The Dare

“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 wanted the kiss. Desperately. She wanted him. But… She felt her old fears swamping her. Where was the confidence that she’d felt just moments ago when she’d looked in the mirror?

Never be afraid to take risks. As the words from Harry’s letter streamed through her mind, she suddenly remembered the first jump she’d ever taken on a horse. Her father had given her a little pep talk before she’d ridden out into the ring. “Just dare yourself to do it, kiddo. That’s all you need to do. It works like magic.”

She’d made the jump. And she was going to kiss this man.

“One kiss,” she agreed.

Hunter wasn’t sure how long he’d waited to hear her answer, but it had seemed way too long. In the interim, he’d tried to tell himself he was making a mistake. It had been years since he’d done anything this impulsive, this rash. Oh, he’d been plenty reckless before he’d changed himself into Jared Slade. And he’d paid the price. Even in his incarnation as Jared Slade, he’d played some long shots—but only in business and only when he felt confident that his luck would hold.

Right now luck didn’t matter to him. Nothing seemed to matter except this hunger that demanded to be quenched. He wasn’t even aware that he’d moved until her back was against the mirror, and he was close enough to feel the heat from her body. He touched her, drawing one finger over the pulse that was beating at her throat. Her breath hitched, her skin heated, and the pulse beneath his finger quickened.

“Last chance to change your mind,” he managed to say.

“I’m not going to change it.”

He placed his hands on either side of her head, noting that her hair felt every bit as soft as he’d anticipated. Then lowering his head, he drew her up on her toes and covered her mouth with his.

It was the heat that hit him first. In that split second before his lips had touched hers, he’d seen the flame light in her eyes. But the shock of it as it shot through his body in an explosive rush surprised him. He thought of the wildfires he’d seen as a child—the kind that devoured everything in their path. Only this one left a hard, unrelenting need in its wake.

The second surprise was her taste. Oh, it was sweet at first, but that was only the first layer of flavor. Beneath that, he tasted heat and spice. What other flavors would he find?

When she nipped at his bottom lip, another arrow of heat shot through him. He ran his hands down her body and drove his tongue deeper. And all the time he marveled that her mouth, her tongue, her teeth were every bit as aggressive as his. He’d never been so aware of a woman before. Of those small sounds she made when he nipped at her bottom lip, or rubbed his thumb over her nipple.

Her skin was smooth and hot and growing damp beneath his hands. He wanted to taste every inch of it. Her body was small and supple and strong. He wanted it beneath his, bucking and straining.

And he could have her. She didn’t seem to believe in holding anything back. Her hands were racing over him—over his shoulders, down his arms—just as his were exploring her. He felt them slide beneath his jacket and move down his back to knead the muscles at the base of his spine. It wasn’t enough, not nearly. He wanted the pressure of those fingers, the scrape of those nails, on his bare skin.

He wanted her. One kiss was not going to be enough. He wasn’t sure that anything would be enough to stop the ache inside of him. He had to have her. pImages** flashed through his mind, of driving himself into her on some moonlit beach while waves pounded on the shore. Of carrying her to the nearby bench and letting her ride him. Or merely opening his zipper, then lifting her and taking her against the mirror where they stood. His hands moved down to cup her buttocks and pull her up. He said her name, which turned into a groan, when she wrapped her legs around him. Then he very nearly sank to his knees when she pressed her heat against his and began to rub against him.

Slamming one hand against the mirror to steady himself, he dragged his mouth free and tried to think. First he had to breathe. The sudden rush of air burned his lungs. There were reasons why he shouldn’t do this. Couldn’t do this. Then he made the mistake of looking at her. Her lips were moist and parted, still swollen from his kisses. Her eyes were huge and the deep golden color was misted. He wanted—no, he needed—to see what those eyes would look like when he entered her and filled her. He leaned forward and took her mouth with his again.

Rory sank into the kiss, eager to drown herself in it, in him again. There was a greed in him that matched her own. Never had her fantasies been this sharp, this real. Never in her wildest imaginings could she have conjured up the sensations shooting through her. There was such heat—glorious waves of it. And each movement of his hands, of his tongue, seemed to throw fuel on the fire. She’d known hunger before but never one this desperate, this enormous.

His taste—she couldn’t get enough of it. There were so many flavors, each one more unique, more secret, more dangerous than the last. She dragged her mouth from his and sank her teeth into his shoulder. His moan sent little explosions of pleasure through her. She was torn between twin desires—she wanted to devour him whole and she wanted to savor one delicious body part at a time.

His hands. Everywhere they pressed and molded, her skin burned, then itched to be burned again. She felt the pressure of each finger and that hard, wide palm as he ran his hands down her sides and slipped his fingers beneath the lacy band at her waist. Then he was gripping her buttocks with both hands, kneading her flesh and pressing her closer until the hard length of him was pushed flush against her. She arched her body, straining against him as everything tightened inside of her. She arched again, but it wasn’t enough. She had to—

“I want you.” His voice was a rough whisper in her ear.

“Yes.” She wasn’t sure she could survive without him.

“Right now. I want to be inside of you. Are you protected?”

“Hmm?” She tried to shake her head to clear it.

“Are you on the pill?”

“Yes,” she said as the words finally penetrated. “Yes. Hurry.”

Listening to the three words, Hunter felt something inside of him snap. He let her down so that he could free himself from his jeans. Then he pushed aside the lacy triangle of the thong and pulled her close again as he guided himself into her. But it wasn’t enough. Gripping her hips, he drew her even closer, and then with a hard thrust of his hips, he sank deeper. He could feel her stretch, as he made a place for himself in her slick, hot core. His climax immediately began to build inside of him.

Drawing in a quick breath, he tried to maintain some control, but it was no use once she began to move. Digging his fingers into her hips, he thrust into her, harder and faster, driving her, driving himself until he surrendered to the hot, dark pleasure.

When he could think again and breathe again, he was lying beside her on the floor of the dressing room. He wasn’t quite sure how they’d gotten there, nor was he sure how long they might have been lying there when his cell phone rang.

Swearing, he unfastened her arms from around his neck and levered himself up so that he could take the call. “What is it?”

“There’s been…sir…”

“What is it, Michael?” Hunter frowned. Michael Banks was usually cool and unflappable, but he barely recognized his executive assistant’s voice.

“A bomb.”

“What?”

“A bomb was delivered to your suite.”

RORY STILL WASN’T SURE she could move. Her body had never felt so free, so relaxed, so pleasured. But the Terminator was already getting to his feet and moving away from her. She wanted him back down beside her. Without him, she suddenly felt cold. The chill grew worse when he scowled at whatever news he was getting. She couldn’t yet separate what he was saying into words, but when she sat up, she could feel the hard floor of the dressing room under her bottom. She figured her brain cells were beginning to function again because the analytical side of her mind was beginning to realize what had just happened.