Dare She Kiss & Tell? (6 page)

He had everything to gain—her distraction—and she had everything to lose—like her objectivity about a possible story. Her pride. Her job.
Again
. Even potentially…her heart.

And that was something she’d never lost before.

The rough hair, warm skin and hard muscle beneath her fists were tempting, and she longed to spread her fingers to recapture as much of the sensation as she could.

She forced her hands down to her sides. “I guess I made a mistake.”

The sound of the engine drew closer, and Hunter turned his back to the oncoming vehicle, casually leaning a shoulder against his car. “Your continued fixation on The Ditchinator?” he said, his gaze on her face as he fixed his buttons.

“No. I meant I suspect I’m the one that came unprepared. All your shooting range practice has come in handy.” She pressed her lips together, tasting him, feeling the lingering heat of his kiss. “With your deadly aim I could really use that bulletproof vest.”

A dark look flickered across his face. “Don’t bother. It won’t work,” he said softly, his smile bordering on bitter as he reached the last button. “Some things cut worse than a bullet.”

“W
ELCOME
back, Carly and Hunter,” Brian O’Connor said.

The studio applause finally died as Hunter sank into the love seat next to Carly. Was he remembering wrong or was this a different leather couch? It felt smaller. Shorter. And his position next to Carly was close enough for him to smell her citrusy scent. His body still wound tight, he hummed with vibrant energy from their seductive encounter. A planned attack, actually. He hoped the effort to fluster Carly had worked. Unfortunately it had definitely distracted him as well.

“You two have become quite an item,” the blond talk-show host said with a smile as he sat back at his desk. “I’ll be the first to admit I enjoy a good debate.”

Hunter bit back the urge to laugh and threw one arm across the back of the couch, mindful of Carly’s nearly naked shoulder just inches from his fingertips. After tonight’s kiss, “debate” was quite the understatement. He kept his eyes on Carly. “Ms. Wolfe is a worthy opponent.”

“As is Mr. Philips,” Carly said. With a hike of a brow, she shot the host one of her charming smiles before turning her loaded gaze back to Hunter. “I’m learning a lot about the art of war.”

The message was hardly subtle, and the memory of their kiss twined its way around his libido and breathed it back
to life. If it had ever died in the first place. When Carly had gone on the offensive during their encounter it had taken all he had to keep the moment in check. He should have known she’d fight back, but he shouldn’t have enjoyed it so much.

“What have you learned?” Hunter said dryly. “That war is won in the attack tactics?”

“More like it’s lost in a failure of the defensive,” she said.

Was she referring to herself? Or him? Ironically, it applied to them both.

“If your offensive is strong enough,” he said, “the defensive becomes irrelevant.”

Her tone was a touch too silky for comfort. “You should know.”

He eyed Carly levelly, struggling to maintain his composed demeanor, but his gaze was probably hotter than it should be. He sincerely hoped Carly was the only one to notice. “You’re fairly skilled in aggressive tactics yourself.”

Carly shifted in Hunter’s direction, eyes twinkling with mischief as she crossed her long legs in his direction. Legs that screamed for verification that they were as smooth as they looked. So why hadn’t he seized the opportunity when he’d had the chance? His gaze lingered a moment on her limbs before returning to hers, and the sparkle in Carly’s eyes turned to delighted amusement mixed with a smoky awareness that was difficult to ignore. Hunter tried anyway.

“Aggressive tactics?” she echoed with an overly innocent smile. “Are you referring to my blog on Wednesday?”

She knew full well he wasn’t.

“What else?” he said.

The sassy lady simply held his gaze and said nothing. But, much to Hunter’s delight, her lips twitched—as if she was itching to laugh.

“Speaking of Carly’s blog,” Brian O’Connor said, interrupting
Hunter’s train of thought. “You did take a pretty good beating, Hunter.”

Impatience swelled. He’d forgotten about the host. Hunter suppressed a frown, annoyed at his lack of concentration in the presence of this beautiful woman. And at the need to defend himself
again
. Not only that—this time he’d positioned himself within touching range of the sexy little troublemaker …

His insides coiled tight, the memory of kissing Carly barreling over his usual ability to remain calm. It had been hotter than he’d expected. More dangerous than he’d anticipated even after factoring in her looks and sultry ways.

The blond talk-show host grinned at Hunter. “Carly’s Clan had some not so nice nicknames for you.”

Despite everything, Hunter had to bite back a smile at the term. “‘Carly’s Clan’ certainly did. And a good number of them can’t be shared with your audience. Most of the commenters’ choices of names aren’t repeatable on TV.” He turned his focus back to Carly. “But among the most creative ones I was called were reprobate—”

“Fitting,” Carly interjected swiftly.

