Risking It All: The Proposition / The Dare / The Favour / The P.I. / The Cop / The Defender. Cara Summers
the dressing-room door, and as his gaze raked over that creamy, porcelain-smooth skin, those wispy bits of red lace, and the incredibly long legs, he felt his head begin to spin. He moved then, almost as if he were being drawn by a magnet.
There was something about her. He’d thought of her as an elf or a pixie. But standing there right now, she looked like an exotic dancer in a high-priced strip club. Was it the elf or the sex goddess who was drawing him?
Or was it something else? She wasn’t trying to escape; she hadn’t even made a move to cover herself. And there’d been that moment in the lobby of Les Printemps—just before she’d bolted—when her gaze had met his and he hadn’t seen a trace of fear in her eyes.
Courage was a rare commodity, and Hunter had always admired it when he saw it. Was that why she pulled at him? As he drew closer, he ran his eyes over her again. Or was his attraction to her merely an incredible trick of chemistry? Whatever caused it, he couldn’t look at her without wondering what it would be like to touch her—to taste her and touch her until she was slick and wet and hot for him.
His body heated, hardened, as he imagined what it might be like to slip inside of her and feel her close around him like a moist, tight fist.
Hunter stopped short when he was still a few feet away from her. For one chilling moment, he realized that if he allowed himself to get any closer, he would touch her. Kiss her. Pull her to the floor of the shop and—
Ruthlessly, he shoved the pImages** out of his mind and tried to replace them with some semblance of rational thought. Even as a voice at the back of his mind whispered, Take her, he struggled to recall why he’d followed her in here. What did he want from Rory Gibbs?
“I’ll give you the film on one condition,” she said.
The film. Hunter’s eyes narrowed. His brain was starving for blood while hers was clicking along at full speed. He watched her chew on her bottom lip.
Nerves. It gave him some satisfaction to realize that the sex goddess wasn’t quite as cool and pulled together as she appeared to be. This close, he could see that her eyes were a deep, golden amber, the color of well-aged whiskey. He could see the flicker of nerves there, too. And he could smell the faint scent of cherry-flavored bubble gum. He managed to keep his gaze from returning to her lips.
“Don’t you want to know what the condition is?” she asked.
The condition. Once more, Hunter found himself admiring her for keeping her mind on business. She didn’t even seem to be conscious of the fact that she was conducting negotiations while wearing next to nothing. But she wasn’t indifferent to him. Through the sheer red fabric covering her breasts, he could see that her nipples were hard little berries. And a pulse was beating at her throat. Thoroughly intrigued, he let himself wonder for a moment—what might it take to taste her right there?
But that wasn’t what he’d followed her into Silken Fantasies to do. Annoyance flared—not with her but with himself. He’d dealt with a lot of women in his life—family members, business acquaintances, lovers, and even some enemies—but he’d never met one who could cloud his mind the way this particular one could.
“What’s your condition?” he asked.
She briefly chewed her bottom lip again, then said, “I work for Celebs magazine, and I want an exclusive interview with Jared Slade.”
Not going to happen. And nothing she could have said would have more quickly catapulted him out of the fantasies he was building. She was a reporter, Hunter reminded himself, and he felt his body and his mind finally begin to cool.
He extended his hand, palm upward. “I’ll take the camera.”
She hesitated. “He hasn’t agreed to the interview yet.”
“First, I’ll develop the film and see what you’ve got to negotiate with,” he said.
She frowned at him. “If you take the film, I won’t have anything to negotiate with. You’ll have the pictures.”
He shot a dry smile at her and saw her eyes widen suddenly in surprise…or fear? “What is it?”
She licked her lips. “You have a dimple.”
“Yeah.” No, it wasn’t fear that was in her eyes. “Now that we’ve settled that, give me the film. We both know that all I have to do is walk over to the bench, dump your purse and take the camera. You won’t be able to stop me.”
The pulse fluttered at her throat again, and it took all of his concentration to keep himself from reaching for her. To his surprise, he found himself saying, “I’ll give you my word that I’ll talk to Mr. Slade and put in a good word for you. Under one condition.”
When she licked her lips, Hunter dropped his hand, fisted it at his side, and reminded himself that he was dealing with a reporter.
“What’s the condition?” she asked.
“Who told you that Jared Slade would be checking in to Les Printemps this morning? And don’t give me any crap about protecting your sources. I want a name.”
There was a trace of a frown in her eyes when they met his. “I don’t have a name. My boss received a tip and she sent me to take it because she had an interview she had to do in Manhattan today. I told her I could get it. That’s all I know.”
“Your job was just to snap a picture?”
“Yes.”
“What about the interview?”
“That was my idea.”
Despite that he considered the words reporter and liar to be synonymous, his gut instinct told him that she was telling the truth. There was an innocence in those amber-colored eyes that contrasted sharply, irresistibly, with what she was wearing. Or wasn’t wearing.
She ran a hand through that short dark hair, and his fingers itched to do the same thing. He could anticipate what the silky texture would feel like beneath his hands.
“Look, getting an interview with Jared Slade will get me a staff job at Celebs. And I need the job. I need to prove myself. Can you understand that?”
Hunter said nothing, but he did understand. Perfectly.
“Tell him he can do a Wizard of Oz thing and sit behind a curtain. I only took the pictures because I thought they would give me some sort of leverage to get the interview. You can have them.”
She moved to the bench and extracted the camera from a gigantic purse. When she turned back to him, his gaze shifted for a moment to the image of her backside in the three-way mirror. His mouth went suddenly dry. Except for two pieces of red lace, she was nude. The only sign of the thong from the angle was the thin red fabric that dipped low from her waist.
“Here,” she said.
As he dragged his gaze back to hers, he was vaguely aware that she’d handed him the camera and he slipped it into his pocket. He could also see her mouth was moving. She was obviously saying something. But he couldn’t hear her. He wasn’t sure he could even think.
“One kiss,” he said.
Rory glanced up. Her throat dried, and her body seemed to be experiencing a meltdown. She couldn’t possibly have heard him correctly. But his eyes were so hot that she could feel them on her skin. She licked her lips. “What did you say?”
“One kiss. I want to taste you.” He took a step toward her. “One kiss and I’ll do everything I can to get you the interview.”
One kiss. Rory thought that her heart might just beat out of her chest. One part of her mind—the daredevil part—was thinking yes. What could it matter? But there was another part of her that knew it would matter a lot. Kissing this man might be the biggest risk she’d ever take.
He wasn’t moving. In spite of what she could see in his eyes, the decision was going to be hers.
She