LITMIR.BIZ

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was the kind of thing that happened in movies—or in hot, steamy romance novels. In real life, people didn’t really make love to strangers in the dressing rooms of fancy lingerie shops.

      But she had. And she wanted to do it again. Astonishment warred with the hot lick of desire that was fanning itself to life again. She had dared to do something she’d never done before.

      And she’d liked it very much.

      “Are you and Alex and Ms. Malinowitz all right?”

      Rory felt a little ribbon of relief roll through her system. She could make out what he was saying now. And she knew who Ms. Malinowitz was. In another minute she’d be back to her old self. And then she’d figure out what to do next.

      Chemistry, a little voice at the back of her mind told her. Hadn’t she read that the chemistry between two people could be very powerful. Irresistible. As the Terminator paced back and forth in the small space, Rory caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She was still wearing the red bra and thong. She recalled Irene’s prediction that the thong would make her feel different about herself.

      Oh, yeah. She’d definitely felt different ever since she’d put it on. She narrowed her eyes. Was the red thong the cause of what had happened? Or was it Harry’s advice?

      “A note?” he asked.

      Rory tore her gaze away from the mirror and shoved the thoughts out of her mind. The here and now were what she had to concentrate on. The complete stranger was standing just outside the dressing room door, and he wasn’t happy.

      “What did the note say?” he asked. “I’ll be right there.”

      Rory used all of her concentration to gather her thoughts as he shifted his gaze to her again.

      “Are you all right?” he asked.

      “Yes,” she said, crossing her fingers to protect her nose from growing at the lie. She was certain she would be all right…soon.

      “I have to go.”

      She nodded. Obviously, the red thong hadn’t changed her that much after all. He’d bounced back from the chemistry overload a lot faster than she had. Her knees were still weak. But her brain cells were definitely perking up. “About the interview…?”

      There was a brief flash of puzzlement in his eyes before they narrowed and turned into lasers. “Interview.”

      If she could have scooted any farther away, she might have, but she was sitting with her back against the mirrors. “With Jared Slade,” she said. “That was the deal.”

      “So it was.” He inclined his head slightly and patted his pocket. “Just as soon as I get these developed, I’ll be in touch.”

      Rory watched as he turned and moved away from the dressing room. He’d be in touch. He’d only had to say the word to melt her insides. Pressing her hand to her heart, she began to rise awkwardly to her feet. When she heard the bell ring over the door of the shop, she remembered—she’d given him the wrong film. “Wait!” she yelled. “Just a minute!”

      She crawled to the bench and tore the container of film off the bottom of it, leaving the gum behind. Then she managed to stand and race out of the dressing room. He was still there in the doorway, and with the sunlight behind him, he looked more formidable than ever.

      “Here!” She held the film out. “These are the real pictures that I took. Take them.”

      He plucked the film from her hand and slipped it into his pocket. “You could have let me walk away without these.”

      Rory drew in a deep breath. “Yes, but my whole future at Celebs depends on my getting that interview with your boss. I want you to know that he can trust me to paint an honest and fair picture.”

      He nodded at her. “I’ll tell him.”

      Rory watched him walk out and close the door behind him. Only then did she sink to her knees. It had to be the red thong. She’d just made a deal with the Terminator to get the interview of a lifetime.

      Maybe she truly was a daredevil.

      LEA WAS GOING through the drawers of Rory’s temporary desk again when her cell phone rang. She willed it to be Rory, but this time she read the caller ID before she answered.

      Private.

      Ignoring the little sliver of fear that slid up her spine, she said, “Yes?”

      “Do you have the film yet?”

      “No. It’s only been an hour since you called the last time.”

      “I want the name of the person you sent in your place.”

      Lea hesitated for a moment, hating that this disembodied voice could frighten her.

      “The name.”

      What did it matter? she thought. “Rory Gibbs. I’m expecting her at any moment.”

      “You’d better get those pictures.”

       4

      HUNTER STOOD in the French doors that opened onto a patio and offered a view of rolling lawns and tennis courts. He spotted a pool beyond a low row of hedges. A woman sat in a lounge chair, sipping something from a tall glass. He assumed she was Lucas Wainwright’s wife since he recalled that his old friend had married a little over a year ago.

      Looking at the scene, he couldn’t help but think that Lucas was a very lucky man—he had a home and someone to share it with. Long ago, he’d accepted that he would never have either of those. It was too much of a risk for someone who had to hide his true identity. Pushing the thought aside, he turned to face Lucas. “Nice spot.”

      “Thanks.” Lucas removed three bottles of beer from a small refrigerator. “It’s private, and Tracker here can attest to the security.”

      Hunter took the bottle when Lucas handed it to him. Though he hadn’t seen his old friend face-to-face since they’d been in college together, they’d kept in contact. When Lucas had taken his phone call today, he’d agreed to meet with Hunter immediately once he’d explained that a bomb had been delivered to his suite at Les Printemps.

      A bomb.

      Hunter had been trying to get his mind around that reality ever since Michael Banks had told him about it on the phone. Thank heavens Michael and Alex had been meeting with Irene Malinowitz in a different suite.

      While he took a long swallow of his beer, Hunter studied the tall, quiet man Lucas had introduced as Tracker McBride. He felt perfectly comfortable with Lucas. He felt less comfortable with the man who handled Lucas’s security arrangements.

      As if sensing his reservations, Lucas said, “Tracker and I served in a special-forces unit together seven years ago shortly after I left college. He handles all my security, and he’s the best. You can trust him.”

      Hunter wasn’t so sure he could trust anyone anymore, but he was willing to take Lucas at his word. Moving to the desk, he extended his hand to Tracker. “Okay.”

      “I thought it would save time if you explained to both of us what happened,” Lucas said.

      “First, I need to know how confident you are that you weren’t followed,” Tracker said.

      Hunter had to give the man points for asking. “I wasn’t followed.” He’d made damn sure of that once he’d had his meeting with Michael and Alex. The small bomb had been delivered to the suite assigned to Jared Slade, a suite he would have been working in if he hadn’t followed Rory Gibbs into Silken Fantasies. And then there was the note. He’d still been rattled about what had happened in that dressing room when Michael Banks had given it to him.

      Hell, he was still rattled now.

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