Losing Control
In a near-sincere tone, Taryn said, “Thanks for taking the time, Mr. Hunter. I’m sure I’ll be fine from here.”
A pulse point in Cole’s temple began to throb. He had to get to that meeting. But, dammit, he wasn’t finished with Ms. Quinn just yet.
As Roman sauntered off, Taryn entered her new office, which was decked out with teak furniture and the latest tech equipment, including visual and audio state of the art. But she moved directly to the floor-to-ceiling windows. He imagined he heard her sigh as she drank in the billion-dollar harbor view, complete with iconic coat-hanger bridge and multistory-high Opera House shells.
Letting his gaze rake over the silken fall of her hair and the tantalizing curves concealed beneath that smart blue skirt, Cole leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb.
“You have qualifications other than in television production, Ms. Quinn?”
“I’ve worked in TV since attaining my Arts Business degree.”
“Then you’d have experience—held positions—in other areas within the industry, correct?”
“I started out as a junior production assistant and worked up through the ranks.”
“And my father was—” he scanned her skirt again “—suitably impressed by your credentials?”
When she angled around, her smile was lazy, assured. “As a matter of fact, Guthrie was more than impressed.”
“I make a point of having all my employees’ backgrounds screened, management particularly.”
“Heavens, you must have skeletons jumping out of closets all over the place.”
His mouth hooked up at one side. Cute.
He crossed his arms. “Any skeletons in your closet, Ms. Quinn?”
“We all have secrets, although they’re rarely of interest to anyone else.”
“I have a feeling I’d be interested in yours.”
Those big blue eyes narrowed then she strolled up to him, the deliberate sway in her walk meant to challenge. When she was close enough for the scent of her perfume to tease his nostrils, she stopped and set her hands on her hips. Cole exhaled. Poor Ms. Quinn. Didn’t she know he ate novices like her for breakfast?
“I’ve taken up enough of your time,” she told him. “Don’t keep your guest waiting. I’m sure your father will be along soon.”
He grinned. Damn, he could play with her all day, if only he had the time—which he didn’t. He pushed off the jamb.
“My father might have employed you, but I’m the one in charge of the books, and if your show doesn’t perform, production stops. That is, if I allow it to get off the ground in the first place.”
A shadow darkened her eyes. “My show will not only launch, it will be a new season smash. We’re bringing in A-list guests.”
“Been done.”
“Choosing destinations that are considered rough as well as luxurious.”
“Old.”
“The host I have in mind is the most popular in the country. Voted Australia’s most eligible with a string of hits under his belt.”
Cole’s gaze flicked to her naturally bee-stung lips. “That’s the best you can offer?”
He imagined her quiver, as if a bolt of red-tipped annoyance had zapped straight up her spine. “I have a signed copy of the approved proposal as well as a contract setting my salary.”
“A contract which will be paid out unless your pilot is fresher than tomorrow’s headline news.”
An emotion akin to hatred flashed in her eyes. “Perhaps I should put a call through to my lawyer.”
“Perhaps you should.”
Any space separating them seemed to shrink while the awareness simmering in that steamy void began to crackle and smoke. Taryn Quinn whipped up his baser instincts to a point where he could forget she was an employee. In fact, right now he was evaluating her through the crosshairs of a vastly different lens. She pretended to be cool, in control. Would she be so restrained in the bedroom? Instinct said she’d set the sheets on fire.
She was saying, “And if I were to come up with something you hadn’t seen before?”
He gifted her with a slow smile. “Then, Ms. Quinn, I’d be happy to visit it.”
He asked that she get the original and revised proposal to him as soon as she had something that would knock his socks off. But as Cole made his way down the corridor toward his office and Liam Finlay, he berated himself. Normally in these kinds of situations he wasn’t distracted by sex appeal; that was playboy Dex’s vice. But the challenging blue depths of Taryn Quinn’s eyes, the impudent tilt of her slightly upturned nose, the fact he knew in his gut she was hiding something …
Thinking of those flaming sheets, Cole admitted, he was looking forward to prying open her closets.
“What do you think of the Commander?”
