by Aimee Carson
She considered sticking her tongue out at him until his eyes returned to hers—seemingly unaffected, still unerringly focused, and full of a dangerous warning that left her breathless.
Fortunately the host announced the end of the commercial. Desperate for oxygen, and a break from Hunter’s maddening effect on her body, she tore her gaze from him back to Brian O’Connor as he addressed her.
“Now that you have Hunter’s attention,” the host said, “what would you like to say?”
Go to hell came to mind. Unfortunately this wasn’t cable—no swearing allowed.
But if she couldn’t speak her mind, she could at least get him to face the music—off-key notes and all. “On behalf of all those affected, I’d like to thank you personally for the creation of The Ditchinator and the message it sends: ‘It’s over, babe.’” In keeping with their interaction to date, she lifted an eyebrow that was outwardly flirtatious but heavy with biting subtext. “You’re quite the poet.”
“You’re easily impressed.”
“It must have taken you hours to compose.”
Hunter looked as if he wanted to smile. Whether despite her insult or because of it she wasn’t sure. “Only a few seconds, actually. But at least it’s short and to the point.”
“Oh, it’s extremely pointy, all right,” she said. She twisted on the love seat to face her opponent more directly, refusing to let him get an outward rise out of her. “But what makes the experience super-fun is the bulk email the Ditchinator sends, notifying friends and social network followers that you’re now single and available.” Her smile turned overly sweet. “Nice feature.”
“I thought so,” he said, as if she was being serious. But Hunter Philips was the sort of man who didn’t miss a thing, not with that disturbingly calculated gaze that bored into hers.
“It certainly is a time-saver,” the host said, clearly trying to rejoin the discussion.
Hunter’s intense focus remained on Carly. “I admire efficiency.”
“I’m sure you do,” she said.
“It’s a fast-paced world we live in,” Hunter returned.
“Perhaps too fast,” she said, aware they were still shutting Brian O’Connor out. Hunter wasn’t playing nice with the host. She doubted he ever played nice. And she was too engrossed in this visual and verbal duel to care.
“Care to hear my favorite feature of your app?” She threw her arm across the back of the couch and leaned closer. His woodsy scent filled her senses. “The extensive list of songs to choose from to accompany the message.”
The host chimed in. “The one I’d hate to be on the receiving end of is Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker,” he said with an exaggerated shiver, clearly for the benefit of an amused audience.
She looked past Hunter to address Brian O’Connor, her tone laden with sarcasm. “Mr. Philips is very clever, isn’t he?” Her eyes crash-landed back on Mr. Ditchinator.
“Hunter,” the man insisted, his gaze trained on her. “And your ex-boyfriend’s choice of songs?”
“It was an extra-special title. ‘How Can I Miss You When You Won’t Go Away?’”
Though the audience gasped and snickered, Hunter Philips didn’t register the musical slight, and Brian O’Connor said, “Obscure. But effectively rude.”
“Which leaves me curious as to why Ms. Wolfe is using her column in the Miami Insider to target me,” Hunter said.
Hunter faced Carly again. Though braced for the impact, she felt the force of his gaze to her core.
“You don’t seem particularly angry at the man who sent you the message,” he said smoothly. “Your ex-boyfriend.”
“We hadn’t been together long,” she said. “We weren’t seriously involved.”
His eyes held hers as he tipped his head. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Why?”
“‘Hell hath no fury’ and all …”
Suddenly she realized he’d turned the tables and the attack was now on her. Subtle, so as to not raise the crowd’s ire, but there nonetheless. The insinuation increased the tension in the air until it was almost palpable, and their host remained silent, no doubt enjoying the show they were providing.
But Carly let Hunter know with a small smile that she was on to his game. “This isn’t a scorned woman’s vendetta.”
“You haven’t flipped the coin from love to hate?” Hunter said.
