Dare She Kiss & Tell? (13 page)

All she felt was an overwhelming sense that she was no closer to breaching Hunter’s mighty defenses than she had been
before
she knew she’d taken the emotional fall—but now failing to lure him out of his shell wasn’t just about his happiness, but hers too.

Because, with those cool blue eyes, there was no way of being certain about anything.

The elevator doors opened and Carly made her way into the lobby, coming to a stop beside the marble fountain in the center. Feeling lost, she scanned the elegant scene. And then she spied obnoxious agent Terry Smith at the lobby bar.

A wave of discomfort settled deep in her belly. No surprise
that he lacked the imagination to seek out one of the many Las Vegas establishments that offered more than canned elevator music, hardwood floors, and an elegance so subdued it bordered on bland, generic posh.

She chewed on her lip, staring at the agent. He might lack imagination, but one thing he
did
have was knowledge about Hunter’s past. All those tidbits Hunter hadn’t shared…like the fact his former girlfriend had been a reporter.

Her heart and her brain crashed into one another again, leaving her struggling to adjust.

That little nugget of news about his ex had been relentlessly chugging around in circles in Carly’s mind since she’d first learned the truth. Was there a link between Hunter’s break with his girlfriend and his reasons for quitting the FBI? So far she had considered the events to be unrelated, but now she had a strong suspicion they weren’t. With his ex being a reporter, it made the incidents a whole lot more likely to be connected.

And why hadn’t he trusted her enough to tell her?

The ache returned, leaving her feeling vulnerable, and suddenly her need to know overwhelmed everything. She didn’t require the nitty-gritty details, she didn’t want a blow-by-blow account—though she would have gladly accepted both from Hunter if he’d suddenly decided to quit hiding behind unbreachable emotional barricades. She just wanted the answer to one question: had Hunter’s girlfriend been involved with the leak that had led to him leaving the FBI?

And the only way to find out was to ask. She stared at the redhead, his scalp gleaming beneath the buzz cut.

Don’t do it, Carly. Don’t do it
.

But, damn it, Hunter’s past was about more than just
his
life now. It was about hers too. Love might not endow her with superpowers, but it did provide one indisputable truth—he held her future happiness in his hands.

Fear gripped her, more powerful than ever before. Retreating to what she did the best—seeking out answers, nosing out the truth—was the only way she knew how to take back a little of the massive control that had just been handed to Hunter. He now held her heart on a platter.

With a renewed sense of determination, she headed in the direction of the agent.

As the hotel elevator descended, Hunter cursed himself for conking out so fast. The late nights had caught up with him, and while Carly had slept in to make up for lost sleep Hunter had been up early, attending lectures at the conference. Still, the lost shut-eye had been a small price to pay for making love to Carly. Tonight, even after they were done, he’d pulled her close, wanting to stay awake and enjoy the sensation that had permeated every muscle in his body, making them slack. Loose. Unrestricted by the tension that had kept him bound tight for so long he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so relaxed. The deep feeling of contentment, of
rightness
, came from holding Carly close. From making love to the woman who had wormed her way under his skin in a way that he’d never thought possible.

With her quirky love for the bizarre, her sense of humor, and her sexy, spirited love of fun, Carly had charged into his life and powered his way into his heart in a matter of weeks. Despite all his efforts he’d fallen so fast he was still struggling from the force of the impact. Life without her in it had become unthinkable. And the way she’d made love to him tonight suggested she felt the same way.

So why had he woken up alone?

Eager to be near her again, even if it was to inhale the fresh scent of her skin, to feel the warmth of her body sleeping next to his, he’d left the room with one purpose in mind: to tell Carly how he felt. That the stark emptiness that had
threatened to swallow him whole was now filled with the smell of citrus…and the smile of a woman that filled gaps in places he hadn’t known there were holes.

When the elevator doors parted on the ground floor Hunter exited and headed into the lobby. Pleasure hit when he spied Carly leaning against the counter at the bar. But the sense of well-being crashed when he spied who sat opposite her …

Special Agent Terry Smith.

The sucker punch to the gut almost dropped him to his knees. The emotional hit was so hard it knocked the air from his chest.

