Primal Calling. Jillian Burns
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do in L.A.?”
Deep concentration on the label peeling. “I don’t really live there, actually. I mean, I own a condo there, but I travel all over the world for business and I’m hardly ever home.”
Interesting. She hadn’t actually answered the question. Something didn’t add up, but he let it go. Who cared what she did for a living? Or why she was slumming tonight. It wasn’t any of his business. Live and let live. For whatever reason, he had a beautiful woman sitting next to him sharing a drink.
He cleared his throat. “Have you eaten dinner?”
She looked surprised at the change of subject. “No, I—no.”
“Well, don’t eat here, whatever you do.”
A feminine chuckle accompanied the flash of perfect white teeth as she turned to him. “Shall we go eat somewhere else?”
We? He scrutinized the sincerity in her eyes. Maybe she’d made a bet with a girlfriend to sleep with a native on her last night in Alaska. Would a half-breed count? Glancing around the bar, he spied his only competition: the old native in the last booth. He swung back to face her. “Sure, why not?”
“Anywhere specific you recommend?” She took her ski jacket and pushed her arms through the sleeves.
It was on the tip of his tongue to say, Your hotel, but he refrained. “Nowhere you’d care to go,” he answered, taking a last swig of his drink.
Her eyebrows drew together and her eyes sparked. “The restaurant in my hotel is good.”
He choked as he swallowed. She must have to do the deed in front of witnesses to win the bet.
“Fine.” What did he care what her motives were? He grabbed his parka and slipped it on. “We can catch a cab a few blocks from here. But let me leave Mickey in my room.”
In the middle of zipping up her parka, she froze. “Uh…”
She didn’t trust him. If she only knew… “You can wait here.” He pulled a few bills from his wallet and tossed them on the bar.
She waved a dismissive hand. “No, that’s okay.”
Interesting. There was definitely something unusual about this woman. He shrugged and held the door open for her.
It was less than twenty steps to his room. Her heels clicked fast, keeping up with him as he led Mickey around the corner. He unlocked his door and let Mick inside with instructions to be good. When he turned back to her, she was shivering. “Here, I have some gloves.” He stepped inside and dug into his duffel, grabbing the thick leather pair he rarely wore.
“Oh, uh.” She hesitated inside the doorway, and then stepped inside, closing the door. “Thank you.” She took them from him and then drew a deep breath. “I should tell you, I’m—”
“It doesn’t matter.” She’d be gone tomorrow and so would he. He was close enough to smell her light flowery scent. He closed his eyes briefly and inhaled.
“It doesn’t?” She was gazing up at him, her eyes wide and her lips parted. Then her attention dropped to his mouth.
His blood heated and he could feel it pulsing in other parts of his body. The bed was only a few feet away. It’d been so damn long since he’d been with someone. “I’m the last person to pass judgment.”
She tilted her head and gave him a quizzical look like Mickey did sometimes. He leaned in and ran his knuckles down her cheek, then touched his lips to hers.
At first she stilled as if she hadn’t expected it, then with a sigh she opened to him and cupped his cheek with her palm.
It was as if the Northern Lights exploded in his head as her soft mouth moved over his. When her tongue dipped in he groaned and angled his head to deepen the kiss.
With a small cry, she pushed away. He gritted his teeth. He’d known this was too good to be true. “You’re free to go,” he told her.
“No!” Her eyes wide, she seemed alarmed at the thought.
“Look, Serena, or whatever your real name is. It’s okay. I know what this is about.”
Her gaze darted to him, a panicked look in her eyes. “You do?”
He nodded. He didn’t belong with a woman like her, but he didn’t really belong anywhere, with anyone. “You made a bet with someone. Or thought you had something to prove. But now you can’t go through with it. It’s okay.”
She let out a quick laugh and then covered her mouth. “No, I—” She worried her bottom lip. “I want to do a story on you. I want to know about you rescuing that man when your plane crashed. And what happened to the other passengers.”
He blinked at her, not comprehending at first. She was a reporter? Anger boiled up from his core and spewed into a rage that shook his whole body. He took her arm and yanked open his door. “I don’t give interviews. Not even for sex.”
“Wait!” Bracing her palm against the door frame, she held her ground when he would have shoved her out. “Don’t you want a chance to tell—”
“I thought I’d seen every trick you reporters had. But this is a new low. Now, if you don’t get out of my room, I might decide you really do want to screw me.”
Bile rose in his throat. He’d humiliated himself. For a pretty piece of ass.
“I know I should have—”
Propelling her outside, he slammed the door in her face.
2
HE THOUGHT she wanted to use sex to buy his story?
Serena ran to the cabstand, clutching her coat tightly around her throat. The fury that had glittered in Max’s eyes stalked her. Her arm still stung where he’d gripped it. And yet, she hadn’t really been afraid.
Hailing a cab, she got in, banged her head against the backseat and ran her hands through her hair. She should’ve told Max who she was and what she wanted right from the start.
The cabdriver watched her warily in his rearview mirror.
“The Seaside Hotel, please.”
And what had happened to her professionalism? Had she completely lost her mind? Letting him kiss her? No, wanting him to kiss her. And enjoying it. Way to stay objective, Sandstone.
But there’d been something about him that drew her in. And it wasn’t just his wide shoulders beneath that thick, cable-knit sweater. There’d been a primal look in his coffee-colored eyes. A hunger…
Oh, good grief. In a minute she’d be waxing poetic about sexy loners. Obviously she needed to get laid more often than every year or so if this was how she reacted to being alone with a guy.
What was she going to do now? She’d missed her flight for nothing. It’d been an impulsive decision. One made more out of desperation than rational thinking. If the bush pilot had refused to be interviewed all these years, why had she thought he’d talk to her? But isn’t that why it would’ve been such a scoop? To get the ungettable interview? Now, more than ever, she wanted to know what he was covering up.
By the time she trudged into the Seaside’s lobby she still didn’t have a plan.
“Ms. Sandstone, welcome back,” said one of the concierges, heading her off before she could reach the reservations desk.
“Thank you. I don’t have a reservation for tonight, but I was hoping—”
“Absolutely no problem,” he interrupted. “Right this way.”
While the concierge checked her in and programmed her card key, she compared the luxurious lobby around her to the run-down motel where Max was staying. He obviously earned some sort of living flying supplies. So, was he a bad businessman, or did