by Linda Bond
She had a thing about abandonment. He’d have to be more sensitive. “I specifically forbade him from diving with me, remember? More than once. And I only left after I made sure he was fine.”
She sat back in her chair and peered at him with hurt in her eyes.
He swallowed. “Fine. No excuses. He followed me and I didn’t make him go back. I’m sorry. I really am. And I should have driven him back to the motel.” Okay, the apology was out. “But I did make him see the doctor on the trip.”
“You made sure he did that?” She looked vaguely surprised by that. And somewhat mollified.
“I did.”
Silence settled between them for a moment before she broke it. “Your father hated your uncle,” she said.
His turn to be surprised. Now, how would she know that?
“Jackson Hunter orchestrated a hostile takeover of his brother’s company. Your father’s company.”
He swallowed, his spine straightening against the back of his chair. “You learned all that this afternoon?”
“From the New York Post’s website. I didn’t have to search far into their archives.”
He bit back an angry remark. The hostile takeover had been in the news for months in New York. It wasn’t exactly a secret. But this wasn’t the way he’d wanted the night to proceed. He should have told her about his uncle right from the get go. Doing that wouldn’t have jeopardized his investigation. But, he wasn’t used to sharing.
“Sounds like your father may have had motive for revenge.”
She only knew the half of it.
Suddenly, she reached across the table and wrapped her hands around one of his. Her skin was warm and a little moist—the opposite of what he’d expected from an ice queen. Her gesture of compassion flustered his already churning stomach. The only calories he’d ingested since the dive were from the vodka.
“I could have helped you,” she said. “If you had been honest with me from the start, we could have been working together to figure out what happened to both Maxwell and your uncle.” Her tone softened and the frost in her look appeared to melt. “We were supposed to be partners.”
The unbidden sense of longing that swept through him caught him off guard. It was swift and all consuming, a rush of sensations he hadn’t felt since childhood. He shifted in his seat. “I can explain.”
“Good, because I’m only going to give you one more chance to tell me the truth about what you’re doing here,” Samantha said. “What we’re going to be doing together.”
He couldn’t help it. He smiled. Thinking about what he’d like them to be doing together. It must’ve been the Grey Goose scrambling his brains. Or his hormones.
Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face. She blushed and quickly glanced away.
A break in her icy armor at last. A plan to continue breaking through formulated in his slightly…relaxed mind. “All right. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you what you want to know. I’ll tell you the truth, and answer any of your questions about my uncle—if you give me one hour.”
Her lips parted. “One hour for what?”
“One hour when you’re not in control. Not asking any questions. I want you just to relax and let go, for once.”
She made a sound of disgust. “Right. No way.”
Originally, when he’d invited her here, he had simply planned to come clean, apologize, and get her to forgive him and start over. But now he realized he was going to have to regain her trust if they were going to work together. So far, neither an apology nor the alcohol had worked on her. He had to try something else.
“Is this about sex?” she demanded uncomfortably.
Leave it to a female to cut right to the subtext. “Samantha, trust me.” He smiled at his own poor choice of words. “There are at least three women in this bar right now who would go home with me if I asked.” Probably true. “This isn’t about sex.” Not quite true. “It’s about trust.” Very true. “And until I have yours, we won’t be able to work together successfully.”
“But—”
He held up a hand. “You know I’ve had reservations about this arrangement from day one. It’s dangerous. Nothing proves that more than today. You have to trust me to call the shots—and actually listen to me—to keep us all safe. You have to admit you like to be in control.”
She regarded him evenly. “Stop playing games with me.”
“Give me an hour.” He waved off her instant objection. “No games. An exercise in trust.”
They’d done similar drills in the military, without the sexually charged atmosphere, of course. It was all about learning to trust one’s partner, come what may.
“I think you’re the one with the trust issues, Zack.”
Touché. “If you show me you can trust me by doing this, it will help me trust you.”
She placed one hand on her chest, covering her heart…and drawing his attention to bits of anatomy he’d just sworn he wasn’t thinking about. Damn. A drop of perspiration trickled down his back.
“Okay.” She sat straight up, as if she’d made a business decision and not a personal one, which, naturally, disappointed him.
“If we make it through this hour,” she said crisply, “and we still want to be partners, I’ll trust you with what else I learned today.” Her eyes shone now as if she held some secret information that gave her the upper hand.
“Which is?”
“I got the medical examiner’s report for Maxwell Wentworth.” She switched her legs, crossing them at the knee. Her black high heels swung back and forth slowly, hypnotizing him. “I’ll let you read it.”
Zack was impressed. How the hell had she managed to get that kind of information so quickly? The detective from Pasco County emailed it to her, of course.
“And, I may have just found our first real clue.”
“What kind of clue?
Her eyes sparkled. “I’ll tell you in an hour.”
He couldn’t help but grin. Feisty tonight. He had information Samantha wanted to know about his uncle’s death, but now she also had information he needed. And she had him curious about this clue. The balance of power had shifted.
For once, he really didn’t care.
