Midnight Special Coming on Strong - By Tawny Weber Page 0,22
between paragraphs, when she was sure he wouldn’t jump up and grab her laptop to see what she was doing, to access the FBI media files.
Special Agent in Charge Hunter. No first name on public file. Second generation FBI with more commendations than she had shoes, he was based in New York but had worked out of D.C. and San Francisco over the years, too. She’d emailed a few contacts, hoping they’d shed more light on the enigmatic FBI hottie before the end of the day. Not just because he was totally fascinating. But because she was going to need every bit of light, every shred of information she could get, if she was still going to be sleeping on this train tonight.
“So what kind of accident were you in?” she asked as soon as the waiter had finished arranging—and rearranging—the china cream and sugar containers. At Hunter’s frown, she added, “You said you’d damaged your inner ear in an accident and couldn’t fly. That sounds scary.”
“I was in a car accident last night.” His shrug suggested it was no big deal, but she saw the way his lips tightened a little in the corners at the movement. He must still be in a great deal of pain. All of a sudden, she felt horrible about keeping him from that rest and recovery he’d said he needed. She vowed that once she’d secured her place on the train and gotten a grip on her raging hormonal response to him, she’d do her best to help Hunter feel better. Well, almost her best.
“It must have been really bad to damage your ear,” she observed, although she figured re-damaged was probably more precise. “I’m surprised you’re able to travel so soon after something that devastating. I was rear-ended once and was laid up in bed, bruised and sore for three days afterward.”
He shrugged again, either dismissing her concern, or her mini–sob story, she wasn’t sure which.
“So what do you do?” he asked.
“I work in fashion, but I want to be a writer.” A good lie was woven around the truth, her grandpa always said.
“A writer? What kind of a writer?” His deep blue stare sharpened, as if warning bells were ringing in his head.
“Biographical. I’m working on a wonderful profile right now,” she said, thinking of the couple of pages she’d written that morning. Her excitement and love of writing bios almost made her words bounce. “It’s about a groundbreaking, prizewinning feminist who flouted family expectations to build a career in a man’s world.”
The suspicion in his sexy eyes faded into what just might be boredom. Marni frowned. What was up with that? The handful of biographies she’d written were anything but boring. She’d even won awards for them. Her fascination with the bits and pieces that made up the lives of people who’d made a difference, who’d stepped outside the box and forged their own path, came through loud and clear.
She’d debated for a while about sticking with profile reporting. The process of digging into someone’s history, of sharing their world and their story, was incredible.
Just not as incredible as being an ace investigative reporter. She straightened her shoulders, pulling her head out of the clouds and telling herself to focus. A biographer was all well and good, and maybe someday after she was rich and famous she’d try her hand at it. But for now, she was after bigger career kudos.
And she needed the man across from her to get them.
“So what do you do?” she asked, propping her elbow on the table and resting her chin on her fist. “Businessman? Big-time CEO of a million-dollar company? Engineer? Ladies lingerie salesman?”
His lips twitched.
“None of the above.”
She waited.
He just leaned farther back into his seat and smiled.
“You know, to share the berth with you, I do need more information than just your name and a snapshot of you from my phone’s camera,” she chided, figuring going on the offense was always preferable to playing defense. Especially with a man like Hunter, who was clearly used to putting people on the defense.
“I still haven’t agreed to share anything, though.”
“Do you always play hard to get?”
Her laughter faded when his gaze heated, the intense look in his eyes making it clear that he was remembering just how hard he’d been earlier this morning, and just exactly what he’d been so close to getting.
Marni’s breath caught in her throat. Her thighs melted, heat swirling low in her belly as the memories filled her head,