Temptation on His Terms. Robyn Grady
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of the way until this danger had passed. Unfortunately no one knew when that would be.
She wanted to know, why a six-month contract?
“I simply want to make it worth your while,” Dex replied, which was true.
When, clearly torn, she gnawed her lip, he prodded.
“Come on, Shelby. Say yes, for Tate’s sake.”
“I’d want to keep this place for days off and, well, in case things don’t work out.”
“Of course.”
After an eternity, she gave a small nod, then a smile. “Give me a start date and I’ll be there.”
He could have hugged her—and tight. Not a good idea. He’d be content with those few seconds he’d held her after that black sedan had nearly plowed her down. He was certain that kind of judgment glitch on her part wouldn’t happen again. Too close of a call.
“Let’s say Friday,” he said.
“That soon?”
“Tate’s here in a week. We need to get the place organized. Get provisions and equipment in.”
“Oh. Sure.” She drew her willowy frame up tall. “I can do that.”
“Shall we shake on it?”
She took his extended hand, and that transfixing sensation he’d experienced when he’d caught her earlier seized him again. Pleasant. Heart pumping. Inappropriate. He’d got what he needed and now he should count himself lucky and go. And yet after this simple skin-on-skin contact, suddenly he really wanted to stay. But that would require her asking him inside, which would never happen. He didn’t know her well, but she certainly wasn’t the kind to invite in a man she’d known less than a day for a drink.
A delicious heat spread over Shelby’s limbs, echoing in her chest, through to her core before she gathered herself and found the wherewithal to wind her hand away. Brushing her tingling palm down the side of her dress, she forced words past the thickness blocking her throat.
“I’ll be in touch,” she said.
“I look forward to it.”
Over the noise of distant traffic and a TV blaring from some nearby window, Dex’s voice sounded deeper. Gravelly and rich. Had he felt that amazing electric surge, too? The warmth had been so frighteningly tempting…enough to wonder if she ought to ask him to stay for a nightcap. Or wish she’d never met him at all.
She didn’t want to feel attracted to any man, particularly a man like Dex Hunter. Obviously he liked women. Women would sure as beans like him. And she didn’t want to get involved with anyone—not for any reason. Past experience was still too raw in her mind.
There was an awkward loaded moment where his lidded gaze stayed fused to hers as if he were waiting for that invitation in. When she lifted her chin, his shoulders rolled back, he tipped his head and while she entered the building, he proceeded to his car.
A moment later, inside her partly furnished apartment, Shelby moved to the bedroom, sat on the edge of the mattress and, thinking back, drew out the decades-old photo that had been torn away on that sudden gust. Not so long ago, she had ripped it into pieces. Then, before leaving Mountain Ridge for good, she’d painstakingly taped the bits together again.
The girls in the photo seemed like ghosts to Shelby now. One had hair the color of a chestnut; the other’s locks were as fair as a magnolia bloom. Friends since early grade school, they’d loved each other unreservedly. Had shared everything.
But some things were off-limits, even where best friends were concerned.
Three
As he headed home, Dex’s thoughts were dragged away from Shelby Scott’s ever-growing allure when his cell phone buzzed. He connected the call, and his younger brother Wynn’s voice swelled out from the hands-free speaker. Frowning, Dex caught the time display on the dash.
“Bro, it’s two in the morning in New York. What’s up? Decide to get a head start on the morning’s five-mile run?”
“I’m not that organized.” Really?
Wynn had his father’s tenacity and his mother’s heart. Unlike his older brothers, early on Wynn had decided he wanted to settle down and have a family. He wanted the happily ever after his parents had shared before their mother had passed away.
Maybe that’s what this call was about, Dex thought now. Maybe on the heels of Cole’s engagement news, Wynn had an announcement of his own. Absolutely made sense, given he and his photographer girlfriend, Heather Matthews, had been inseparable for over two years.
“Did you get Cole’s message?” Dex asked. “Can’t believe he’s found the woman of his dreams. She must be something else to hold his attention away from the boardroom.”
“Great news. I’m happy for him.”
“No chance of you and Heather making it a double ceremony?”
“Heather and me…We’re taking a break.”
Dex almost swerved off the road. They’d seemed smitten whenever he saw them on family get-togethers back home in Sydney. Committed. Or Wynn had been, at least.
“Actually,” Wynn went on, “it’s pretty much over. We’re still friends.”
“God, Wynn… Man, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s late afternoon in Australia but Cole’s not picking up. Any more news on Dad and his situation?”
Respecting Wynn’s feelings—his need to move the conversation along—Dex got his thoughts together and summarized.
“Well, you know that after that first incident when his vehicle was run off the road, Dad was targeted again. Gunshot missed him by inches. Thankfully his P.I. was on hand when that maniac showed up a third time.”
“He’d been visiting Uncle Talbot.”
“Guess after all these years, Dad finally wants to mend fences.”
Decades ago, Guthrie had assumed the chairmanship of Hunter’s then much smaller family business, which had comprised print media only. Although he’d been assigned a position of authority, Guthrie’s brother had felt marginalized, patronized. Eventually he’d walked out. The grudge festered into a long-standing feud.
Dex believed that break was part of the reason why, after Guthrie’s heart surgery a few years back, he had divvied up Hunter Enterprises’ now worldwide interests evenly among this generation of brothers. Wynn had been given rule over Hunter’s print sector.
As far as Dex was concerned, Wynn had drawn the short straw. Steering that side of the business through the digital revolution needed not only brains but also a steely nerve. In times such as these, profits could be made but long-standing empires could just as easily crumple.
If Wynn felt the pressure, he never complained or asked for help. Which, Dex deduced, might one day be his brother’s professional undoing.
“After that shooting, Dad’s P.I. chased the guy, right?” Wynn was saying. “Can’t believe the fool ran straight into traffic.”
“Apparently he’d had a beef with the Broadcasting News Division,” Dex said, easing onto the freeway that would see him home in five. “When he didn’t regain consciousness, that should have been the end of it.”
But the worst was yet to come. Wynn also knew that, not long after the incident outside Uncle Talbot’s, their father had been assaulted in broad daylight. Dex’s stomach muscles clutched remembering how close Guthrie and Tate had come to being shoved into that black van something like a week after the shooting incident, perhaps never to be seen or heard from again. He’d give his eyeteeth to know who and what was behind it all.
“Tate’s