by Aimee Carson
Before his ex had gotten her story and left? Before he’d been forced out of the FBI? The memories still felt like a vacuum, threatening to suck him down. Unfortunately there was no telling what Carly would say on the show about his app, or in an attempt to learn the inspiration behind its creation …
His insides churned at the memory. But that had been eight years ago, and some things were best forgotten. He’d been stripped of his gullibility, so he needed to do what he did best. Focus. Concentrate. And protect what was his.
The problem he’d been mulling over the last few days was how to throw Carly Wolfe off her game. She was too quick to be bested during the most heated of banter, and she had no qualms about using every weapon at her disposal. Unfortunately she was also getting harder and harder to provoke.
Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he remembered the mute look on her face when they’d collided at the bar. For a moment her confidence had wavered, and the confused, dumbfounded expression that had followed had been the most telling of all. Apparently the wily Ms. Wolfe was as susceptible to their attraction as she’d hoped he’d be.
She might be a beautiful woman, and hot enough to melt the deepest winter chill, but he hadn’t suffered at the hands of his ex without taking away a few hard-earned lessons. Attraction, the electric pull between them, was something he was certain he could control. And to date it was also the only thing that had truly shattered Carly’s sassy confidence.
If he had to go toe-to-toe with her on the talk show, then he was going to utilize his every advantage. If he upped his game and started truly coming on to her he might throw her off kilter—at least enough to keep the loaded banter, and the questions, under his control.
Pleasure sluiced down his spine, heating vital parts, as he contemplated pursuing the lovely Carly Wolfe. But hot on its heels was the vague impression that what he was about to do was reminiscent of the stunt his ex had pulled.
Doubt fisted in his stomach—and then he saw Carly’s Mini Cooper pull into the garage and park. She exited her car, and instead of fresh and flirty tonight she was dressed to kill—namely, to kill him. And any qualms he’d had regarding his strategy died.
Her silver-sequined halter top sparkled in the light, her tiny skirt exposed fabulous legs, and the expanse of tan skin on display was truly impressive as she headed his way. Heart pumping appreciatively in response, now looking forward to his plan, Hunter slid out of his car, shutting the door behind him. The slam echoed in the concrete garage, capturing Carly’s attention. And when she caught his gaze, she froze.
Yes, he was going to enjoy besting Carly Wolfe at her own game.
Surprise, intense caution and awareness hit Carly at the sight of Hunter leaning against his car, hands in his pockets. Given his parting words to her Wednesday night, the twirl of excitement in her belly was totally inappropriate—because she couldn’t afford to be less than her best.
His tone was smooth, low. “You ready for another show?”
The comment was drenched in undertones, conjuring memories of the bar, but Carly ignored the hot curl of awareness. “Interesting choice of attire for a fight.” She stepped closer, taking in his exquisitely cut black suit. The white dress shirt, minus a tie and open at the collar, gave him the perfect blend of elegant evening attire with a casual attitude. “Tonight could get messy,” she said. “I hope you’re wearing a bulletproof vest beneath that expensive outfit.”
His mouth didn’t smile, but his eyes did. “I suspect it will get messy.”
The unknown promise in his gaze left her a little uneasy, and a whole lot disturbed. What trick did he have up his sleeve? The question had haunted her since his warning at the bar, and her heart thumped as all sorts of possibilities flitted through her head.
Just don’t go getting all flustered when he flashes those cool blue eyes in your direction, Carly.
“Unfortunately I left my Kevlar-coated vest at home,” he said.
She resumed her walk in his direction. “Too bad for you.”
“Will you be slaying me with your words or your gaze?”
“Both.” She came to a stop in front of him and leaned back against the car parked beside his. “Maybe white wasn’t an appropriate choice of a shirt for you,” she said with a smile she hoped looked confident. “Bloodstains being so hard to remove and all.”
“I know. I had to throw away the one I wore the day of your blog.”
“Are we still discussing that?”
