by Aimee Carson
“More like it’s lost in a failure of the defensive,” she said.
Was she referring to herself? Or him? Ironically, it applied to them both.
“If your offensive is strong enough,” he said, “the defensive becomes irrelevant.”
Her tone was a touch too silky for comfort. “You should know.”
He eyed Carly levelly, struggling to maintain his composed demeanor, but his gaze was probably hotter than it should be. He sincerely hoped Carly was the only one to notice. “You’re fairly skilled in aggressive tactics yourself.”
Carly shifted in Hunter’s direction, eyes twinkling with mischief as she crossed her long legs in his direction. Legs that screamed for verification that they were as smooth as they looked. So why hadn’t he seized the opportunity when he’d had the chance? His gaze lingered a moment on her limbs before returning to hers, and the sparkle in Carly’s eyes turned to delighted amusement mixed with a smoky awareness that was difficult to ignore. Hunter tried anyway.
“Aggressive tactics?” she echoed with an overly innocent smile. “Are you referring to my blog on Wednesday?”
She knew full well he wasn’t.
“What else?” he said.
The sassy lady simply held his gaze and said nothing. But, much to Hunter’s delight, her lips twitched—as if she was itching to laugh.
“Speaking of Carly’s blog,” Brian O’Connor said, interrupting Hunter’s train of thought. “You did take a pretty good beating, Hunter.”
Impatience swelled. He’d forgotten about the host. Hunter suppressed a frown, annoyed at his lack of concentration in the presence of this beautiful woman. And at the need to defend himself again. Not only that—this time he’d positioned himself within touching range of the sexy little troublemaker …
His insides coiled tight, the memory of kissing Carly barreling over his usual ability to remain calm. It had been hotter than he’d expected. More dangerous than he’d anticipated even after factoring in her looks and sultry ways.
The blond talk-show host grinned at Hunter. “Carly’s Clan had some not so nice nicknames for you.”
Despite everything, Hunter had to bite back a smile at the term. “‘Carly’s Clan’ certainly did. And a good number of them can’t be shared with your audience. Most of the commenters’ choices of names aren’t repeatable on TV.” He turned his focus back to Carly. “But among the most creative ones I was called were reprobate—”
“Fitting,” Carly interjected swiftly.
With a small smile, Hunter kept talking. “Degenerate—”
“Ditto,” Carly went on.
“And a rake,” Hunter finished.
“Rake?” Brian O’Connor said with a chuckle, beating Carly to the comment punch. “Who uses that word in this day and age?”
Carly’s smile was genuine as the two stared at Hunter, making him feel as if he was on trial. “I don’t know, Brian,” she said. “But it doesn’t quite suit the man, does it? Rake sounds far too …” She sent Hunter an I’m-so-cute smile and tipped her head. “Too romantic,” she finished, and Hunter appreciated the playful look she flashed him as she went on. “I suspect Mr. Philips is a bit too cut and dried for the term.”
The host chuckled and said, “You don’t think he’s a romantic?”
Carly rested her arm on the back of the couch. Their forearms were now lightly touching, the tips of their fingers each brushing the other’s elbow—briefly breaking Hunter’s focus. Carly’s sparkling gaze remained on his.
“You mean beyond Mr. Philips’s efficiently designed app? The one he uses to gently tell a woman it’s over?” A murmur of amusement moved through the crowd. Despite the dig, Hunter’s lips twitched. “I’m sure I have no idea,” Carly finished.
But her eyes told him she did, and Hunter fought the smile that threatened.
“Speaking of The Ditchinator,” Brian O’Connor said. “Today it moved to number five on the top sellers list. Carly has vowed to keep up the pressure until you discontinue the app. She’s also mentioned she’d like to hear about the inspiration behind the idea. In fact all of Miami is interested.” He leveled a pointed look at Hunter. “Care to share your thoughts?”
“Discontinuing the app isn’t in my plans at this time,” Hunter said truthfully, deliberately ignoring the mention of the story behind its creation. That was one truth he had no intention of sharing.