Heart pumping painfully, Hunter stood, frozen, staring at the two of them as the familiar, nauseating swell of betrayal set fire to his previous lighthearted thoughts, incinerating them in an instant. There was only one thing the two of them had in common. Him. And Hunter was one hundred percent certain he was the topic of conversation.

Instantly several memories flashed through his mind: Carly using her blog to rake him over the coals—subsequently making him the current subject of interest for the Miami press. Carly winning her boss’s approval to do an in-depth piece on Hunter. And Carly making love to him—the first two times leaving him wondering what she had to gain.

Until tonight, when it had felt so different, so raw, it had lulled him into a sexually induced state of lethargy. Yet when he’d woken…she was gone.

Now she was talking to his former colleague. A man who knew every sordid detail about Hunter being duped by another woman. The duplicity, the slur on his good name, and the humiliatingly degrading days of being the subject of an inquiry by the department he’d sworn to serve.

Why was she talking to the FBI agent?

Hunter couldn’t see beyond the most obvious answer. His story.

His vision tunneled and the edges grew gray, enveloping him in a black cloak that cut off every thought outside of confronting Carly Wolfe.

“Here you are,” Hunter said from behind her, his voice encrusted with frost.

If she’d been a cat, his tone would have shaved several lives from Carly. She turned, and the look on Hunter’s face left her frigid, chilling her to the core. Her heart thumped hard, forcing the blood through her frozen veins at an astronomical rate.

Terry Smith responded before her mouth could locate her tongue. “Hunter, come join our party. And just to prove there are no hard feelings—” the agent’s smile was empty “—I’ll buy you a drink.”

Hunter’s gaze remained fixed on Carly. “I’m not interested.”

Carly’s heart pumped harder and the strained atmosphere grew taut, the air dense from the tension. Was the anger on his face directed at his old coworker…or her? She had the horrible sinking feeling she was the cause.

The agent’s grin lacked humor. “After you’ve paid my mixed-up hotel bar bill all these years, I owe you several hundred rounds at least.”

“You don’t owe me a thing,” Hunter said.

His emphatic words about the yearly prank again left Carly with the impression that Hunter had done the hacking and Pete had done the paying.

“Not even one bourbon for old times’ sake?” Terry said.

“I didn’t want to drink with you back then,” Hunter said, his tone lethally even, “and I don’t want to drink with you now.”

The agent refused to shut up. “Come on, Hunter. All Carly’s been doing is asking questions about you.”

Hunter’s face went dark, and Carly’s heart sank like an anchor. She opened her mouth to refute Terry’s exaggerated claim, but the agent went on.

“So it wasn’t like I got to enjoy a nice chat with your girlfriend,” he said, and the up-and-down perusal the man gave Carly came dangerously close to a leer.

Up until now he’d been almost pleasant, and certainly not inappropriate. Carly had the impression Terry’s offensive look was more about making Hunter angry than anything else.

The agent’s words as he went on confirmed her theory. “Tell me—is she worth it?” Terry said. “Maybe if I found the right angle she’d offer to sleep with
me
for a story too.”

Before Carly could fully register the insult, Hunter’s fist connected with the agent’s chin with a loud snap. One moment Terry Smith was sitting on a barstool, and the next he was sprawled on the floor. The gasps from the guests were loud, and a waitress dropped her tray, shattering glasses on the hardwood floor. Silence followed. The whole room was shocked into momentary stillness.

The two bartenders rounded the bar and Hunter took a step back, hands raised in a non-threatening gesture. His gaze pivoted from Terry—still lying on the floor, rubbing his chin—back to Carly. “No need to remove me, gentlemen,” Hunter said to the staff, his slate-blue gaze on hers, so empty the negative pressure threatened to suck the very life from Carly’s soul. “I’m done here.” And, with an air of finality, he swiveled on his heel, heading toward the lobby.

The murmurs of the guests at the bar returned as a bartender helped Terry to his feet. The agent was sullen as he angrily waved the help away. It took Carly all of eight seconds to recover fully from the incident before she took off across the lobby, chasing after Hunter’s retreating form.

“What are you doing?” she said.

He didn’t stop walking. “I’m leaving.”

“Where are you going?”

He didn’t slow his pace. “Home.”

Her patience was rapidly growing slimmer. “What is your problem?”

