by Cara Summers
But she’d come here to get an interview. “If I tell you, will you call Mr. Slade and set up the interview?”
“I’ll call him and ask him about it. That’s all I can promise.”
She nodded. “Okay. It’s a little complicated. My sister Natalie is a friend of Sophie Wainwright and Sophie told Natalie that a reclusive tycoon who was worried about his safety was consulting with her brother’s chief of security.” She paused to take a breath. “And LucasWainwright’s chief of security happens to be Sophie’s main squeeze. No names were mentioned—but Natalie works for a special D.C. police task force, and her office was called about the bomb scare in Mr. Slade’s suite. She told me about that—strictly off the record. But how many media-shy tycoons with security problems could be in Washington at one time?”
Hunter wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh or to swear. The story was way too convoluted and way too plausible for him to doubt it. Unless Rory Gibbs was a very talented liar.
“Did you let anyone at your magazine know that you were coming out here?” he asked.
“No. If it didn’t pan out, I’d look like a fool, wouldn’t I?”
Another convincing answer. Whether she was lying or not, he’d have to let Tracker know she was here—and he’d have to at least pretend to make a phone call to Jared Slade.
“Come with me. We’ll talk inside,” he said.
“What about the dogs?”
“They’re friendly.” He moved closer to the wall. “Jump and I’ll catch you.”
Rory saw those hands reaching for her and her whole system began to have a meltdown again. Images slipped into her mind of what she’d seen them do to her in the mirror in that dressing room. Whatever else happened, she wanted those hands on her again.
Scooting to the edge of the wall, she didn’t even count to three before she took the plunge. And then he was holding her tightly against that body again. For one scorching moment, she was aware of nothing but hard angles and rock-hard muscles pressing into her. An instant later, he set her on her feet with an abruptness that had her taking a quick step back to the wall for support. Before she could even be sure of her balance, he turned away and started toward the drive with the dogs loping along happily at his side.
Rory frowned at him. Then she took several quick steps to catch up. She’d come here to get an interview with Jared Slade. The one she’d been promised. And she wasn’t going to give up.
But as she followed him up the curved driveway, she found her focus slipping again. Even from the back, he radiated a kind of raw energy that was both primitive and sexual. If she’d inherited just a portion of her sisters’ planning genes, perhaps she could have stopped staring at the damp hair that curled low at the back of his neck. Or she might have kept her gaze from drifting down the length of his back and lower.
His sweats were made of some thin material that fit snugly over his backside. Her eyes lingered there as her stomach clenched and she started to lose the feeling in her legs. She knew what it would feel like to slip her hands beneath the waistband and explore that taut, smooth skin. Would it be as hot as it had been the last time—as hot as hers was beginning to feel? Rory’s eyes widened as she watched her hands reach out of their own accord. Snatching them back, she stumbled.
In a move so quick, it sent whatever breath she had left backing up into her lungs, he turned and grabbed both of her arms to steady her. “You all right?”
No, she was anything but all right. She was turning into one big puddle of lust. And it was clear that he wasn’t. At least not anymore. His eyes were almost clinical as they searched her face. “I’ll get you something to drink when we get to the house.”
She didn’t need anything to drink—except perhaps a long swallow of him, but he didn’t seem to be on the same wavelength anymore.
Wasn’t that just the story of her life when it came to men? Try as she might, she just didn’t have the equipment to turn men into lust puddles. At least not for very long. Otherwise, he would have pulled her to him and that gorgeous mouth would be feasting on hers again.
But it wasn’t. And she was not going to think about what that mouth had felt like on hers. She couldn’t afford to go there. One thing at a time, she told herself. Getting the interview required all of her concentration. Drawing in a deep breath, she met his eyes and said, “I’m…fine.”
His gaze remained locked on hers for one more moment, and Rory held her breath, hoping that nothing he saw would betray her.
