by Tawny Weber
With that perky little pep talk ringing in her head, Marni lifted her chin and offered a bright smile of thanks when her aunt returned.
“So, my question is about relationships. You’ve achieved so much with your career. The stories you’ve broken, the places you’ve traveled, they’re remarkable for anyone, let alone a woman who began reporting when it was a completely male dominated field.”
“World’s still dominated by men, girly. Don’t let anyone tell you different,” Robin broke in.
Marni made a mental note that her aunt still faced gender bias, wondering if it was as strong now as in the past, or if her views were a by-product of years of fighting prejudice.
“Did you feel you had to choose between your career and your emotional life?” Grimacing, she wet her throat with her ice water, then reframed that. “What I mean is, did you ever have a man who wanted more from you? Who resented your career?”
That wasn’t quite the same as asking if she’d ever screwed over the man she loved for a hot story. But Marni figured that was the kind of question you eased into.
From the knowing look on her aunt’s face, she’d picked up the subtext without much trouble, though.
“I made a decision early on that my career was my priority,” Robin said slowly. As if each word were a bomb she was carefully setting on the painted concrete floor between them. “Because of that, all of my relationships have been based on a framework of distance. On the knowledge that I’d need to pick up and go at a moment’s notice. That when I’m focused on a story, it gets all of my attention. I’ve had plenty of wonderful men in my life. But none took precedence over the story.”
Marni looked at her hero. In her forties, Robin had seen and done everything Marni dreamed of. Except maybe that jumping out of the airplane thing. And now she was facing the rest of her life without the emotional accomplishments the rest of the Clare clan deemed mandatory. Family, marriage, children.
She didn’t seem to mind.
“Do you regret it?”
“Regret it?” Robin’s eyes rounded in shock, as if Marni had just asked if she’d offered blow jobs in exchange for inside scoops. “Girly, I love my life. I have success, travel, money. I’m living in one of the most exciting cities in the world, I mingle with the famous. I have lovers when I want, and privacy when I’m through with them.”
“I take it that’s a no.”
“Not just a no. That’d be a hell no.”
Misery settled in Marni’s stomach.
She wanted to hear that it sucked.
That the life of an ambitious reporter, totally focused on chasing stories, on climbing the career ladder, was empty. Was lonely. Heck, she’d been hoping for a little sorrow.
“Seriously? It’s that great?” she asked.
“Seriously.” Robin gave her a rueful smile. “I can tell that’s exactly what you were hoping to hear.”
Marni’s own smile was a little weak around the edges.
“I guess I’d hoped you’d tell me that giving it all up was a mistake. That family, a relationship, love, that they all trump ambition.”
“Can’t tell you what I don’t believe.” Robin paused, watching Marni over the edge of her own glass as she sipped her drink. “But I can give you a little advice if you want it.”
That’s why she was there, wasn’t it? Even as her shoulders sank despondently, Marni made a bring-it-on gesture with one hand.
“Your climb up the ladder is yours. Not mine. You get to choose your baggage. And you might be better at carrying certain things. A relationship, kids, all that stuff isn’t at odds with a great career. I’ve interviewed plenty of people who have both. I’ve worked with a few, too.”
Hope was like a tiny seed trying to sprout against all odds. Marni had never before thought it possible, but suddenly she wanted to believe she could do it all. That she was strong enough, clever enough, dedicated enough to balance the successful career of her dreams with other things. Things like kids, family. Love.
Hunter’s love. She swallowed hard against the painful lump in her throat.
“Would you put a story aside if you knew it’d cause a problem for someone you cared about? Ever?”
Could she set aside this story, sit on the news that Beverly Burns was still alive, no thanks to her husband? Could she ignore the information she’d discovered that proved Charles Burns had tried to blow up his wife, along with that building? But that a sexy, dedicated FBI agent had dragged her out of there before she’d been decimated? Could she pretend the FBI wasn’t hiding the rumored late Mrs. Burns away, in exchange for as much dirt as they could get on her husband?
Marni wanted to think she could.
For love.
But she wasn’t sure.
“Set aside a story for a man?” Robin mused, her face screwed up as if she’d just tasted something nasty. “I’ve never met a man who made me ask myself that, girly. If I did, though, I have to think he’d make the question moot. Because if he was the man for me, he’d know I couldn’t take that path. The story, the truth...it’s everything.”
Not for the first time in the past couple of days, Marni was beset by doubts. Her stomach churned, misery making her ill. What did it say about her ambition, her dedication, if she wasn’t willing to break a story because it might upset someone?
Shoulders as heavy as concrete, she wondered if she’d been fooling herself all these years. Because now, when faced with a shot at the biggest story of her life, she didn’t want to take it. Not because she was afraid of success. But because she didn’t want to betray Hunter.
“You’ve got some big choices to make,” Robin observed quietly.
Marni met her gaze with her own troubled one, comforted by the sympathy in her aunt’s blue eyes.
“You make them while worrying about how others will live with your decision, and you’ll never be happy.” The older woman set her glass aside, then after a visible hesitation, got up and crossed the room to sit by Marni. “You make them by asking yourself if you can live with them. Then, whatever others think, you’ll know you’ve done what’s right for you.”
