by Aimee Carson
“I came to tell you I spoke with Booker and we’re all square,” he said carefully, his eyes probing, as if testing her response. “We’ve worked out a plan for me to put in some time doing consulting work for the FBI.”
She refused to be swayed by the news. “Glad to hear it.”
Neither mentioned their parting words at the elevator, but the ghost of their painful falling-out hung in the air, as if lurking in the fog-blanketed shadows. His eyes held hers, and the determined focus, the sense of purpose radiating from his face, made her heart work harder.
After a tension-filled pause, he said, “Congratulations on your new series too. How did you get your boss to agree to your plans for your column?”
“I didn’t sleep with her, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”
A small smile appeared, more sad than amused. “It’s not.”
“I confessed everything, and then handed her a story on Thad and Marcus that blew her socks off.”
His tone broadcast just how pleased he was. “Good for you.”
“Yeah,” she said. Just for good measure, she hiked her chin higher. “Go, me.” Smart words, in retrospect. Because right about now leaving sounded like a wise plan. She’d missed him, had ached for him, but he also brought a host of sharp emotions along with the longing. Ultimately, it was the confusion and pain that drove her away. “Well …” She cleared her throat, the sound awkward. “I should find my dad.” She turned on her heel.
He put his hand on her arm to stop her, his touch setting off all kinds of alarms. “I shouldn’t haven’t insulted you,” he said, the regret in his eyes profound. “I’m sorry.”
Ignoring the feel of his fingers on her skin, she took a deep breath, glad the initial icy tension was broken. His apology didn’t make up for not believing in her, but it helped ease the ending. “I shouldn’t have slapped you,” she said with a tiny sheepish shrug. “It was an impulse reaction.”
“I deserved it.”
Oh, dear God, it was the agreeable Hunter from the first show. The one who was so hard to argue with. The one who knew how to work her to get just what he wanted, whether it be irritation, confessing her deepest doubts…or a sensual surrender.
The question was, what did he want now?
“Hunter,” she said with a sigh, pulling her arm away. “I think we’ve said everything there is to say.” Like he might love her, but didn’t really know how. Not in the way she needed. The sharp ache resurfaced.
“I’m not finished,” he said. “I wanted to tell you I spent the last week trying to perfect my new app.”
She frowned, confused. “I don’t care about—”
“Marry me,” he said bluntly.
She sucked in a breath, feeling the hit, and her stomach clamped into a knot.
She shot him a look, trying to hide her weakening resolve. “You show up, after all this time, and just expect me to accept your proposal? It’s been seven days since you left me high and dry on the TV show, and—”
“I had some work to do before I could face you.”
She lifted an incredulous brow. “You confronted two men in a dangerous Miami alley, yet you couldn’t deal with me face to face?”
“Not after the mistake that I’d made.”
They’d both made several, and it was more than a few rapid heartbeats that passed before she was able to respond. When she did, the word came out soft. “Coward.”
His lips twisted grimly. “In some things, yes.”
Put an innocent in harm’s way and he would bravely confront the most fearsome of opponents. But when faced with an emotional risk he cut and ran. It was a truth she needed to remember, despite the fact he was here now…looking wonderful…and her body was remembering the advantage of making love to a man with a fighter’s muscles…her heart was remembering how the action-hero defender made her feel.
Protected. Loved.
Gathering her wits, she shifted her gaze away, blinking hard to maintain her composure. The guests were lining up at the unusual wedding cake: a six-tiered confection of white icing thick with a thorny trimming done in black. Carly tried to imagine taking the marital leap with Hunter, waiting for him to walk out …
“I can’t marry you,” she said. And with as much grace as she could muster, she headed for the bar and her father.
Halfway there her cellphone chirped, and she pulled it from her purse and opened the message. The soulful sounds of the song “Share My Life” crooned from her phone, and the screen filled with the words “Marry Me.”
She gripped her cellular, her stomach settling on top of her toes. She hadn’t recovered from the first proposal, and now he was sending a second. Another proposal that left her confused, doubting her resolve to be strong. Fingers shaky, she selected “No” and scrolled through the list of rejection songs to accompany her response. There were only ten. With feeling, she firmly jabbed the button next to “Love Stinks.”
From behind her, the reedy sound of the song filled the air.