Finally, he nodded. “Watch your step on the gravel.” Then dropping his hands, he turned and led the way along a path to a patio. Just as they passed through open French doors into what looked like a study, the phone rang. She lingered in the doorway as he strode to the desk and picked it up. Grateful for a slight reprieve, she pulled her eyes away from him and looked around the room. Three of the walls were lined with books that looked like they’d been read.
“Yes?” He spoke the word into the phone as if he’d been expecting the call. “We need to talk. Just hang on a minute, will you?” He set the phone down, then moved toward her. “I have some business to discuss. Would you mind waiting out on the patio for a bit?”
“No.” She stepped back through the French doors.
“There’s a housekeeper—a man named McGee. The Wainwrights left him in charge when they went back to D.C. I’ll have him bring you something to drink. Would you prefer coffee? Iced tea? A soft drink?”
“There’s no need. Really.”
His brows lifted. “I’m going to tell him to bring you something, so you might as well take your choice.”
She raised her hands, palms out. “Okay. Coffee would be fine.”
“Good. Why don’t you go over and sit by the pool? It’s cooler there. I’ll join you as soon as I’m finished on the phone.”
When he stepped back into the study and closed the French doors in her face, Rory had the distinct feeling she’d been handled and dismissed. Through the glass, she watched as he circled the desk, then met her eyes again and waited. For five long beats, she stayed right where she was. But it was the wrong battle to draw a line in the sand for. Turning away, she started toward the pool. As Jared Slade’s vice president in charge of retail acquisitions, he was probably used to giving orders and having them obeyed.
She’d never been good at taking orders or following someone else’s agenda, but she’d do what he wanted for now. She had a feeling she’d need all the energy she could muster up to get that interview.
FOR A LONG MINUTE, Hunter didn’t pick up the phone. Instead he let himself recall just what she’d felt like pressed against him for that moment after she’d jumped off the wall. He hadn’t wanted to let her go. For an instant, every bit of the desire he’d felt for her in that dressing room had returned. And it wasn’t going to go away.
Not seeing her again might have solved the problem. But avoiding her wasn’t going to be possible now. Frowning, he picked up the phone and said, “Tracker?”
“I’m still here. I take it you have a visitor?”
“Yeah. Rory Gibbs. Seems she got wind of the possibility that Jared Slade was here to consult Lucas Wainwright’s chief of security. She knew about the bomb scare, too, but she assured me that part was off the record.”
Tracker swore, then said, “Do you know her source?”
“Sources. And you’re not going to like it,” Hunter said. Then he repeated Rory’s explanation.
“Damn,” Tracker said. “Sophie is usually more discreet than that.”
“Don’t blame her,” Hunter said. “She was talking to friends. One of them just happened to be the sister of a woman who’s determined to interview Jared Slade. My bad luck and Rory Gibbs’s good fortune.”
“Look, I just put my man on Lucas’s private plane. I’ll come out to the estate and have a talk with her.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Hunter said.
There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line. “I’m
listening.”
“She seems to always be at the right place at the right time, but I don’t think she’s being fed information. She’s just got brains and good luck. And a reporter’s curiosity—which could mean trouble.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I wish the hell I knew.” But talking to Tracker was helping him work through it. And it wasn’t hurting that Rory Gibbs wasn’t in the same room. His brain cells were beginning to function again. Through the window, he could see her reaching the gate of the pool. The dogs were romping around her, but they didn’t seem to scare her. She stooped down, picked up a stick and shot it away. The dogs tore after it. “She’s…”
“Yes?” Tracker asked.
A constant surprise, Hunter thought. But what he said was, “She’s a loose cannon.”
“Meaning?”
“I’m afraid if you talk to her, warn her off, it’s only going to make her more curious. She’ll start digging, probing.” He started to pace back and forth in the space behind the desk. “It’s like she’s got a sixth sense or something. I’m afraid that she may even come up with the theory that I’m Jared Slade.”
“And if she does?” Tracker asked.
