Risking It All: The Proposition / The Dare / The Favour / The P.I. / The Cop / The Defender

“I’ll give you the film on one condition,” she said.

The film. Hunter’s eyes narrowed. His brain was starving for blood while hers was clicking along at full speed. He watched her chew on her bottom lip.

Nerves. It gave him some satisfaction to realize that the sex goddess wasn’t quite as cool and pulled together as she appeared to be. This close, he could see that her eyes were a deep, golden amber, the color of well-aged whiskey. He could see the flicker of nerves there, too. And he could smell the faint scent of cherry-flavored bubble gum. He managed to keep his gaze from returning to her lips.

“Don’t you want to know what the condition is?” she asked.

The condition. Once more, Hunter found himself admiring her for keeping her mind on business. She didn’t even seem to be conscious of the fact that she was conducting negotiations while wearing next to nothing. But she wasn’t indifferent to him. Through the sheer red fabric covering her breasts, he could see that her nipples were hard little berries. And a pulse was beating at her throat. Thoroughly intrigued, he let himself wonder for a moment—what might it take to taste her right there?

But that wasn’t what he’d followed her into Silken Fantasies to do. Annoyance flared—not with her but with himself. He’d dealt with a lot of women in his life—family members, business acquaintances, lovers, and even some enemies—but he’d never met one who could cloud his mind the way this particular one could.

“What’s your condition?” he asked.

She briefly chewed her bottom lip again, then said, “I work for Celebs magazine, and I want an exclusive interview with Jared Slade.”

Not going to happen. And nothing she could have said would have more quickly catapulted him out of the fantasies he was building. She was a reporter, Hunter reminded himself, and he felt his body and his mind finally begin to cool.

He extended his hand, palm upward. “I’ll take the camera.”

She hesitated. “He hasn’t agreed to the interview yet.”

“First, I’ll develop the film and see what you’ve got to negotiate with,” he said.

She frowned at him. “If you take the film, I won’t have anything to negotiate with. You’ll have the pictures.”

He shot a dry smile at her and saw her eyes widen suddenly in surprise…or fear? “What is it?”

She licked her lips. “You have a dimple.”

“Yeah.” No, it wasn’t fear that was in her eyes. “Now that we’ve settled that, give me the film. We both know that all I have to do is walk over to the bench, dump your purse and take the camera. You won’t be able to stop me.”

The pulse fluttered at her throat again, and it took all of his concentration to keep himself from reaching for her. To his surprise, he found himself saying, “I’ll give you my word that I’ll talk to Mr. Slade and put in a good word for you. Under one condition.”

When she licked her lips, Hunter dropped his hand, fisted it at his side, and reminded himself that he was dealing with a reporter.

“What’s the condition?” she asked.

“Who told you that Jared Slade would be checking in to Les Printemps this morning? And don’t give me any crap about protecting your sources. I want a name.”

There was a trace of a frown in her eyes when they met his. “I don’t have a name. My boss received a tip and she sent me to take it because she had an interview she had to do in Manhattan today. I told her I could get it. That’s all I know.”

“Your job was just to snap a picture?”

“Yes.”

“What about the interview?”

“That was my idea.”

Despite that he considered the words reporter and liar to be synonymous, his gut instinct told him that she was telling the truth. There was an innocence in those amber-colored eyes that contrasted sharply, irresistibly, with what she was wearing. Or wasn’t wearing.

She ran a hand through that short dark hair, and his fingers itched to do the same thing. He could anticipate what the silky texture would feel like beneath his hands.

“Look, getting an interview with Jared Slade will get me a staff job at Celebs. And I need the job. I need to prove myself. Can you understand that?”

Hunter said nothing, but he did understand. Perfectly.

“Tell him he can do a Wizard of Oz thing and sit behind a curtain. I only took the pictures because I thought they would give me some sort of leverage to get the interview. You can have them.”

She moved to the bench and extracted the camera from a gigantic purse. When she turned back to him, his gaze shifted for a moment to the image of her backside in the three-way mirror. His mouth went suddenly dry. Except for two pieces of red lace, she was nude. The only sign of the thong from the angle was the thin red fabric that dipped low from her waist.

“Here,” she said.

