“I’m game if you’re game!” A voice booms before I can catch a glimpse of what’s going on. I don’t need to see whose lips are moving to know it was Tanner speaking, because chills raced over my skin at the sound of the familiar baritone I know from watching his broadcasts. It’s likely just the knowledge that I’m so close to pulling my boots up and wading straight into the thick of my cover that causes the goose bumps to come. That undeniable thrill of anticipation.
That has to be the cause of the sudden fluttery feeling in my stomach.
Another reporter I’ve spoken to on a few occasions, Gus, I believe is his name, hands me a shot with a whoop of a laugh, and before I can even ask why, a hush falls over the room.
“Shh. Shh. Shh.” Pauly, a fellow reporter, climbs atop a chair, a shot glass filled with amber liquid in one hand and his other motioning for the lot of us to quiet down. He looks down to his right, and for the first time I catch a fleeting glimpse of Tanner’s face before the crowd shifts and I lose sight of him again. “Tanner Thomas… we are so glad to see your ugly ass back in this shithole. I’m sure once you hand our asses to us time and again by getting the story first, we’ll want you to leave, but for now we’re glad you’re here. Slainte!”
“Slainte!” I say back in unison with the rest of the crowd; then the sound of swearing fills my ears as the burn of the alcohol hits everyone’s throats.
Needing to appear to be a part of the group, I take a sip, but I know well enough that a drunk woman in a city like this is just asking for trouble. And I get in enough trouble on my own, thank you.
When I glance back through the crowd again, I’m startled when I lock eyes with Tanner. It’s only a split second of time, just long enough for me to tip my shot glass to him before someone moves and blocks our connection, but it’s enough to have me holding my breath and for that fluttering to return in my belly.
I sit there in complete indecision for a second, since that momentary connection disarmed me for some reason when I’m hard to rattle. Jesus, Beaux, it’s not like you’ve never met a mark before. Exhaling slowly, I tell myself that I need to keep my wits. It was stupid for me to search him out since I don’t plan on introducing myself to him face-to-face until our assigned meeting at ten tomorrow morning. Besides, my new boss, Rafe, might not have even told him about me yet. He warned me Tanner was going to resist the idea of a new partner, that he might be tough on me. Little did Rafe know that in my line of work, tough is an everyday norm.
So if I don’t plan on meeting Tanner until tomorrow, why do I keep looking back to where he’s sitting? What am I going to gain with one more glimpse of him?
Absolutely nothing.
And yet I look again. This time there is a complete break in the crowd, and I catch Pauly’s eyes. By the way he smirks at me, then looks over to Tanner and throws his head back with a laugh, I know they are talking about me. Call it woman’s intuition or just plain curiosity, but I know. And now I definitely can’t look away.
The problem, though, is that not looking away means that my gaze moves from Pauly to Tanner, and this time I’m afforded more than just a glimpse of him. I’m granted the whole entire package.
Dark hair frames his tanned face, and there’s something intriguing about his eyes that I can’t quite put my finger on across the distance. I don’t have a chance to consider it for very long because when he shifts his gaze and his eyes lock on mine, I freeze in place – lips shocked open, heart skipping a beat – and a flash of something I want to deny as being attraction flickers through me.
But this time I recover quickly and turn my lips up into a slow, knowing smile as we hold each other’s gaze. In contrast to the flash of hunger I catch in his eyes, he nods his head nonchalantly with an arrogant curl to his mouth before looking away.
But I keep staring.
And there’s something about the whole exchange that infuriates me.
I need to remember he’s just my cover, the man I need to partner up with to protect my ass. So there’s no reason to be irritated that he just reeled me in with those eyes and then disregarded me without so much as a second look. Ironically it’s the exact same thing I had planned on doing to him – use my looks right off the bat if I sensed any attraction in order to catch him off guard enough to use my brain and intuition to do my job.
I may be an agent, but first and foremost I’m a woman, and no woman likes to be made to feel inconsequential. For the first time in forever I am pissed about someone not noticing me.
Agitated and irritated, I’m suddenly tossing back the shot I had no intention of drinking. The burn comes fast, and I hope my sense follows suit, because no man has ever thrown me off my game when it comes to work, romantically or otherwise – and yet with a single glance, Tanner Thomas has done just that.
I turn the glass around in circles on the scarred tabletop as I try to figure out what exactly it was about the exchange that instantly had him getting beneath my skin. It was ten seconds tops, and yet those ten seconds packed a punch I never expected.
It had to be the look he gave me. While I’ve seen him a hundred times filing live reports – and I’ve both appreciated his looks and admired his skills – nothing prepared me for the absolute intensity in his eyes. Not to mention the flash fire of heat that surged in my lower belly when our gazes met.
And with that last thought, I’m immediately shoving my chair back. All my best laid plans have gone out the window: play it cool, meet face-to-face for the first time tomorrow, fly under the radar. I’ve made a living on being able to read people, and in that brief meeting of our eyes, he was able to get a visceral reaction out of me. That in itself is rare. Even more unheard of is for me to take the bait and say fuck it to my rules, which is exactly what I’m doing by walking across the bar to face this head-on.
There’s something about the contradiction between the look in his eyes and his rigid posture that tells me he doesn’t like to be handled. Wants all of the control. And God yes, in a lover that’s sexy as hell, but in a man I have to work with under difficult circumstances, it’s not so appealing. I need to get the upper hand here so I can control the situation before it even starts.
Fate has to be on my side because the barstool next to Tanner is vacant when I approach. So I slide into the seat, face him, and wait for him to look my way. I know he senses my presence. I can see the stiffening of his posture, the fleeting tension in his fingers, but he doesn’t lift his eyes from where he’s tracing lines over the grooves on the scarred wood bar top.
He’s attractive in an odd combination of rugged mixed with preppy pretty boy. Camera-worthy looks but with a hint of edge to the lines giving character to his face.
The seconds pass as I wait him out, questioning my decision to come over here, but I won’t back down now. I’m not wishy-washy. Hate women that are. I didn’t get where I am professionally by being a damn doormat. But standing here waiting for him to glance my way suddenly unnerves me.
“Whoever you’re looking for, I’m not him,” he says without looking up.
The part of me that felt uncertainty sags in relief and welcomes his hostility. I can definitely work with his lack of warmth, hold on to it, and use it to my advantage to find my footing. He has no clue that we’re about to enter into a partnership.
“I don’t believe I’m looking for anything.” I feign nonchalance, don’t want to give him any more than he is giving me and yet at the same time hope it brings a reaction out of him. Something. Anything.
“Good.”
Well, that wasn’t exactly what I was looking for, but at least he hasn’t gotten up and left. I glance up to the bartender and then back toward Tanner. “Whiskey sour,” I order from the bartender, and notice a slight startle of Tanner’s head in my periphery. I smirk, his reaction giving me the perfect in to get his full attention. “And put it on his tab.”