“With one difference,” he said.
“Which is?”
“At first I thought you’d enjoyed the bloodbath.” His gaze held hers. “But after our discussion at the bar I realized I was wrong.” He tipped his head, his eyes focused intently on her. “I think the potential for such a vindictive backlash against me never crossed your mind.”
It hadn’t. Then again, Thomas cutting her loose to save himself had come as a shock too. But that hadn’t been nearly as devastating as her father’s silence when she’d needed his support.
She stared up at Hunter as she fought the depressing memories, her heart beating a little bit harder. “You know, a part of me hates that you’re right. But a part of me is proud too. Yes, I’d expected a healthy online debate, not a mean-spirited, vindictive slug-fest.” She crossed her arms. “But if being naive means I reserve negative judgment until I’ve been proven wrong, it’s a label I’m willing to live with.”
“The trouble with your approach is that you experience a whole lot of bad.”
“The trouble with your cynical view is you miss out on a whole lot of good.”
He studied her for a moment, as if considering her words, and then his forehead crinkled in suppressed amusement.
“Maybe the answer to that particular dilemma lies in whether the water in the glass at the midway mark is worth drinking or not.” He paused before going on, his voice a fraction lower, bordering on…husky. “And how thirsty you are.”
The way he was looking at her made her sit up and take notice—even more than she had when she’d first laid eyes on his casually elegant self. He seemed different. She couldn’t put her finger on how, except his demeanor was less distant than usual. More approachable. With a faint hint of sensual promise that left her on edge. And she realized since his fateful words at their last meeting she’d expected him to arrive tonight with all his metaphorical guns blazing. Instead, there was a distinct suggestion of something infinitely more subtle, almost…seductive.
Worry and desire slithered up her limbs, and she tucked her hands behind her back, hoping to quiet her damp palms and now fidgety fingers.
His secretive smile was small but instantaneous. “I’m making you nervous.”
It wasn’t a question, and that fact alone made the tension worse. How could she prepare for a fight when she had no idea what his plans were? But a part of her knew, and her heart tripped faster at the thought even as she grew disgusted with her inability to control the excitement. A heated flush filled her body. “Was reading body language part of your training, Mr. Agent Man?”
“Ex-Agent Man,” he corrected.
She tipped her head, giving the words consideration as she slowly shook her head. “There’s nothing ex about you. You have a very natural way with your understated powers of intimidation.”
“I don’t believe in bullying people. I’m just very sure of the choices I make in life. If that intimidates others …” He gave a slight shrug.
She hiked a brow meaningfully. “You’re very sure of all your choices?”
He stared at her as if the question had hit home, his face momentarily doubtful, but then he seemed to recover. “Reading people is a skill I still use every day. Interpreting body language is useful while pitching a proposal to a potential client. It can help you tailor your presentation to make the most impact.”
“That must give you an advantage over your techie competition.”
“And others.”
Did he mean her? He took a step fo
rward. His eyes zeroed in on her face, and her stomach tightened into a smaller knot. Which conveniently made navigating its trip to her toes easier.
“Take you, for instance,” he said.
Unfortunately right now she was wishing he would, but she pushed the mutinous thought aside as he went on.
“Placing your hands behind your back is a sign you’re hiding something and on your guard,” he said. “Advantage point…mine.”
He leaned closer, his gaze too close for comfort as he scanned her face.
“You’re breathing faster than usual, you have small beads of sweat on your upper lip, and your pupils are dilated.”
She suspected he was right, because her eyes were so busy trying to take in every aspect of his handsome face that they were straining mightily—refusing to miss a thing. Every sharp plane, every angular edge was heightened in the play of shadow in the light.
He said, “Advantage to me again. Because it either denotes anxiety …” the loaded pause killed her “…or desire.”
Her body sizzled with heat, yet she succeeded in sounding as cool as he did. “Mr. Philips, is this a lawman’s way of coming on to a woman?”