Carly whirled around to face Hunter, and his gaze held hers as he crossed closer, coming to a stop in front of her.
Now that she knew his plan, her whole body was filled with caution. “You have been busy.”
“Designing the app is the easy part. Finding the right songs is hard.” He eyed her levelly as he said, “I also discontinued The Ditchinator.”
She gave him no leeway with her expression and she forced herself to maintain eye contact, desperately trying to calm her nerves. But she tipped her head, her voice reflecting her curiosity. “Why?”
His eyes held hers with conviction. “Because you wanted me to.”
Feeling raw, Carly fought the urge to get misty-eyed. He’d done it to make her happy.
“I also decided you’d prefer something more positive,” he said. “So I replaced The Ditchinator with The Hitchinator.”
At the name, humor briefly overrode the angst, and her mouth worked, biting back a smile. “Your new app needs a lot of work,” she said, as lightly as she could, but all her doubts made it a tough sell. “The Hitchinator is a bit of a retreaded name, and the selection of music to accompany a refusal is pretty limited.”
He tipped his head meaningfully. “But there are thirty ways to say yes.”
“Do you think it will sell well?”
“I’m only worried about winning over one customer.” His voice dropped a notch. “You.”
Her heart pounded out its approval even as she struggled to remain strong.
“I didn’t expect you to say yes…the first time,” he said, taking a half-step closer.
She ignored the chaotic pumping in her chest, the surge of heat in her veins. The longing that went beyond the physical and traveled all the way to her soul. She forced herself to maintain his gaze, though her heart and her heated blood screamed retreat. To end the torture of continuing to tell him no.
“I should go find my father,” she said, and turned and headed in the direction of her dad at the bar.
Ten feet from her intended destination, her safe haven, another chirp came from her cellphone. She stopped mid-step and glanced at her cellular with a powerful blend of dread…and hope. She pressed the button and the words “Marry Me” reappeared. The phone vibrated to the tune of Billy Idol’s “White Wedding.” Carly couldn’t restrain the small bark of laughter. When the humor passed, again she pushed “No” and scrolled through the rejection choices, choosing one. But this time her fingers hovered hesitantly for several seconds. Biting her lip, she pushed “send.”
Her selection of “Bad Romance” filled the air, coming from directly behind her, and Carly closed her eyes.
Don’t let him charm you, Carly.
But her heart felt more vulnerable when she turned to face Hunter, standing just three feet from her. She gripped the strap of her purse. How could she survive this encounter when he was so close, looking and smelling wonderful and depriving her of her ability to breathe?
“Did you think Billy I
dol’s ‘White Wedding’ would endear me to your cause?” she said, knowing he knew it had.
“The first song was too obvious. And I know how much you love the unexpected,” he said. “Besides …” He looked at a nearby table topped with an ornate haunted-house style candelabra, flickering in the night. “I’ve seen the video. ‘White Wedding’ seemed appropriate, given our current setting.”
“Hunter—”
“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” he interrupted firmly, his eyes intense.
Her heart knocked faster, begging to be set free from its self-imposed cage, and panic squeezed Carly’s chest. “Too little, too late,” she said. “Before the last show I was hoping you’d turn up and say you’d changed your mind. That you trusted me and didn’t need any proof beyond your belief in me.” She stared at him, dwelling on those painful days. “An apology would have meant something before you had evidence I was telling the truth.”
A host of emotions filtered across his face before landing on regret. “I know.”
With a single finger he touched her hand, and her heart rattled the bars of its pen. But she fought the weakness and her growing doubts as he went on.
“I’m hoping you’ll accept my apology anyway,” he said. “And I’d be even more pleased if you’d agree to marry me.”
Her throat ached as she fought back the tears and the overwhelming need to say yes. Good God, she was tired of crying. “Why should I?”
“Because I’d like a second chance.” Her throat closed over completely, and when she didn’t respond he continued. “I made a mistake,” he said, his voice harsh with emotion. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”
“I know you do,” she said. “But Hunter—”
He opened his mouth to cut her off again, but Carly placed her fingers on his lips, stopping his words.
