Cara Summers - Risking It All - The Proposition / The Dare / The Favour / The P.I. / The Cop / The Defender

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?”

“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.

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.