“Ex-lawman.” His lips tipped into a lopsided grin that was the most delicious Hunter smile to date. “And I’m just being observant,” he went on smoothly.
A wave of heat left goosebumps on her arms. Her skin resembled a cobblestoned street.
No doubt he could see those too.
“Maybe I should remind you that women don’t sweat.” She cocked her head when he opened his mouth to respond. “And I don’t like the term ‘glow’ either,” she said.
“What do you prefer?”
“I prefer incandescence.”
Before she could react, Hunter reached up and placed a finger at the corner of her mouth. Eyes wide, Carly stared up at him as he slowly stroked the skin above her lip…curling her toes as he went. A feat she would have sworn was a myth until this very moment, but her toenails were busy trying to dig a hole into her high heels. Hunter’s finger dipped lightly into the groove bisecting the middle of her mouth, slicking away the few dots of sweat that were immediately replaced by others. Her heart pumped overly heated blood that surely had her glowing by now.
Damn him, he was right. She was drowning in both anxiety and desire. Her breaths came in short, tight increments that sounded embarrassingly like small gasps. As she stared up at him Carly’s mind ran through every reason—and there were many—why she should step away. Despite her previous attempts at flirting Hunter had hung back, watching her with cool eyes, a hands-off attitude, and that emotional wall that was always present. Only a fool would believe he’d suddenly changed his mind. And William Wolfe hadn’t raised a fool.
So why was she standing here, frozen like an idiot? She knew very well this was part of some master plan he’d cooked up. Had the partners at Firewell Inc. met, given the matter consideration and then voted unanimously to muck with her mind?
His eyes crinkled in muted humor. Clearly enjoying his effect on her, Hunter said, “You’re definitely incandescent now.”
Paralyzed by the sensual havoc he created, breathing was all she could manage as he cupped her jaw and finally placed his mouth on hers. Carly’s heart thumped in her chest as her body concentrated on the hand on her face, and the lips that slanted softly, yet insistently, over hers. The rest of his body remained disengaged. Only his warm palm and warmer mouth were involved. With just enough restrained heat to melt her tenuous reserve. Until she was kissing him back, her mind whirling from the barrage of emotions.
Doubt. Distrust. And a whole lot of desire.
Being the dominant one of the three, desire seized her in its grasp, and Carly placed her palms on his chest, frustrated by the distance. Longing to feel the hard length of his body again. Why didn’t he pull her closer? Even worse, why was she mad that he didn’t?
She pulled her mouth from his, her breathing labored, and stared up at the slate-blue eyes. “You’re holding back, G-Man.” The need to feel more was driving her on, despite the embarrassing knowledge the whole thing was a ploy. “That’s no way to seduce a woman.”
“Maybe my goal was to frustrate, not seduce.”
Desire still pulsed through her body, but her mouth went flat, the moisture left from his lips momentarily disrupting her thoughts. “Score one for the former FBI agent and his tactics,” she said, as lightly as she could.
But now she was doubly annoyed. At him for being so damn honest it forced her to confront just how caught up in the moment she’d been, and how easy it was for him to maintain his distance. That emotional wall was just as frustrating when it was a sensual one. But mostly she was annoyed at herself, for knowing all of the above and still being so turned on she could barely think beyond the feel of his smooth shirt, the hard plane of muscle beneath her hand.
Gazes locked, she pressed on his chest. “Your mission was a success.” If he wanted to resist her efforts he didn’t let on, allowing her to push him back until she’d trapped him against his car.
“Feeling frustrated already?” he said.
In every way imaginable. “Very.”
“Now you know how it feels.”
Why was she so ticked about his control? She ignored the crippling doubt, beat back the voice that kept telling her to walk away…and popped open the top button of his shirt. Her beef with this closed-off, enigmatic man went beyond his heartless app, now including his ability to arouse her with so little effort. And why him—the man whose story she sought?
It’s just lust, Carly. Show him you’re not afraid. Leave him shaking.
