by Tawny Weber
When had she been reasonable before?
Hunter all but growled.
He wanted her out. He had a case to build. An explosion to recover from. And a general state of mental health to maintain.
He couldn’t work on high-security material with a civilian in the room. He couldn’t relax with a gorgeous blonde hovering around his libido. And his mental health was already taking a hit, thanks to her lack of respect for his dead-eye stare.
He could pull rank, flash his badge and boot her out of the berth.
Except for two things.
First, she’d been here first. Booking a ticket an hour before the train left didn’t give him the right to steal a bed out from under her.
Second, and as much as he hated to admit it, Murray was right. Another few days without things exploding around him and he’d have been clear to fly. But he hadn’t been able to resist hotdogging, trying to wrap up one more case, to tally one more arrest on his record before the big, career-breaking trial next week.
His innate fairness said he couldn’t pull rank to get the cabin. It said nothing about not using every trick at his disposal to convince her to leave willingly, though.
“Actually, I’m hungry, too.” He rose to his full height and offered a slow smile filled with as much sexual heat as he could muster. Which, given that he was still half-hard from waking to find her sexy little body in his arms, was quite a bit. “Marni, right? Why don’t we visit the dining car.”
Looking a little flushed all of a sudden, she blinked a few times, her lashes sweeping over those big eyes as if she were trying to refocus. She wet those full lips, sparking a sharp, deep regret in his belly that he hadn’t tasted them before he’d been pulled out of the fantasy. Were they as delicious as they looked? As soft? Did they yield, or take control?
“You’re hungry?” she repeated, her words a breathless rush.
“I’m starving.” He let his voice drop just one decibel above a husky growl and let his gaze slide down her body. As though, if they didn’t get out of here now, he wasn’t going to be able to resist taking a big, juicy bite.
Hunter was gratified by her shaky breath, but his own libido took a hit at the amazing things that breath did for her fluffy pink sweater. She was like something sweet and sugary, swirled atop what promised to be a rich, decadent treat. But he was just as good at ignoring his sweet tooth as he was his sexual urges while on the job. All he had to do was remind himself of that. A few dozen times.
Hunter crossed the room, taking the menu from her suddenly lax fingers and tossing it on the table behind her. Marni’s eyes never left him, her focus so intent on his every move. Beneath the suspicion—smart girl—and an intense curiosity—dangerous if she wasn’t careful—there was just enough desire for him to use to his advantage.
With that in mind, Hunter initiated his Evict Blondie plan.
“Babe, here’s the deal. You’re a very beautiful, very sexy woman.” He paused just long enough to enjoy the wash of color over her cheeks and the way her eyes softened. “I’m not a man who’s big on denying himself pleasures. I like delicious food, a good Scotch and losing myself in the delights of a gorgeous woman.”
He let that hang there between them, as heavy and intense as the erection hanging hard between his legs. His body craved the feel of hers, wanting nothing more than for him to press that hard-on against her curves, to feel her warm welcome. But this was Intimidation 101, not Advanced Sexual Harassment. Hell, if he couldn’t scare her into getting off the train, he deserved to share her berth, and he’d have to attend all those stupid dress-up functions the train offered, too.
She wet her lips and looked away. Hunter let himself smile. No worries about tracking down a lame forties-style fedora, here.
Then she shifted her gaze, slowly lifting her lashes as her eyes traveled higher and higher up his body. It was as though she was reaching out and dragging her fingers along his thigh, caressing his throbbing dick, scraping her nails over his flat abs, smoothing her fingers through the hair on his chest, then oh-so-lightly skimming his face.
Finally, as if she’d tired of the torture, her gaze met his. Her eyes were heavy with desire, hot with the promise that the passion he’d tasted that morning was only the tip of the iceberg.
“That’s fascinating, I’m sure,” she told him in a breathy voice. “But I have every confidence that you’re also a man of control. A man who understands the word no. A gentleman, through and through.”
Shit.
Hunter’s expression didn’t change, but his admiration for her jumped up a couple notches. So did his determination.
He stepped closer.
She stepped backward.
He stepped again. So did she. Until her back was against the door.
Hunter’s smile was wicked as he placed his hands on the door, one on either side of her head. He leaned close, just enough to make her aware of his body, but not touching anywhere.
“Is that what you think?” he challenged.
* * *
SHE THOUGHT SHE WAS totally in over her head and sinking fast.
Marni’s body was on fire. Her nipples were craving the touch of his fingers again. Her body melted, hooked after that teensy taste of orgasmic pleasure he’d showed her that morning.
Control, her mind screamed. Get a grip.
“So you’re saying if I don’t get off the train in Chicago and let you have this berth, you’re going to...what?” She let her gaze drop, her mouth watering when she saw the impressive bulge pressing against his zipper. “Seduce me?”
And how would that go? she wanted to ask. Would he start at the top and work his way down her body? Or begin with her toes and lick his way up?
“I’ve never forced myself on a woman. Never had to, never been tempted to,” he promised. “All you have to say is no.”