Familiarizing herself with her office LCD TV, Taryn glanced up. Roman Lyons had returned with two steaming cups in tow. Remote control in one hand, she accepted the coffee he offered while she grinned at Roman’s nickname for Cole.
“Cole obviously likes to run a tight ship,” she conceded.
“As much as he likes introducing newcomers to his infamous plank.”
“Sounds as if you speak from experience.”
“Cole has his fans—” bringing the cup to his mouth, Roman arched a brow “—as well as his foes.”
“Which side do you fall on?”
“On the ‘keeping my job’ side. To survive in this industry, you need to roll with the punches. But you’ve been around. You’d know all that.” He nodded at the static on the screen and gestured at the control. “This office was vacant for a while. I’ll tweak the settings.”
She handed over the control and watched as he concentrated to tune in channels, including internal feeds. Roman Lyons was good-looking in a saucy Hugh Grant kind of way. Certainly friendly, helpful and with a sense of humor, too. No wonder he rubbed “Trouble” the wrong way.
“Tell me how you came to be at Hunters,” Roman said, as his thumb danced over the remote’s keys.
“I had a long stint at the last network I worked for.” She mentioned the name and recited a few of their shows. “Last year, one of the executive producers asked for ideas for new series. He was interested in a couple of mine but ultimately passed. In the meantime another network approached me.”
“The industry does like to poach.”
“I declined their offer of an interview. I was happy where I was. But management heard about the communication and when information about a new show was leaked, they questioned my loyalty.” Remembering the scene when that EP had dressed her down, she shuddered and blew out a breath. Her direct boss was livid at his protégée’s treatment, but he had a family to feed. She’d insisted he not get involved. “That afternoon, my desk was packed up and I was out on the curb.”
Roman collected a second control off the stand. “TV is not for the faint of heart.”
“I could have filed a suit for unfair dismissal. But I decided to rise above it, take the payout and move on.”
“What happened to the network that wanted to poach you?”
“That position was already filled. But I knew my ideas would fly somewhere else. After wallowing for a couple of weeks, I plucked up the nerve to call here and speak to Guthrie directly.”
As she took a sip from her cup, Roman handed back the first control. “Good for you.”
“Frankly, I almost fell off my chair when he asked me to come in for an interview. I was even more blown away when he gave my show the green light straightaway.” Thoughtful, she ran a thumb over the remote’s keys. “I was on such a high, so convinced I’d do a great job, but after meeting Cole, I have to wonder if that green light is fast turning red.” She set the remote down on the corner of her desk. “Roman, can you set me straight on something? Because I’m a little confused. Which Hunter is in charge here? I know control of the branches of the company was split a few years ago between the three sons, but I assumed Guthrie still pulled all the strings.”
Beneath a flop of dark sandy hair, Roman’s high brow creased. Then he held up a cautionary hand and, although they’d been speaking quietly, he crossed to close the door.
“Word is that after his wife’s death,” Roman said, moving back, “Guthrie lost all heart. No one knows for sure, but if you put it to a vote, most will say he gave up all control.”
“You mean Guthrie has no say? What’s he doing then, hiring me?”
“Guthrie was down for a while but when he married again, he got his wind back. Staff here were chuffed. It was as if he’d got another chance at life and he didn’t intend to waste a minute. The wedding was big, expensive—” he hiked a brow “—and fast.”
Of course Taryn remembered the publicity surrounding that big day, a huge celebrity bash with a bride who had looked thirty years the groom’s junior—which was nobody’s business but their own.
“At my interview, Guthrie seemed genuinely excited and behind my show,” she said.
“Then he must believe in it.”
“While his son’s hand is twitching on the guillotine rope. He told me unless I can come up with an extraordinary twist, I’m out.”
Roman thought for a long moment before giving a mischievous smile. He purposefully set down his empty cup. “Right-o. We need sketch pads. Markers. A plan.”
She blinked and then brightened. “As in you and me ‘we’?”
“Two heads, and all that. What say we come up with a twist that hits Cole right where he bloody well lives? He’ll either love it or …”
“Or he’ll love it.” He had to. Taryn moved to scoop her laptop out from its bag. “Let’s get started.”