“I’m trying to prevent that. I told her that Slade’s gone, that I’m his vice president in charge of retail acquisitions. That’s when she guessed I was acquiring Silken Fantasies.”
Tracker couldn’t prevent a laugh. “She’s as smart as her sisters.”
“I wonder if she knows that,” Hunter mused.
“How’s that?”
“Nothing.” He watched the huge black Labs race toward her, topple her over on the grass. When she sat up and looped her arms around their necks and let them lick her face, he was abruptly and totally charmed.
“I’m going to keep her here until we sort this out,” Hunter said.
“And just how do you plan to do that?”
The plan was beginning to take shape in his mind. “Jared Slade doesn’t give interviews. I’ll offer her the next best thing—an interview with his vice president in charge of retail acquisitions, Mark Hunter. I use that name when I travel,” he explained. “There’s even a personnel file on Mark Hunter in the Dallas office.” Then he thought to ask, “I assume there won’t be any problem with her staying here on the estate?”
For five beats there was dead silence on the other end of the line. “She’s the sister of a friend of mine. I don’t want to see her hurt. Her sister wouldn’t want to see her hurt. Neither would Lucas.”
Hunter’s brows rose. There was a clear warning in Tracker’s voice. “Let’s look at it this way. The interview will be legit, and it will be the next best thing to interviewing Jared Slade. She’ll have the scoop she needs to get her a full-time staff position at Celebs. And I’ll have the certainty that she’s here where I can keep an eye on her while you’re springing the trap we’ve set.”
“I don’t know,” Tracker said.
“There’s something else to consider. What if she’s not just lucky and smart? Someone sent an anonymous tip about my hotel to Celebs and not to the Post, as you mentioned earlier today. What if the bastard who set the bomb is using her as a pawn in the game he’s playing? Until we know what’s going on and who the players are, she’ll be safer here with me than she’d be trying to get a lead on Jared Slade’s whereabouts.”
As he watched Rory throw a stick for the dogs, he waited out the silence again.
“Why do I think that there’s a more personal side to this than you’re telling me?” Tracker finally asked.
“Because your nature is to be suspicious. But neither one of us wants her stumbling onto something that will lead her down to the Keys,” Hunter said.
“Yeah.” He sighed. “You’re right. I’ll be in touch when I have something.”
After hanging up the phone, Hunter walked to the French doors. Whatever he’d said to Tracker, he wouldn’t lie to himself. He wanted Rory Gibbs with him for very personal reasons that had nothing to do with her safety or protecting his anonymity.
He didn’t kid himself, either. Keeping her here was every bit as risky as letting her go. But he hadn’t built Slade Enterprises by running away from risks. He would just have to be careful. He watched her race across the lawn with the dogs chasing her and felt his body begin to harden again. Would she be that reckless, that abandoned when they made love again? He wanted to find out. He would find out, Hunter decided. Soon. That decision made, he began to plot a strategy for handling Rory Gibbs.
6
RORY WAS OUT OF BREATH by the time she reached to open the gate to the pool. The dogs pushed through it, jumped at her, licked her face, and finally sent her tumbling into one of the lounge chairs. Laughing, she patted one head then the other. “Down,” she ordered, then watched in amazement as they settled, tongues hanging out, one on each side of her chair.
“How do you like your coffee, miss?”
She glanced up from the dogs to see an older, distinguished-looking man in navy blue shorts and a crisp white short-sleeved shirt set a tray on the table next to her chair.
“Black, thank you,” she said. “I’m sorry for the trouble. I told him that I really didn’t need anything. Oh, my…cookies.” She beamed a smile at him as she reached for one and took a bite. “You’ve saved my life. Food always settles my nerves. Plus, chewing makes me think, and I left my bubble gum in the car.” She took another cookie. “These are delicious, Mr….”
“You can call me McGee. And the cookies are no trouble. Mr. Lucas likes to know that his guests are well cared for.”
