Dare She Kiss & Tell? (11 page)

Given what she knew of Pete Booker, the news wasn’t a surprise. She lifted her brows, waiting for him to go on. Instead she had to prompt him. “And …?”

“And until we became friends I never lifted a finger to stop them,” he said bluntly, finally meeting her gaze, his eyes heavy with regret. “Our sophomore year, the wrestling team tossed him in a Dumpster while I stood by and did nothing.” He let out a soft, self-derisive scoff. “That’s just one of several instances Booker has never mentioned, though I’m sure he remembers.” Hunter gazed out over the skyline, as if the memories were too distasteful to contemplate. “I know I do …”

Carly stared at his profile, remembering the teen years she’d spent clashing with her father. “Adolescents do stupid things,” she said. “How did you two wind up friends?”

“When we were assigned a joint project in high school we discovered a mutual interest in computers. Booker invited me along to the Defcon conference with him and his dad.” He smiled. “And I learned that, along with his bizarre and occasionally wicked sense of humor, he’s a really good guy.”

“I bet that changed things at school,” she said softly.

He shot her a look with the remnants of a lethal intensity that had no doubt kept others in line. “After that I never stood by and did nothing again,” he said. “No matter who was the target.”

Carly’s heart melted. Hunter was the most honorable man she’d ever met. With Carly he had put up the good fight, and probably still would. But when it came to push or shove the good guy inside of him always won out. Deep down, where it really counted, he
did
embody the FBI motto.

What would it be like to have a man like that in her life?

She blinked back the rushing rise of emotion, the last of her resolve slipping away. “So …” she said. “When do we leave for Vegas?”

Hunter’s expression eased as he reached out and traced a line along her arm. The touch was simple. Warm. And clear in its intent. “Tomorrow night,” he said, and he lifted his slate-blue gaze back to hers, sending a thrill skittering up her spine.

She wondered what the noise was, until she realized it was herself trying to breathe.

The light in his eyes made them breathtakingly beautiful as he said, “Right after I spend the day teaching you how to handle my gun.”

J
IM’s
I
NDOOR
F
IRING
R
ANGE
was busy, but the shots fired by the patron in the adjacent booth were muted by the thick concrete walls and Hunter’s headset. Fortunately the heavy earphones they were wearing had a built-in microphone system that allowed him to hear Carly’s voice, including her sarcasm, albeit with a tinny sound.

“Is this how you dazzle the women you date?” she said.

His lips twitched as he reloaded the gun. “I wouldn’t think you’d be so easily impressed.”

“It’s hard not to be. You handle that weapon like it’s an extension of yourself.” She nodded in the direction of the distant bullseye where Hunter’s shots had been recorded electronically. “You hit dead center every time. I’m feeling inadequate already.”

“You have other areas of expertise,” he said, amused when she rolled her eyes.

Like holding a new firearm for the first time, it felt odd having her here—not necessarily wrong, just…different. And most likely that feeling would return when they boarded the plane for Las Vegas tonight. He’d never taken a woman to Defcon before—his days there were strictly his own. Mandy had wanted to come along once, but he’d talked her out of it, convinced she would have been bored. But this time he’d
hated the idea of a weekend without seeing Carly. A disturbing trend it was best not to think too much about.

Concentrating on his current agenda was a better course of action.

Hunter attempted a serious tone as, with his nine-millimeter Glock 17 in hand, he stepped behind her. Both of them were facing the bullseye. “The safety is on, but remember to always treat a gun as if it’s loaded and the safety is off.” Mindful of her inexperience, he shifted closer, until he could feel the heat from her skin. Serious became harder to maintain. “Now, square your hips and shoulders with the target.” He placed one hand on her hip, ignoring the delicious curve, and checked her alignment as he passed her the weapon.

Arms extended, she gripped the gun as he’d instructed earlier, and targeted the bullseye at the far end of the room. Her hip shifted beneath his hand, and her voice was almost…distracted. “Are you intentionally trying to mess me up?”

Biting back a smile, he said, “You’re drifting down.” He reached around her to lift her wrists—a pseudo-embrace from behind.

“Not. Helping.”

“Just ignore me,” he said, amused even as he tried to apply the advice to himself. Arms extended alongside hers, he leaned in to help her aim, his mouth at the level of her temple. The scent of citrus and the feel of her skin set his heart thumping dangerously. “Look down the barrel and square the sights with the target.”

“I’m trying,” she muttered. “And you’d think I’d get a few lessons
before
I learned to deal with distractions.”

His lips quirked. “You’re a quick study. I’m sure you’ll have no problem. Now,” he said, forcing the serious tone back to his voice. He lightly gripped her elbows. “Brace for the kickback. When you’re ready, release the safety, check your alignment again, and slowly pull the trigger.”