“Even if it hurts someone?”
“Girly, we all get hurt. That’s life.”
* * *
HUNTER CLIMBED THE STEPS of the federal court building, his briefcase in one hand, coffee in the other.
His gut burned as he downed the dregs, and he found no satisfaction from crushing the cardboard cup and spiking it into the trash.
He was getting used to that dissatisfaction. Caffeine and fury had fueled his past forty-eight hours, and as far as he could tell, the rage roiling in his gut wasn’t going to dissipate anytime soon.
It was a toss-up what had infuriated him more.
Waking to find the train had arrived in San Francisco and Marni had disappeared. Not a word, not a note, nothing.
Or finding out she was a reporter.
So far, she’d turned in jack, though. At least, his sources hadn’t been able to dig up a whisper of any story, except for that initial call to her editor that Murray had filled him in on.
Didn’t mean she wasn’t writing one.
The question was, what did she have to fill the pages? Supposition? Public knowledge?
He hadn’t said anything about the case.
She hadn’t asked diddly.
But his instincts, those vital intuitive flashes that not only saved him from disaster, but often gave him the brilliant insights that put his case close rate at the top...those instincts said she had plenty.
Hunter shoved the heavy glass door open with enough force to send the oak bouncing against the marble wall and earned himself a few glares. He ignored them as he stormed his way through security and to the courtroom.
He tried to argue down his instincts. There was not one exchange between them that involved what he called business. Not directly, not overtly, not discreetly. The only interest she’d shown was in his body. Not his job.
Stopping in front of an
eight-foot oil painting of the East Bay, he gritted his teeth. Well, hell. Had he just crossed over into his-ego-doth-protest-too-much land? It wasn’t as if he’d never been pursued for a case. Or as if he’d ever thought a woman was more interested in him than she really was.
He stared blindly at the blur of land beyond the Golden Gate, forcing himself to face reality. None of those times mattered. Not on the job, not off.
Because, dammit, this was the first time it’d hurt.
And if she broke that story, it’d hurt a hell of a lot more than his embarrassingly fragile emotions. It’d send his career into a tailspin, ruining everything he stood for. Everything he’d dreamed of, worked for, his entire life.
“Special Agent Hunter, good to see you.”
Glad for the interruption, more than happy to sideline his obsessive mental circles, Hunter blinked the concern off his face and turned to greet the prosecuting attorney.
“Denton,” he said to the dapper blond man with a nod. They’d worked together on a few cases, and Hunter knew that beneath the cordial smile and frat-boy looks was a shark with an ambition addiction. There was nobody he’d rather have arguing this case.
“The opposing counsel is meeting with the judge now. We’ll know of their decision within the next fifteen minutes.”
When presented with the extensive additional charges two days before, Burns’s team had been faced with the option to take their chance trying the case with the new charges. Or call for a mistrial and let their guy stay in jail while they regrouped and gave the FBI enough time to keep digging through suspicious information until they found solid facts. Aka, searching for bodies that’d turn those suspicion of manslaughter charges to murder one. Either way posed a risk. To Burns, that was.
Hunter wanted this case moving. Now.
He was one hundred percent sure that the feds would get the proof they needed to take Burns down if it was put on hold.
What he wasn’t one hundred percent on was what his sexy little roommate knew, or what damage she could inflict on the outcome of the case, or quite possibly the life of Beverly Burns.
Focus, he mentally snapped. Worry did no good. Second-guessing and prognosticating was a waste of time. Set it aside and focus on the damned job.
“What’s the temp?” he asked the attorney, wanting to gauge the chances that the lawyers would choose to move forward with the trial.
“Burns isn’t liking his current accommodations. He’s cocky enough to know that suspicion of murder isn’t proof.” Denton shrugged, as did Hunter, his gaze locked on the courtroom door. “My money says we’re eating crappy courtroom cafeteria lunch today.”
It didn’t take more than five minutes before they were called into the courtroom. Denton spoke with the leader of the pack of lawyers flanking Burns, then nodded. His face was passive, but Hunter could see the look in his eyes. Countdown to shark attack. Looked as though they’d be sticking around for cafeteria jello surprise.
Then, and only then, did Hunter let his eyes shift to the crime boss. Broad and badass, the guy sported an iron buzz cut, a sharp jaw and a suit that’d cost Hunter a month’s pay. Cocky and confident, Charles Burns didn’t show an ounce of concern.
Perfect.
More than ready to take on Burns, his fat-cat attorneys and, hell, the entire criminal justice system if necessary, Hunter dropped to his seat and gave the crime boss an ugly smirk.
Yeah. This was war.
Six hours later, after a hearty lunch of that jello surprise and a questionable burger, Hunter took the stand.
“State your name for the records.”
“Special Agent Michael Hunter, FBI.” With that, Hunter raised his hand, recited his oath and settled into the game.
The questions were softball at this stage. Establishing his authority, outlining his role in the investigation. The defense wasn’t stupid enough to try and take a hatchet to his reputation. They were going to try to limit his effectiveness, make his testimony irrelevant.