“Apparently my ability to choose who I sleep with. Did you find out anything good?”

Frustrated, and more than a little annoyed, Carly struggled to keep up, her legs stretching to match the longer length of his. “I didn’t get a chance to ask him much of anything. You barged in and dropped him with a lethal right hook before I got a chance.”

“Sorry to ruin your interview.”

Anger flared. “Damn it, Hunter,” she said, grabbing his arm. But he was bigger and stronger and powered by a fury that was almost frightening. The momentum of his emotion and his strength carried them both forward as she clutched his arm and went on. “It wasn’t an interview.”

“Then why were you talking to him?”

She bit her lip, her steps still carried forward by her grip on his arm as he made his way to the elevator. Dismayed, she struggled for a way to explain.

Curiosity hadn’t killed the cat, because death would have been too easy.

In the end, the truth was all she had. “I wanted to ask him a question.”

He stopped to face her and shook off her arm, stepping closer. “What question?” His eyes were iced over, his face hard, and he looked so distant it was difficult to remember anything other than this coldly reserved Hunter.

“I wanted to know why you left the FBI,” she said. He stared at her, as if sensing there was more. “And I wanted to know if your girlfriend had anything to do with it.”

“You could have asked me.”

“I
did
ask you, but you said it wasn’t important.”

“Sorry I wasn’t cooperative enough for you. I didn’t mean to ruin your plans. Or maybe this
was
your plan all along?”

Her patience lost so much weight it disappeared. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Your plan to lull me into sleep with a good round of sex and then slip away to find Terry. Get the story you’ve wanted all along.”

Carly was proud she didn’t stomp her foot, and even more amazed she didn’t slug him with her fist. But his jaw was so set, his expression so stony, she would have broken her hand while he would have hardly registered the tap to his face. Instead, hope died. Her heart burst. And her soul curled up in the corner and immediately began to lick its mortal wounds.

He’d made her feel worth protecting. But that was a reflection of him. That was who he was and what he did. It was no reflection of his belief in her. He’d faced down two supposed thugs because he would shield anyone who was threatened. He’d slugged a man because of a vile insult, but not because he considered
her
honorable. The need to defend and protect was simply hardwired into his being. He didn’t trust her. Had absolutely no faith in her. And he never would.

The tears stung, but she’d had years of practice fighting them back. “You’re not even going to give me a chance to explain.”

The old feeling of helplessness, of abandonment, came rushing back. First Thomas, then her father. And now Hunter.

His face was so rigid she feared it would crack. “I came to find you because I missed you.”

The stinging tears grew sharp, and her every breath felt heavy, as if she were breathing against a thick mask. “I came here to find some answers,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “Because I love yo—”

“Don’t.”
He bit out the word so sharply it startled a nearby
guest, and he stepped closer, towering over her, his voice low. “Don’t say it,” he ground out.

Heart pounding, she froze, trying to find her voice again. “Hunter, I didn’t learn a thing. I told you. I wanted to know the truth, and since you wouldn’t tell me—”

“You want to hear what happened? Okay,” he said, crossing his arms, his face hardly the picture of acceptance. “On the record, so you can use it to your heart’s content and impress your boss with your in-depth knowledge.”

Carly’s soul curled up tighter, bled a little harder.

Hunter either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “I was used by a woman until she got what she wanted and left. I don’t know if Mandy hooked up with me with that intention or not. I suspect my job simply pricked her interest and she decided to see where it led. But ultimately the story was more important than our relationship.”

Despite her own pain, she hated the blank look on his face. “I’m sorry.”

Hunter went on, ignoring her attempt at offering sympathy. “She wrote an article that revealed protected information about a cybercrime ring affiliated with the mob in Chicago. Information only our department knew. I’d been working on the case for two years, and I suspect she used a friend of mine from work—an FBI consultant—as her source. All I know is that it wasn’t me,” he said. Defeat joined forces with the anger in his voice and his lips twisted wryly, his bitter humor black. “But you can’t prove a negative. And while a lack of evidence protects you from charges, it doesn’t protect you from your colleagues’ opinions.” Hunter raked a hand through his hair, leaving it spiked on the top. “So I could have stayed and kept my job with restricted access, but I’d lost my zest for the work. Making money in a consulting business seemed the better option.”