Beneath her work clothes, her body thrilled at the promise those words held. Not going there, Maggie reminded herself as she turned her attention to the generals. It was time to wrap up before the top brass began placing bets on how long it would take Hunter to seduce her. They’d all lose unless someone put money on been there, done that and left my shoes behind.
“I know your time is valuable and you are anxious to return to your duties.” Maggie made a point to look at each man sitting at the table except Hunter. “Thank you for sharing your thoughts. I’m sure Chief Cross will keep you updated on my progress. Have a good day, gentlemen.”
She smiled as they stood and filed toward the door. The pointy-nosed general muttered a word of thanks for her “insightful” presentation. Another said he looked forward to hearing more from her after she’d completed her interviews. Judging from his tone, he’d rather have a root canal.
Hunter’s handler—his commanding officer—beamed at her. “Great job, great job.” Yeah, right.
“Winning the generals’ approval is no small task,” the colonel continued.
Maggie frowned. They had capitulated fairly quickly. Was she missing something? She pushed that thought away, focusing on the colonel and her liaison.
“Chief Cross is at your disposal. He will meet you by the front gate once you’ve gathered your things here.”
“Thank you, sir,” Maggie managed to reply. “A pleasure meeting you.”
“Likewise.” He smirked, letting the trailer door slam behind him.
She waited for Hunter to follow. It was just the two of them in the trailer now. Unless he wanted to discuss Saturday night, which Maggie wasn’t ready for, not yet, her freshly issued liaison should be following his superiors out the door.
Instead, Hunter took a step forward and leaned in, his mouth moving toward the side of her head. For a split second, she thought he would kiss her neck and she froze.
He couldn’t possibly want her. Not dressed like this. But that hot place deep inside didn’t care about her clothes. Kiss me, her body demanded.
“I’ll bring your shoes,” he whispered, his breath tickling the precise spot on her neck that drove her crazy. Touch-me-now sensations rippled from her neck down to her breasts before settling between her legs.
Maggie closed her eyes and prayed he would leave. Part of her wanted to follow those sensations to their natural end, but the part of her that had kept her life moving forward when her father fell apart knew she couldn’t. She could not sleep with him and at the same time interview him for her book. It would undermine her credibility. And if the tenure committee found out? She’d be out of a job. She refused to fail. Determination welled deep inside her and Maggie clung to it. No orgasms. Not from Chief Hunter Cross. Not while they were working together.
The door creaked. Footsteps followed, and then, thank heavens, the door closed.
Maggie opened her eyes. She was alone. Finally. She marched over to the podium to pack her laptop and notes. She’d survived the meeting. The generals didn’t believe her book would be worth reading—judging from his comments, General Patterson wouldn’t use it as a doorstop—but she’d made it to the end without running from the room. And more important, she’d secured their support. Mostly. The one man whose cooperation she truly needed had just offered a seductive look paired with a sigh-worthy promise.
Maggie closed the laptop with more force than necessary, but she couldn’t help it. Her Nervous Nellie hands were tense with irritation. Was this a joke to him, his assignment as her liaison? Or did he seriously plan to use his position and proximity to get her into bed?
She needed his help. It wasn’t as if she could demand another liaison. What would she say? Sorry, fellas, I already slept with this one and then I left him before the sun came up. Without a note.
Her arm froze midair and her index cards fluttered to the ground. Oh, God. What if he was pissed off about her walking away without a goodbye? What if he was trying to retaliate?
Maggie reached forward and held on to the podium, her mind racing. If she was right, this wasn’t about desire. A man like Hunter did not go for women in baggy suits. But if she’d bruised his ego, she’d bet her career he would try to even the score. He wasn’t stupid. He’d picked up on the generals’ distaste for her work and probably thought why not kill two birds with one stone? Win the top brass’s approval and take out the woman who’d walked out on him while he’d slept.
For all she knew, he might be giving his CO the play-by-play of Saturday night right now. Maggie felt her cheeks flush. She could wear the ugliest gray suit in her closet and these men would never take her seriously again, not if they knew she’d asked a virtual stranger at a car show for wild, passionate sex. Nope, she would never get another liaison. And her book? If she couldn’t do the research, there wouldn’t be a book.
She had to work with Hunter. She would find a way to manage him.
* * *
AT PRECISELY 1100 HOURS, Hunter approached the gate with a white plastic bag labeled Marriott in one hand and his duffel bag over his shoulder. Now that he was sticking around for a while, his lodging had been downgraded to a motel near Maggie Barlow’s home, which wasn’t a problem. He’d stayed in far worse places than a run-down motel in backwoods New York. If he could sleep in the Afghan hills with only his borrowed horse for company, then he’d survive without room service. Except he had no intention of staying at the motel.
Keeping tabs on Little Miss Maggie’s book required access. The closer the better. He’d sleep on the floor if he had to, but one way or the other he planned on talking his way into her home.
But not her bed. Manipulating their mutual attraction to distract her when the questions hit too close to the “no-fly” territory was one thing. But he’d never used sex as a weapon against a woman and he didn’t plan to start now. If he went to bed with her again, it would be because they both wanted it.
“Chief Cross.”
Hunter turned and saw Maggie waving to him from the driver’s seat of a vintage black Mercedes convertible. His jaw tightened and the irritation he’d felt during her presentation this morning boiled to the surface.
Where was her Toyota? If he hadn’t witnessed her shock firsthand when he’d entered the trailer-turned-conference-room, he might have wondered if she’d sought him out Saturday night. But no, she hadn’t driven a Toyota just to catch one of her “cowboys” and lure him into bed. The Toyota must be the car she used to pick up her Saturday night flings. His fist tightened around the Marriott bag. Hell, she’d probably built a complete persona for her carefully planned orgasm quests. He’d bet she’d never set foot in an Olive Garden. A woman who drove a car like that could afford high-end cuisine.
He turned his irritation down to a simmer. Give him one week and he’d show her. She’d messed with the wrong Ranger.