With a small smile, Hunter kept talking. “Degenerate—”

“Ditto,” Carly went on.

“And a rake,” Hunter finished.

“Rake?” Brian O’Connor said with a chuckle, beating Carly to the comment punch. “Who uses that word in this day and age?”

Carly’s smile was genuine as the two stared at Hunter, making him feel as if he was on trial. “I don’t know, Brian,” she said. “But it doesn’t quite suit the man, does it? Rake sounds far too …” She sent Hunter an
I’m-so-cute
smile and tipped her head. “Too romantic,” she finished, and Hunter
appreciated the playful look she flashed him as she went on. “I suspect Mr. Philips is a bit too cut and dried for the term.”

The host chuckled and said, “You don’t think he’s a romantic?”

Carly rested her arm on the back of the couch. Their forearms were now lightly touching, the tips of their fingers each brushing the other’s elbow—briefly breaking Hunter’s focus. Carly’s sparkling gaze remained on his.

“You mean beyond Mr. Philips’s efficiently designed app? The one he uses to
gently
tell a woman it’s over?” A murmur of amusement moved through the crowd. Despite the dig, Hunter’s lips twitched. “I’m sure I have no idea,” Carly finished.

But her eyes told him she did, and Hunter fought the smile that threatened.

“Speaking of The Ditchinator,” Brian O’Connor said. “Today it moved to number five on the top sellers list. Carly has vowed to keep up the pressure until you discontinue the app. She’s also mentioned she’d like to hear about the inspiration behind the idea. In fact all of Miami is interested.” He leveled a pointed look at Hunter. “Care to share your thoughts?”

“Discontinuing the app isn’t in my plans at this time,” Hunter said truthfully, deliberately ignoring the mention of the story behind its creation. That was one truth he had no intention of sharing.

Clearly delighted, the host said, “Can I interest you in returning in a few weeks to discuss how you’re holding up against Carly’s campaign?”

Hunter glanced at Carly, who looked as if she wanted to laugh, and he could no longer restrain the smile. Since Carly Wolfe had entered his life tedium was certainly no longer a threat. In fact the excitement might very well do him in. But
the thought of the two of them being through after tonight left him feeling disappointed.

“I’ll accept the offer to return if Carly does.” Hunter shot Carly a meaningful look. “Though I’m sure Ms. Wolfe will eventually tire of her game.”

“Of course I accept.” Her eyes on Hunter, Carly’s tone was a heady mix of amusement, arousal…and a hint of resigned irritation. “And I guarantee I won’t grow tired.”

A slight pause ensued, and Hunter appreciated the mixture of emotions in her eyes—until the host interrupted.

“That’s right,” Brian O’Connor said with a chuckle. “Tenaciousness runs in the family genes. Carly’s father is
the
William Wolfe, of Wolfe Broadcasting.”

Even though they were barely touching, Hunter felt the instant tension in Carly at the host’s words, and the light in her eyes dimmed a touch. As if she was preparing for the upcoming discussion to turn ugly. From his proximity, it was obvious the charming smile she was aiming at Brian was now forced.

“Just to be clear,” Brian said, turning to address the audience, “there is no behind-the-scenes monkey business going on. Mr. Wolfe has never been involved in our decision to have Carly on the show.” He held up his hands on display. “No screws have been applied to either mine or my producer’s thumbs …” He hesitated with impeccable comedic timing. “Or to any other parts of our anatomy.”

When the crowd’s murmur of laughter faded Carly spoke, her smile bright, her tone light—but Hunter knew it wasn’t genuine. “Anyone who’s worked with my father is familiar with his strict business policy, Brian. He would never apply thumbscrews on anyone’s behalf.” She hesitated, her smile growing bigger, but the heart was gone. “Not even his daughter’s.”

Hunter’s brow bunched in surprise. It was the second time
she’d said something to that effect, and he mulled over the development as the host chatted about William Wolfe’s current media holdings with Carly. She remained outwardly relaxed, her demeanor easy, but the tension in her body was palpable. And though the host’s comments were lighthearted, with every mention of her media magnate father her laughter grew more and more hollow. The audience was clearly oblivious, but the host
had
to sense her discomfort.

It grew worse when Brian said, “In his younger days as a newspaper reporter William Wolfe was famous for his dogged pursuit of a story. He was ruthless, even, in digging up the dirt on secret pasts and shady politicians. Your pitbull-like pursuit of Hunter, here, is reminiscent of your father.”

Behind his arm, Hunter felt Carly’s fingers grip the back of the couch tight even as he watched her face lose a trace of its color. “We are a lot alike,” she said warily.

“I imagine your dad is pretty proud?” the host said, his smile not as warm as it should have been.