As he dragged his gaze back to hers, he was vaguely aware that she’d handed him the camera and he slipped it into his pocket. He could also see her mouth was moving. She was obviously saying something. But he couldn’t hear her. He wasn’t sure he could even think.

“One kiss,” he said.

Rory glanced up. Her throat dried, and her body seemed to be experiencing a meltdown. She couldn’t possibly have heard him correctly. But his eyes were so hot that she could feel them on her skin. She licked her lips. “What did you say?”

“One kiss. I want to taste you.” He took a step toward her. “One kiss and I’ll do everything I can to get you the interview.”

One kiss. Rory thought that her heart might just beat out of her chest. One part of her mind—the daredevil part—was thinking yes. What could it matter? But there was another part of her that knew it would matter a lot. Kissing this man might be the biggest risk she’d ever take.

He wasn’t moving. In spite of what she could see in his eyes, the decision was going to be hers.

She wanted the kiss. Desperately. She wanted him. But… She felt her old fears swamping her. Where was the confidence that she’d felt just moments ago when she’d looked in the mirror?

Never be afraid to take risks. As the words from Harry’s letter streamed through her mind, she suddenly remembered the first jump she’d ever taken on a horse. Her father had given her a little pep talk before she’d ridden out into the ring. “Just dare yourself to do it, kiddo. That’s all you need to do. It works like magic.”

She’d made the jump. And she was going to kiss this man.

“One kiss,” she agreed.

Hunter wasn’t sure how long he’d waited to hear her answer, but it had seemed way too long. In the interim, he’d tried to tell himself he was making a mistake. It had been years since he’d done anything this impulsive, this rash. Oh, he’d been plenty reckless before he’d changed himself into Jared Slade. And he’d paid the price. Even in his incarnation as Jared Slade, he’d played some long shots—but only in business and only when he felt confident that his luck would hold.

Right now luck didn’t matter to him. Nothing seemed to matter except this hunger that demanded to be quenched. He wasn’t even aware that he’d moved until her back was against the mirror, and he was close enough to feel the heat from her body. He touched her, drawing one finger over the pulse that was beating at her throat. Her breath hitched, her skin heated, and the pulse beneath his finger quickened.

“Last chance to change your mind,” he managed to say.

“I’m not going to change it.”

He placed his hands on either side of her head, noting that her hair felt every bit as soft as he’d anticipated. Then lowering his head, he drew her up on her toes and covered her mouth with his.

It was the heat that hit him first. In that split second before his lips had touched hers, he’d seen the flame light in her eyes. But the shock of it as it shot through his body in an explosive rush surprised him. He thought of the wildfires he’d seen as a child—the kind that devoured everything in their path. Only this one left a hard, unrelenting need in its wake.

The second surprise was her taste. Oh, it was sweet at first, but that was only the first layer of flavor. Beneath that, he tasted heat and spice. What other flavors would he find?

When she nipped at his bottom lip, another arrow of heat shot through him. He ran his hands down her body and drove his tongue deeper. And all the time he marveled that her mouth, her tongue, her teeth were every bit as aggressive as his. He’d never been so aware of a woman before. Of those small sounds she made when he nipped at her bottom lip, or rubbed his thumb over her nipple.

Her skin was smooth and hot and growing damp beneath his hands. He wanted to taste every inch of it. Her body was small and supple and strong. He wanted it beneath his, bucking and straining.

And he could have her. She didn’t seem to believe in holding anything back. Her hands were racing over him—over his shoulders, down his arms—just as his were exploring her. He felt them slide beneath his jacket and move down his back to knead the muscles at the base of his spine. It wasn’t enough, not nearly. He wanted the pressure of those fingers, the scrape of those nails, on his bare skin.

He wanted her. One kiss was not going to be enough. He wasn’t sure that anything would be enough to stop the ache inside of him. He had to have her. pImages** flashed through his mind, of driving himself into her on some moonlit beach while waves pounded on the shore. Of carrying her to the nearby bench and letting her ride him. Or merely opening his zipper, then lifting her and taking her against the mirror where they stood. His hands moved down to cup her buttocks and pull her up. He said her name, which turned into a groan, when she wrapped her legs around him. Then he very nearly sank to his knees when she pressed her heat against his and began to rub against him.