“Love is one emotion I’ve yet to experience,” she said. Although she’d come close once.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Oh?” She feigned surprise. “Does that lessen the fun of your app for you?”
He was clearly biting back a smile. “Not at all.”
“Or is it entertaining simply to use your program to dump all your girlfriends?”
“I don’t sleep around,” he said.
Her brow bunched at his tone. Was he implying she did?
“I’m more …” He paused, as if searching for the right word. But she knew it was all for show. “Prudent in my choices.”
If her lips pressed any tighter at the obvious dig they would merge into one.
The light in his eyes was maddening. “Nor am I vindictive when it ends.”
She longed to knock the coolly lethal, amused look from his face as he continued to bait her. “Trust me,” she said. “If I’d wanted vengeance against my ex, I would have taken it out on him—not you.”
“So why the need to lay your break-up at my feet?”
“It wasn’t getting ditched that bothered me.” Heart pounding under his scrutiny, she barely restrained the anger that begged to be unleashed. She held his gaze. “It was the method in which he chose to do it. And you created the app.”
“Yes, I did,” he said smoothly.
Her irritation rose. Damn it, his response was so deviously agreeable. His simple, matter-of-fact confirmation knocked her accusation to the ground, leaving it less effective. And he knew it. “My boyfriend was simply an insensitive coward. You, however,” Carly said, her voice low, hoping for a loss of his tight control when faced with the brutal truth, “are exploiting people’s callous treatment of others simply to make money.”
The worst of the worst. A bottom-feeder, as far as Carly was concerned.
There was no flicker of emotion in Hunter’s cool, hard gaze—just like Thomas after he’d dumped her to save himself. Hunter’s I’m-in-control smile was infuriating. And right now he was the poster boy for every unpleasant break-up she’d ever experienced.
“Unfortunately,” he said, “human nature is what it is.” He paused before going on, a single brow arching higher. “Perhaps the problem is you’re too naive.”
Resentment burned her belly, because she’d heard that before—from the two men who had mattered most. Hunter Philips was a member of the same heartless club as her father and Thomas—where ruthlessness ruled, money was king and success came before all else.
Her sizzling fuse grew shorter, the spark drawing closer to her heart, and words poured out unchecked. “That’s a rotten excuse for fueling man’s sprint toward the death of human decency.”
The words lingered in the stunned silence that followed, and Carly cringed.
Just perfect, Carly. A nice over-the-top histrionic retort, implying you’re a crazy lady.
She’d let her emotions get the best of her…again. Jeez, hadn’t she learned anything in the last three years?
Hunter’s relaxed posture remained in place. His eyes were communicating one thing: her wild words were exactly what the infuriating man had planned. “Are you saying I’m responsible for the downfall of human decency?” The lines in his brow grew deeper. “Because that’s a pretty heavy accusation for one frivolously insignificant app,” he said, and then he turned his small smile toward the audience, drawing them in. “If I’d known how important it was when I designed it, I would have paid more attention.”
A ripple of amusement moved through the crowd, and she knew her role in the show had just gone from lig
hthearted arts and entertainment reporter to bitter, jilted ex—with a generous dose of crazy.
Hunter returned his gaze to her, and frustration tightened its fist on her heart. There was such a feeling of…of…incompleteness about it. He’d swooped in, deciphered her like the easy read she was, and figured out just which buttons to push. He was more than an unusually cool, good-looking computer expert—his demeanor was a killer mix of cunning arctic fox and dangerous black panther. Obviously this was no simple network security consultant.
So why had Hunter designed such a personal app? The facts didn’t square with the self-controlled man she’d just engaged in a battle of wits. Carly coming in last, of course.
“Unfortunately we’re running out of time,” the host said, disappointment in his voice.
Hunter’s gaze remained locked with Carly’s—a gut-twisting, heart-pounding moment of communication from victor…to loser.