Three
When Cole stabbed the loudspeaker key and realized who was on the phone, he flung down his pen and grabbed the hand piece. It was past six—closer to seven. He’d been hanging out for this call all day.
“Brandon, thanks for getting back to me.”
“Just got back into the country.” Brandon Powell’s familiar deep drawl echoed down the line. “What’s up?”
Cole gave his friend a summary of events—the attempt to run his father’s car off the road three weeks ago, the near miss with shots fired this morning, how Guthrie, to his mind, didn’t appreciate the seriousness of the situation.
“You want to fix your father up with protection,” Brandon surmised.
“He’s already hired someone.”
“Then I’m not sure what you want me to do.”
“For starters, put a trace on Eloise.”
“Your father’s wife?”
“Second wife.” Cole’s lip all but curled. “I have a hunch she might be behind it all.”
“You’re accusing Eloise of attempted murder—based on what?”
“Based on the fact she’s a—”
Cole let loose a few choice adjectives and nouns that had been building for years, starting when he’d first got wind that a much younger woman—a so-called family friend—was making a play on a man who’d recently lost a loving wife. None of the boys had thought Guthrie would be interested in her batting lashes and syrupy condolences. When it had become apparent the two were an item, their father was already hooked.
Brandon’s reply was wry. “I take it you haven’t warmed to your stepmother yet.”
“I still can’t believe he married her. My mother’s best friend’s gold-digging daughter.”
Shame on Eloise but more shame on his father.
“I hate to mention this,” Brandon said, “but Guthrie’s an adult. He makes his own decisions.”
“And I make mine. How soon can you organize a tail?”
“If you’re sure—”
“I’m sure.”
“Give me a few hours to track down the right guy and brief him. But I need to warn you. If your father has his own man on the job, there’s a chance he’ll find out you’ve done this behind his back. And if Eloise ultimately isn’t implicated …”
Cole knew what his friend had left unsaid. Guthrie took the well-being and loyalty of his entire family seriously. His father had a five-year-old son with Eloise and another on the way. If he discovered his eldest had gone behind his back like this, he’d view it as a betrayal. Guthrie wouldn’t disown a son, but he might kick Cole out of Hunter Enterprises for good.
Considering the options, Cole rapped his fingers on the desk before he drove down a breath and confirmed, “I’ll take that chance.”
He didn’t want a rift to develop between two more members of the Hunter clan but, dammit, his father’s safety came first.
After settling some details, he and Brandon caught up briefly. Brandon was still enjoying his bachelorhood and was looking forward to a Navy Cadets reunion; they’d served in a unit together for three years rising up through the ranks from “dolphins” to petty officers. Brandon said he hoped to see Cole there, but he’d be in touch before then.
They signed off and, feeling worn out, Cole set his bristled jaw in the cup of his hand at the same time his empty stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast. There was still more he could do here tonight, but his brain needed fuel. Time to knock off.
While Cole shut down his laptop, a knickknack perched on his desk caught his eye. The winding steel-tube-and-rope puzzle had been a gift from Dex and was based on the Gordian Knot legend. Thousands of years ago, Alexander the Great had been asked to unravel that intricate knot, which everyone knew couldn’t be done. But Alexander had thought outside of the box and found a simple solution. He sliced through the rope with his sword and, hey presto! With this gift, Dex was telling Cole to lighten up … life’s problems didn’t need to be so intense and all-consuming.
Cole would rather ignore advice from a playboy producer who was overdue a Hollywood hit. There were no shortcuts to success. No easy paths to victory. Cole kept the toy on his desk not as a reminder to take the low road as Dex was wont to do, but as a prompt to stay on course, even when he might rather say to hell with it all.
After shrugging into his jacket, Cole locked up his office, spun around and near jumped out of his skin. In the muted light, he’d almost run into something. Or rather, someone.
Taryn Quinn stood not a foot away, her scent still fresh, her eyes still bright. With her blond mane gleaming and plump lips bare of gloss, she looked like a vision. A drop-dead sexy vision, at that.
