She bit back the genuine smile that threatened. “Is that a challenge?”
“There is no challenge.” The light in his eyes grew brighter. “I will, however, take the opportunity to beat you again at your own game.”
Despite herself, she let out a quiet laugh. The man might be tightly controlled, but she sensed a playful side in him. One he kept carefully in check, only allowing it to surface occasionally to tease and provoke her. “I’ll accept that as the dare that it is. So how about this?” she said. “If I manage to get the answer out of you, I win. And if you can resist me …” She sent him her most charming smile—the one that had always worked up until she’d met him. “You win.”
“What’s the prize?” he said softly.
Danger and desire intertwined again, leaving her body with a now familiar unsettling attraction that was uniquely his. She was traversing a very narrow line—one so thin it could double as the edge of a knife. And it was hard to focus over her heart’s incessant thumping. “I haven’t decided on the prize yet.”
“Okay, but I expect you to keep the contest fair.”
“What does that entail?”
“Leveling the playing field,” he said. “No more capitalizing on your father’s name as a resource. Which means outside our second show any and all Wolfe Broadcasting media outlets are off-limits in your effort to publically harass me into cooperation.” The man gazed at her, his eyes no less intense in the dim light, the hint of humor dwarfed by the thread of steel in his tone. “And no more below-the-belt punches.”
Intrigued, she hiked her eyebrow a little higher. “What are you going to do if I break the rules? Fit me with a pair of concrete shoes?” She leaned closer, trying to be heard over the music and desperately ignoring the sensual lips mere inches from hers. “Send me an ankle bracelet attached to an anchor and take me for a boat ride out on the Atlantic?”
His gaze was dangerously daring, lit with humor, and infused with an undeniable heat. The combination provided an edgy thrill and a sense of the unknown that shouldn’t have had her so captivated.
Jeez, Carly. You really are your own worst enemy.
His smile morphed from mysterious to killer. “I’ll think of something.”
“Carly, you know you’re heading straight for disaster, right?” Abby—doubting Thomasina friend that she was—shot Carly a worried frown as she clomped across the parking lot towards the Pink Flamingo bar. The heels of Abby’s hip-length leather boots were more clunk than spike, and her black leather dress with its flipped-up collar screamed undead. “After your blog today, Hunter Philips is gonna be seriously annoyed.”
“Why?” Irritation welled for the umpteenth time that day, and Carly frowned. “The Ditchinator just hit the top ten list for app sales.”
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