It wasn’t as much the smile accompanying his words that pulled Marni from her sexual reverie. It was the amusement in his tone, as if he was laughing over the idea of her refusing him.
Maybe he was right.
Maybe she wouldn’t be able to resist the heat, the sexual energy between them for the entire week. Not if they were sharing this space. Sleeping in the same room, listening to each other breathe night after night. Aware of the other’s body, so close, in touching distance.
Her pulse raced.
But she ignored it. Just as she ignored the rest of the possibilities she’d just listed.
This was a job. An important job, with a story that could launch her career. She wasn’t going to be scared away from it by sex. Or more precisely, by the possibility of incredible, mind-blowing, body-melting, once-in-a-lifetime awesome sex.
She could resist.
For the story, for her career, she could resist.
Maybe.
“So?”
“So, what?” she repeated, her brow furrowing as she met his gaze again.
“So what do you say?”
She knew what her body wanted her to say. But her ambition was stronger. Determination, motivation and a few cold showers would keep her from doing anything stupid.
“I say...” She leaned closer, close enough that she could feel his breath warm on her skin. Then she reached up with one finger and tapped it gently on the soft curve of his mouth. “No.”
Marni ducked under his arms, hurrying across the room as if racing against the possibility of him grabbing her back. Feeling as though she’d just run a marathon or through a horror movie to escape a horde of zombies determined to eat her for lunch, she blew out a heavy breath.
She didn’t know if she was grateful or miserable when Hunter didn’t follow. As soon as she realized he wasn’t going to pursue her, her body sagged into a limp mass of unfulfilled desire against the dresser.
“Fine.” He snapped out the word with the same intensity a starving panther would use to snap a slab of raw meat in half. “Let’s go.”
“Go?”
“Breakfast. We’ll discuss this
over food.”
When she continued to lean on the dresser and stare, Hunter arched one mocking brow. That’s all it took for Marni to force her body to move.
Get food. Coffee. Richly scented coffee, she thought as he yanked the door closed behind them. Thankfully, shutting away the view of the bed and the thought of temptation.
Or at least the view of the bed.
Ten minutes later, Marni was having second thoughts. Now that they were out of the bedroom, so to speak, she wasn’t sure she could handle going back in there with him.
Maybe she should get off in Chicago, she thought as the waiter led them across the crowded dining car to a small table by the window.
She now had the name of the FBI agent in charge of the case, which was more than the FBI public relations liaison had offered before. She had enough information on the explosion to put together a decent story and, since Burns hadn’t been implicated yet, if she got the story in by midnight, it might run before the trial next week. But the story would be speculation that he blew up his own building, without any facts to back it up. It’d be a decent story.
Maybe. If she found some way to build it into more than conjecture and supposition.
But it wasn’t enough to be her breakout story.
It wouldn’t launch her up the reporting ladder of success.
With a smile of thanks for the waiter holding the leather dining chair out for her, Marni settled down across from Hunter.
She bit her lip, pretending to read the menu while her brain swirled in a million directions at once.
She couldn’t get off the train. She needed a big story, not a fair-to-middling one. Hunter was her hook. Her big break. Her provider of the sexiest, most delicious sleeping orgasm she’d ever had in her life.
“What can I get you?”
“Another org...” Horrified, Marni pressed her lips together, not daring to look at Hunter. She could feel his gaze on her, though. Like a laser peering into her soul, searching out secrets and sexual fantasies. “An organic fruit tray, if you have it,” she corrected with a bright smile and a flutter of her lashes. They worked as distraction enough for the waiter, who blushed and wrote so hard on his pad that he broke the tip of his pencil.
“Sorry. Be right back,” he muttered, hurrying away. But not without giving Marni one last effusive look.
“Do you do that often?”
Steeling herself, Marni shifted her smile to curiously innocent before she met Hunter’s gaze.
“Do what?”
“The cute thing. Does it work all the time, or is it a fifty-fifty thing?”
More like seventy-thirty. And only with men. She’d never been called on it before, though. Which meant he was likely in that elusive, unreachable thirty percent who wouldn’t see her as just a pretty face. He might expect something.
Like the truth. Her truth.
Something no man had ever looked past her face and figure to wonder about.
“Can I bring you anything else?” the waiter asked as he set the plate of fruit in front of Marni.
It took all her will to pull her gaze from Hunter’s intense stare. Marni blinked at the waiter a couple of times, trying to focus her thoughts. Then, not bothering to look at the menu again, she handed it to him and ordered, “Coffee, two scrambled eggs, whole wheat toast and a side of potatoes.”
“Right away.” He offered an excited smile before turning away.
“Excuse me,” she called before he could leave.
“Yes?”
Her lips twitched at his eager reply, and then she tilted her head toward Hunter. “My friend is hungry, too.”
“You’re something else,” Hunter said after the blushing waiter had taken his order and hurried away. “Those eyelashes should be registered as lethal weapons.”
Marni batted her lethal weapons.
“But they won’t work on me.”
She stopped batting.
What would work on him? What was it going to take for him to relax enough for her to sneak a story out of the guy?
