Flash and Fire (17 page)

He moved aside, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. He was restless, and could think of only one way to alleviate that. He didn’t like being held captive by his needs.

Pierce turned away from Amanda, afraid she might see something in his eyes that he didn’t want to share. The pain that surfaced every so often. The pain of a small, abandoned boy.

“There is nothing gracious about the South, Mandy,” he said softly as he remembered his early years. “It’s a myth we like to spin.” He looked at her over his shoulder. “Read Tennessee Williams and Faulkner sometime if you don’t believe me.”

Amanda remained silent, staring at him. She had no idea where to begin. “I’m sorry.” The words were hardly more than a whisper.

He’d been a fool to say anything.

“So,” Pierce began lightly, damning himself for opening up to her. What the hell could he have been thinking of? He turned around to face her squarely, a cocky smile playing on his lips. “Which story do you like better? Me as the uncle with five nephews and nieces? Or me, the poor, abandoned Georgia cracker boy with the wicked grandmother?”

He was trying to push her away. He’d bared his soul for an instant and he was embarrassed, she thought. “You don’t have five nieces and nephews,” she said quietly. “I checked.”

He inclined his head. “Very thorough of you. I don’t have a grandmother, either.” She’d died the year he turned eighteen. He hadn’t shed a single tear. Her death had left him free emotionally as well as legally.

Amanda watched his face, trying to find clues to the man. He wasn’t just a Johnny-one-note whose only goal was to score. There was a great deal more to him than that. “But you did.”

He shrugged, feeling awkward. “Everyone usually does. Look, I just made it all up so you that wouldn’t fly off the handle at me again about Granger.” He’d rather have her railing at him than pitying him. He’d seen enough pity directed at him when he was growing up, and it stuck in his throat. “Granger must have told you by now that I went over there.”

Pierce’s words brought back the sense of betrayal she’d experienced. She realized now, despite her exhaustion, that she had expected better from Pierce. At least Whitney had reasons for his betrayal that she could understand.

Pierce had merely been out for himself. And using Amanda to further his own ambitions. Maybe she was just being a fool, feeling sorry for him. Feeling for him.

Her eyes narrowed. “Why did you?”

He felt more at ease when she was angry with him. “Hey, I’m an investigative reporter.” He spread his hands wide. “We investigate.”

His manner was so blase, it irked her. Which was the act? Then, or now?

“Is that why you’re here, now?”

Slowly, he ran the tip of his finger along the inside of her collar. He saw her pupils grow large.

“Yes, I’m here to investigate. Investigate anything you’ll let me.”

Amanda moved the chair back, breaking contact. It was an act, she thought, this tough guy come-on of his. Or was it? The hour was late and her thinking was muddied. She went after simpler answers.

“Why didn’t you go on the air with my story?”

There was no point in covering himself with glory. He told her the truth, or as much of the truth as he would let her have. He didn’t want her to have any false illusions about him.

“I didn’t have enough to work with. Granger became suspicious, and I didn’t have enough time to dig up any material or tap any sources. You were going on at five with the story.” He shrugged. “So, you get the feather in your hat.” He thought of the look on Grimsley’s face. “Or the ax.”

She wasn’t buying his explanation, but his words did trigger another image. Amanda’s expression hardened. She didn’t care for confrontations, but they seemed to find her. And she wasn’t about to back away meekly. She wasn’t her mother.

“Grimsley can try.”

There was a fire in her that warmed him and drew him in.

He smiled, a sexy, lazy smile that Amanda was discov
ering she was less and less immune to.

“I do admire your spirit, Mandy. It takes my breath away.” He leaned closer. “Just like you do.”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Oh puh-lease.”

He laughed, entertained. “That’s what they all say.” He winked, filling his hand with her hair. “You won’t have to.”

It was that cockiness that kept her from succumbing and reminded her just what sort of man she was dealing with. She secretly blessed it as she pushed him aside. “That’s good to know, because I don’t intend to.”

His eyes grew serious as he studied her. “But I do have one question.”

She should be the one asking the questions, she thought. Amanda raised her eyes to his, braced. “Which is?’

