The Dare

by Cara Summers

  Natalie stared at the bag. “I thought only the rich and the famous could afford to shop there.”

  Rory could feel the heat rise in her cheeks. “I didn’t shop there. Not exactly. I just ran in to try some things on, and—it’s a gift. Not for someone else. For me.” She was stuttering. “Someone gave it to me. I’m deciding if I should give it back.”

  George winked at her. “Never give back expensive lingerie. But you’ll have to model it before I can give you an informed opinion.”

  “Not a chance,” Rory said.

  “Who gave you something from Silken Fantasies?” Natalie asked when George had moved down to the far end of the bar. “Did you get that from Jared Slade?”

  “No.” Then she sighed. “It’s a long story.”

  Natalie’s brows shot up. “Can I at least have the Reader’s Digest version?”

  Rory took a sip of her wine and then gave her sister a modified version of her morning’s adventure. Since Natalie was a natural-born worrier, she left out the part about actually making love to a complete stranger and played up the kiss part.

  “You didn’t get your interview, but you kissed Jared Slade’s bodyguard. And now you have a five-hundred-dollar red thong and matching bra and a note that says I never enjoyed a kiss so much,” Natalie summarized.

  “In a nutshell.”

  Natalie’s eyes narrowed. “And I thought Harry’s letter had changed me. How was the kiss?”

  Rory ran her finger down the condensation on her wineglass. “On a scale of one to ten, it was about a thirty.”

  Natalie grinned at her. “Good.”

  Rory shook her head. “It was the kind of kiss that makes you want it to happen again. And that’s not good. I’ll probably never see him again. I probably won’t get that interview, either. I gave up any leverage I had when I gave him the pictures. Not that I could tell which one of the two men was the real Jared Slade anyway.”

  “Hey, where’s that devil-may-care attitude? You’re sounding far too negative.”

  Rory stared at her sister. She was right. “Negative’s the old Rory. The new Rory doesn’t want to be like that.”

  Natalie smiled. “Sierra and I liked you just fine. But I think that you’re having more fun as the new Rory. And I have some news that may help you to nurture your inner daredevil.”

  “What?”

  Natalie leaned closer. “This is all off the record.”

  “Of course.”

  “I told you my partner and I were trying to keep tabs on Jared Slade. Right around noon, there was a call put in to the police. Someone delivered a bomb to his suite at Les Printemps. No one was hurt, but Matt and I were called to the scene.”

  “Did you see Jared Slade?”

  Natalie shook her head. “He wasn’t in the suite when it happened, and he took off before the uniforms arrived. But I do have a lead for you. Chance and I stopped by Sophie Wainwright’s shop this afternoon, and from something she said, I think this Jared Slade might be staying out at the Wainwright estate in Virginia.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Rory. Rory Gibbs, is that you?”

  Recognizing the voice of her boss at Celebs, Rory placed a hand on Natalie’s arm and turned to smile at Lea Roberts who was striding toward them. Lea was looking very put together in a beige linen suit, and wore her dark hair long and straight in an attempt to carry off a maturing Demi Moore look.

  “Lea,” Rory said, “this is my sister, Detective Natalie Gibbs.”

  As the two women nodded at each other, Rory continued, “Lea has been my boss and mentor at Celebs. She’s done a lot to help me there.”

  “I pick my protégées very carefully,” Lea said to Natalie. Then she turned to Rory. The smile on her face didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day. When I missed you at the office, I went over to the hotel, but I was told that Jared Slade had already checked out. Tell me you got the picture.”

  “Yes, but—” Rory began.

  “Wonderful. Let me see.” Lea held out her hand, her fingers wiggling.

  Rory felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “I don’t have them with me. I—”

  “You left them on my desk then.” Lea glanced at her watch. “I have time to—”

  “No.” Rory swallowed. “By the time I got them developed, I knew it would be too late to give them to you at the office, so I left them at home. I’m sorry. I had no idea I would be running into you.”

