The Dare

by Cara Summers

  “She can’t be happy that you gave me the pictures.”

  Heat stained her cheeks. “Well, I didn’t tell her about that. When I ran into her at the Blue Pepper yesterday, I lied and told her they were in my apartment and I’d get them to her today. I’m hoping that when I turn in this interview, she’ll overlook the fact that I had to buy it with the pictures.”

  For a moment, Hunter said nothing. His mind was too busy sorting through possibilities. Lea Roberts had thought that the pictures were in Rory’s apartment. Was she behind the break-in? And why was she using Rory? Had she known about the bomb ahead of time? Was Tracker right about that being the reason why she hadn’t come herself to Les Printemps?

  “My turn again,” Rory said. “I want to know how you spent the five years between leaving Harvard and taking a job with Slade Enterprises.”

  Hunter dragged his thoughts back to the question. For this part he was on much safer ground. He could stick close to the truth because he’d used several different names, and none of them could be connected with Hunter Marks or Mark Hunter. Leaning back in his chair, he said, “The first job I took was with a cruise line. I started out in the kitchen and ended up dealing blackjack in the casino.”

  “Really? I’m so jealous. How did you get the job? What was it like?” Rory rattled off the questions as she reached for the sheets of paper. “Tell me everything.”

  For the next two hours, Hunter found himself doing just that.

  RORY CHECKED THE BEDROOM one last time. McGee had provided the candles, and they flickered on the nightstand and dresser. But it had been Hunter who’d sent up the champagne. That probably meant that he had a plan, too.

  Well, she’d just have to figure out a way to handle him. She had during the interview.

  The whole dinner was a blur. McGee had served it on the patio, and she’d worn the red dress and the pearls. Hunter hadn’t taken his eyes off her once. She couldn’t even remember what she’d eaten or what they’d talked about.

  Rory stopped at the window and looked at the last streaks of color in the western sky. She was waiting for her lover to come to her. Two phone calls. That’s what he’d said he had to make before he joined her.

  Turning, she glanced around the room again. Everything was in place—the red thong was on the nightstand next to the champagne. Moving to the full-length mirror on the closet door, she checked herself one more time. She was wearing the lace chemise that McGee had brought to the room that afternoon. The thin creamy color was a perfect match for the pearls. Raising a hand, she fingered the double strand of small, perfectly shaped beads at her throat.

  She’d done just as Hunter had suggested before she’d gone down to the dining room. She’d stood here looking at her image and thinking princess. Cool, confident. Grace Kelly. Diana. But as she studied herself in the mirror now, she felt more like the princess Audrey Hepburn had played in Roman Holiday— not quite sure of herself, still sort of experimenting with life and prone to making mistakes.

  Lifting her chin, she straightened her shoulders and reminded herself that Audrey Hepburn managed to carry everything off at the end of the movie. Rory Gibbs would, too. Tonight might be her last night with Hunter.

  So she was just going to push her luck to the limit. And if she didn’t quite pull it off? Well, there just wasn’t a downside to making love with the Terminator.

  Now, where was he?

  THROUGH THE FRENCH DOORS in Lucas Wainwright’s office, Hunter looked at the darkening sky. Night was falling and he was here waiting for Tracker’s call when he wanted to be upstairs with Rory. This might be the only night that he could spend with her.

  He’d had McGee take up the champagne. And he’d planned all during dinner exactly how he was going to seduce her. Once Tracker had a line on who was behind the threats, he would return to Dallas and he wouldn’t see Rory again, so he wanted to make the most of what could be their only night together. Something tightened around his heart.

  Recognizing the feeling, Hunter lifted his hand to rub his chest and frowned. Loss. He hadn’t allowed himself to feel that in years. If you didn’t allow yourself to get too attached to something or someone, loss was never an issue. Hell, he’d only known her—what? Less than forty-eight hours. And he was going to miss her. He missed her right now.

