Command Performance

“I don’t suppose you want to have a sleepover tonight?” Maggie asked.

Olivia set her bottle down on the counter. “Why would you need me when you have Mr. Army Ranger? He’ll scare Derrick away.”

“Yeah, but who will keep Hunter away?”

“You wanted access to the army rangers. Now you have it...if you can convince him to stay the night.”

“He can’t stay here. He’s trying to use his sex appeal to take charge of my interviews.”

Olivia snor

ted. “You, out of control? I can’t picture it, and I’ve known you since the second grade.”

Oh, it had happened. And part of the problem was Maggie could “picture it.”

“Is it working?” Olivia asked.

“It’s distracting. But I’ll manage. As long as I keep our relationship strictly professional, which means he can’t stay here, Liv. I’ll have to deal with Derrick on my own. If he even bothers to show up.”

“You’re sure? Because I need to get back to the gallery and get ready for tonight’s show.”

“I’m sure.” She forced a smile. “Haven’t I always taken care of myself?”

Maggie took a long drink as the kitchen door swung closed behind Olivia. Staying in control, tackling responsibilities alone—it was the only way she knew to survive. Dealing with Derrick would be nothing compared to what she’d already handled. She didn’t need an army ranger decoy.

8

HUNTER PARKED HIS rental car, a basic Ford that looked as out of place as he felt beside Maggie’s Mercedes, and checked his watch. Three minutes till seven. Maggie had asked him to be back by six for their dinner session, but he had every intention of starting his interview on the late side.

She’d probably try to send him packing, even if they talked until midnight. But if he drank one too many? She’d have to let him crash on the couch. He could mention the pain meds he was supposed to be taking and had refused. He’d learned a thing or two about addiction from his sister. He had no intention of heading down that path.

Thunder rolled in the distance as he opened his car door. He looked up and saw the storm clouds moving in. Taking his time, he retrieved the bottle of red wine he’d picked up in town and locked the car, and then at precisely 1900 hours, he walked up the front steps and rang the bell.

Maggie opened the door, motioning for him to enter. “You’re late.”

“I had a few things to take care of,” he lied. He’d spent the past few hours driving around town looking for a decent but affordable wine store. He held out the Chianti he’d selected from the sale basket. “I picked up a red. The guy at the store recommended it.”

“Thanks,” she said, accepting the bottle. Judging from her expression, his gesture had caught her off guard. She probably figured she’d drawn the line in the sand earlier. This was work, not a social event. But her manners kept her from refusing his gift.

Maggie closed the door and led the way down the hall. “Dinner might be cold by now, but there’s a lot of it. I hope you’re hungry.”

His stomach grumbled. When was the last time he’d eaten? Breakfast? The beer around noon didn’t count.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She pushed through the swinging door. “I hope you don’t mind eating in the kitchen. I’ve turned the dining room into a work space.”

“Nope.” Hunter pulled out a wooden chair with a green seat cushion from the table by the window and watched Maggie remove the take-out containers from a brown paper bag.

She’d changed out of the shapeless gray suit she’d worn to their morning meeting and into loose-fitting black sweats. In his experience, a woman wore form-fitting workout clothes to emphasize the shape of her butt. Not Maggie Barlow. Her pants hung from her waist, hiding the curves he remembered from Saturday night.

But her zipped-up black sweatshirt molded to her full breasts, gaping open at the neck to reveal the white straps of her tank top and, on her left shoulder, a beige bra strap.

He studied that strap, allowing his gaze to drift down to her chest. Hands down, he preferred her braless. Not that his preferences mattered much now. He’d only let his eyes wander to unsettle her so she’d forget her questions.

Uh-huh. And the horse he’d ridden through hostile territory had gone on to win the Kentucky Derby.

“Which one do you want?” It didn’t sound as though Maggie had noticed his intense focus on her body.

“Hmm?”