  Lea’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes heated several degrees and her foot started to tap. “You’re sure you got a picture of Slade?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Lea hesitated, and Rory was sure she would have said more if Natalie hadn’t been present.

  “I was counting on having them today. Please have them on my desk at eight-thirty tomorrow morning.”

  “Sure.”

  Lea gave a brief nod to Natalie. “Detective.” Then she whirled and strode away.

  “She’s not a happy camper,” Natalie said.

  “She’s been very good to me.”

  “She reminds me of the villain in those 101 Dalmatians movies. All she’d need is a white streak in her hair.”

  Rory grinned. “Cruella DeVil. They are a bit alike, I guess. Lea’s always on goal. She doesn’t let much stand in her way. I’ve learned a lot from her.”

  Natalie studied her sister. “And you just lied through your teeth to her.”

  Rory shrugged. “I couldn’t very well tell her that I’d given the pictures back. If I can still get that interview, she’ll be happy.”

  “And if you don’t?”

  Rory beamed a smile at her. “I have a sister with connections who’s about to tell me where I can find Jared Slade. How can I fail?”

  Natalie was still studying her. “This is really important to you.”

  “Yes,” Rory said. But even as she said it, she realized that her quest to interview Jared Slade wasn’t the only reason she wanted to track him down. Jared Slade was her ticket to seeing the Terminator again.

  “Tracker McBride—that’s Sophie’s significant other—is spending the entire day on the Wainwright estate because some rich businessman who keeps a low profile with the press had an attempt made on his life today.”

  “Interesting coincidence,” Rory commented.

  “Tracker heads up security for Wainwright Enterprises. Chance and he go back to the days when they worked in a special-forces unit. I asked Sophie if she was talking about Jared Slade, the rich mystery tycoon, and she couldn’t confirm that because Tracker didn’t mention a name. He just said that this mystery man and Lucas had gone to college together. But how many rich, media-shy businessmen could there be visiting D.C. this week? I figured you might want to check it out.”

  Rory’s mind was racing. A bomb had been delivered to Jared Slade’s suite. Why? By whom?

  “I have to admit that I feel a lot better about you going after this interview now that I know Slade’s connection to the Wainwrights. They’re solid people.”

  “If this person is Jared Slade. Did Sophie say how long this mystery man would be staying at the Wainwright estate?”

  Natalie nodded. “At least until tomorrow. She doesn’t expect Tracker back until late tonight.”

  “You don’t by any chance have directions to the estate?”

  Nat grinned at her as she took a folded paper out of her purse. “Yeah. I figured you might want them. I went to a party there last winter. Good luck.”

  Rory pressed a hand against the nerves jumping in her stomach. “Thanks.”

  She had a hunch that she was really going to need her inner daredevil to come out now.

  IT WAS MIDNIGHT when Lea’s cell phone woke her out of a half sleep.

  “Well, is Jared Slade the man you knew as Hunter Marks?”

  Lea resented the way the voice on the other end of the line could chill her. “I haven’t seen the photo yet. But I’ll have the pictures first thing in the morning. She d
efinitely got one of Slade, but we kept missing each other all day long.”

  “This is not going well.”

  Tell me about it, Lea said to herself. She’d come within an inch of firing Rory in that bar. But that wouldn’t have gotten her what she wanted. She needed those photos first. What she said out loud was, “I talked to her and she definitely got the picture. We’ll both have what we want in the morning.”

  “Where are the pictures right now?”

  “She said she left them in her apartment. I’ll have them at eight-thirty.”

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  I sincerely hope not, Lea thought as she ended the call. Once she had the pictures, she wouldn’t have to have anything more to do with her anonymous informant.

  RORY STIRRED, WHACKED HER ELBOW hard against something, and came abruptly awake. Before the bubble of panic could even fully form in her stomach at the bewildering surroundings, she remembered where she was—in her car a short distance from the Wainwright estate.