  When the phone rang, Hunter picked it up. “Yeah?”

  “We picked someone up in the Keys,” Tracker said.

  “Who?”

  “A guy by the name of Robert Saldano. He has a fairly extensive rap sheet with the Miami police, mostly assault. He was indicted once for murder, but it didn’t stick. He claims he doesn’t know who hired him.”

  “Any chance he’s telling the truth?” Hunter asked.

  “Sure, if you believe pigs fly. But he’s a pro and he’s not likely to give away a name.”

  “Lea Roberts may have broken in to Rory’s apartment,” Hunter said and then filled Tracker in on what Rory had told him. “If she did break in, she’s not going to be happy that she didn’t find the film.”

  “Somebody’s not going to be happy that Robert Saldano didn’t finish his job in the Keys. We make enough people unhappy and someone might get careless.”

  “Have you turned up anything on Denise, Alex or Michael?” Hunter asked.

  “Not yet. Tomorrow, I’m going to fly into Oakwood and see if I can find some kind of connection between one of them and your hometown.”

  “I’d like to come with you,” Hunter said. Then he was stunned that he’d not only said the words, but that he’d meant them. When he’d left Oakwood, he’d vowed to himself that he’d never return.

  “No. You stay right where you are. That was our deal.”

  “Yeah.” That was the deal. What had come over him that he would even think of going back there?

  “And keep Rory with you. I don’t like the idea that Lea Roberts might have broken in to her apartment.”

  “I don’t like it much myself.”

  “I’ll check in as soon as I have news,” Tracker said and ended the call.

  Hunter hung up his receiver slowly. He hadn’t been back to Oakwood since he’d left on that Christmas eve ten years ago. Not once had he ever thought of seeing his family again. He hadn’t wanted to. Had revisiting his past with Rory today changed all that?

  Hunter gazed out the window again. The sky was dark gray now, and he could see several stars and a thin sliver of moon. The problem with digging up the past and looking at it was that at twenty-nine you were bound to have a slightly different perspective than you did at nineteen.

  Objectively speaking, his mother and the other board members had come up with a solution to the embezzlement problem that had minimized the effect on Marks Banking and Investments and the town. His services as a scapegoat had saved the company. From a business standpoint, he could even admire the scenario that his mother had created. But none of that changed the way he felt about what they’d done to him.

  And he was wasting time thinking about the past when Rory was waiting for him. There were so many things he wanted to show her, and this might be his only chance. Turning, he strode from the room and climbed the stairs.

  10

  THE DOOR TO HER ROOM was closed, so Hunter knocked.

  “Come in.”

  The room was dark except for the candles that burned on every surface and the moonlight that flowed into the room through the open balcony doors. But the moment he looked at her, his senses were swamped. Music—something soft and bluesy—thrummed, and he smelled the citrus scent of the candles, but those sensations were muted. What overwhelmed him was her.

  She stood halfway between the balcony and the bed wearing nothing but pearls and a swatch of creamy-colored lace. He felt his breath back up in his lungs and begin to burn. Bathed in moonlight, she made him think of a porcelain statue. Fragile and untouchable. But she was very much alive. Even now, he could tell that every muscle in her body was tensed for movement. And the fear shot through him
that if he moved toward her she might take flight like some will-o’-the-wisp, and he would never find her again.

  Nonsense, he told himself as he drew close. He knew she was real, and he knew how her flesh would heat when he touched her and tasted her. He knew how that body would come to life beneath his. Even as the thoughts swirled through his mind, desire sharpened inside of him until it turned into a deep, aching need.

  He took one step, and she raised a hand. “I have a plan.”

  He didn’t stop moving toward her. He wasn’t sure he could. “A plan?” His had nearly evaporated the moment he’d seen her. The long, slow seduction he’d mapped out during dinner was threatening to disappear somewhere in the mist that was now fogging his brain.