His eyes narrowed to small slits as he watched her face. If she was lying, he thought he’d know. “Did you sleep with Granger?”

Her face grew hot, from anger rather than embarrassment. “Is that for your latest news report?”

“Maybe.” Arms still crossed, he shrugged carelessly. “Maybe it’s just for me.”

She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of a direct answer. Let him think what he wanted to. It didn’t matter to her.

“Well, I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

He fingered the framed photograph of Christopher. “That’s rather obvious.”

Pierce carefully replaced the photograph on her desk, then raised his eyes, pinning her with a look, daring her to lie to him. “Then you did.”

She straightened her shoulders, her expression unreadable. “And if I did?”

He told himself that it didn’t matter, that he liked it better that way. Less chance for complications. If she was involved with someone else, then she’d place no demands on him.

“Then I’d say he had good taste.”

She wanted to hit him and went as far as fisting her hand. She had no idea what made her tell him the truth.

“Well, he does, but I didn’t. He never tried anything.”

Pierce slowly reopened her hand, driving his fingers between hers. Granger didn’t strike him as a stupid man. “Yeah, I’ll just bet.”

Amanda had taken his snide remarks about her pretty much in stride, but she wasn’t about to let him insult Whitney. It was bad enough that he’d try to weasel into the estate, using her name and Whitney’s trust to get a story; painting Whitney as a womanizer was going too far. Having driven herself hard today, Amanda felt her emotions dangerously close to the breaking point and she rose suddenly to her feet, sending her chair tottering backward.

She hit his chest with the flat of her hand, then hit it again, forcing him to take a step back. “Can’t you get it through your thick, sleazy mind that there are some decent, noble men left in the world?”

When frustration caused her to raise her hand again, Pierce caught it in a firm grip. Enough was enough, even if she wanted to make a plaster saint out of a CEO who was caught with his hand in the till just because he looked like a younger Cary Grant.

“Just how decent is it for a guy to embezzle over a million dollars of other people’s money to promote his own dream?”

He was seeing headlines, not the real story. That was his problem. Headlines were splashy, stories had heart. And Pierce, she thought with a surprising pang, had none.

“It’s not that simple.”

“No? Well, maybe you are, for believing in things like
knights in shining armor.” He forced her hand down.

Amanda rubbed her wrist. “Something you wouldn’t know anything about, you with your thousand and one backgrounds and your southern drawl.”

“No, you’re right,” he agreed, his voice dangerously
low. “All I know about is things like this.”

And then, before she could get away, he grabbed her roughly and brought his mouth down on hers.

Chapter Eighteen

Amanda struggled against him, wanting to kick, to bite, to scratch. Wanting to do anything but what she was doing: kissing him back.

Pierce had unearthed a well of emotions within her, just as he had the last time. Desperately, she tried to make her indignation tangible, to keep her body from melting like hot wax against him.

He struck all the wrong chords within her, making her furious. Why couldn’t she hang on to that and conquer this weakness that held her captive? Why did she let him make her want to abandon everything else just for the taste of his mouth on hers?

As far as Pierce was concerned, Amanda was madness, sheer madness in an impossibly rumpled blue suit. Yet something within Pierce ached to take possession of her, to plunge himself into her and somehow purge himself of all the shadows that lived within him. That haunted him. He had been able to walk away from every other woman without so much as a backward glance.

What was there about this one that kept him coming back for more?

He felt her attempt to wrench away and instinctively reached to hold her against him. Swallowing a curse, he made his fingers go slack and released her. He wasn’t going to take by force what wasn’t willingly offered to him. He wouldn’t lower himself to that degree.

He didn’t need her that much.

He didn’t need anyone that much.

Breathing hard, Amanda somehow found the strength to push him away. The outline of her lips blurred with the imprint of his, her eyes wild, she glared at him, hating him for making her want him this way.

“Is that your answer to everything?” she demanded.

He considered his answer slowly so that she wouldn’t see the effect she’d had on him. It was worse than stupid to feel like this because of a woman, and yet, he felt his blood drumming in his ears, humming in his veins, like a mantra chant.