Slamming one hand against the mirror to steady himself, he dragged his mouth free and tried to think. First he had to breathe. The sudden rush of air burned his lungs. There were reasons why he shouldn’t do this. Couldn’t do this. Then he made the mistake of looking at her. Her lips were moist and parted, still swollen from his kisses. Her eyes were huge and the deep golden color was misted. He wanted—no, he needed—to see what those eyes would look like when he entered her and filled her. He leaned forward and took her mouth with his again.

Rory sank into the kiss, eager to drown herself in it, in him again. There was a greed in him that matched her own. Never had her fantasies been this sharp, this real. Never in her wildest imaginings could she have conjured up the sensations shooting through her. There was such heat—glorious waves of it. And each movement of his hands, of his tongue, seemed to throw fuel on the fire. She’d known hunger before but never one this desperate, this enormous.

His taste—she couldn’t get enough of it. There were so many flavors, each one more unique, more secret, more dangerous than the last. She dragged her mouth from his and sank her teeth into his shoulder. His moan sent little explosions of pleasure through her. She was torn between twin desires—she wanted to devour him whole and she wanted to savor one delicious body part at a time.

His hands. Everywhere they pressed and molded, her skin burned, then itched to be burned again. She felt the pressure of each finger and that hard, wide palm as he ran his hands down her sides and slipped his fingers beneath the lacy band at her waist. Then he was gripping her buttocks with both hands, kneading her flesh and pressing her closer until the hard length of him was pushed flush against her. She arched her body, straining against him as everything tightened inside of her. She arched again, but it wasn’t enough. She had to—

“I want you.” His voice was a rough whisper in her ear.

“Yes.” She wasn’t sure she could survive without him.

“Right now. I want to be inside of you. Are you protected?”

“Hmm?” She tried to shake her head to clear it.

“Are you on the pill?”

“Yes,” she said as the words finally penetrated. “Yes. Hurry.”

Listening to the three words, Hunter felt something inside of him snap. He let her down so that he could free himself from his jeans. Then he pushed aside the lacy triangle of the thong and pulled her close again as he guided himself into her. But it wasn’t enough. Gripping her hips, he drew her even closer, and then with a hard thrust of his hips, he sank deeper. He could feel her stretch, as he made a place for himself in her slick, hot core. His climax immediately began to build inside of him.

Drawing in a quick breath, he tried to maintain some control, but it was no use once she began to move. Digging his fingers into her hips, he thrust into her, harder and faster, driving her, driving himself until he surrendered to the hot, dark pleasure.

When he could think again and breathe again, he was lying beside her on the floor of the dressing room. He wasn’t quite sure how they’d gotten there, nor was he sure how long they might have been lying there when his cell phone rang.

Swearing, he unfastened her arms from around his neck and levered himself up so that he could take the call. “What is it?”

“There’s been…sir…”

“What is it, Michael?” Hunter frowned. Michael Banks was usually cool and unflappable, but he barely recognized his executive assistant’s voice.

“A bomb.”

“What?”

“A bomb was delivered to your suite.”

RORY STILL WASN’T SURE she could move. Her body had never felt so free, so relaxed, so pleasured. But the Terminator was already getting to his feet and moving away from her. She wanted him back down beside her. Without him, she suddenly felt cold. The chill grew worse when he scowled at whatever news he was getting. She couldn’t yet separate what he was saying into words, but when she sat up, she could feel the hard floor of the dressing room under her bottom. She figured her brain cells were beginning to function again because the analytical side of her mind was beginning to realize what had just happened.

She’d just made love with a complete stranger in a dressing room of a ritzy lingerie shop. Well, maybe he wasn’t a complete stranger. But when she’d made up her fantasy man, she certainly hadn’t expected him to walk right into her life.

It was the kind of thing that happened in movies—or in hot, steamy romance novels. In real life, people didn’t really make love to strangers in the dressing rooms of fancy lingerie shops.

But she had. And she wanted to do it again. Astonishment warred with the hot lick of desire that was fanning itself to life again. She had dared to do something she’d never done before.

And she’d liked it very much.