  “Well, maybe not a plan.” She clasped her hands together and twisted her fingers. “Exactly. I didn’t write it out. It’s more some things that I’d like to try out.”

  He freed one of her hands and raised it to his lips. “So it’s flexible?” With his other hand, he traced his finger along the edge of the silk that rode over her breasts.

  “I guess you could say that. But we did agree that you would give up control.”

  He trailed a finger down to where her nipples had hardened into dark berries beneath the thin lace of the chemise. “We did. But we didn’t say when. And I have a plan, too. Don’t you want to know what it is?”

  She grabbed his wrist with her free hand. “No. I mean, yes. Eventually. It’s not that I think it wouldn’t be enjoyable. Because I do. You’re the most incredible lover I’ve ever had.”

  He leaned down and brushed his lips over hers. “A point in my favor. My plan starts with champagne.”

  “So does mine.” Rory concentrated very hard. His mouth was so close, so tempting. Already her bones were melting.

  “Plus, I think I still need some more practice on slowing down my wham-bam technique. Why don’t I show you?”

  “I—umm.” She broke off when his lips brushed against hers again. It took all her concentration to focus on her plan and to take two steps back from him. “I know that you want to make love to me, and I want you to. But…” She paused for a moment to search for the right words. They never came easily to her when he was this close. “I know that you like to be in control. But I just want to return the favor.”

  He held out a hand. “It isn’t necessary. Do you have any idea of how much pleasure you give me each time you come in my arms?”

  “No,” she replied, shaking her head. “That’s just it. I don’t. And I want to. I’ve never had a lover like you. I don’t think I ever will again. I’d also like to know what you’re feeling when you make me come. I want to experience that kind of power. Just once. Is that so hard to understand?”

  “No.”

  Rory drew in a breath and let it out. “Then you’ll let me do whatever I want to you?”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. “You want me to agree to that without any more information?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you worked for Slade Enterprises, you’d have to submit a three-page proposal.”

  She felt some of her tension ease. He was going to go along with her. “But I don’t work for Slade Enterprises.”

  Hunter’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe you should. You’re a pretty good negotiator.”

  She smiled then as a little thrill moved through her. “Thanks. Shall we get started?”

  “It’s a shame to waste that champagne.”

  She led the way to the bed and climbed onto it. “Who says we’re going to waste it? But first, you have to take off your clothes.”

  HUNTER STUDIED HER as he began to unbutton his shirt. The idea of being seduced by her was appealing. But even if it hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have been able to resist her argument. She wanted to experience a feeling of power, and what better way could he help her gain more self-confidence than to let her experience that? At least for a short amount of time. Years in business had taught him that there was more than one way to negotiate a deal. So he’d merely take another tack.

  Keeping his eyes on hers, he shrugged out of the shirt and dropped it to the floor. Then he tackled his belt. Her eyes shifted to watch just what his hands were doing as he unfastened the button of his slacks. “What if I can convince you to let me take over?”

  “Take over?” She was still watching as he slowly pulled down his zipper. Then he eased his slacks down over his hips and let them drop to the floor.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  “No. You’re not going to convince me. And you still have too many clothes on.”

  “Why don’t you help me get them off?”

  She shook her head, but her eyes never left the spot where his penis was pressing against his briefs. “You do it.”

  Obligingly, he slipped his fingers beneath the waistband, pushed his briefs to the floor and then he clasped his shaft in his hand. “You can have this right now, if you want.”

  “I’m going to touch it in a minute.” Her voice was husky, but she didn’t move. “First, lie down on the bed.”

  “You’d like what I have in mind,” he said as he moved toward the bed, then climbed onto the mattress. He still held his erection in his hand, and he was so close that she could reach out and touch it.

  She didn’t. But he saw the effort it took for her to tear her gaze away from it, and this close, he could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. “You want to touch it,” he said.

  “Oh, yeah.” The words were expelled on a breath. But she merely clasped her hands more tightly together.

