Dare She Kiss & Tell?. Aimee Carson

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СКАЧАТЬ warehouses. What was Carly thinking of, doing an interview here? It was far from the upscale, trendy end of Miami, and the moment he’d turned into the questionable section of town his senses had gone on alert.

      Hunter pulled in front of the metal building that corresponded with the address he’d been given, parking behind a blue Mini Cooper that looked pretty new, and completely out of place. He turned off his car and spied Carly coming up the alley bisecting a pair of ramshackle warehouses. Her attention was on her cell phone conversation.

      His moment of triumph was replaced by an uneasy wariness as two twenty-something males exited a warehouse door behind her, following Carly. Both looked big enough to play defensive end for a professional football team. With sweatshirt hoods covering their heads, shoulders hunched, and hands shoved into their pockets, their posture was either in defense against the unusually chilly air…or because they were hiding something.

      Their steps cocky and full of purpose, the menacing-looking duo called after her, their intent clearly on Carly, and Hunter’s senses rocketed from his usual tensely cautious state straight to Defcon One: battle is imminent.

      Sonofabitch.

      Pushing all thoughts of confrontation with Carly aside, heart pumping with the old familiar adrenaline of a pending threat, Hunter reached for his glove compartment.

      “Abby,” Carly said into her cellular, plugging her other ear as she tried to hear over the garbled reception and the city noises echoing along the graffiti-covered alley. “Slow down. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

      “He came by the office, asking where you were.” Abby’s voice was low and ominous. “Things are about to get ugly.”

      Carly grinned at the doomsday prediction. Abby, Carly’s beloved Gothic friend, colleague—and perpetual pessimist—never failed to disappoint. Despite Abby’s predictions that it would end with Carly being bound, gagged and stuffed in the trunk of a car, the interview Carly had just finished with the two graffiti artists had gone better than expected. Outwardly they might resemble your basic gangsters, but their raw artistic talent had blown her away.

      “Who came by?” Carly said.

      “Hunter Philips.”

      Carly stumbled slightly, and her heart sputtered to a stop before resuming at twice its normal rate. Gripping her phone, she tried to focus beyond the noisy traffic and a distant call from someone, somewhere. “What did you say to him?”

      “Sorry, Carly,” Abby said with a moan. “I told him where you were. It’s just, well…he caught me by surprise. And he’s so…so …”

      “I know,” Carly said as she puffed out a breath, sparing her friend the impossible task.

      “Exactly,” Abby said, leaving Carly relieved his beyond-description effect wasn’t just on her.

      He was too edgy and guarded to be a charming playboy. Too chillingly in control to play the bad boy. Beyond the iced stare he was criminally beautiful, with a dangerous appeal that was so flippin’ fascinating Carly had had a hard time focusing on her morning’s dull assignment about a new nightclub. Another earth-shattering story to add to a gripping portfolio filled with articles on the latest club, gallery or silliest hottest trend. But who could concentrate when there was someone like the enigmatic Hunter Philips filling her thoughts?

      Tonight, hopefully she could keep her mind off Hunter by slaving away on her piece about the graffiti artists. Another in-depth profile article her boss probably wouldn’t publish.

      With a sigh, Carly said, “Thanks for the warning, Abby.”

      “Be careful, okay?” Abby said.

      Carly reassured her she would and signed off, still so caught up in her attempt not to think about Hunter Philips that she didn’t notice the man who stepped in front of her, failing to adjust her stride. She smacked into a solid chest, triggering an adrenaline surge that shot her nervous system straight to nuclear meltdown…until she looked up at Hunter Philips’s face and the whole hot mess got a gazillion times worse.

      While her heart added additional force to its already impressive velocity, Hunter put an arm about her waist, pulled her around, and plastered her to his side. Carly’s senses were immediately barraged with several competing sensations at once.

      Hunter’s frosty slate-blue eyes were trained on the two men she’d interviewed. There was an utterly steely look in Hunter’s face. His lean, well-muscled—and protective—body was pressed against hers. And beneath his sophisticated hip-length leather jacket a hard object at his waist dug into her flank.

      Alarms clanged in Carly’s head. She was aware she should recognize the article biting into her, but she couldn’t place it.

      Hunter’s words reeked with cool authority as he addressed the men. “I think you two should take off,” he said, looking ready, able and more than willing to fight if need be.

      Thad, one of her interviewees, took a step closer, his bad attitude reflected in his tone as he spoke to Hunter. “Who asked for your opinion?”

      Wary readiness oozed from Hunter’s every pore. The two beefy young men looked as if they’d been in a brawl or two, or maybe fifty, but Hunter’s low voice remained smooth, without the tiniest hint of fear. In truth, Carly got the impression he was almost enjoying himself.

      “No one asked,” Hunter said, with an undeniably dangerous edge to his tone. “But I’m giving my opinion anyway.”

      Thad bristled, but Marcus, his graffiti-painting partner in crime, glanced at Hunter uneasily, as if sensing the new arrival wasn’t someone to mess with.

      “Ease up, man. We’re good,” Marcus said to Hunter as he grabbed his friend by the sweatshirt and pulled him back a step. “We just wanted to tell Carly she left her recorder.”

      “Yeah,” the other replied with an even worse attitude. “And we ain’t asking for your help.”

      Carly’s stomach tipped under the tension of this testosterone-fest run amok, but the vicious surge of flight-or-fight response had finally ebbed, leaving communication possible.

      “Hunter, back off. This is Thad and Marcus,” she said, nodding at each in turn. “I just finished interviewing them.”

      Hunter looked down at her, his expression confirming that he thought she’d just crawled out of the deep end of crazy.

      She held out her hand toward Thad, waiting for her digital recorder. Clearly she was more distracted than she’d thought.

      Thad, still glaring at Hunter, began to remove his hand from his pocket, and Hunter’s body instantly, reflexively, coiled protectively tighter. Damn, did the man ever ease up? The hard object at his left hip bit deeper into her flank, reminding her of its presence.

      What the hell was that?

      But focusing wasn’t easy with the feel of his body pressed against her, the smell of his woodsy cologne, and his hand curved around her hip.

      As Thad placed the recorder in her hand, Carly said, “I’ll call next week to set up a time to finish.”

      After СКАЧАТЬ