Clearly delighted, the host said, “Can I interest you in returning in a few weeks to discuss how you’re holding up against Carly’s campaign?”
Hunter glanced at Carly, who looked as if she wanted to laugh, and he could no longer restrain the smile. Since Carly Wolfe had entered his life tedium was certainly no longer a threat. In fact the excitement might very well do him in. But the thought of the two of them being through after tonight left him feeling disappointed.
“I’ll accept the offer to return if Carly does.” Hunter shot Carly a meaningful look. “Though I’m sure Ms. Wolfe will eventually tire of her game.”
“Of course I accept.” Her eyes on Hunter, Carly’s tone was a heady mix of amusement, arousal…and a hint of resigned irritation. “And I guarantee I won’t grow tired.”
A slight pause ensued, and Hunter appreciated the mixture of emotions in her eyes—until the host interrupted.
“That’s right,” Brian O’Connor said with a chuckle. “Tenaciousness runs in the family genes. Carly’s father is the William Wolfe, of Wolfe Broadcasting.”
Even though they were barely touching, Hunter felt the instant tension in Carly at the host’s words, and the light in her eyes dimmed a touch. As if she was preparing for the upcoming discussion to turn ugly. From his proximity, it was obvious the charming smile she was aiming at Brian was now forced.
“Just to be clear,” Brian said, turning to address the audience, “there is no behind-the-scenes monkey business going on. Mr. Wolfe has never been involved in our decision to have Carly on the show.” He held up his hands on display. “No screws have been applied to either mine or my producer’s thumbs …” He hesitated with impeccable comedic timing. “Or to any other parts of our anatomy.”
When the crowd’s murmur of laughter faded Carly spoke, her smile bright, her tone light—but Hunter knew it wasn’t genuine. “Anyone who’s worked with my father is familiar with his strict business policy, Brian. He would never apply thumbscrews on anyone’s behalf.” She hesitated, her smile growing bigger, but the heart was gone. “Not even his daughter’s.”
Hunter’s brow bunched in surprise. It was the second time she’d said something to that effect, and he mulled over the development as the host chatted about William Wolfe’s current media holdings with Carly. She remained outwardly relaxed, her demeanor easy, but the tension in her body was palpable. And though the host’s comments were lighthearted, with every mention of her media magnate father her laughter grew more and more hollow. The audience was clearly oblivious, but the host had to sense her discomfort.
It grew worse when Brian said, “In his younger days as a newspaper reporter William Wolfe was famous for his dogged pursuit of a story. He was ruthless, even, in digging up the dirt on secret pasts and shady politicians. Your pitbull-like pursuit of Hunter, here, is reminiscent of your father.”
Behind his arm, Hunter felt Carly’s fingers grip the back of the couch tight even as he watched her face lose a trace of its color. “We are a lot alike,” she said warily.
“I imagine your dad is pretty proud?” the host said, his smile not as warm as it should have been.
Clarity hit Hunter hard. Brian O’Connor clearly knew about Carly’s dealings with State Senator Thomas Weaver. And the host was using that knowledge to his advantage—targeting Carly. Hunter’s chest slowly constricted with anger even as he fought the emotion.
It’s not your problem.
His mind scrolled through every reason he shouldn’t get involved. She’d brought public scrutiny on herself, was targeting him using her popular blog. But the biggest
reason by far? He’d traded in his need to be the good guy a long time ago. In the end his commitment to Truth, Honor and Justice—and all those other values worthy of capitalization—and his tendency to protect others…none of it had saved him.
“But the real question is …” Brian’s grin radiated a double meaning for those close enough to see. “Just how far will Carly Wolfe go to get her story?”
The stunned look on Carly’s face slammed Hunter in the gut.
Sonofabitch.
Carly stared at Brian O’Connor as her blood seeped lower, her chest clenched so tight it made breathing impossible. Damn, damn and double damn. The host had done some digging and learned about the Thomas Weaver Affair. Humiliation, regret and pain blended in her veins, concocting a potent mix that burned as it traveled.
