Even after he’d left office, he’d been in a high-profile business that had demanded lots of press and reporters having access to his life. As a teenager Conner had been photographed and interviewed by every society magazine. He’d hated living in a fishbowl and had vowed never to allow it to happen again once he was an adult. Something he’d been very successful at, even though he lived a jet-set life and had a reputation as something of a player, he didn’t give interviews and was seldom, if ever, caught by the paparazzi.
“I think you’re reacting negatively to someone in the past,” she said, dropping her arm from his once they were far from the crowd. “I promise it will be painless.”
“Maybe I like pain,” he said, primarily to bait her but also because there were times when pain was the only reminder he had that he was alive.
She narrowed her gaze as she stared at him; he knew she was trying to guess if he was telling the truth. “So how about answering a few questions?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I’ll do anything to get this interview, Conner.”
The hint of determination in her tone intrigued him. It had been a long time since anyone had been so dogged to get something from him.
“Anything?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m known as the girl-who-gets-her-story and you’re making me look bad at work.”
“We can’t have that now, can we?” he asked, stepping closer into her personal space and letting his hands fall lightly on her shoulders. She was tall for a woman—probably five-eight—but she only came to his chest and he liked the feeling of power he had looking down at her.
“You do know I don’t give interviews,” he said.
“But this is different. You’re doing a television show.”
“Not me, my company. There’s a very big difference,” he said.
“Your dad didn’t see it that way. He practically lived on the pages of the Post.”
And that was precisely why Conner wouldn’t. “I’m not my dad. And the answer is still no.”
“Please,” she said, tipping her head back and pouting up at him.
Her luscious red lips made him want to groan out loud. He felt a zing of lust shoot straight through him.
“I might do it, but the price will be high,” he said, knowing he’d never sit for an interview with her. But he wanted her and didn’t see why he couldn’t indulge the fantasy a bit.
“Name it,” she said.
He lifted a strand of her hair and wrapped it around his forefinger. She held her breath as a blush spread over her neck and cheeks. Her creamy skin with the light dusting of freckles was smooth under the fingers of his other hand.
He wanted her.
But he knew he’d never have her. He couldn’t be with a woman he couldn’t trust, and at the end of the day her loyalties would always be with her newspaper. But he wasn’t about to let her go without stealing at least a kiss from her. He suspected the shock of what he was going to say would drive her away and maybe even cost him that kiss he wanted so badly. But that was his intention. Self-preservation won out over lust … well, sort of.
“Be my mistress for a month and I’ll answer all your questions,” he said.
Nichole stared up into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen and tried to make sense of what he’d just said. She’d never imagined she’d be so turned on by someone so … well, conservative. She would have to call him that. To be honest, he was so far out of her league, she knew he must be toying with her.
She was used to doing whatever it took to get a story but this was … risqué and daring and she wanted to say yes. But ethics made her back down. She suspected he’d said that to push her away and that made her mad.
“A month?” she asked. “What kind of secrets are you hiding, Mr. Macafee? I had only planned on asking you about Matchmakers, Inc. But for that kind of price, I’d have to have full access to every part of you.”
She knew he wouldn’t negotiate with her. Why would he? She’d read the papers back when his father died. She knew the scandalous stories of the second family that Old Jed Macafee had kept hidden and she remembered seeing the photos of Conner and his sister, Jane, as they’d been caught leaving the country on a private Learjet owned by a Greek billionaire. There had been something so sad about the once-press-friendly teenagers suddenly donning dark glasses and refusing to look at the cameras.
Conner was never going to let her interview him. She’d known it was a long shot from the beginning, but she’d gone after it anyway. Her dad always said you had to break a lot of eggs to make an omelet.
“No, you wouldn’t,” he said. “If you agree to this, I will specify the parameters and if you break one of the rules outlined for you, then you leave and never bother me again.”
She shook her head. “If I agree, then we will hammer out an arrangement that works for both of us. Why would you even suggest this?”
“Because I know you are going to say no,” he said with the confidence of a man who knew he held all the cards. “Though I would really like to kiss you.”
She knew the offer of an interview had been too good to be true. She’d never be able to be someone’s mistress. Her mother would have a cow for one thing. She raised all her daughters to be strong and independent. But that didn’t mean that Nichole didn’t long to feel Conner’s arms around her.
“One kiss, one question?” she suggested.
He arched an eyebrow at her. “And that would be enough for you?”
“Is one kiss really going to be enough for you?” she countered. She had never felt instant lust for a man before. Well a man in real life. There was no denying that the first time she’d seen Daniel Craig as James Bond she’d been in instant lust. But this was real. Conner was touching her and she didn’t want him to stop touching her.
“No,” he admitted.
“Good. Then we keep the kiss-question ratio?”
He shook his head. “One kiss is all I want. More than that and you’d have to agree to being my mistress.”
His mistress. That sounded oddly exciting to her as she’d always secretly wanted to be Gigi and have Louis Jourdan take a look at her and decide he wanted her. But could she do it?
“I want to do a series of interviews about dating and the way that our society is dominated by online dating sites and services like Matchmakers, Inc. I hadn’t planned on asking you anything personal, Conner,” she said.
“You wouldn’t have asked me if I ever used those services?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Okay, I would probably have asked you some personal questions, too. I’m a good reporter.”
She was dying to know if his father’s secret family was the reason why
