Sex, Lies and Valentines

Relaxing into the chair again, Gabriel offered a cocky smile and said, “Nice to meet you, Hunter. Now maybe you can explain what, exactly, is going on here.”

Hunter leaned back in his chair with a long, considering look. But he didn’t say a word.

He didn’t have to.

His body language, the look on his face, the very air around him, they all said trouble.

Gabriel almost grinned.

This guy was good.

Anticipation zinged through him. A nice rush of excitement that’d make the irritation of retrieving his deal all the sweeter.

His cover was rock solid. A solicitation charge?

Brow arched, Gabriel leaned back in the chair, crossed his ankle over his knee and waited, too.

He loved this moment. Those few seconds just before the win. He could taste the victory.

A door opened behind him. Gabriel didn’t take his gaze off Hunter’s though. They were the real players in this game, nobody else mattered.

Perfume teased his senses. Something fresh. Light. It shouldn’t have tapped into his desire, and yet his body stirred.

Then she came around, standing next to Hunter’s side of the desk. Shoulders back, arms loose at her sides, she clearly stood at attention.

Shit.

Gabriel’s body warred with itself, passion punched him in the gut even as contemptuous irritation stirred.

Instead of teased out in wild curls, her blond hair was slicked back in a tidy ponytail reminiscent of the Barbie Gabriel’s sister used to carry around.

He noted with regret that instead of barely covered in glitter and a few strips of shiny fabric, those tempting breasts were now demurely hidden by a crisp white blouse, the wide collar framing her face. Paired with the gunmetal gray skirt that hugged her from hips to knees and a pair of pointy toed black heels, the look screamed business.

He missed the sexy business her other outfit had screamed. Uptight do-gooders were irritating and unappealing.

So why did he find her as hot now as he had when she was all tarted up?

“I believe you’ve met Special Agent Danita Cruz,” Hunter introduced with the slightest inclination of his head.

Special Agent?

The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. That, and the warning buzz going off in his head, said this game had just taken a turn for the worse.

His worse.

As if reading his mind, Hunter’s lips twitched. Then he inclined his head toward Gabriel as the blonde stationed herself on Hunter’s left.

She looked like the cat who was about to nibble on a canary. Gabriel shifted so both feet were flat on the floor. Defensive position, yes. But the warning buzz was getting louder. And women didn’t get that cocky without a really good reason.

Maybe he wasn’t going to wiggle out of everything quite as easily as he’d thought.

Then Hunter said, “Danita, this is Gabriel Black.”

He shot Gabriel a smug smile, just this side of cocky, and leaned back in his chair before adding, “He’s going to help us close the Black Oak case.”

2

DANITA CRUZ HAD one goal in life.

To prove she wasn’t the worthless piece of trash she’d been called so often in her early years.

She’d grown up with her mother holding the title as the meanest drunk in the trailer park. When Mom hadn’t been wasted, she’d specialized in petty drug deals and moving stolen goods. Danita’s childhood had been a revolving door of lowlife scum. Not a promising beginning. And one that Danita might not have crawled out of if not for Hunter. She’d only been fifteen when he’d busted her mother for her part in a carjacking ring. He’d locked away the boogie man, then he’d dared her to dream of life beyond her miserable past. He’d become a friend, a mentor and a nagging big brother all rolled into one.

She owed him everything.

She’d worked hard to get where she was in the FBI. She’d busted her ass to put herself through college, to put all traces of her past behind her. To build a life she could be proud of. To craft a reputation as a smart, savvy and dependable agent who followed the book and got the job done.

She glared across the room. And now this criminal, this conniving con artist, was giving her a look filled with contempt. Like she was somehow dirty.

Two hours ago, he’d been looking at her like she was his every fantasy come true. Those intense molten gold eyes had glowed with appreciation. Now they just stared with chilly disdain.

Ignoring that, she studied the face she’d seen plenty of times in surveillance photos. Elegant angles, sleek cheekbones and long-lidded eyes that made her insides want to melt. Reputedly a gambler who traveled the world following the game, the man screamed class, from the tip of his expensively styled black hair to the toes of his designer shoes.

Obviously in Gabriel Black’s case, class was easily purchased. Just like his dates.

“Danita, have a seat,” Hunter invited.

She didn’t want to sit. Suddenly, she didn’t want to be here at all. But running from the room, and away from those molten gold eyes that were staring holes right through her, was chicken. As was ignoring an order, however politely it’d been worded.

So she sat, angling her body toward Hunter as if she were dismissing the other man. Her body was painfully aware of him, though. Just being in the same room brought back the same hot, sticky need that he’d inspired when he’d kissed her.

A need she’d just as tidily ignored as she was ignoring the man who’d inspired it. Resolute, Danita squared her shoulders and tried to focus on Hunter and the case.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why we went to so much trouble to bring you here,” he was saying. “And you’re probably thinking this solicitation charge is trumped-up bullshit, easy to get out of.”

“Two for two,” Black said, his tone amused. But Danita caught the fury layered beneath that smooth surface. “You want something from me, obviously. And want it badly enough to send Blondie as bait.”

“My name is Danita,” she snapped. “Or better yet, Special Agent Cruz.”

“Babe, to me you’ll always be the hot blonde with a body that won’t quit and lips made for men’s fantasies.”

An angry red haze heated Danita’s glare. A nasty rejoinder was on the tip of her lips before she caught herself.

What was wrong with her? She was a smart, savvy woman who’d built a name by using all the tools at her disposal to great, often devastating effect.

She’d taken the detriments and scars of her childhood—the lousy upbringing, humiliating reputation and exposure to the miserable side of life—and twisted it all in her favor.

And thanks to those tools, including the idiot-inducing reaction men had to her looks and her body, had helped solidify her case closure rate at a tidy ninety-eight percent. She was damned good.