And the chant was her name.

“My answer to life is to take opportunities when they happen, or be sorry.”

Like a cornered animal, she pressed her back against the wall, watching him for any sudden moves. “I’m not an opportunity and I won’t be taken.”

Pierce gave her a look that spoke volumes.

She lifted her chin defiantly. “My hormones are reacting to you, nothing else. That’s not a reason to base something on.”

Pierce smiled slowly, his eyes dragging over her body as if he was already familiar with it.

“A few hours pleasure,” he countered. It was all he wanted, he told himself again, nothing more. A few hours and then she’d ceased to throb under his skin. He’d made himself believe it.

A few hours. That would be all he’d want, she thought with another pang of disappointment. “I’m not in it for a few hours. I’ve got a lifetime goal.”

He shook his head, his nonchalance rankling her. “Sorry, I’m a moment-to-moment type of person.” This was his cue to walk. Why wasn’t he doing it? Instead, he remained where he was, looking into her eyes, as much mesmerized as mesmerizing. “Why don’t we take it that way?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Your way?”

He inclined his head. He didn’t bother telling her that it was always his way, or no way at all. Those were the rules. For now, he’d let her think it was a fifty-fifty deal. “It’s a start.”

She edged closer to the door. She needed space when she was near him and the den was far too confining. “I said I don’t want to start anything.”

When she reached the doorway, Pierce rubbed his thumb along her cheek. “Too late, Mandy, it’s already started.” He sighed patiently. “Since you won’t go to bed with me tonight—“

“Ever.”

“—tonight,” he repeated, “why don’t you go out with me tomorrow? Borquiese had extra tickets to a jazz concert at D’Jazz Club. He gave me two.”

Borquiese did the reviews at six and had access to the hottest tickets in town. But she couldn’t get over Pierce’s gall. How could he stand there waving tickets in front of her and expect her to jump at them, and him, after he had invaded her privacy and tried to use her for a news story? “You’re asking me out?”

“I just said that.”

“After what you’ve done—?”

“What I’ve done,” he interjected before she could continue with her tirade, “was be a good reporter. Even you can’t fault me for that, Mandy. Persistence is the essence of being a good investigative reporter.” He placed the flat of his hand on the wall above her head, leaning into her. Trapping her again. “You read the reporter handbook, you know that.”

Amanda looked up at his hand. “Persistence,” she repeated.

“Yeah.”

There came a time, she thought, when one had to pretend to accept the inevitable if one was to survive. “Does that mean that you’re going to keep popping up whenever I turn around?”

Smart lady. Pierce grinned mockingly. “What do you think?”

Amanda sighed. She was a woman about to step off the edge of a cliff but unable to stop herself. She wondered if lemmings experienced this sort of a feeling just before they dropped off into the sea.

“I think that I had better go out with you and get this over with so you can get this out of your system.”

“In that case—“ He took her hand.

She knew exactly what he was thinking, and tired or not, she wasn’t about to give in. She pulled her hand out of his. “No.”

He shrugged as if it made no difference to him whether
it was now or later. The look in his eyes told her that he
knew that eventually it was going to become a reality.

“Have it your way.”

What Amanda was afraid of was that when the time came, it would be her way. And that her way would be to give in to him. And herself.

She was asking for trouble.

Like a child fascinated with the flare of a match she had struck, Amanda couldn’t make herself look away from his eyes. She knew that part of her, the part that probably had a death wish, wanted to go out with him. But she could lay some ground rules.

“And we don’t talk about Whitney.”

Something akin to contempt curved his mouth. “Protective of him, aren’t you?”

He wouldn’t make her ashamed of that. “Very.” She laid down the second term. “And I won’t be pumped for information.”

He leaned closer, cutting off her air. “I have no intentions of pumping you.” Pierce paused pregnantly before continuing. “For information.”

Panic began to fray the edges of her nerves. What was she thinking of? Going out with Pierce? Willingly? That was like agreeing to coat her body with honey and then running into a caveful of bears. She was obviously too exhausted to think rationally.