contributed to an intriguing picture. She’d already known that Devon Hunter had enlisted in the Air Force right out of high school and trained as a loadmaster on big cargo jets. She hadn’t known he’d completed a bachelor’s and a master’s during his eight years in uniform, despite spending most of those years flying into combat zones or disaster areas.
On one of those combat missions his aircraft had come under intense enemy fire. Hunter had jerry-rigged some kind of emergency fix to its damaged cargo ramp that had allowed them to take on hundreds of frantic Somalian refugees attempting to escape certain death. He’d left the Air Force a short time later and patented the modification he’d devised. From what Sarah could gather, it was now used on military and civilian aircraft worldwide.
That enterprise had earned Hunter his first million. The rest, as they say, was history. She hadn’t found a precise estimate of the man’s net worth, but it was obviously enough to allow him to collect hundred-thousand-pound museum pieces. Which brought her back to the problem at hand.
“Look, Mr. Hunter, this whole...”
“Dev,” he interrupted, the grin still in place. “Now that we’re engaged, we should dispense with the formalities. I know you have a half-dozen names. Do you go by Sarah or Elizabeth or Marie-Adele?”
“Sarah,” she conceded, “but we are not engaged.”
He tipped his chin toward the woman several tables away, her nose now buried in a menu. “Red there thinks we are.”
“I simply didn’t care for her attitude.”
“Me, either.” The amusement left his eyes. “That’s why I offered you a choice. Let me spell out the basic terms so there’s no misunderstanding. You agree to an engagement. Six months max. Less, if I close the deal currently on the table. In return, I destroy the surveillance tape and don’t report the loss.”
“But the medallion! You said it was worth a hundred thousand pounds or more.”
“I’m willing to accept your assurances that Gina will return it. Eventually. In the meantime...” He lifted his tumbler in a mock salute. “To us, Sarah.”
Feeling much like the proverbial mouse backed into a corner, she snatched at her last lifeline. “You promised me another twenty-four hours. The deal doesn’t go into effect until then. Agreed?”
He hesitated, then lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Agreed.”
Surely Gina would return her calls before then and this whole, ridiculous situation would be resolved. Sarah clung to that hope as she pushed away from the table.
“Until tomorrow, Mr. Hunter.”
“Dev,” he corrected, rising, as well.
“No need for you to walk me out. Please stay and enjoy your dinner.”
“Actually, I got hungry earlier and grabbed a Korean taco from a street stand. Funny,” he commented as he tossed some bills on the table, “I’ve been in and out of Korea a dozen times. Don’t remember ever having tacos there.”
He took her elbow in a courteous gesture Grandmama would approve of. Very correct, very polite, not really possessive but edging too close to it for Sarah’s comfort. Walking beside him only reinforced the impression she’d gained yesterday of his height and strength.
They passed the redhead’s table on the way to the door. She glanced up, caught Sarah’s dismissive stare and stuck her nose back in the menu.
“I’ll hail you a cab,” Hunter said as they exited the restaurant.
“It’s only a few blocks.”
“It’s also getting dark. I know this is your town, but I’ll feel better sending you home in a cab.”
Sarah didn’t argue further, mostly because dusk had started to descend and the air had taken on a distinct chill. Across the street, the lanterns in Central Park shed their golden glow. She turned in a half circle, her artist’s eye delighting in the dots of gold punctuating the deep purple of the park.
Unfortunately, the turn brought the redhead into view again. The picture there wasn’t as delightful. She was squinting at them through the restaurant’s window, a phone jammed to her ear. Whoever she was talking to was obviously getting an earful.
Sarah guessed instantly she was spreading the word about Sexy Single Number Three and his fiancée. The realization gave her a sudden, queasy feeling. New York City lived and breathed celebrities. They were the stuff of life on Good Morning America, were courted by Tyra Banks and the women of The View, appeared regularly on Late Show with David Letterman. The tabloids, the glossies, even the so-called “literary” publications paid major bucks for inside scoops.
And Sarah had just handed them one. Thoroughly disgusted with herself for yielding to impulse, she smothered a curse that would have earned a sharp reprimand from Grandmama. Hunter followed her line of sight and spotted the woman staring at them through the restaurant window, the phone still jammed to her ear. He shared Sarah’s pessimistic view of the matter but didn’t bother to swallow his curse. It singed the night air.
“This is going turn up in another rag like Beguile, isn’t it?”
Sarah stiffened. True, she’d privately cringed at some of the articles Alexis had insisted on putting in print. But that didn’t mean she would stand by and let an outsider disparage her magazine.
“Beguile is hardly a rag. We’re one of the leading fashion publications for women in the twenty to thirty-five age range, here and abroad.”
“If you say so.”
“I do,” she ground out.
The misguided sympathy she’d felt for the man earlier had gone as dry and stale as yesterday’s bagel. It went even staler when he turned to face her. Devon Hunter of the crinkly squint lines and heart-stuttering grin was gone. His intimidating alter ego was back.
“I guess if we’re going to show up in some pulp press, we might as well give the story a little juice.”
She saw the intent in his face and put up a warning palm. “Let’s not do anything rash here, Mr. Hunter.”
“Dev,” he corrected, his eyes drilling into hers. “Say it, Sarah. Dev.”
“All right! Dev. Are you satisfied?”
“Not quite.”
His arm went around her waist. One swift tug brought them hip to hip. His hold was an iron band, but he gave her a second, maybe two, to protest.
Afterward Sarah could list in precise order the reasons she should have done exactly that. She didn’t like the man. He was flat-out blackmailing her with Gina’s rash act. He was too arrogant, and too damned sexy, for his own good.
But right then, right there, she looked up into those dangerous blue eyes and gave in to the combustible mix of guilt, nagging worry and Devon Hunter’s potent masculinity.
Sarah
