Robin Bielman: Veiled Target

“It’s fun.” Lame, but also true. Any challenge got her endorphins pumping.

Trey stared at her like she’d forgotten he was a good eighty pounds heavier and six inches taller. “Is there a prize for the winner?”

His likeability rating just shot up ten points. “Oh, there’s definitely a prize for the winner.”

“And that would be?”

“I don’t know. What do you think?” She wanted his input, and planned to agree with whatever he came up with.

“Breakfast.”

She choked. “I’m sorry?”

“The loser buys the winner breakfast. Pancakes, French toast, omelet, whatever.”

It was tough keeping the nervous smile at bay. “Tomorrow?” she ventured.

“The loser chooses when.” He wiggled his fingers, indicating impatience. At the same time, the corners of his mouth lifted into a distracting grin.

When he did that, it was damn near impossible not to turn to mush. She let out a my-ass-is-grass sigh. “Deal.” Either way she was a goner.

Her fingers wiggled in return as she drew her legs up, used her other arm for leverage, and positioned herself on her knees. The table was wide so she needed to allow for a little more bend in her arm. Technique was critical in arm-wrestling.

“You comfortable?” He didn’t shift an inch.

“Give me—”

“Because I wouldn’t want you blaming your loss on wrong positioning.”

“—a second,” she bit out while settling into the prime spot for a win. “And for your information, I’m not going to lose.”

“What is it they say?” he teased, taking her hand and wrapping his fingers between hers. “Oh yeah. ‘May the best man win.’”

She heard his words, but couldn’t register any meaning. The hand-holding sent a hot rush of warmth through her, as if she’d dipped her body in luxuriating bath oil. Comfort tinged with need settled over her thoughts, leading her to believe she’d met her match. A match she’d had no intention of encountering. How did the simple act of touching his hand do that? She didn’t want to let go.

A flicker of heat in his eyes made her quiver and she hoped he didn’t feel any doubt in her grip. It seemed hopeless to exert any strength right now.

And that was precisely why he looked at her that way, Tess rationalized. He wanted her off balance, hoping to gain the upper hand. Well, he’d failed. She willed the electricity she felt between them away, and got down to business. She’d learned to compartmentalize while working for P.I.E., and there was no reason why she couldn’t apply it to her date.

“You’ll be sorry you said that in a minute.”

“On your count then.”

“One…two…three.”

Tess was much stronger than she looked. Left or right hand didn’t matter. She wrote right handed, swung a baseball bat right-handed, but what she’d failed to mention was she did pretty much everything else left-handed, including one-arm push-ups. She watched him realize his miscalculation the second she finished counting.

“You’re not”—he growled—“right handed, are you?”

“Oh, I’m right handed. But I’m left handed too.”

He looked at her quizzically.

“I’m ambidextrous,” she bragged.

With eyes glued on him, she took him down, their hands hitting the table with a thump. When he immediately released her, she wished it had taken more time to win. Victory didn’t feel as good as his hand did.

“How about dinner?” he asked as if nothing had happened.

“That’s it? No congratulations?” She resituated herself on the seat, her legs grateful for the change in position.

“I’d be happy to congratulate you,” he drawled, “except I believe I’m the winner here.”

“Do I need to explain win and lose to you?” she teased, adjusting the neckline of her dress.

His eyes dipped to her chest for a split second. “I’m sure there’s lots of things you’d like to enlighten me on, but I’m good on that point.”

“You owe me breakfast.”

“I do. And I’ll let you know when.”

Hugh always thought before he acted. But somewhere between Tess’s clearing her throat and issuing an arm-wrestle challenge, he’d lost track of his mission: find out if she knew anything that would help him find Trey.

He’d assumed his apprentice’s identity to discover if Trey’s blind date might turn up some useful information. In Hugh’s mind, there was no such thing as a chance encounter.

And that notion had hit him in the gut with the force of a hurricane. Because the second he’d laid eyes on Tess, he knew his life was about to change. With pale yellow hair that fell in waves past her shoulders, smart, challenging eyes and sun-kissed skin, she was the most captivating creature he’d ever seen.

“It’s only fair that I get to pick the place then. I mean I did win. I should have some say in my prize.” Her eyes sparkled bluer than tropical waters, matching the color of her sexy dress.

“I’ll give you that,” he conceded. “And go so far as to add anywhere your heart desires.” He wanted to whisk her away right now. Start his vacation this instant with her along for the ride. Her floral scent seeped into his skin, and he could still feel her warmth at his fingertips. The wisps of blonde hair around her face made him itch to touch her.

Bloody hell. Had he really just offered to fly her anywhere? This was not a real date. He didn’t do women. Well, he did them. But only meaningless one-night stands. Something told him Tess was anything but meaningless. She put on a tough exterior, but he’d tasted her fear when he’d acted like an asshole. He suspected beyond her guard lay a woman that could unravel him.

Her eyes grew wider. “Anywhere, huh? Within what mile radius, may I ask?”

“That depends on the rest of the date,” he teased . Fuck .He didn’t tease. He cleared his throat. “I’m a pilot. We can fly to San Francisco. Seattle. Chicago. Cabo.” Reaching for his beer, he took a long drag while she pondered his generosity. He told himself he’d made the offer only to get her to trust him, to let down her defenses and go beyond small talk. He certainly had no intention of following through.

“Wow.” She joined him in a drink. “I’m glad I agreed to this blind date.”

Blind date. Right. She had no idea who he was and for a split second he thought about coming clean. Because he knew how to read women—human women in particular—and Tess’s scent told him he’d aroused her, her combative eyes told him he’d intrigued her. But this wasn’t about the two of them, and with a shake of his head, he reminded himself he had no interest in seeing to her wants.

The churning in his stomach had nothing to do with wanting her to like him.

It had to do with keeping his distance. As alpha for the Night Runners, he was expected to mate and have children. But after his older brother, Max, had died from a broken heart, Hugh vowed to avoid attachment. That decision hadn’t sat well with the pack and so he’d decided to groom Trey to take over. The younger wolfen was anxious to mate and was honored to step into the role.

“You okay?”

Tess’s question shook him from his thoughts, and he let out a low grumble. No woman had stirred even the tiniest emotion from him. Why this one?

“I’m fine,” he said. And then to erase the desire he saw in her eyes, he added, “Maybe I should take your demon roommates to breakfast too?”

The frown she gave him said he’d offended her by including her friends. Good. “You…”

He waited, trying not to show signs she had him on the edge of his seat. Her voice sounded flustered, and he imagined she was sorting out how much temperament to give away in her answer.