“Are you and Alex and Ms. Malinowitz all right?”

Rory felt a little ribbon of relief roll through her system. She could make out what he was saying now. And she knew who Ms. Malinowitz was. In another minute she’d be back to her old self. And then she’d figure out what to do next.

Chemistry, a little voice at the back of her mind told her. Hadn’t she read that the chemistry between two people could be very powerful. Irresistible. As the Terminator paced back and forth in the small space, Rory caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She was still wearing the red bra and thong. She recalled Irene’s prediction that the thong would make her feel different about herself.

Oh, yeah. She’d definitely felt different ever since she’d put it on. She narrowed her eyes. Was the red thong the cause of what had happened? Or was it Harry’s advice?

“A note?” he asked.

Rory tore her gaze away from the mirror and shoved the thoughts out of her mind. The here and now were what she had to concentrate on. The complete stranger was standing just outside the dressing room door, and he wasn’t happy.

“What did the note say?” he asked. “I’ll be right there.”

Rory used all of her concentration to gather her thoughts as he shifted his gaze to her again.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, crossing her fingers to protect her nose from growing at the lie. She was certain she would be all right…soon.

“I have to go.”

She nodded. Obviously, the red thong hadn’t changed her that much after all. He’d bounced back from the chemistry overload a lot faster than she had. Her knees were still weak. But her brain cells were definitely perking up. “About the interview…?”

There was a brief flash of puzzlement in his eyes before they narrowed and turned into lasers. “Interview.”

If she could have scooted any farther away, she might have, but she was sitting with her back against the mirrors. “With Jared Slade,” she said. “That was the deal.”

“So it was.” He inclined his head slightly and patted his pocket. “Just as soon as I get these developed, I’ll be in touch.”

Rory watched as he turned and moved away from the dressing room. He’d be in touch. He’d only had to say the word to melt her insides. Pressing her hand to her heart, she began to rise awkwardly to her feet. When she heard the bell ring over the door of the shop, she remembered—she’d given him the wrong film. “Wait!” she yelled. “Just a minute!”

She crawled to the bench and tore the container of film off the bottom of it, leaving the gum behind. Then she managed to stand and race out of the dressing room. He was still there in the doorway, and with the sunlight behind him, he looked more formidable than ever.

“Here!” She held the film out. “These are the real pictures that I took. Take them.”

He plucked the film from her hand and slipped it into his pocket. “You could have let me walk away without these.”

Rory drew in a deep breath. “Yes, but my whole future at Celebs depends on my getting that interview with your boss. I want you to know that he can trust me to paint an honest and fair picture.”

He nodded at her. “I’ll tell him.”

Rory watched him walk out and close the door behind him. Only then did she sink to her knees. It had to be the red thong. She’d just made a deal with the Terminator to get the interview of a lifetime.

Maybe she truly was a daredevil.

LEA WAS GOING through the drawers of Rory’s temporary desk again when her cell phone rang. She willed it to be Rory, but this time she read the caller ID before she answered.

Private.

Ignoring the little sliver of fear that slid up her spine, she said, “Yes?”

“Do you have the film yet?”

“No. It’s only been an hour since you called the last time.”

“I want the name of the person you sent in your place.”

Lea hesitated for a moment, hating that this disembodied voice could frighten her.

“The name.”

What did it matter? she thought. “Rory Gibbs. I’m expecting her at any moment.”

“You’d better get those pictures.”

4

HUNTER STOOD in the French doors that opened onto a patio and offered a view of rolling lawns and tennis courts. He spotted a pool beyond a low row of hedges. A woman sat in a lounge chair, sipping something from a tall glass. He assumed she was Lucas Wainwright’s wife since he recalled that his old friend had married a little over a year ago.

Looking at the scene, he couldn’t help but think that Lucas was a very lucky man—he had a home and someone to share it with. Long ago, he’d accepted that he would never have either of those. It was too much of a risk for someone who had to hide his true identity. Pushing the thought aside, he turned to face Lucas. “Nice spot.”

“Thanks.” Lucas removed three bottles of beer from a small refrigerator. “It’s private, and Tracker here can attest to the security.”

