she write for the lifestyle section too?”
“No. She’s an investigative reporter. Me …” Carly gave a slight shrug. “I find people more interesting than facts.”
“Like the renowned photojournalist turned California State Senator Thomas Weaver?”
The name cuffed her on the cheek with all the force of a full-on slap, and Carly’s face burned. “You’ve been checking up on me again.”
“You haven’t left me any choice.” His face had an expression she’d never seen before: curiosity. “The news media speculated you fell for the senator and gave him a free pass in your article. Is it true?”
Guilt and humiliation resurfaced, and she curled her nails against her palm. She hadn’t completely fallen under Thomas Weaver’s spell, as accused, but she’d cared about him. Had her actions been unethical? Technically, no. Her story had been done and published
before
they’d gotten involved. Inappropriate? Probably. Stupid? Most definitely. Because she should have avoided even the appearance of a conflict of interest. Something William Wolfe, founder and CEO of Wolfe News, Broadcasting—procreator and father of Carly Wolfe, The Disappointment—never let his daughter forget.
“I didn’t fall in love.” She hiked her chin. “It was closerto a very intense like.” He tipped his head in humor, and she went on. “And I didn’t give him a free pass.”
“I didn’t think so.”
She was surprised and pleased he believed her, but the feeling of validation ended when his enigmatic smile returned.
“Did you sleep with him before or after you got his story?” he said.
Her angry retort was cut off when someone squeezed into the space behind her, pressing her forward…and against Hunter’s hip. A firestorm of messages bombarded her: heat, steel and a hard-edged awareness. A faint flicker of eyelids was Hunter’s only reaction.
“And I wonder …” His voice was low, controlled, the scent of his woodsy cologne subtle. “If I slept with you, would you drop your little vendetta?”
Along with anger, a fierce thrill seared her veins. All from a suggestive comment meant to provoke. Despite his words, she knew he was too self-controlled to follow through on his suggestion. God help her if he ever did. She struggled to maintain a bland tone. “Depends on how good you are.”
“Compared to who?”
“Everyone else.”
His intense gaze held a hint of amusement. “Hopefully that’s not as many as the number of stories you’ve written.”
“Did you come tonight to insult me?”
Someone bumped Carly from behind, pushing her more firmly against Hunter, and he cupped the back of her shoulder to steady her. Every blood vessel in her body grew thick, the blood forced to pulse in jetstream fashion. His hand was warm and seductively smooth, free from calluses that would snag her skin during a caress.
“I didn’t come to insult you,” he said, staring down at her, his eyes lit with definite humor now. Was he amused by herattempt to continue breathing despite their contact? “That’s your MO, not mine,” he said.
Carly stared up at Hunter’s sensual mouth, the square cut jaw, and eyes that were either icy fire or fiery ice. Carly wasn’t sure which. Her voice was strained. “Then why are you here?”
“I came to give you fair warning,” he said.
All sorts of warnings were ringing in her head. Professional ones. Personal ones …
She knew she should reply, but the sizzling feel of his palm cradling her from behind was fascinatingly protective and yet unyieldingly hard at the same time. She finally pushed the words past her tight throat. “Fair warning?” A repeat of his last two words was all she could manage.
Brilliant. Now you sound like a stupid, mindless parrot
.
His gaze scanned her face. “Maybe putting you on notice is a better description.”
Her mind spun. On notice about what? That her body was turning traitor? Trumped by her own libido.
Damn
. As if she wasn’t already
“No. She’s an investigative reporter. Me …” Carly gave a slight shrug. “I find people more interesting than facts.”
“Like the renowned photojournalist turned California State Senator Thomas Weaver?”
The name cuffed her on the cheek with all the force of a full-on slap, and Carly’s face burned. “You’ve been checking up on me again.”
“You haven’t left me any choice.” His face had an expression she’d never seen before: curiosity. “The news media speculated you fell for the senator and gave him a free pass in your article. Is it true?”
Guilt and humiliation resurfaced, and she curled her nails against her palm. She hadn’t completely fallen under Thomas Weaver’s spell, as accused, but she’d cared about him. Had her actions been unethical? Technically, no. Her story had been done and published
before
they’d gotten involved. Inappropriate? Probably. Stupid? Most definitely. Because she should have avoided even the appearance of a conflict of interest. Something William Wolfe, founder and CEO of Wolfe News, Broadcasting—procreator and father of Carly Wolfe, The Disappointment—never let his daughter forget.
“I didn’t fall in love.” She hiked her chin. “It was closerto a very intense like.” He tipped his head in humor, and she went on. “And I didn’t give him a free pass.”
“I didn’t think so.”
She was surprised and pleased he believed her, but the feeling of validation ended when his enigmatic smile returned.
“Did you sleep with him before or after you got his story?” he said.
Her angry retort was cut off when someone squeezed into the space behind her, pressing her forward…and against Hunter’s hip. A firestorm of messages bombarded her: heat, steel and a hard-edged awareness. A faint flicker of eyelids was Hunter’s only reaction.
“And I wonder …” His voice was low, controlled, the scent of his woodsy cologne subtle. “If I slept with you, would you drop your little vendetta?”
Along with anger, a fierce thrill seared her veins. All from a suggestive comment meant to provoke. Despite his words, she knew he was too self-controlled to follow through on his suggestion. God help her if he ever did. She struggled to maintain a bland tone. “Depends on how good you are.”
“Compared to who?”
“Everyone else.”
His intense gaze held a hint of amusement. “Hopefully that’s not as many as the number of stories you’ve written.”
“Did you come tonight to insult me?”
Someone bumped Carly from behind, pushing her more firmly against Hunter, and he cupped the back of her shoulder to steady her. Every blood vessel in her body grew thick, the blood forced to pulse in jetstream fashion. His hand was warm and seductively smooth, free from calluses that would snag her skin during a caress.
“I didn’t come to insult you,” he said, staring down at her, his eyes lit with definite humor now. Was he amused by herattempt to continue breathing despite their contact? “That’s your MO, not mine,” he said.
Carly stared up at Hunter’s sensual mouth, the square cut jaw, and eyes that were either icy fire or fiery ice. Carly wasn’t sure which. Her voice was strained. “Then why are you here?”
“I came to give you fair warning,” he said.
All sorts of warnings were ringing in her head. Professional ones. Personal ones …
She knew she should reply, but the sizzling feel of his palm cradling her from behind was fascinatingly protective and yet unyieldingly hard at the same time. She finally pushed the words past her tight throat. “Fair warning?” A repeat of his last two words was all she could manage.
Brilliant. Now you sound like a stupid, mindless parrot
.
His gaze scanned her face. “Maybe putting you on notice is a better description.”
Her mind spun. On notice about what? That her body was turning traitor? Trumped by her own libido.
Damn
. As if she wasn’t already
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