She inspected his briefcase, peered around his frame to the closed door and her eyes widened in alarm.
“You’re leaving?”
He frowned. “Didn’t realize I had to sign out.”
“I thought that someone in your position would be here till all hours.”
When Taryn lifted the open laptop she held, the penny dropped. She’d worked out a plan to spice up her proposal already?
“I was serious,” he warned. “I don’t want a Band-Aid. You need a highly polished knock-’em-dead new angle that I can’t refuse.”
“I’ve been at it all day. Didn’t even stop to eat.”
That made two of them. She must be as hungry as he was, and he was starved. After a day alternating between meetings and being glued to his desk, he felt restless, too. Itchy. Hot. When his gaze dropped to her lips again, he ran a finger inside his steamy collar. He ought to go.
Cole eased around her. “Now isn’t a good time.”
“Now is a great time.”
“I’m late.”
“What for this time?”
He rotated back. “I’m sure I don’t have to answer that,” he said. But when he saw the disappointment shining in her eyes, his gut kicked and, against his better judgment, he found himself giving in to this infernal woman for a second time that day.
“But, if you’re that keen,” he muttered, heading back, “I’ll give you five minutes.”
“Five minutes isn’t nearly enough—”
“Five minutes.” He set his case on his personal assistant’s desk and flicked on the desk lamp. “Starting now.”
Taryn froze for three beats before setting her laptop down. When she thumbed a button, an impressive spread—complete with feature banner—flashed on to the screen. Setting his hands on his hips, Cole slanted his head. Nice effect. Although he wasn’t sold on the title.
“Hot Spots?”
“We thought it had more bite than the original name.”
“We?”
“Roman and me. I know it sounds kind of provocative—”
“If you want to tape an endless stream of topless bars and nudist beaches,” he cut in, “sorry, it ain’t gonna fly.”
The airwaves were clogged enough with that content.
“I was going to say that it’s more a hook than anything erotic. Let me show you a preliminary list of locations that have shown interest and, as of today, have offered to cover all associated costs.”
The screen page flipped over to reveal a slide show of a resort Cole knew—although not personally. Only a sheik could afford the prices. He could think of better ways to blow a million or two. Still, the cogs in his brain began to whir faster.
“That’s Dubai.”
When he named that country’s most exclusive resort, Taryn nodded with a grin in her eyes. “All expenses paid there. Everything.”
“That’s impressive. But that’s one location. I imagine you’ll do the grand tour of the resort and surrounds, which will make good footage, but what’s the twist?”
Where’s the something new?
Their shoulders all but touching, she angled in more and, in the soft shadows, those blue eyes were hypnotic. Then that natural warmth of hers reached out again. Sumptuous. Soothing. It was like being enveloped by the lure of a toasty fire after coming in from the cold. When his fingertips began to tingle where they lay splayed on the desk next to hers, he was struck by the urge to cover her hand, maybe tug her close and see if he couldn’t experience some of that warmth head-on.
Sucking down a breath, he straightened.
Definitely time to go.
“I’ll think it over.”
“Will you?”
He arched a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve already made up your mind.”
“If you believe that, why are you here?” Wasting my time.
“Because I also believe in this show.” Her chin lifted. “And that wasn’t five minutes.”
“It was long enough.” Especially considering the way he was feeling.
“But I have more to show you, Cole. Lots more.”
The tendons between his shoulders, up the length of his thighs, all hardened to steel and then locked. He should get this charade over with. Tell her now. Stay on course. But how was he supposed to deal with that dewy-eyed, indignant look without feeling like the world’s biggest heel?
An image of Dex’s puzzle flashed into his mind’s eye and something he’d thought unbending inside of him grudgingly moved. Before he could talk himself out of it, he took a mental sword and cut them both some slack. Taryn had more to show him?
“Then get your gear.” He grabbed his case and headed out. “You’re coming with me.”
Four
When Cole Hunter insisted she accompany him to dinner, Taryn’s entire body flashed hot. Time alone in that kind of setting was a bad idea. The way he sometimes looked at her—with curiosity and hunger simmering in his eyes—he might want to consume a big juicy steak but in a deeper place, whether he admitted it or not, Cole was also flipping a coin, deciding whether he could afford a side order of her.