Shifting her gaze between two beautiful slate-blue eyes, she said in a low voice, “I can’t live my life walking on eggshells, worrying that I might do or say something that shakes your trust in me again.” She ignored the intense heat in his gaze and the feel of his lips, the unyielding softness that was oh, so uniquely Hunter. Her chest caught, and breathing became difficult. She dropped her arm, gathering the courage to continue. “All because you can’t move on.”
“I can,” he fired off in a low voice. He shifted closer, towering over her, his tone softening. “Give me a second chance to prove it.”
She still hadn’t heard a good enough reason. “Why should I?” she repeated.
His words tumbled out. “Because I let my fear push you away,” he said gruffly. Face frustrated, he raked a hand through his hair and looked across the crowded terrace. The pause felt like forever, but when he finally turned back, his expression was frank. Raw.
The last barrier was gone.
“I knew you loved me,” he said, his words rough, heavy with the truth. “But I didn’t trust the feeling and I was too scared to believe you. I don’t deserve another chance. But I’m asking anyway,” he said. “Because I’m tired of being unhappy and alone. All because I’m a gutless coward.”
As if taking a moment to collect himself, he dropped his gaze to her bare shoulder and brushed her hair back, leaving a skitter of goosebumps. His hand settled between her shoulder blades, cupping her skin as if it planned to stay. He lifted his eyes to hers, and the brutal honesty stole what little composure she had left.
“And I think fear is driving your decisions now,” he said.
Her mind balked at the idea and she hiked her chin, forcing the tears away with a watery sniff. “I am not scared.”
The words sounded hollow even to her own ears.
Several seconds ticked by, and though his gaze was intense there was a touch of humor mixed with a hint of desperation. His voice, however, was pure daring conviction. “Then marrying me shouldn’t be a problem.”
As his warm palm cradled her back, Carly’s heart thumped loudly in her chest, reinforcing the message that he could have called her a coward too, but hadn’t. Or that he could have insisted he was right, which he was.
Despite everything, she sent him a suspicious look. “Are you daring me to marry you?”
“The woman I love never walks away from a challenge.”
Her lips twisted into a self-directed frustrated frown. “Damn it,” she said in a low tone. “I hate that you’re right.”
The happy sounds of chatter filled the air as his eyes continued to scan hers in a question, stripping her to the emotional bone. Until he said, “So, Carly Wolfe, which would you rather have?” Despite the words, in spite of the teasing light in his eyes, his tone was serious. “A life with me, learning how to do love right, or an endless succession of singing break-up telegrams?”
The question—and the skin-on-skin touch on her back—made breathing difficult. Which wasn’t so good for formulating complicated responses. Fortunately the answer was simple. “You,” she finally said. “I choose you.”
Relief, joy and fire flashed in his eyes, and with a lightning-fast movement, Hunter hauled her against him. Her body collided with his and she sighed, her heart melting as she curled into his embrace.
His chest was hard. Protective.
The hand on her back was warm. And gentle.
Sandwiched between the perfect combination of unyielding strength and soothing comfort, she inhaled his familiar woodsy scent. The surge of happiness overwhelmed her and she buried her face against him, his soft jacket absorbing the embarrassing wet tracks on her cheek.
After a minute, Hunter said, “Just promise me something.”
She slid her arms around his waist, blinked back the remaining tears and looked up at him. “Anything.”
He glanced at the two coffin bars surrounded by guests dressed in black, their feet obscured by the mist from the fog machines. “No Elvis at the wedding,” he said. “And no Goth-themed receptions.”
Finally allowing herself to trust the joy, she let a smile creep up her face. “Can I ask the winner of the Pink Flamingo drag queen pageant to officiate?”
Hunter’s eyes briefly flickered wider—but to his credit he said nothing.
She lifted an eyebrow. “Now who’s afraid?”
“Good point,” he said, his brow creased in humor, his fingers caressing her skin.
“So, tell me …” Her mojo firmly back in place, she flashed him her most charming smile and tipped her head curiously. “What kind of songs does The Hitchinator offer when I accept your proposal?”
A secretive smile spread across his face, and the light in his slate-blue eyes grew warmer. “I’ll resend the message so you can hit ‘Yes’ and find out.”
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II BV/S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
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First published in Great Britain 2012
by M
ills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited,
Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR
© Aimee Carson 2012
ISBN: 978-1-408-97416-2
Table of Contents
Praise for Aimee Carson:
About the Author
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Copyright