stirred up since your father’s probably about to announce his retirement.”
“I don’t give a damn about politics.”
“Then you might consider stating your position now rather than let the speculation start to fly. Define your aspirations before someone does it for you. I’m willing to help you.”
He ran a hand over his face and stared straight ahead. Some of what she’d said made sense, but he wasn’t into logic right now. “You have no idea what it’s like to have every detail of your life exposed so everyone can take a jab.”
“Actually, I do.”
The hint of pain in her voice brought Mitch’s attention back to her. “How so?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
It did to him, even though it probably shouldn’t. “Hey, if you expect me to open up to you, it’s only fair you do the same.”
“This isn’t about me. This is about an opportunity you shouldn’t pass up.”
“I don’t want my life plastered all over some newspaper.”
“It’s not a newspaper. I work for a Dallas women’s magazine. We feature stories about successful men in Texas.”
“I don’t live in Texas, in case you haven’t noticed.” He couldn’t control his sarcasm, yet it didn’t seem to dissuade Tori.
“But you’re from a prominent Texas political dynasty, so that counts. I’m proposing a story that focuses on your life as a rancher, not as a politician’s son. If you don’t intend to follow in your father’s footsteps, then this is the perfect venue to let that be known.”
“And what’s in
it for you?”
“Well, honestly, it would mean more visibility for me. Possibly a promotion.”
The anger came back with the realization he’d been set up by a woman who’d incited his total loss of control and moved him more than any woman he had known. “You had this planned the minute you stepped into town, didn’t you? Pretty damned convenient to have Stella and Bob’s wedding as a front.”
She looked on the verge of getting mad, and he wanted her that way. He wanted her as mad as he was at the moment. Mad over the deception. Mad because this wasn’t the way tonight was supposed to end. “For your information,” she said, “it didn’t occur to me to ask for the interview until you stepped into the bar last night.”
Irrational anger overwhelmed his usual common sense. “So was that what our little interlude was all about, sex for a story?”
First, she looked as if she’d been slugged, then her brown eyes flashed fury. “I’m not even going to justify that with an answer.” She grabbed the door handle. “Forget about it. I’m sorry I asked. I’m sorry about everything.”
Damn, he wasn’t being at all fair. She didn’t deserve this much animosity. And in reality, he didn’t want her to leave. “Wait.”
She hesitated, the door partially ajar. “Why? So you can rake me over the coals some more because of my chosen profession?”
“No. So I can apologize.”
“Apology accepted.”
“Good. Now close the door.”
“Why?”
“Because I need more details about what you’re proposing.”
She looked hopeful and sweeter than she had a right to be. “Then you’ll actually consider it?”
“I’m willing to listen.”
After closing the door, she settled back into the corner of the seat. “First, I’d follow you around for a week, focusing on Mitch Warner, the rancher, and his life. It’s also an opportune time to reveal a lighter side of your personality. For example, what you do in your spare time. Your favorite activities. What you admire most in a woman.”
