Command Performance

Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. His gaze drifted to the porch as he refilled his glass. For what? The third time? Or was it the fourth? He’d stopped counting. He had a high tolerance for alcohol, but downing wine this fast was starting to get to him.

Miss Maggie had noticed. As the daughter of an alcoholic she was probably programmed to count drinks. She drew the bottle closer to her side of the table, out of his reach.

“How about we move this conversation to the porch now that the brunt of the storm has passed?” Hunter picked up his wineglass and headed for the door. “Get some fresh air—the rain has almost stopped.”

“All right, then. Porch it is,” she said, scooping up her notepad. “But that won’t stop the questions.”

Hunter walked out onto the porch and set his glass on the side table. He turned to face her. Determined from head to toe, that was his Maggie. Only she wasn’t his.

Hunter frowned as his gaze fell from the pit-bull expression on her face to her shoulders. There it was. The beige bra strap. Taunting him, teasing him. He wanted her, but he knew he shouldn’t act on those feelings. He’d come here tonight with every intention of talking his way into an overnight invitation. On her couch. Anything else would be unprofessional. He knew better than to give in to desire while working an op. But his missions usually involved men with guns, not sexy professors.

Maggie closed the door behind her, preventing the warm, humid air from slipping into the air-conditioned house. She waved to the chairs with her notepad. “Would you like to sit?”

Lips pursed, gaze focused, her left hand clutching her pen like a weapon—it was a textbook red light, don’t-touch-me look. But he took a step forward anyway. Maybe it was that bra strap or maybe it was the wine. Either way something had short-circuited his brain, allowing the part of his body below his belt to call the shots. One kiss—what could it hurt?

“I’ve been thinking about what we discussed in the car earlier,” he said. “About Saturday being a one-time thing.” Wrapping his hand around her hip, he pulled her to him. His other hand pried the notebook out of her grasp, tossing it on a nearby chair. Then he stole her pen. “Thing is, I want a repeat performance.”

Maggie pressed her hands against his chest. “I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

“Maybe.” He ran his free hand up and down the soft curve of her body. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I want you, Maggie.”

It was the God’s honest truth. His hands itched to tease her breasts and he didn’t want to stop there.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” She tried to step out of his grasp, but her body didn’t put any real effort into it. In her mind, she might be ticking off all the reasons they shouldn’t do this, but he knew her body wanted him. Her fingers burrowed into his shirt even as the rest of her pulled away.

But he couldn’t take the chance her brain would win the battle. “How about a kiss for a question? One little kiss? What could it hurt?”

“A kiss—”

He cut her off, capturing her mouth with his. He kissed her hard, his tongue running over her lips, demanding entrance. It was the Marriott elevator all over again. She wanted to let go and abandon herself to him. He could feel it in the way her hips swayed toward him and then pulled back. But this time, it wasn’t the fear of discovery that held her back. It was those damn thoughts and doubts rushing through her mind.

He wanted to make her forget her fears and lose herself in his kiss. Snaking one arm around her back, holding her close, he worked his free hand under her shirt until he felt bare skin. Palm flat against her taut stomach, his fingers drifted upward, reaching for her bra. Edging his hand underneath the fabric-covered wire, he didn’t stop until the full weight of her breast rested in his palm. He squeezed then brushed his hand back and forth over her taut nipple, teasing, touching, demanding, waiting for the moment her desire pushed aside her fears and she gave in to the sensations.

It didn’t take long. Maggie melted into his touch and he doubted she remembered his offer to answer a question in exchange for their kiss, which suited him just fine. He had no intention of getting to the Q & A part of their little game.

Driving his tongue into her mouth, Hunter withdrew his hand from under her shirt and let go of her waist. Before she could back away, he wrapped his hands around the sides of her head, massaging his fingers into her scalp as he kissed her. Holding her still, he thrust his tongue forward and back against hers, wishing it was another part of his anatomy.

“Christ, Maggie, I want you,” he muttered, their lips still touching, his fingers buried in her hair. “I want to make you lose control.”

* * *

MAGGIE WENT FROM pliant to stiff as a board in a heartbeat. The panic she’d felt in his hotel room Saturday night returned in a rush. Oh, God. Oh, God. What was she doing? Placing her hands on his chest, she pushed him away.

“We can’t do this,” she said, meeting his gaze, the words coming out in a rush. “We’re working together. I need to interview you in the morning. It wouldn’t be professional.”

“I hate to admit it, but you’re right,” he said, but he didn’t move away.

“I think you should go.” She let her hand fall from his chest as she stepped back. “We’ll keep our interviews to the daylight hours from now on.” Still trembling from the wild mix of lust and alarm, she bent over to pick up her discarded notebook.

“I’m afraid I’ve had too much wine to drive tonight,” he admitted. “Any chance I could crash on your couch?”

Her head snapped up, her eyes meeting his somewhat sheepish gaze. She couldn’t let him sleep here. This man tested the limits of her self-control. He made her forget herself and that couldn’t happen again.

“I’ll call you a cab,” she said quickly, moving to the door.

“No, don’t worry about it.” He shook his head, his voice slightly slurred. “I’m sure I’ll be fine after a glass of water. It’s probably more of a reaction to the pain pill I took earlier for my shoulder. They sometimes leave me a little light-headed. If I sit down for a few minutes and have something to drink, I’ll be okay to hit the road.”

“Pain pill,” she repeated as alarm bells went off in her head.