At ease, his expression and body language making it clear he was as comfortable as if he were lounging in his own living room, Hunter rarely took his gaze off of Burns.
Finally, while Denton and Burns’s head shark yammered over a point of procedure, Hunter let his gaze wander.
It landed on a pretty blonde in the back of the room, seated behind a huge mountain of a guy, seemingly trying to hide.
He should have kept looking at the crime boss.
It was as though the floodgates burst. All the fury, the anger and frustration that’d been dogging him for the past two days pounded through his system again.
His responses became clipped. His attention split.
The chilly distance that was his usual testimony style took a hit as that anger started sparking at the edges.
Burns shifted in his seat.
His attorneys started scribbling a lot faster.
Murray frowned.
Denton tried to hide his grin.
Hunter didn’t give a damn about any of that. He met Marni’s wide-eyed gaze across the courtroom.
He watched her gulp. But brave little reporter that she was, she stood her ground. Or given that she was seated on one of the hard wooden benches, sat her ground. Lifting her chin, she met his glare with a calm look of her own, then probably because she couldn’t resist, she fluttered her lashes.
He was torn between fury and laughter.
Over the top of that, though, was the dueling need to storm across the courtroom, grab her curvy butt and toss her over his shoulder. Whether he’d verbally rip into her or physically dive into her when he got them to privacy was the only question.
11
MARNI GLANCED AT HER watch: 10:00 p.m. You’d think the terror-inspired headache she’d earned seeing Hunter in the courtroom that afternoon would have faded by now. She’d only managed to stick around for ten minutes, leaving before he was freed from the safe haven of the witness stand.
Her head throbbing worse now from the combination of self-disgust, a very loud restaurant and one glass past her limit of wine, she opened her hotel room door, tucking her key card into her purse. She stepped out of her heels right there in the doorway, not bothering with the lights.
She shouldn’t have gone to dinner with her aunt. She hadn’t been good company. She’d felt lousy after sneaking in to watch part of the trial. She’d expected to see Hunter, of course. But she’d figured she’d be staring at the back of his head. That he’d be facing the judge, not taking the stand. The shock of his eyes meeting hers still ricocheted through her body. It’d been all she could do to sit down and take notes instead of run from the courthouse in tears.
She’d learned more watching him on the stand than she’d learned in all her research. Not more than she’d learned by stripping him naked and nibbling her way down his body, but she didn’t figure any of that knowledge was relevant to her job.
In the end, she’d hurried out of that courthouse confused, upset and overwhelmed.
But as miserable as she’d felt, she hadn’t wanted to risk the tenuous new family bond with her aunt by canceling their dinner plans. So she’d popped a couple painkillers, slicked on her brightest lipstick and pretended that her life was peachy keen for three hours.
Now all she wanted was some relaxing music, a hot bubble bath and her pillow.
“You’re out late.”
Her scream ricocheted off the walls. So did her purse when she heaved it across the room. The responding grunt told her she’d aimed true. She spun toward the door, grabbing the handle and preparing to scream bloody murder.
“Aww, is that any way to greet me after all we’ve been through? All we’ve done with each other. To each other.”
Marni’s body went into a Pavlovian sexual meltdown at the sound of that voice coming through the dark. Even if she hadn’t recognized the shadow across the room, her body recognized the husky laugh.
But even as her body was screaming at her to turn around and launch it onto that
gorgeous body, her mind was whispering caution warnings, while her instincts danced around waving flashing danger signs.
All things considered, she figured her mind and instincts were the smarter choice right now. Her body, already warming, was obviously biased.
“Don’t you want to stick around? There’s so much we have to talk about. What you were doing at the courthouse today. What we do for a living. Why you ditched me on the train.”
Wrapped around the door handle, her fingers spasmed. For a second, she wanted to continue her flight out of the room. To run from this confrontation and her own heart’s needs. She closed her eyes, trying to pull together her nerve to face Hunter for the second time that day. As long as he didn’t know she was a reporter, she could pretend she’d snuck into the courthouse to see him one last time.
But if he knew...
She shifted closer to the door, halfway turning the handle. Her ears rang and black dots did a wispy dance in her vision. She was really, really sure that running away would be the smart move right now.
“I’ll just come after you. I’m a stickler for taking care of unfinished business. You might have figured that out, though.”
Marni sucked in a deep breath. Pretending her heart wasn’t pounding so loud in her head that she could barely hear him, she plastered a serene look on her face and turned around.
“Why on earth would you think I’d figure that out?” she asked, making her tone both light and incredulous while sticking close to the exit. “I think I’d be more interested in figuring out how you ended up in my hotel room.”
A dark, private hotel room. With walls thick enough that she could moan and whimper and scream her pleasure without worry of facing a trainful of smirking faces the next day.
Lust drowned out fear crazy fast.
Marni’s thighs turned to water, her nipples beading beneath her simple white T-shirt. She felt as if she’d had a gallon of those eight-hour energy drinks, all at once. Her nerves stood on end, her body zinging as if it were going to fly apart any second. At the same time, a languid heat seeped through her veins, desire heavy and aching in her body.