“Too bad we can’t come back again,” she said provocatively, and held Hunter’s gaze, hurling daggers meant to penetrate his steely armor, but sure they were being deflected with ease. “I’d love to hear what inspired the creation of The Ditchinator.”
For the first time a hard glint flickered in his eyes—a look so stony she had to force herself not to flinch.
The host saved the day. “I would too.” He turned to the audience. “Would you like to hear the story?” The audience went wild, and Brian O’Connor became Carly’s newest BFF. “You up for it, Carly?”
“Definitely.” She turned her attention back to Hunter, her tone silky, as it always was when she tried to control her anger. “But I’m sure Mr. Philips is too busy to participate.” Although he hadn’t moved, was as coolly collected as ever—God, she wished she had his control—he had to be mentally squirming as he searched for a way out. The thought was much more satisfying than near-miss daggers, but her fun ended when he shocked her with his answer.
“I’m game if you’re game,” Hunter said.
CHAPTER TWO
A SECOND show. Why had he agreed to a second show?
After a brief conversation with Brian O’Connor’s producer, Hunter strode toward the TV station exit, ignoring the corridor walls filled with photos of previous guests as he homed in on the glass door at the end. He’d set himself a task, achieved his goal and won. Carly Wolfe had fought the good fight, but her anger had gotten the better of her. So Hunter should be walking away in triumph. Done. The issue behind him.
But when the talk-show host had mentioned returning, Hunter had looked at Carly’s amber-colored eyes that had sparkled with challenge, the high cheekbones flushed with irritation, and he’d hesitated. Her quick-fire responses laced with biting sarcasm were entertaining. And when she’d flashed him her delightfully unique blend of charm-and-slash smile, daring him to a second go around, he’d been driven completely off course. What man wouldn’t be captivated by the winningly wily Carly Wolfe—especially after her cheeky crossing-of-beautiful-bared-legs attempt to trip up his focus?
He wasn’t worried he’d lose their second round of verbal tag, or that he’d succumb to her allure, because touching her was out of the question. The sexy firebrand was a problem, but one he could comfortably control—because he’d lived with a pretty reporter once, and to say it hadn’t ended well was a gross understatement …
There was no better education than a negative outcome. Although with Carly around the view was admittedly five-star.
He heard Carly say his name, interrupting his thoughts, and looked to his left, appreciating her lovely face as she fell into step beside him.
Heels tapping on the wood floor, she struggled to keep up. “Interesting how you were too busy to give me five minutes of your time.” The smile on her face didn’t come anywhere near her eyes. For one insane moment he missed the genuine warmth she’d exuded early in the show. A warmth that had ended the moment he sat down beside her. “Yet here you are, going out of your way to come on this program, Mr. Philips.”
“Hunter,” he said, ignoring her enticing citrus scent.
She shot him a you-can’t-be-serious look and stretched those beautiful legs, clearly determined to match his stride. “Why do you keep insisting on the use of your first name? To pretend you have a heart?”
Biting back a smile, he trained his gaze on the exit door, feeling a touch of guilt for enjoying her reaction and her struggle to keep pace with him. “You’re just mad you lost.”
“All I wanted from you was a few minutes of your time, but for weeks you were too busy. Yet you turn up here and then agree to a second show.” Her tone was a mix of irritation, confusion and curiosity, as if she truly wanted an answer to the burning question. “Why?”
“Maybe you charmed me into it.”
“Aphrodite herself couldn’t charm you into going against your will,” she said as she continued walking beside him. “So why now?
“The time suited.”
She stopped in front of him, forcing him to come to a halt or plow her over. “Saturday at midnight?” Her tone radiated disbelief. “But you must be exhausted after spending the week protecting your big-name clients from sophisticated hackers and designing those heart-warming apps.” Apparently she couldn’t resist another dig. “I do hope you’re well compensated.”
Keeping a straight face was hard. “The money is excellent.”
