Conn slapped the paper down on top of the table while she moved to switch off the radio on the bench. It didn’t make any difference; there was still music blaring.
“You’ve gone too far,” he told her loudly.
Frowning, Eve turned to the window and pulled the curtain back. She wore the same pink sweater as the other night and black pants. Very slinky black pants, the kind with no zip in front.
“What are you doing?” he demanded of her shapely hip as she peered out into the twilight.
“The thunder clap’s arrived,” she said drily. “Where’s the lightning?” She let the curtain fall and turned back, leaning her hip against the bench.
Conn stared at her, biting the inside of his lip to stop himself from smiling. Damn it! He raised the folded newspaper and gave it a loud flick. “You’ll be laughing on the other side of your face when my legal team is through with you.”
“Oh, the column.” Her face cleared and she fluttered her fingers at the paper he held. “Funny. I didn’t pick you as a fan of gossip columns.”
“I’m not!” he snapped. “It was—brought to my attention.”
A wariness sharpened her gaze. “What’s he to you?”
Conn raised his tense shoulders. “For your information, my company is backing Pete Scanlon to the hilt in the mayoralty campaign.”
That seemed to jolt her. Two little lines appeared between her wide-set indigo eyes. “You mean financially?”
“Yes, financially. What else?” How she stirred him up! Every reaction he had around this woman was extreme. There were no nice soft corners. It was all slashes of anger, of suspicion, of confusion.
Of desire.
“Are you close?”
Conn snorted. “What do you mean, close? I give him money for his election campaign. I do that because I need him to win. I need him to win so I can do my job.”
There was some hideous piece of opera playing in the next room. He could hardly hear himself think. Eve leaned three feet away, her chin jutting out in defiance. Once again, he had put her on the defensive by being insufferable.
“So you don’t socialize with him?”
“I hardly know the man,” Conn told her impatiently. Surely she’d noticed he was not the type to socialize. “But I won’t have him slandered in rags like this.”
Eve lifted her shoulders and placed both palms on her chest. “My legal team went through it with a fine-tooth comb. You won’t find a word in there you can do anything about.”
Conn struggled to keep his eyes on her face and not the indentations her fingers made, pressing in on her front. “You know what I think? You made it up.”
“Think so?” she taunted softly. Either she had lowered her voice or the music was getting louder. Her eyes were wide and teasing. Her mouth, half smiling, baited him. All he could think was would she still be smiling after he kissed her?
“Can we turn that blasted racket off?” he barked.
That wiped the complacent look off her face. She threw her arms up in the air and stalked into the lounge. He was one step behind her as she swerved to avoid a cluster of sanding gear, masks and tins of paint stripper on the bare floor.
“Your attempt to discredit Scanlon is a publicity stunt. Admit it.”
She stopped in front of the stereo and whirled on him. “No, it’s gossip. You know, a lighthearted dig about how pleased his former subjects are that he’s moved on to bigger and better pastures.”
When she didn’t move, Conn reached over her shoulder, his finger jabbing at the stereo power switch. The opera was cut off midaria but the television set in the corner of the room was still chattering. “Your career is over and you can’t accept that because you have an insatiable need to be in the public eye. Because you people make up things to draw attention to yourselves.” He could not believe how heightened his senses were, how his blood seemed to surge through his veins.
“I do not!” she retorted, not backing up one inch.
“Why then, Ms. Summers…” He leaned in close. Since his finger already had its dander up, he employed it to wag in front of her astonished face. “Why are there no names? No confirmations? But mostly, why is yours the lone voice in the wilderness?”
She grabbed his finger.
He started, unable to believe it. A jolt of energy crackled and popped through him at the contact. Yes, she had a tight hold on his index finger and was holding it away, so there was nothing in between them.
Nothing but air and madness.
In a flash his big hand totally encompassed her small one and he laced their fingers together.
She tossed her head back, inhaling sharply. “Because, Mr. Bannerman,” she said, dragging her incredulous eyes from their entwined fingers to his face, “Scanlon cultivates friends in high places. He always has.”
Conn moved a step closer, tugging her hand gently toward him. “Really, Ms. Summers?”
“The New City paper isn’t part of the old-boy network. It…it can’t be bought off like the others.” Her breathing seemed shallow and rapid, her voice not as certain as before. But she did raise her chin. “And it’s Drumm, not Summers.”
Their wrists had locked together and he felt her pulse hammering against his. “Sorry. Ms. Drumm.” He bowed his head mockingly. “A rag’s a rag. Pete Scanlon has probably never even heard of it.” There was no heat in his voice now, the anger dissipating with the feel of her unresisting hand in his. Unresisting but not unresponsive. When he saw her eyes flick to his mouth and away, his blood began pumping to another beat. It wasn’t opera.
“I bet he has now,” she murmured and something glowed in him to hear her breathlessness.
Conn brought his other hand up and took her free one. She sucked in a breath but her warm fingers closed around his and her eyes flicked back and stayed on his mouth. He moved closer, dipping his head.
“Conn?” she breathed. Her eyes were wide and dark, her chest rose as his body connected with hers.
“Eve.” He took her mouth. Soft and cool and firm. His anger and tension fell away. Sighing, he pulled her closer. This was the argument he had wanted to have with her since day one.
She made a little humming noise in her throat and flexed her hands, but he wasn’t giving them up just yet. He eased her arms behind her and placed their laced hands on her rump. They swayed together, mouths locked, pressing up against each other.
He touched his tongue to hers, and exhilaration fizzed through him—that she tasted like heaven, that she was compliant, that maybe she was as greedy as he was.
Conn was so hungry for this warmth, this need, her acceptance. He was no monk, but it had been a long time. His infrequent affairs were more like arrangements, begun with the objective of completion. There wasn’t this blind need reaching out from him, building out of all proportion to the situation. Right out of proportion for a first kiss for two people who couldn’t even decide if they trusted or liked each other.
He leaned over her a little and angled her head back so he could kiss her more deeply. His desire built relentlessly and it flowed like tendrils of silk, binding them closer. He felt her slim fingers tightening rhythmically around his and her hips swaying as she arched against him. She was leading him into madness, and he’d never been more willing in his life.
When her tongue slid against his, the room began to swirl and he knew he’d reached his point of no return. She was leading him somewhere he might not be able to