  The streaks of pink in the east told her that it was close to sunrise. The moon had shone full and bright in the pitch-black sky when she’d parked her car at the side of the road shortly after one o’clock, and now, finally, she was going to make her move.

  Leaning back in the seat, she crossed her fingers and prayed for all of her luck to be up and running. No more backsliding. She was not going to slip into the pattern of self-doubt the way she had when she’d been talking to Natalie in the Blue Pepper. Just as a little extra precaution, she’d put on the red bra and thong. Irene had told her that it would make her feel more confident about herself—and she was going to need every shred of confidence she had—or could borrow—to get the interview with Jared Slade.

  She wasn’t even going to think about what she would do if she met the Terminator again, let alone what would happen if he kissed her again.

  After stepping out of the car, she hurried across the road and used the grasses growing in the ditch for cover as she approached the drive that led to the Wainwright mansion.

  As far as she could see there wasn’t a guard. Just a wide wrought-iron gate between two twelve-foot brick walls. Thanks to a full moon, she’d gotten a good view of the main house and grounds when she’d crested the last hill, and she’d noted that a brick wall bordered the rambling estate on all four sides. She’d counted two other buildings besides the house—a pool house and what she guessed to be a stable. Lucas Wainwright had some pretty nice digs.

  Pushing her way through the grass, she climbed out of the ditch and crossed the road. The gate held when she pushed against it. Moving to the right, the direction she’d come from, she studied the wall. The bricks looked fairly new—the mortar that held them was smooth. Not a chink in sight. But she’d passed a tree. Breaking into a jog, she headed toward it.

  The limb was just out of her reach, so she jumped for it. When her hands slipped the first time, she landed on her butt. Making a mental note that she had to start going to her gym on a more regular basis, she scrambled to her feet and leapt for the lowest branch.

  This time her grip held, but it took her three tries before she managed to swing her legs up and hook them around the branch. For a moment, she hung there and just concentrated on breathing. Upper-body strength was what she needed. Along with that fanny lift. She’d start first thing tomorrow.

  For now, she wiggled, swore, wiggled and swore again until she sat upright on the branch. The ground looked far away and, up close and personal, the branch looked a lot less sturdy. It bobbed and swayed in perfect rhythm with the way her stomach was pitching around as she inched her way along its length. Once she reached the wall, she crawled carefully onto it, then made herself take slow, calming breaths.

  A quick assessing look around didn’t make her stomach feel any better. There was no tree in sight on this side, and the ground still looked far away. All she had to do was dare herself, then wiggle to the edge and drop. Twelve feet wasn’t that far. She’d just count to three and take the plunge. Eyes closed, she’d counted to two when she heard the dogs barking. She opened her eyes and spotted two large black Labs barreling toward her. Any thought of sweet-talking them evaporated when she saw the man following them. Her Terminator.

  She felt that same punch to her system she’d felt the first time she’d spotted him in the lobby. He was walking toward her with that same ground-eating stride, that same focused purpose. Each step he took increased the sensations racing through her—the tingling in her palms, the race of her heart. And she was suddenly very aware of the way her nipples had hardened against the sheer fabric of her bra.

  This time, he was wearing gray sweats and a sleeveless gray tank top. As he drew closer, Rory could see the muscles that she’d only felt in the dressing room. She’d also become very aware of the way the red thong circled her hips and dipped low at the small of her back and she could feel the thin piece of lace that lay dampening at the center of her heat.

  Questions tumbled through her mind. Why was she reacting this way to this man? And why couldn’t she seem to control it?

  She still had time to climb back down the tree and run. The moment the idea slipped into her mind, she shoved it out. This man was her best chance of getting an interview with Jared Slade.

  The dogs reached the wall and were barking and leaping as high as they could. But Rory couldn’t take her eyes off the Terminator. Fear, anticipation and excitement tumbled through her, nearly making her dizzy. She pressed her hands hard into the top of the brick wall to steady herself.

