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Pasting a generic smile of her face, Reese opened her hotel room door. And found herself face to face with double chocolate fudge eyes.
Shit. She tried to slam the door shut.
Which was stupid. The guy was an FBI agent. Keeping doors open was probably like day one in agent training camp.
His foot and his hand landed in front of the door, stopping it from closing as he took a step forward. Reese backed up and tried not to swallow her tongue.
“Reese Hampton?”
Not good. He knew who she was. “Maybe,” she said, clearing her throat.
He smiled. A slow wide “women adore me” kind of smile. Reese was suddenly way too aware of the fact that she wasn’t wearing underwear.
“You’re not sure?” he asked.
“Can I help you?” Striving for professional, she came off sounding more like a sullen McDonald’s clerk.
He took another step forward, forcing her back instinctively. With the added space, he moved clear of the door and closed it behind him.
That wasn’t good.
“Hey, I didn’t ask you in.”
“I don’t care.” He smiled, reminding her that he was crazy. No matter that he was as cute as a kitten and built like every woman’s fantasy. He was still wacky and in her hotel room.
“Do I have to call security?” She yanked tighter on her robe as if tugging would suddenly cause undergarments to materialize on her body.
He laughed and reached into his pocket. “Not this again.” He opened his wallet and stuck his badge in front of her. “They can’t touch me. But I’ll leave as soon as you give me what I want.”
In another time and another place, that might have had a nice ring to it. But now it just annoyed her. This guy was starting to tick her off with his creepy smile and hot body.
Ripping the wallet out of his hands, she studied the badge. She still wasn’t convinced it wasn’t fake. She knew a guy in the Bronx who could make one of these for thirty bucks.
“So, Agent Knight, what is it that you want?” Besides the Tyvek envelope, because she wasn’t giving that up. Not when her first and probably last chance to do a real, newsworthy story resided in that envelope.
“Call me Derek.”
Oh, ho, ho. Mr. Smooth. She narrowed her eyes at him and wondered just how he could manage to make jeans and a navy sweatshirt look so sexy. He was moving into her room, glancing around with no attempt at discretion.
Reese stayed by the door, hoping he’d get the hint. Of course, the guy had chased her into a deli, so it was likely he wasn’t going to be satisfied with a brush off. Now she knew why he was so tenacious about his envelope. Given only the quick glimpse she’d had, that evidence looked very incriminating.
Several pharmaceutical companies in collusion to price fix, fleecing little old ladies who needed their beta-blockers out of their social security checks, was big time. Probably earn Agent Knight here a gold star, or whatever the hell the FBI gave out. Maybe a class at Quantico named after him.
Scaring the Pee Out of Unsuspecting Reporters, 101.
“What do you want, Derek?” She emphasized his name to show him she was annoyed, if he couldn’t tell by her violent scowl. She’d known a Derek in grade school and he had been fond of tripping her on the playground and snapping her bra strap. The bias against the name was deep seeded and this Derek’s current behavior wasn’t working to counter it.
“That is, besides shaving ten years off my life from fright by chasing me half across Chicago.”
“Sorry about that,” he said, running his hand along the dresser in her room as he turned and walked toward the window.
Reese barely heard him. My God, she’d gotten the first glimpse at his backside. His butt was amazing. She felt inspired to write poetry. To sculpt. To overlook his professional insanity… uh, intensity and do a little investigating of her own.
Exhibit A. The finest ass in the lower forty-eight states.
“Where’s the envelope, Reese?”
He turned around abruptly and she was left staring at his front side. That wasn’t so bad either. Her body agreed. She realized with utter mortification that she was aroused, as in no-need-for-lubricants-here wet. Since she was naked but for the robe, it was disturbing and uncomfortable.
Like being wrapped in a damp towel.
“What envelope?” she said, sticking her chin out at him. Jerk. Clearly he was used to getting his way, even if he had to run innocent investigative reporters off the road.
And make them horny.
He stopped scanning the room and looked at her. “Come on, you know what I’m talking about. The white envelope you had in your hands when you ran into the deli. It’s mine and I need it back.”
Reese wondered where he kept his gun. Everything looked so hard, solid, like she could run her hands across his chest and find nothing but rippling muscle and toned flesh. Was it tucked in his pants? On his leg?
“Sorry. Can’t help you.”
He stepped towards her. “We can do this the easy way. Or the hard way. The easy way is you give the envelope to me. The hard way is I get a search warrant and then you give the envelope to me.”
There was no doubt in her mind he would either. The thought of forcing him to leave and come back had a certain appeal, but she wanted to get cracking on studying those documents. If she gave him the envelope, he’d be none the wiser and she could print out the pictures she’d taken and start picking through the evidence.
“Don’t get all threatening and cop-ish, Knight. Maybe I have it and I don’t know it. Let me look around.”
Putting her hand on his arm to brush past him, she squeezed a little. Ooh, very nice. A cheap thrill ran through her. Too bad she had better things to do than engage in a rip-roaring affair with a Fed.
Like try to pretend she had a career and a life.
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