“You shouldn’t have brought so many. I’ll probably eat them all.”
When he handed her a mug of coffee, Rory took a sip and then closed her eyes and sighed. “Perfect. This is French-pressed, isn’t it?”
“Indeed.” McGee smiled at her. “You have a discerning taste. Mr. Lucas prefers French-pressed coffee.”
Rory smiled at the man over the rim of her mug. “I do, too. Could you pour yourself a mug and join me? Is that allowed?”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “Strictly speaking, no. But it’s kind of you to ask.”
“What about the coffee beans? You must grind them yourself?”
“Yes, miss. The beans are grown in Kenya. Mr. Lucas has them flown in.”
She nodded. “Heavenly. And please call me Rory. Can you at least sit?”
When he did, she took another cookie. “You’ve been with Mr. Wainwright for a time?”
“Ever since he came back to take over the company. My son, Tim, works in the stables. If you want to ride, let him pick your mount. He’s a good judge.”
“Thanks. I won’t be staying long.” She took another sip of the coffee. “Mr. Lucas’s guest—do you happen to know his name?”
“Mark Hunter,” said a voice that she recognized. Turning, she watched him enter through the gate and approach her in that long-legged Terminator stride.
“Will that be all, miss?” McGee asked as he rose.
“Yes. Thank you,” she replied as nerves sprung to life again and twisted into a knot in her stomach. Mark Hunter. The last name suited him, she thought. Hadn’t she seen the hunter in him from the first? He had that look about him now as he sat down on the foot of the lounge adjacent to hers.
He was prepared, his quarry in sight. And she’d spent the time playing with the dogs and talking to Lucas Wainwright’s butler. She could have kicked herself. As usual, she was going to have to develop a plan by the seat of her pants. Once McGee had let himself out the gate, she reached for another cookie. “These are delicious.”
Mark Hunter filled a mug from the carafe. “You eat when you’re nervous, don’t you?”
“What makes you think I’m nervous?” she asked around a mouthful of chocolate crumbs.
He took her hand as she reached for another cookie. “Because your hand is trembling.”
“Did you talk to Jared Slade?” she said quickly, changing the subject.
&n
bsp; He met her eyes. “Yes. He won’t agree to an interview.”
She straightened, swinging her legs off the side of the lounge so that her knees brushed briefly against his. “Mr. Hunter, there’s got to be some arrangement we can make.”
“You can call me Hunter. That’s what my associates call me.”
“Hunter, then. Mr. Slade doesn’t have to see me or even talk to me. I could give you some questions to ask him. You could tell me the answers.”
Hunter shook his head. “He hates the press. He’s not going to change his mind.”
Her eyes narrowed suddenly. “You knew that from the beginning. You conned me out of those pictures, knowing that I’d never get an interview. I could have published them. I should have turned them over to my boss. But I stalled her.”
He studied her as she spoke, watching temper darken her eyes and emanate from her in little sparks he could almost feel on his skin. Here was the passion that he’d only begun to explore in that dressing room. He wanted to taste it again. He wanted to push it, push her until she exploded in his arms.
Rising, she paced away toward the pool. He rose and moved toward her.
“I never should have given you those pictures.” When she whirled back to face him, she walked smack into him, then took a quick step back. He grabbed her arms to keep her from falling into the water. It might have worked if those excitable dogs hadn’t gotten involved. Two strong paws hit him right in the small of his back. He stumbled forward, then twisted and took her with him as he fell back-first into the pool.
When they came up for air, she was sputtering and coughing. Then to his surprise and delight she began to laugh.
Treading water, he stared at her. Any other woman would have been angry. Her eyes were light now, liquid gold with darker flecks. And with her hair plastered to her head, she looked like some kind of water sprite. And that mouth. He had to taste it again. Soon.
But first they had business to settle between them. He moved toward her and urged her to the side of the pool where the dogs were barking and hoping for more horseplay.