Rationalization complete, unable to wait any longer, she lifted up on her tiptoes and took his mouth, pressing his lips open with hers. Hunter didn’t resist, meeting her pursuit—at this level, at least—with a rasp of his silken tongue against hers. A heated ache throbbed between her legs and she finished unbuttoning his shirt enough to slide her hands inside. Mouths melding, breath mingling, the moment lingered as Carly enjoyed the crisp hair on his chest, the firm muscle. And while the kiss seared her to the core Hunter continued to hold her with nothing more than his hand at her jaw. Palms stroking his delicious torso, desperate for more, she pressed her hips to his, to the hard thighs…and other harder parts.
Firing her imagination. Leaving her knees shaky.
Hunter pulled his mouth away and without a word, his piercing gaze on hers, rolled to his left, trapping her between his car and his unyielding length. Bringing new meaning to the term lethal weapon. His well-honed physique triggered all sorts of wicked fantasies. With the shift of position she’d expected, hoped, for more. But Hunter simply cupped her jaw with two palms instead of one, brought his mouth down, and began to kiss her with a reserve that left her shaking with frustration even as his tongue tasted hers. His grip on her face was self-controlled, yet sensual. Demanding, yet with a protective air that reminded her of being clasped to his side in the alley.
The sound of a car motor echoed along the concrete walls of the parking garage, growing closer, and Carly pulled her mouth away. She fisted her hands against his chest as she tried to catch her breath before it became humiliatingly obvious that he’d been so successful at reaching his goal.
He had everything to gain—her distraction—and she had everything to lose—like her objectivity about a possible story. Her pride. Her job. Again. Even potentially…her heart.
And that was something she’d never lost before.
The rough hair, warm skin and hard muscle beneath her fists were tempting, and she longed to spread her fingers to recapture as much of the sensation as she could.
She forced her hands down to her sides. “I guess I made a mistake.”
The sound of the engine drew closer, and Hunter turned his back to the oncoming vehicle, casually leaning a shoulder against his car. “Your continued fixation on The Ditchinator?” he said, his gaze on her face as he fixed his buttons.
“No. I meant I suspect
I’m the one that came unprepared. All your shooting range practice has come in handy.” She pressed her lips together, tasting him, feeling the lingering heat of his kiss. “With your deadly aim I could really use that bulletproof vest.”
A dark look flickered across his face. “Don’t bother. It won’t work,” he said softly, his smile bordering on bitter as he reached the last button. “Some things cut worse than a bullet.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“WELCOME back, Carly and Hunter,” Brian O’Connor said.
The studio applause finally died as Hunter sank into the love seat next to Carly. Was he remembering wrong or was this a different leather couch? It felt smaller. Shorter. And his position next to Carly was close enough for him to smell her citrusy scent. His body still wound tight, he hummed with vibrant energy from their seductive encounter. A planned attack, actually. He hoped the effort to fluster Carly had worked. Unfortunately it had definitely distracted him as well.
“You two have become quite an item,” the blond talk-show host said with a smile as he sat back at his desk. “I’ll be the first to admit I enjoy a good debate.”
Hunter bit back the urge to laugh and threw one arm across the back of the couch, mindful of Carly’s nearly naked shoulder just inches from his fingertips. After tonight’s kiss, “debate” was quite the understatement. He kept his eyes on Carly. “Ms. Wolfe is a worthy opponent.”
“As is Mr. Philips,” Carly said. With a hike of a brow, she shot the host one of her charming smiles before turning her loaded gaze back to Hunter. “I’m learning a lot about the art of war.”
The message was hardly subtle, and the memory of their kiss twined its way around his libido and breathed it back to life. If it had ever died in the first place. When Carly had gone on the offensive during their encounter it had taken all he had to keep the moment in check. He should have known she’d fight back, but he shouldn’t have enjoyed it so much.
“What have you learned?” Hunter said dryly. “That war is won in the attack tactics?”