  When he reached her, he settled the dogs with one quick gesture. Then he met her eyes and said, “What the hell are you doing here?”

  5

  “YOU DON’T LOOK HAPPY to see me,” Rory said.

  He wasn’t. He’d been just about to take a run when a security guard had pointed her out on one of the monitors, and Hunter hadn’t been able to prevent the quick flash of pleasure that had shot through him.

  As she’d tested the front gate, he’d made a list of the reasons he shouldn’t be happy to see her. For starters, her presence meant someone knew where he was, and the trap Tracker was setting might be totally useless.

  Secondly, he didn’t need the distraction. Just in the short time that it had taken him to reach her, his body had hardened painfully, and he was very much aware of his arousal pressing tight against his sweatpants. His reaction to this woman seemed to be completely out of his control.

  There had to be a reason for that. Studying her, he took in the black T-shirt she was wearing and the faded jeans that had worn thin at the knees. The red boots had been replaced by serviceable-looking sneakers. There was nothing at all about the outfit that should be remotely sexy. Nothing that should make him wonder how fast he could get her out of it and what she was wearing beneath it.

  She wasn’t his type. How many times had he reminded himself of that in the past twenty-four hours? He preferred women who were sophisticated, who knew the score, who were beautiful.

  Rory Gibbs wasn’t beautiful. He raked his glance over the pixie features, the slim, strong-looking body. Cute was the most he could grant her. She looked small, defenseless and strangely defiant sitting there looking down at him. That shouldn’t appeal to him, either—but it did.

  When she licked her lips, he fisted his hands at his sides and stifled the urge to reach up, grab her ankles and pull her off that wall. He wanted her thousands of miles away from him. But even more than that, he wanted that small, compact body bucking beneath his as he thrust into her.

  Tightening his grip on the control that had never deserted him before, Hunter said, “I asked you what in hell you’re doing here.”

  When she lifted her chin and met his eyes squarely, he couldn’t help but admire her.

  “You’ve had time to develop the pictures I gave you. So I’ve come for the interview you promised.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t promise you an interview.”

  “Close enough. You promised to
talk to Jared Slade, and you look like a pretty persuasive man to me. Did you talk to him?” Her tone was quiet and her gaze never wavered.

  “He left before we could discuss it.”

  “He left? I missed him?”

  There was such shock, such disappointment on her face that Hunter wondered how there could be a dishonest bone in her body. If she tried to lie, surely her face, her body language would give her away. “How did you know he was here?”

  She raised a hand. “No. Wait a minute. You’re here. He wouldn’t go away without his bodyguard.”

  Hunter’s brows shot up. “Bodyguard?”

  Rory pointed a finger at him. “Don’t try to deny it. You chased me out of Les Printemps to get the film. You’re obviously Mr. Slade’s bodyguard. And you’re still here, so I don’t believe he’s gone.”

  “I’m not Jared Slade’s bodyguard. I’m his executive vice president in charge of retail acquisitions. He left me behind to finish up a deal we’re working on.”

  “With Irene Malinowitz at Silken Fantasies?”

  “No comment.” She was sharp. Either that or someone in his organization was keeping her well-informed. His eyes narrowed as her face suddenly flushed.

  “I—I want to thank you for the…red…under things. You really shouldn’t have, but…I mean…”

  A very vivid image slipped into Hunter’s mind of that moment when he’d first seen her wearing the red thong and bra—the way she’d looked wearing nothing but those thin wisps of lace and those red boots. Whatever cooling off his body had done stopped and went into an abrupt reverse. Shoving the image out of his mind, he said, “You haven’t answered my question. Who told you my boss was here?”

  She hesitated and he could almost hear the wheels inside her head start to turn.

  “You can’t lie to me. So don’t even try.”

  RORY GRIPPED THE EDGE of the wall and wished that she hadn’t left her bubble gum in the car. He had the Terminator look back on his face, and there was a part of her that wanted to do a Humpty Dumpty into his arms and just see where she would fall.