He could tell his response ticked her off even more. The slight flattening of her full lips was a dead giveaway. But eight years ago he’d painstakingly begun the process of rebuilding his life. The main benefits of the business he’d started were financial, and he wasn’t about to apologize to anyone for that.
“The real question is …” She stepped closer and the crackling electricity was back, heating him up and breaking his train of thought in a disturbing way. “How much has your humiliating app made you?”
“Less than you’d think.”
“I’d settle for less than I’d hoped.”
He tipped his head. “And how much would that be?”
She planted a hand on a hip that displayed just the right amount of curve. “How far below zero can you count?”
This time he didn’t hold back the small smile as she tried to restrain her anger. “Depends on the incentive,” he said, feeling an irresistible need to bait her further. “You can try hiking your dress higher again and see how low I can go.”
At the mention of her previous maneuver she didn’t flinch or seem sorry—which for some reason pleased him.
“What would be the point?” she said, and her smile leaned more toward sarcasm than humor. “You aren’t the type to get distracted by a little leg, are you?”
He couldn’t afford to get distracted. Getting used by a woman twice in one decade would qualify him for a lifetime achievement award for stupidity. However, his body was taking notice of Carly in every way possible. Despite the years of practice, this time, with this particular woman, he struggled to seize the wayward responses and enclose them in steel even as he appreciated the sun-kissed skin, the silky brown hair and the slip-dress-covered figure built to inspire a man’s imagination.
She leaned closer, as if to get his full attention. Which was ironic, seeing as how he was struggling not to notice everything about her. “I’m still waiting on an answer,” she said.
“To which question?” he said. “If I’m susceptible to a woman openly flirting to gain an advantage or whether I have a heart?”
“I’m certain you don’t have a heart,” she said, and he recognized the silky tone she adopted when anger sparkled in her eyes. “But you know what else I think?”
Hunter stared at Carly. The bold challenge in her face reminded him of how far she’d gone to hunt him down. He’d pulled his punches tonight, because anything more would have agitated a crowd that was already against him. But right now they were alone, so he wrapped his tone in his usual steel. “What do you think?”
Her lids widened slightly, as if she was having second thoughts. Her words pro
ved otherwise. “I think you’re a soulless, cold-hearted bastard whose only concern is the bottom line,” she said. “The very sort of man I can’t stand.”
He dropped his voice to dangerous levels. “In that case you shouldn’t have dared me to come back.”
Her chin hiked a touch higher. “It was a last-minute decision.”
“Having trouble controlling your impulses?”
Her chest hitched faster, as if she were fighting to control her anger. “I have no regrets.”
“Not yet, anyway.”
“I suspect your reasons for appearing tonight were less about convenience and more about the free advertising for your heartless app.”
His pause was slight, but meaningful. “But I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”
He was certain she was smart enough to decode his message.
A message that must have infuriated her more, as her eyes narrowed. “If you benefit financially because of tonight, you should send me flowers to show your gratitude.”
The thought brought his first genuine smile. “Perhaps I will.”
The muscles around her beautiful mouth tensed, as if she were biting her cheek to keep from spilling a retort. “Orchids, not roses,” she said. “I like a bouquet that’s original.”
She crossed her arms, framing her breasts and tripping up his thoughts. Hunter wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not.
“I’m easily bored,” she said.
As he stared at his lovely adversary, her face radiating a mix of amusing sass, honest exasperation and barely caged antagonism, he realized why he’d agreed to come back. It wasn’t just his inexplicable restlessness of late. Despite the threat she posed, he was enjoying their duel. In truth, he was in danger of liking her—and, with all his money, it was one of the few things in life he couldn’t afford to do.
He passed around her, heading for the exit. “I’ll keep your floral preferences in mind.”
Late Monday afternoon Hunter weaved his way through the crowded, opulent lobby of SunCare Bank. His cell phone rang and, recognizing the number, he answered without a hello. “I just finished delivering the SunCare proposal. I thought you were going to try and make it?”