That Grey Goose must’ve been really getting to him.
She fiddled with the strap on her black high heels and slowly stroked her hand up her calf and over her knee.
He couldn’t take his eyes off it. Was she teasing him on purpose?
She stopped mid-thigh to smooth the hem of her skirt, raising it just enough to increase his heart rate.
Oh, yeah. She was definitely playing dirty.
The question was, did she mean it?
He picked up his fresh drink, and met her half-lidded gaze. She seemed to be feeling this strange chemistry, too.
It had been a while since he’d felt this kind of attraction for any woman, and never quite like this. But Samantha Steele was the last person he should be getting romantically involved with. She was investigating his uncle’s death. She could blast his family’s private details over the public airways, even if that wasn’t her intended goal. He wanted to do the right thing by them both tonight. Build trust. Share information. Ignore the chemistry.
But as the ice-cold vodka slid down his throat, and he watched her hand slide another few inches up her thigh, so went the last of those good intentions.
Chapter Eight
Sam pressed her legs together, hoping to extinguish the unexpected heat building between them, but that action only made the ache worse. She’d promised herself before she walked through the front door that she would maintain a professional distance, no matter what tactic Zack used. Or no matter what her traitorous body enticed her to do. She’d give him an ultimatum—either share the whole truth with her or their deal was off.
But when she finally saw him, in the corner of the bar, in the tightest of blue jeans and a fitted T-shirt, with a sexy five o’clock shadow and half-drunk, hooded eyes, he’d taken
her breath away. Quite literally. She had to admit a growing desire to get to know him better, to find a way under that shield he always had up. And maybe to touch him. Find out if those muscles of his were really as big and as hard as they looked.
God help her.
And imagine her surprise when he’d actually willingly offered to share what he knew.
Her willpower was wavering.
He was staring at her again now, with those dark eyes blazing, but his other features unreadable. God, he must have spent years perfecting the art of hiding his real feelings. He was so damn good at it.
All at once, he stood up, the chair legs rattling against the floor. “I’ll be right back.” He leaned over the table, both hands braced on the tabletop. “Don’t run out on me. Please.”
She swallowed. The way he leaned forward made those muscles in his upper arms bulge. “An exercise in trust. That’s all, right?”
“Yes, and in letting go.”
“What exactly do you mean by letting go?”
He reached out and gently touched a strand of hair that had fallen out of her bun. “Nothing bad is going to happen to you if you let your hair down a little.”
She grasped the wayward strand and tucked it back into the band holding her hair in place. She’d worn it this way to give her confidence, and to show Zack she meant business, but right now, a part of her ached to shake it all out. And exhale.
“I’ll be right back.” He strode off toward the bar.
Her gaze landed on the Grey Goose. She picked up the tumbler of alcohol and took a nice, hearty sip. The liquid was cold, yet it burned her throat. To her surprise, she enjoyed the contradictory sensations.
She was going to do this. Let go. Slowly, she finished sipping the liquid courage.
A few moments later, the skin on the back of her neck tingled but not from the rush of alcohol. She couldn’t see Zack, but he had to be standing behind her. She could smell his cologne over the musty odors of the bar. His masculine scent was as bold as he was.
“Close your eyes again.” His breath caressed her right ear.
A shiver of anticipation shimmied down her back. What was he up to? Despite knowing she was supposed to play along to move their mission forward, she couldn’t stop herself from turning in her chair and looking at him.
He shook his head and smiled. “All I’m asking for is one hour.” He held up one finger.
Before she could decide what to do next, he moved her shoulders so her back was to him again. Then he slid a cool piece of cloth across her face, covering her eyes and part of her nose. The material smelled like him.
A blindfold? Seriously? She’d watched this in a movie, secretly dreamed of having this done to her—but not in a public place and certainly not by a man she didn’t trust.
Or did she?
Her heart bumped against her chest, but it wasn’t fear making her pulse race. It was the pleasure of anticipation. God, she was actually enjoying this. Still, there were people watching.
Reaching up, she tugged the cloth down. “There are people here.” She didn’t want to attract any more attention than they probably already had.
“Forget about them and focus on me.” He pulled the cloth up and tied the ends into a tighter knot. “In order to trust completely, you have to give up control, and that means blocking out anything and everything around you.” His breath warmed her ear again.
“I don’t understand.” Yes, she actually did. She just didn’t want to do it. The thought terrified her.
“You can’t always trust what you see.” His lips brushed the skin near her cheek. “A reporter should know that. You have to dig deeper.”
She turned her face toward his and in doing so his lips barely brushed hers before he pulled away. But that slight action shot a burst of electricity into her core. “And how is a blindfold going to help me dig deeper?”
“By forcing you to use and trust your other senses.”
A new feeling churned in her center. She was so used to being in control. It was expected of her. She expected it of herself. But her stomach fluttered at the idea of giving into these new sensations he was stirring up in her. “Fine. I’m trusting you not to embarrass me.”
He chuckled softly. “That’s a good start.”