Sorry, but she wasn’t on the menu.
Then again Guthrie Hunter’s son was prickly enough. The edge she rode where he and her position at Hunters was concerned was already razor thin. If she refused this “invitation,” Cole might close up completely and, like it or not, after listening to Roman’s stories regarding the “Commander” all day, she’d come to the conclusion that she needed Cole on her side.
Plus, her brain and body were running on empty.
Although every instinct warned against leaving this building alone with Cole, she guessed they could talk business while they ate. The golden rule, however, still applied. She had no intention of getting too close to trouble.
So, with nerves jumping in her stomach, Taryn accompanied him out, collecting her bag on the way. They passed late-shift news employees with their noses to the grindstone. Cole sent a good-night to the uniformed security man, who stood watch near the giant glass autosliders, and a moment later he was opening the passenger-side door of a low-slung Italian sports car. Taryn’s throat bobbed on an involuntary swallow. She had the weirdest feeling if she crawled inside that dark warm space, she might never come out.
Soon they were buckled up and weaving through Sydney’s upper-end streets. In the near distance, arcing lights from the bridge spread shimmering silver ribbons over the harbor while beside her Cole changed gears with the intuitive grace of a professional. She couldn’t ignore that subtle yet intoxicating masculine scent, the ease with which his large tanned hands gripped the leather of the wheel. In such close proximity, his legs seemed somehow too long, those shoulders almost too broad. Every available inch of this car seemed filled with the smoldering energy that was Cole Hunter.
Taryn pressed back into the molded bucket seat and clenched her hands in her lap. She’d never felt more unsettled. Never more female.
As they flew over a main arterial and the busy world whirred by, he said, “I’d kill for a good thick steak.”
“I thought you’d be a steak man.”
“You’re not a steak woman?”
“Vegetarian.”
“I’m sure my regular place caters for that.”
“You mean caters for those of us who choose to live on the fringes.”
In the rapid-fire shadows, his crooked grin flashed white. “No disrespect intended. I grew up in a male-dominated household. Tofu and soy weren’t in our vocabulary.”
Taryn peered out the window. She didn’t care about Cole’s eating habits. She cared only about getting this proposal through and at last moving forward with this show.
“Guess we’re all products of our childhood,” she offered absently.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Lots of brothers and sisters?”
“I’m an only child.”
His deep rich chuckle resonated around the car cabin, burrowing into her skin, seeping into her bones.
“You must have had a peaceful time growing up,” he said.
Peaceful? “I guess you could call it that.”
“What would you call it?”
That was easy.
“Lonely.”
His hand on the gearshift, he hesitated changing down before he double-clutched then wove into the lit circular drive of an establishment that smacked of class and exorbitant prices. A uniformed man strode over to see to her door before a valet parked the car. They entered through open, white-paneled doors into an area decorated in swirls of bronze and planes of muted cherry-red. The large room’s lighting was soft. Inviting.
Way too intimate.
While Taryn tried to concentrate on the weight of her laptop in her carryall over her shoulder rather than Cole’s strong chiseled profile, from behind the front desk, the maître d’ tipped his head.
“I’m afraid we weren’t expecting you this evening, Mr. Hunter. Your regular table isn’t available.” The older man’s attention slid to her and his helpful smile deepened. “We do, however, have a private balcony setting with a magnificent view of the harbor.”
“Sounds good.” Cole rapped his fingertips on the leather-bound menu lying on the counter. “And, er, Marco, you have vegetarian dishes here, right?”
Marco didn’t blink. “We have a wide selection. Our chef will also be happy to accommodate any particular requests.”
As Marco escorted them to that private balcony, Taryn swore she felt heat radiating from Cole’s hand where she imagined it rested inches from the small of her back. Then, when they slipped through into a curtained-off area, her breath hitched in her throat. The mixture of lilting music and silver moonlight, along with her striking company for the evening … she felt as if she’d stepped into a dream. She’d been out to dinner with attractive men at fine restaurants before, but this scene—this surreal heady feeling—was something else.