Hunter took the bottle when Lucas handed it to him. Though he hadn’t seen his old friend face-to-face since they’d been in college together, they’d kept in contact. When Lucas had taken his phone call today, he’d agreed to meet with Hunter immediately once he’d explained that a bomb had been delivered to his suite at Les Printemps.

A bomb.

Hunter had been trying to get his mind around that reality ever since Michael Banks had told him about it on the phone. Thank heavens Michael and Alex had been meeting with Irene Malinowitz in a different suite.

While he took a long swallow of his beer, Hunter studied the tall, quiet man Lucas had introduced as Tracker McBride. He felt perfectly comfortable with Lucas. He felt less comfortable with the man who handled Lucas’s security arrangements.

As if sensing his reservations, Lucas said, “Tracker and I served in a special-forces unit together seven years ago shortly after I left college. He handles all my security, and he’s the best. You can trust him.”

Hunter wasn’t so sure he could trust anyone anymore, but he was willing to take Lucas at his word. Moving to the desk, he extended his hand to Tracker. “Okay.”

“I thought it would save time if you explained to both of us what happened,” Lucas said.

“First, I need to know how confident you are that you weren’t followed,” Tracker said.

Hunter had to give the man points for asking. “I wasn’t followed.” He’d made damn sure of that once he’d had his meeting with Michael and Alex. The small bomb had been delivered to the suite assigned to Jared Slade, a suite he would have been working in if he hadn’t followed Rory Gibbs into Silken Fantasies. And then there was the note. He’d still been rattled about what had happened in that dressing room when Michael Banks had given it to him.

Hell, he was still rattled now. He’d taken a woman he didn’t know—a reporter—in the dressing room of a lingerie shop. Acting on impulse was a luxury he hadn’t allowed himself in years—not since he’d transformed himself into Jared Slade.

And then he’d just left her there. Not that he’d had a choice. Hell, someone had delivered a bomb to his suite. And she’d said that she was all right, though he knew he couldn’t be sure about that.

“Are you sure?” Tracker asked.

Hunter dragged his thoughts back to the question. McBride obviously wanted details. Lucas had picked a good man to head up his security. “Once I read the note, I decided to make myself scarce by escorting Irene Malinowitz back to her shop.” He’d insisted on escorting her back so that he could make sure that Rory really was okay. But she hadn’t been there.

“Then I went back to Les Printemps, left the lobby by the side door and hailed my own taxi. I had the driver drop me off at the Four Seasons where I called Lucas from a pay phone. Then I walked through the lobby, exited by another side door and hailed another cab. This time I went to the airport, rented a car, and followed your directions out here. Not even my two assistants know where I am.”

“Good.” Tracker gestured to one of the chairs in front of Lucas’s desk. “We can talk now.”

Almost amused, Hunter sat down in the chair. “Glad I passed the test. What would you have done if I’d been stupid enough to bring a tail with me?”

Tracker smiled. “We’d have gone somewhere else for our meeting. I don’t like to lose clients.”

“Fair enough,” Hunter said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the note. “My assistant Michael Banks found the package with the bomb and the note when he went to my suite to get some papers. It was on a table in the sitting room.”

“What do the police think?” Tracker asked.

Hunter’s brows shot up. “I didn’t ask them. And I didn’t show them the note. When I left, I heard that they had disassembled the bomb, and they were waiting to question Jared Slade.”

Tracker took the note from Hunter and read it out loud.

“Slade

Ticktock. Ticktock. The bomb is ticking. No matter what you do, soon the world will know who you are and what you did ten years ago. Then you’ll die.”

Tracker met Hunter’s eyes. “Succinct. Lucas mentioned this wasn’t the first note.”

“There’ve been three in all. The other two said the same thing—No matter what you do, soon the world will know who you are and what you did ten years ago. They’re in my safe in my office in Dallas. The first one came right after there was an incident of food poisoning at my hotel in Atlanta. I flew there personally, and even though I’m always careful to keep my whereabouts a secret, the note was delivered to my hotel room. The next note was delivered to my private plane after another incident—a fire in a factory I own in upstate New York. I’m very careful about protecting my privacy, my anonymity. Someone at the very top levels of my organization has to be either behind this or at the very least feeding information to the person or persons who are behind this.”