Blinking back the emotion, she struggled for a lighthearted, suitably glib comment. But somehow she didn’t think she could spin being accused of sleeping with a man for his story, or being fired from one of her father’s newspapers, in a positive light.
She was good, but she wasn’t that good.
Carly opened her mouth, struggling for something to say, but Hunter stopped her with a discreet touch of his fingers on her elbow. A protective, reassuring gesture. His posture remained relaxed, but the hint of coiled readiness always simmering beneath his demeanor was wound tighter than usual. It had been hard enough to calmly sit there after their kiss—wondering if he’d been affected at all, aware of him on every level. Now the icy blue eyes directed at their host were positively lethal, and a back-off attitude exuded from his every pore.
Hunter said, “What father wouldn’t be proud of Carly, Brian?”
“My point exactly,” the host replied, clearly refusing to back down. Both men were smiling, but the undercurrents were fierce. “She inherited the Wolfe tenacity. Wednesday’s blog post proves that much. The uproar afterwards must have made you angry.”
The host was clearly looking for more conflict—probably in an attempt to boost his ratings.
There was a brief pause before Hunter said, his voice smooth, “Not in the least.”
Carly stared at Hunter. The fact she knew that to be a lie made the statement even more outrageous.
Brian O’Connor hesitated, momentarily looking stumped, and then he narrowed his eyes slightly at Hunter, as if sensing an opportunity. “Since it didn’t bother you, perhaps you’d also be willing to share the story behind The Ditchinator?”
“Absolutely,” Hunter said.
Carly’s heart stumbled in her chest, and Brian O’Connor’s eyes zeroed in on Hunter like a laser. The switch in his focus wasn’t lost on Carly. Everything Hunter did was deliberate, and now was no exception. He’d purposefully placed himself between the host and Carly.
Protecting her…again.
The host’s smile was clearly self-serving. “We’d all love to hear how your app got its start.”
Hunter’s ultra-cool demeanor and hard-edged alertness didn’t diminish as he settled deeper into the couch, as if getting comfortable before beginning his tale. “It began where all good break-up apps begin, Brian.” The secretive smile was back, and Hunter’s control was firmly in place. “It started when I got dumped by the woman I loved.”
Late Sunday evening, fingers curled around the leather rim of a newly purchased cowboy hat, Carly stood just inside the upscale boxing gym, empty save the two men in the ring. Hunter lightly bobbed and weaved in a circle around his opponent, his face obscured by protective headgear. His movements were light. Graceful. And the sheen of sweat on his naked torso only added to the moment of pure masculine beauty. His chest was nice to touch, but the visual was a sight she might never recover from.
She loved a well-dressed man, and Hunter knew how to play that card well. But he wore the silk shorts and athletic shoes with ease too. Hunter’s sparring partner was heavier, but Hunter had the advantage of speed, agility and a calculatingly cunning patience. With every swing of his opponent’s arm Hunter ducked, his reflexes lightning-quick. With a sharp jab, his fist snapped against his opponent’s headgear. The two circled, ducked, successfully landed hits, and the dance continued. It was Hunter in his most elemental form. And it was magnificent.
Focus, Carly. Just focus.
She sucked in a breath, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. Since Hunter’s startling on-air confession and his abrupt departure when the show was over she’d been struggling to make sense of it all. She felt stunned. Dazed. Never had she met a man with such a conflicting mass of mixed messages. When the going had gotten rough, her father had remained silent. Thomas, her boyfriend, had cut her loose to save himself. Yet Hunter, the man she was at odds with, had sacrificed his privacy to protect her.
In the ring, the two men finished, a double fist-bump signaling the end of a well-matched round. Hunter’s opponent ducked between the ropes, hopped off the platform, and headed past her toward the front office, nodding on his way by. Seemingly oblivious to her presence, Hunter pulled off his headgear and picked up a towel draped in the corner, using it to wipe his face.
Gathering her courage, she took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of leather tinged with a hint of sweat. “I brought you a gift.” White cowboy hat in hand, she approached the ring. Hunter slowly turned to face her, the hair on his forehead damp, sexily mussed from the headgear. As she drew closer, he leaned on the top rope, looking down at her.
