by Sandra Brown
He looked haggard. When he’d come in, he’d been holding his coat and vest over his shoulder by a crooked index finger. They had been dropped on the sofa as he passed it. His shirt was wrinkled and limp. His tie had been loosened. There was a shadow of beard on his chin. His cheeks looked gaunt and there were bruises of fatigue around his eyes. For once his glasses didn’t make him appear distinguished but looked heavy as they sat on the bridge of his nose. If anything had combed his hair recently, it had been impatient fingers.
To her loving eyes, he had never looked better.
He brought his gaze to where she was still standing in the middle of the floor. A trace of a smile lifted one corner of his mouth. Her blouse was paint-splattered. There was a hole in the knee of her jeans. Her hair was an unruly mass of blond curls. She looked frumpy and comfortable and sexy as hell.
“No ill effects from last night?”
“A crick in my neck.”
He answered her smile, remembering the way he’d held her head against his chest. “Nothing else?”
“No.” Her eyes darted around the room restlessly. For some unnamed reason, she was incredibly nervous. “Did you see the early news?”
“Yes.”
“Oh,” she said in a small voice. “Did you see the story about me?”
“Yes.”
“You heard what I said about you?”
“Yes.”
His cool indifference finally ignited the fuse of her temper. She bent one knee slightly, making her stance arrogant. She dug her fists into her waist and demanded, “Well, dammit, what did you think about it? Say something!”
He came to her slowly. For endless moments, he stared down at her. Then his hand whipped out, caught her behind the neck, and hauled her face up to his descending mouth.
He kissed her with searing passion. Her lips gave way to the mastery of his and her mouth had no choice but to submit to the plunder of his tongue.
Hesitantly she raised her hands to his shoulders. Then when the tip of his tongue stroked that sensitive spot just behind her upper teeth, she sank her fingers into the endearing dishevelment of his hair.
His arms went around her and held her close for several seconds. “You’re some woman, did you know that?” His hands went on a bold search that left her clinging to him weakly.
“I love you.”
“I know. You practically announced it to the whole world. God, when I saw that news story, I—” His mouth took hers possessively.
When at last he released her, she gasped, “I could kill you, Hunter McKee. Where have you been all day? Why didn’t you call me? I’ve been frantic with worry.”
Between the kisses he was dropping on her face and throat he explained. “All hell broke loose this morning when Burton and Mrs. Plummer walked into my office. I turned them over to—”
“Oh, yes, there,” she sighed, twisting her body against his to accommodate his questing hands. Her teeth tugged lightly on his earlobe.
“—over to Harris. I knew you’d be released within a matter of minutes. I honestly didn’t have time to seek you out and celebrate your liberation.”
“I forgive you,” she whispered into the mat of hair on his chest as she tore the buttons of his shirt free. His tie was already lying on the floor at their feet, a victim of her eager hands. He reached for his glasses. “No, leave them on.”
“On?”
“So you don’t miss anything,” she teased. “What happened then?”
“I went to the hospital myself and confronted the nurse involved. She … God, Kari, how long has it been since we made love? I can’t—”
“Tell me about the nurse.”
“The nurse? Oh, yeah, the nurse. She broke down and started talking. I sent her back with the police to get her confession and went after the doctor.” Her blouse was dropped to the floor. His hands covered her breasts. “It’s been a busy day.”
With a slow twirling motion, his tongue delved its way back into her mouth. Her body molded itself against his and dual sighs of desire issued from them.
“Go on … ah, Hunter.” Her nipples hardened against his persuasive fingertips. “Tell me everything.”
“Then I rounded up the parents of the missing children and informed them that law enforcement agencies were picking up their babies in the cities the nurse had named. They’ll all be reunited tomorrow.”
“You’re a hero.” She pulled the tail of his shirt from his pants.
“End of story.” His mouth moved hotly over her breasts. “I want you. No more chitchat.”
“One more item. Pinkie and Bonnie are getting married.” Her fingers tangled in the hair circling his navel.
“Bully for them.” He unzipped her jeans and scratched her tummy just above the bikini line.
“He’s mad at you for letting me go to jail.” Nimble fingers worked at his belt buckle, then his zipper.
“I’m not too keen on him, either.”
“Why is that?” She purred against his throat. His talented fingers knew just where to touch, just where to stroke, just what to do, to make her melt.
“He can’t keep you out of trouble. Oh, my God,” he hissed. Her fingers were talented, too. In a voice none too steady, he continued. “From now on I want him to assign you only the most uncontroversial stories.”
“Oh?” Her one-syllable question came out as a soft sigh. He slid his hands into her panties and, with her jeans, eased them down her legs. She stepped out of them. “Why?”
“We’re getting married. After that, I can’t be sending you to jail or anywhere else away from me.” His hands cupped her derriere and lifted her up, settling her against his lap. She took his hardness inside her and folded her legs around his thighs. “Not even for one night.”
He rolled his hips forward and she began to groan with pleasure, but not before getting in the last word.
“Bossy.”
TV newscaster Kari Wynne blamed her shattered life on one man—District Attorney Hunter McKee. He hadn’t caused her husband’s death, but McKee had smeared his reputation. Her much older husband was her hero. McKee had branded him a thief in the media—then dared to send her roses to apologize for hurting her. Soon her anger against McKee was affecting her reporting and jeopardizing her job. Worse, the desire that exploded every time they met was disturbing her peace of mind. Now as scandal swirled around her, Kari began a desperate search for the truth about her dead husband … and about a man she wanted to hate, but who made her feel wildly, passionately in love.
“A MASTER STORYTELLER.”
—Newport News Daily Press
“AUTHOR SANDRA BROWN PROVES HERSELF TOP-NOTCH.”
—Associated Press