Clarity hit Hunter hard. Brian O’Connor clearly
knew
about Carly’s dealings with State Senator Thomas Weaver. And the host was using that knowledge to his advantage—targeting Carly. Hunter’s chest slowly constricted with anger even as he fought the emotion.

It’s not your problem
.

His mind scrolled through every reason he shouldn’t get involved. She’d brought public scrutiny on herself, was targeting
him
using her popular blog. But the biggest reason by far? He’d traded in his need to be the good guy a long time ago. In the end his commitment to Truth, Honor and Justice—and all those other values worthy of capitalization—and his tendency to protect others…
none
of it had saved him.

“But the real question is …” Brian’s grin radiated a double meaning for those close enough to see. “Just
how far
will Carly Wolfe go to get her story?”

The stunned look on Carly’s face slammed Hunter in the gut.

Sonofabitch
.

Carly stared at Brian O’Connor as her blood seeped lower, her chest clenched so tight it made breathing impossible. Damn, damn and double damn. The host had done some digging and learned about the Thomas Weaver Affair. Humiliation, regret and pain blended in her veins, concocting a potent mix that burned as it traveled.

Blinking back the emotion, she struggled for a lighthearted, suitably glib comment. But somehow she didn’t think she could spin being accused of sleeping with a man for his story, or being fired from one of her father’s newspapers, in a positive light.

She was good, but she wasn’t
that
good.

Carly opened her mouth, struggling for something to say, but Hunter stopped her with a discreet touch of his fingers on her elbow. A protective, reassuring gesture. His posture remained relaxed, but the hint of coiled readiness always simmering beneath his demeanor was wound tighter than usual. It had been hard enough to calmly sit there after their kiss—wondering if he’d been affected at all, aware of him on every level. Now the icy blue eyes directed at their host were positively lethal, and a back-off attitude exuded from his every pore.

Hunter said, “What father wouldn’t be proud of Carly, Brian?”

“My point exactly,” the host replied, clearly refusing to back down. Both men were smiling, but the undercurrents were fierce. “She inherited the Wolfe tenacity. Wednesday’s blog post proves that much. The uproar afterwards must have made you angry.”

The host was clearly looking for more conflict—probably in an attempt to boost his ratings.

There was a brief pause before Hunter said, his voice smooth, “Not in the least.”

Carly stared at Hunter. The fact she knew that to be a lie made the statement even more outrageous.

Brian O’Connor hesitated, momentarily looking stumped, and then he narrowed his eyes slightly at Hunter, as if sensing an opportunity. “Since it didn’t bother you, perhaps you’d also be willing to share the story behind The Ditchinator?”

“Absolutely,” Hunter said.

Carly’s heart stumbled in her chest, and Brian O’Connor’s eyes zeroed in on Hunter like a laser. The switch in his focus wasn’t lost on Carly. Everything Hunter did was deliberate, and now was no exception. He’d purposefully placed himself between the host and Carly.

Protecting her…again.

The host’s smile was clearly self-serving. “We’d all love to hear how your app got its start.”

Hunter’s ultra-cool demeanor and hard-edged alertness didn’t diminish as he settled deeper into the couch, as if getting comfortable before beginning his tale. “It began where all good break-up apps begin, Brian.” The secretive smile was back, and Hunter’s control was firmly in place. “It started when I got dumped by the woman I loved.”

Late Sunday evening, fingers curled around the leather rim of a newly purchased cowboy hat, Carly stood just inside the upscale boxing gym, empty save the two men in the ring. Hunter lightly bobbed and weaved in a circle around his opponent, his face obscured by protective headgear. His movements were light. Graceful. And the sheen of sweat on his naked torso only added to the moment of pure masculine
beauty. His chest was nice to touch, but the visual was a sight she might never recover from.

She loved a well-dressed man, and Hunter knew how to play that card well. But he wore the silk shorts and athletic shoes with ease too. Hunter’s sparring partner was heavier, but Hunter had the advantage of speed, agility and a calculatingly cunning patience. With every swing of his opponent’s arm Hunter ducked, his reflexes lightning-quick. With a sharp jab, his fist snapped against his opponent’s headgear. The two circled, ducked, successfully landed hits, and the dance continued. It was Hunter in his most elemental form. And it was magnificent.

Focus, Carly. Just focus
.

She sucked in a breath, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. Since Hunter’s startling on-air confession and his abrupt departure when the show was over she’d been struggling to make sense of it all. She felt stunned. Dazed. Never had she met a man with such a conflicting mass of mixed messages. When the going had gotten rough, her father had remained silent. Thomas, her boyfriend, had cut her loose to save himself. Yet Hunter, the man she was at odds with, had sacrificed his privacy to protect her.