Because she’d do it, whatever it was.
Except strip naked and beg him to take her.
Well, maybe whatever it took except that.
5
MARNI MENTALLY RECITED all of the reasons it was important to keep her clothes on as she considered the sexy FBI agent across from her while their waiter poured coffee.
There had to be a better—aka less dangerous to her mental and emotional well-being—way to get this story.
She’d spent a little time researching while he’d tried to stare her out of their cabin earlier. With a document opened, she used typing away at her aunt’s life story as she knew it as her cover. It’d been a few years since she’d worked on a biography type profile, and she’d forgotten how much she loved it. Curiosity drove all of her writing, but there was an extra spark to a profile, the excitement of digging into the who and why of a person’s life that she found fascinating.
She’d been so lost in the joy of writing, she’d had to force herself, between paragraphs, when she was sure he wouldn’t jump up and grab her laptop to see what she was doing, to access the FBI media files.
Special Agent in Charge Hunter. No first name on public file. Second generation FBI with more commendations than she had shoes, he was based in New York but had worked out of D.C. and San Francisco over the years, too. She’d emailed a few contacts, hoping they’d shed more light on the enigmatic FBI hottie before the end of the day. Not just because he was totally fascinating. But because she was going to need every bit of light, every shred of information she could get, if she was still going to be sleeping on this train tonight.
“So what kind of accident were you in?” she asked as soon as the waiter had finished arranging—and rearranging—the china cream and sugar containers. At Hunter’s frown, she added, “You said you’d damaged your inner ear in an accident and couldn’t fly. That sounds scary.”
“I was in a car accident last night.” His shrug suggested it was no big deal, but she saw the way his lips tightened a little in the corners at the movement. He must still be in a great deal of pain. All of a sudden, she felt horrible about keeping him from that rest and recovery he’d said he needed. She vowed that once she’d secured her place on the train and gotten a grip on her raging hormonal response to him, she’d do her best to help Hunter feel better. Well, almost her best.
“It must have been really bad to damage your ear,” she observed, although she figured re-damaged was probably more precise. “I’m surprised you’re able to travel so soon after something that devastating. I was rear-ended once and was laid up in bed, bruised and sore for three days afterward.”
He shrugged again, either dismissing her concern, or her mini–sob story, she wasn’t sure which.
“So what do you do?” he asked.
“I work in fashion, but I want to be a writer.” A good lie was woven around the truth, her grandpa always said.
“A writer? What kind of a writer?” His deep blue stare sharpened, as if warning bells were ringing in his head.
“Biographical. I’m working on a wonderful profile right now,” she said, thinking of the couple of pages she’d written that morning. Her excitement and love of writing bios almost made her words bounce. “It’s about a groundbreaking, prizewinning feminist who flouted family expectations to build a career in a man’s world.”
The suspicion in his sexy eyes faded into what just might be boredom. Marni frowned. What was up with that? The handful of biographies she’d written were anything but boring. She’d even won awards for them. Her fascination with the bits and pieces that made up the lives of people who’d made a difference, who’d stepped outside the box and forged their own path, came through loud and clear.
She’d debated for a while about sticking with profile reporting. The process of digging into someone’s history, of sharing their world and their story, was incredible.
Just not as incredible as being an ace investigat
ive reporter. She straightened her shoulders, pulling her head out of the clouds and telling herself to focus. A biographer was all well and good, and maybe someday after she was rich and famous she’d try her hand at it. But for now, she was after bigger career kudos.
And she needed the man across from her to get them.
“So what do you do?” she asked, propping her elbow on the table and resting her chin on her fist. “Businessman? Big-time CEO of a million-dollar company? Engineer? Ladies lingerie salesman?”
His lips twitched.
“None of the above.”
She waited.
He just leaned farther back into his seat and smiled.
“You know, to share the berth with you, I do need more information than just your name and a snapshot of you from my phone’s camera,” she chided, figuring going on the offense was always preferable to playing defense. Especially with a man like Hunter, who was clearly used to putting people on the defense.
“I still haven’t agreed to share anything, though.”
“Do you always play hard to get?”
Her laughter faded when his gaze heated, the intense look in his eyes making it clear that he was remembering just how hard he’d been earlier this morning, and just exactly what he’d been so close to getting.
Marni’s breath caught in her throat. Her thighs melted, heat swirling low in her belly as the memories filled her head, too.
“Look,” she said, leaning across the table and giving him her best don’t-mess-with-me look. “We both know that neither of us is giving up that berth. We also know that if you had the power to kick me out, you’d have used it already. So you’re stuck. I’m stuck. Let’s quit being silly and deal with the reality of that, why don’t we.”
Hunter’s eyes flashed with frustration for just one second, then turned mellow and amused again. She had to give him credit, this was a man in command of his emotions. A tendril of heat sparked again in her belly as she remembered how it’d felt when he’d almost lost control in her arms.
The idea of making a man, a strong, controlled man, forget himself and go wild... She gave a tiny shudder of delight. Oh, that was a sweet concept.