She did as told, and the gun fired with a loud bang. Carly didn’t squeal, jump, or even flinch at the discharge. Instead she fired off two more shots in quick succession. When the echoing sound and the smell of gunpowder cleared, Carly finally spoke.

“Wow,” she said with an awed tone. “The kickback is a shocker.”

Maintaining her position, she turned her head to look at him curiously. Her lips close to his were heating his blood.

“Does the surprise ever go away?” she said.

“You get used to it,” he said, doubting the same was true of touching Carly. He dropped his hands to her waist and shifted, his length now molded to hers from hip to thigh. Desire shot like bottle rockets, as forceful as any kickback from a gun. All parts of him tense and ready for action, he had to force his mind to focus. “You did a nice job.”

“Purely a credit to your detailed instructions.” She faced the bullseye. “You must spend a lot of time here.”

“Every Friday morning before work.”

After a pause, arms extended, gun aimed at the target, Carly fired off several mores shots before she turned her head again. Her bold gaze was mere inches from Hunter’s. “You never did tell me why you still come.”

He searched for an appropriate reply. In the end, a version of the truth seemed best. “I guess a part of me still misses my old job,” he said, the understatement sitting uneasily in his gut.

After slipping the safety on the now empty Glock, Carly lowered her arms, twisting her shoulders to face him. “So why did you go into private business?”

The old resentment surged, and he stepped to the side and took his gun from her, careful to keep his tone even. “It was time to move on.”

“It’s a far cry from catching criminals.”

“It’s a living.”

“So is writing columns about art gallery openings, nightclubs …” her lips quirked “…and trendy apps.” A brief moment of amusement passed between them.

“Not your favorite kinds of assignments?” he said, holding her gaze.

“No.” Her grin grew wistful. “I’m a nosy reporter that prefers people to facts.”

“Who also has a tendency to get herself into trouble,” he said dryly.

“I think that’s why you’ve been following me around,” she said. “I’ve decided I’m an outlet for your overdeveloped need to safeguard others. A need that hasn’t been met since you left the FBI.”

“That isn’t the reason I joined the force.”

Her eyes grew serious. “So what
did
you get out of it?”

He studied her for a moment, weighing his response carefully. But ultimately the unvarnished truth came out with more heat than he’d intended. “I got to catch the criminal bastards.”

Either his tone or the words—or perhaps both—brought a smile of comprehension to Carly’s lips. “You liked to out-maneuver them.” Her grin grew bigger. “You liked the excitement of the chase.”

The dull ache was back, and he clutched the handle of the Glock tight as she went on.

“Why don’t you go back?” Her words were spoken innocently, as if it was that simple.

But innocence hadn’t helped him much.

Gut churning, Hunter turned to the tables lining the wall, opening a gun case. There was a time when he’d been confident it would. When Truth, Honor and Justice—and all the other noble qualities he’d been raised to believe in—had meant something.

“That isn’t my job anymore.” He jettisoned the empty clip from the Glock, his back to Carly. “I have a business to run. Responsibilities. Commitments. And Booker hates the business end of things.” Hunter reached for another magazine to load. “We should get on with the lesson.”

He could sense her eyes on his back as she said, “You haven’t told him how you feel?”

His jaw tensed, and he stared down at the second clip clutched tightly in his hand, struggling against the emotion that had been eating at him for months.

Instead, he said, “I owe him.”

Her tone was skeptical. “Because of something that happened back when you were a kid?”

“No,” he said firmly. “It’s more than that.” Because the friend who’d proved himself through thick and the worst of the thin deserved better. With a hard shove of his palm, he popped the clip into the Glock, loading the gun for another round. “When I told Booker I was leaving to start my own business I asked him if he wanted to quit his consulting work for the FBI and join me. He didn’t hesitate.”

“I’m sure he left because he wanted to.”

“You’re right. He isn’t a martyr.” Checking the safety, he set the gun on the table and turned to stare at her. “But he
is
a loyal friend who deserves better than getting dumped with an aspect of the job that he has no interest in.”

“How do you know he’s not interested?” she said.

“You’ve met him,” he pointed out. “He isn’t what you’d call a people person.”

“Hiding behind his computer doesn’t necessarily mean he doesn’t want to branch out. Maybe he just needs a little encouragement. And if his interaction with Abby is anything to go by,” she said, a wry grin forming, “he might not need much encouragement at all.”

Unconvinced, he didn’t respond, hoping if he said nothing they’d move on to the task at hand.

Instead, she said, “Look, Hunter. I know how loyal you are to Pete. And I know you feel some sort of obligation. But you need to be honest with him. You can’t let a ridiculous sense of duty rule the rest of your life.” She lowered her voice, but not its intensity. “Are you happy?”

He swore under his breath and turned to stare at Carly’s electronic score. As was fitting for a first attempt, her aim was way off. In her assessment of him, unfortunately, she was unerringly accurate. “No,” he said, blowing out a breath. “I’m not happy. I’m bored.”