“How did you find me?” he said.
“You told me the first day we met you belonged to a boxing gym. It wasn’t hard to figure out which one.” She held the hat in his direction. “This is for you.”
He glanced at her offering. “You got the truth. You won the bet,” he said. “No need to give me a consolation prize.”
“It’s not a consolation prize.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s a simple thank-you gift.” She stepped forward to the edge of the ring, the hat still extended up in his direction. “You asked me before if I believed you were falsely accused of leaking information. Now I can say unequivocally that I do.” His expression was careful, his blue eyes cautious. He didn’t respond, or take the hat, but behind his guarded look she saw the truth—even if he wouldn’t confirm it out loud. She stared up at him and dropped her arm, asking the question that had been haunting her since his actions on the show. “Why did you do it?”
She knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it from Hunter. After all his talk about his business, his priorities, and the rest of the rubbish he’d said he believed in, his good deed proved otherwise.
“It seemed like a good way to get you off my back,” he said simply.
Twenty-four hours ago she would have believed him. Now she shook her head. “Liar,” she said. “That’s not why you offered up your confession.”
If you could call it that. His account of his break-up had been sweet and simple—laced with a no-nonsense attitude and summed up in a mere four words. He’d loved. He’d lost. But even as he’d coolly stated the facts Carly had sensed the part that he wasn’t sharing. He’d fooled the audience, even the host, but Carly had seen in his eyes what the others hadn’t. A part of him was still recovering, and the fact that he’d offered up the truth, all in the name of saving her, had been humbling.
When he didn’t respond, she said, “You didn’t give many details about your break-up, but it was good enough to distract the host.” Several heartbeats passed, still with no reply, so she went on. “You did it to draw Brian O’Connor off my case, didn’t you?”
The enigmatic smile returned. The ever-elusive look in his eyes was going to drive her to insanity—which, at this point, would essentially constitute circling the crazy block. Because she’d already arrived there courtesy of the lovely sight of a shirtless Hunter.
He bent over, stepped between the ropes and hopped down, landing in front of her. “Maybe,” he said as he took the hat.
“Cut it out, Mystery Man.” She propped a hand on her hip, doing her be
st to ignore the beautiful chest on display, the lean torso replete with muscle. “I’m getting you all figured out. You were falsely accused of leaking information and went on to start a company dedicated to helping people protect theirs. I think that’s a great story. One that the public would be interested in hearing.”
The look he shot her was sharp. “My life really isn’t that interesting.” And then, as if declaring an end to the issue, he turned and headed for the locker room.
Carly followed, heels clicking on the wood floor. “We obviously have different definitions of the word.”
“Aren’t you tired of me yet?”
“Not even close.”
Hunter kept walking, his back to her. “Are you planning on joining me in the shower?”
“If I have to.”
Hunter pivoted on his heel and Carly stopped short. For the first time his expression was a mix of curiosity, amusement, and a whole load of impatience. “Do you ever stop being the reporter?”
“No,” she said, the answer easy. “I can’t stop being who I am any more than you can.” She crossed her arms, feeling the truth of her words. “I’m a journalist at heart. It’s not just my nature, it’s my passion. Just like being the white-hat-wearing protector is yours, despite the fact you quit the FBI.” Even as she said the words she knew the truth. One way or another he must have felt he had no option. Carly dropped her voice an octave. “You were cleared, so why did you leave?”
A shadow crossed his face, and the silence that stretched between them was loud—until Hunter finally said, “That nosy nature of yours must have gotten you into a lot of trouble during your life.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It was simply time to move on.”
Carly let her expression say it all. “I’d bet my brand-new Mini Cooper you didn’t want to leave.”
The moment lasted forever as he stared at her, and when he spoke his words surprised her. “The day before we were scheduled to take our first vacation together I came home and found Mandy had packed up her stuff and gone.” He paused, as if letting her adjust to the change in topic. “I had an engagement ring in my pocket.”