  Suddenly, he wanted those hands on him. He wanted to feel her fingers gripping him, pumping him. “Touch me.”

  She met his eyes and he could feel himself sinking into those deep, warm golden pools. “You have to lie down first.”

  He did because the teasing he was doing was backfiring. He wanted her hands on him. Now. Then he’d convince her to let him take over.

  “Give me your hands,” she said.

  He saw that she was holding the red thong.

  “If you want me to touch you, you have to give me your hands.”

  The moment he did, she captured both of his wrists in the lacy straps and then drew them over his head and tied them to the headboard.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Something I wanted to try.” She shrugged. “You could get yourself loose, but I want you to pretend that you can’t, that you’re my captive.”

  Hunter frowned. “Why would I do that?”

  “For several reasons,” she said as she threw one leg over him to straddle him at his waist. “First, because you’ve agreed to let me be in control—at least until you convince me otherwise. Second, because you’re going to like what I’m going to do to you. If you don’t, you can just suggest an alternative. Third, because if you touch me while I’m touching you, we’ll both be distracted, and I want you to just feel. Fourth, because if you lose control, you can get yourself free. Fifth, because—”

  “I don’t lose control,” Hunter said.

  “Shh,” she said, leaning down to brush her lips over his. “I know. It’s going to be all right.” She ran her hands experimentally down his chest. “Just relax.”

  Relax? It was hardly an option when her fingers were running so softly over his skin, leaving little ripples of static electricity in their wake. “You’re not touching me where I want you to.”

  “Soon.” She wiggled up his body to brush her lips against his again. He tried to capture them. If he could kiss her, really kiss her, he could convince her to put an end to this game. But she wiggled out of reach of his mouth.

  This time, as she slid down his body, the shock wave of heat nearly melted his bones. He could feel exactly how hot and wet she was. When he caught his breath, he said, “You’re not wearing any panties.”

  “No. I needed my thong for something else tonight.”

  She moved again to reach for the bottle of champagne, and the dampness of her heat sent another shot
of fire through him. His hips rose off the bed of their own accord. “Move lower. I want to be inside of you.”

  Rory tipped champagne into a glass. “I thought you wanted me to touch you first.”

  “I did, but—” His thought was cut off when he felt the icy drops of champagne on his face, his lips, his neck. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to find out what you taste like mixed with champagne.”

  “That was my plan.”

  “Too bad.” She used her tongue on his forehead, his eyelids and cheeks, then lingered at his lips to trace the fullness from one corner of his mouth to the other. The little tremors that rippled over his skin sent explosions of pleasure rocketing through him.

  “Rory—” When she used her teeth on his shoulder and shifted lower on his body, he lost the rest of the sentence. Each lick of her tongue, each scrape of her teeth created sensations so sharp, so intense that they left no room for thought.

  And the heat. It wasn’t just the fiery dampness of her tongue—it was that hot, moist heat at her center, pressing, and then sliding over his skin as she shimmied lower. It seared him until he was sure his body would melt and merge into hers.

  He sucked in a breath when she sprinkled icy pellets of champagne over his chest, and the throaty sound of her laugh made his blood begin to pound.

  He could stop her. He could easily twist his hands free. Then he could grab her, lift her and pierce her. She would take him in and tighten around him like a tight wet fist. But he couldn’t seem to move.

  “I want—”

  “I know what you want.” Her hand closed around him for one second. “But I’m not through tasting you yet. Mmm. Your flavor is even better here,” she murmured as she closed her teeth around one nipple.

  “Rory—” He moaned her name as she flicked her tongue hard into his navel.

  “Delicious. But I’m not sure which flavor I like best. Let me see…” She moved up to brush her lips over his. “There are so many flavors in your mouth—dark and forbidden—better than the best chocolate I’ve ever had.” She slid her tongue along his. “When you kiss me, I can never seem to get enough.”