He’d never admitted to the feeling out loud—though he’d thought it,
felt
it acutely, every day.

“Talk to him,” she said. “Tell him how you feel. Work something out. Establish a new set of rules for your band-of-brothers, bro-code mentality.” She laid a hand on his arm. “A real friend will be able to handle the truth.”

Torn, he nodded down at the gun on the table and lifted a brow. “Do you want to shoot another clip or not?”

She paused, pursing her lips and studying him for a moment. “Are you going to distract me again?”

His grin returned. “I’ll do my best.”

She smiled back. “Then count me in.”

“In retrospect, the
Star Trek
convention tickets I sent you as a bribe weren’t so wrong,” Carly said with a teasing smile.

“This is where sci-fi meets reality.” Hunter gazed around the crowded Las Vegas convention hall at the attendees of the Defcon conference—the annual pilgrimage destination for hackers. At a table in front of them participants with laptops were competing to see who could hack into the most servers in under an hour. So far Booker was in the lead, Abby cheering him on from behind.

Hunter nodded his head in the direction of his friend. “I never did tell you that Booker enjoyed the
Star Trek
convention in my place.”

Carly shifted closer to Hunter’s side, setting his body humming. “Which reminds me of something I wanted to discuss with you,” she said. Her citrusy scent enveloped him, bringing back sensual memories of the past two days, and he hoped she was thinking what he was thinking. Carly said, “Have you talked to him yet?”

He sighed. Apparently her mind wasn’t in sync with his. “I don’t want to talk to my partner. He isn’t nearly as pretty as you.”

She narrowed her eyes in amused suspicion. “You’re using delaying tactics.”

“No.” A grin hijacked his mouth, and he leaned closer. “I’m enjoying my weekend.”

Which was true. He hadn’t enjoyed himself this much since…He paused, trying to remember. Intellectually it should have been when he was with Mandy. But he was quite sure that he had never felt as alive in Mandy’s presence as he did in Carly’s. It wasn’t just her smart, sassy ways, or that the sex was better—though that was a definite plus. Carly made the funny funnier and the interesting more interesting.

He would certainly never look at
Hamlet
the same way again.

“And, by the way, the next time you plan on sending a gift as a bribe,” he went on, “I do have a list of preferences.” He had several—and all of them involved a beautiful woman who had taken his life by storm. The timbre of his voice gave away the under-the-sheets direction of his thoughts. “Do you want me to share my favorites with you?”

Carly’s quasi-serious expression melted into a welcoming one, and Hunter’s body registered its approval. He loved her infectious enthusiasm. He loved how she’d embraced the
playful side of the conference, cheering on the participants that succeeded at the annual “Spot the Fed” game.

As a teen, for him the conference had been about fun. As an FBI agent and then a security specialist Hunter had focused entirely on the business aspect. But Carly had convinced him to enter the “Crack the Code” competition. She’d even lured him away from a lecture for a lunchtime rendezvous in their room yesterday. And he hadn’t been getting much sleep at night, either …

“You have a list of gifts that won’t get sent back to me?” she said as she stepped closer, and he wondered if she could hear his heart thumping appreciatively in response. “This I’d like to hear,” she went on. “Because I still have that secret decoder ring you returned.”

“You kept it?”

“As a memento of our first show.”

“I hope you still have the dress,” he said in a low voice.

“I do,” she said with a seductive smile. “And I brought it with me.”

“Good. I can finally live out my fantasy of making love to you with it on.”

“I don’t think it will fit you,” she said silkily.

Hunter laughed, and then leaned in to whisper in her ear, savoring her scent. “I’d give it a whirl in private, if that’s what you wanted.”

“Oh …” She pulled back until they were face to face, and her gaze turned decidedly warmer. “I definitely want.”

The look seared him, frying the very marrow of his bones. But the heat in her eyes suggested her statement wasn’t just about the dress, or even the ridiculous notion of him putting it on. It was almost as if she hoped for more, and it was shocking to realize they might have moved beyond desire and into something else.

It was easy to get lost in the sensual web she wove so
easily, because his body had begun to insist it was time for another noontime rendezvous. But still…“Do you want to know what I really want?” he said.

“Yeah.” She lifted her chin, as if ready for anything—and she always was. “I do.”

For a heart-pounding moment he tried to figure out the truth. What did he want? When the answer wouldn’t come, he dropped his gaze to her legs, plenty exposed in the shorts she was wearing. “I want to know if they make shorts any shorter than that.”

“Of course,” she said breezily. “They’re called bathing suits. But I don’t think I’ll be allowed in the convention hall wearing one.”

“I don’t think anyone would complain.”

She looked at the crowd that consisted of people of all ages. Most were excited to meet like-minded people, engaged in conversations she probably couldn’t understand. “I don’t think anyone would
notice
.”