The energy shifted, and a draft of cooler air swept over her, giving her goosies. He’d moved away. Where was he? Had he left her? She reached up to tug at the blindfold, then stopped. She dropped her hands and laced them in her lap. She wouldn’t think about all the people who could be staring at her. She wanted to be able to let go.
“What do you hear?”
He hadn’t left. From the direction of his voice, he must have taken the seat across from her. “People talking.”
She could sense his letdown in the click of his tongue and the shuffle of his shoes on the floor.
“You’re not really listening.”
She tried again. To her left, she heard a pool game underway. “I hear the click of a cue ball. Someone just broke to start a new game.” Then she caught a sound behind her. “And a door slamming.” A man burst out in a boisterous laugh, followed by a woman’s high-pitched giggle. “That woman would laugh at anything the man said. She’s flirting. I can tell by the tone of her voice.”
“Good. Now you’re getting it.”
She blushed at his compliment. “Right now, that woman is hanging all over that man. I bet those two leave soon.”
“Very good.” Zack’s voice sounded satisfied.
She grinned again and concentrated, hoping to pick up on something else. The click of ice cubes shaking in a tumbler—that sound came from directly in front of her. Zack must have bought her another drink. She reached out in the direction of the sound.
As her fingers found the glass, her first reaction was to pull back. The coldness almost burned against her heated skin. She reached out with her other hand to steady the glass and slowly brought the drink to her lips. The liquid had a sharp after-bite. She licked her lips, wiping a drop of Grey Goose off the skin right below her bottom lip.
Zack exhaled slowly.
“I heard that.” A shot of adrenaline rushed through her. Having the power swing back and forth between them was as delicious as the Grey Goose. Every nerve ending in her ears fired, and she even heard the sound of a plate being placed gently on their table.
“Anything else?” An unfamiliar voice.
Zack must have shaken his head because she heard footsteps heading away from their table.
“Open your mouth.”
She hesitated, and he repeated the order. The feeling of control that had surged through her seconds ago vanished with his gentle but firm command. She felt for the tabletop and set down her drink. She parted her lips slightly, hoping she could close her mouth quickly if the exercise got out of hand.
Something rough touched her lips and then the tip of her tongue. She pulled back but the food followed. Fried something on a stick? The greasy smell smothered any other clue as to what he was feeding her.
“What do you taste?”
She took a small bite and chewed slowly. Once she broke through the fried exterior, she could tell the texture was rubbery, hard to chew. The word “exotic” flashed into her mind. “It tastes like really rich chicken, maybe a little tougher like steak. And it’s salty.”
“It’s alligator.”
She gagged and spit the meat into her hand.
His deep laugh made her stomach flip.
He removed the chewed gator from her hand with a napkin. “Okay, you don’t have a taste for reptiles. I’ll skip the snake, which was next.”
She shuddered, but couldn’t help but be a little curious. “You’d really eat snake?”
“Snake blood is considered an aphrodisiac in Asia. They serve it in a shot glass.”
He’d been to Asia? An erotic image of Zack as a Samurai formed in her mind. “Does it work?”
“We were about to find out.”
She laughed, ass
uming he was joking. He’d promised he wouldn’t take advantage of her. Would they even have exotic Asian snake blood at a North Florida honky-tonk? Highly doubtful. Zack Hunter, ex-soldier, was turning out to be quite an interesting character.
She decided to switch up her strategy a bit. “Now how about something sweet?”
“Another question. You couldn’t even make it fifteen minutes without asking one.”
She could picture his grin as he said it. “Not a question. A request.”
A woman giggled as though she’d had one too many beers, and someone broke another game of pool.
“Zack?” Where was he now?
Sweet juice dripped onto her lips, startling her. He must be standing next to her. She opened her mouth slightly to keep the juice flowing onto her tongue. The rich nectar rolled over her taste buds in ripples of peach, pineapple, and mango, a rainbow of flavors that brought a moan to her lips. “Ooh, now, this I love.”
“I’m not surprised you’d love this delicacy.”
“What is it?” She opened her mouth for more.
“Mangosteen, an exotic fruit from southeast Asia. It’s expensive and almost impossible to import into the United States.”
“Then how did you get your hands on it?”
He tapped her gently on the nose. “That’s another question.”
She licked her lips, getting lost in the pleasure of the moment. When was the last time she’d allowed herself to do that? “Mmm. It smells like candied pineapple.”
He rubbed the fleshy meat across her bottom lip. A thin trickle of juice dribbled down her chin. Just as she was about to feel around for a napkin, his warm tongue licked up the juice.
Oh, my God.
She pressed her legs together and held her breath as his tongue traveled slowly up to her lips. Her chin wasn’t the only part of her that was wet now.
Holy crap.
He stopped just short of kissing her.
“More please,” she murmured on a sigh.
“Let’s test another one of your senses first. Stand up.”
“What? You’re kidding me, right? I can’t even see where the table is.” Not to mention he had knocked her totally off balance. And she was finally enjoying herself.