Baring It All (Mills & Boon Temptation) Page 13

  “I’m sure. I came to Atlanta to uncover crime, not commit one. If I’ve done something shameful, I’ll accept the consequences.”

  “There was nothing shameful about what happened, Sunny. But I see where it could look bad to the world. And I’m truly sorry. It seems that I’m always saying that to you.”

  “It wasn’t entirely your fault.”

  “He’s right about one thing. People are going to think that I’m buying your way here.”

  “It isn’t that I’m worried about. It’s my dad. He’s already been crucified in the press for something he didn’t do. If Hinton starts spreading his filth to get even, people will find out that Pop was in jail. I don’t want him to face that again.”

  Ryan took her hand. “I won’t let that happen if I can help it, Sunny. But you’re in the limelight now and nothing is private. I know.”

  She sighed. “You’re right. I’d just hoped that I could have a little more time.”

  “Sometimes a thing gets out of control,” Ryan said quietly, rolling his thumb around inside her palm. He liked being with her, holding her hand. It felt—right. “You know it’s happening and there’s not a thing you can do to stop it.”

  The sincere tone in his voice slowed her fury. She looked at him and saw understanding in his eyes. How selfish could a person be? This wasn’t just about her, his reputation could be tarnished as well. “Ryan, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about what could happen to you. You could be hurt as well. I’ll ask Walt to check with the other press people. Somebody might know his address.”

  “Good idea. I’ll put some of my people on it.”

  Sunny smiled. Up to now, every time something had gone wrong in her life, she’d had to face it alone. Just this once, she had a partner. “Maybe it won’t be so bad, Ryan,” she said.

  “You know something, Sunny? Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s time we both stop worrying about what people think of us. More important people have survived the truth.”

  “Yeah, tell that to Lord Sin,” she quipped.

  “Maybe I will,” he said. “Maybe I will.”

  8

  EDWARD HINTON DISAPPEARED, but for the rest of the day, Sunny kept her eyes open, looking for the thin man who could ruin her. Walt asked around but nobody had an address.

  When Ryan and the Atlanta Braves pitcher, Joe Andrews, won the match it came as no surprise. The check for twenty-five thousand dollars was turned over to Anne Kelley, representative for Doctor’s Hospital. And, as predicted, all the golfers retired to the Greenhouse where special prizes provided by the sporting goods manufacturers were distributed. Then came the predicted drinks and wild stories of past glories. Ryan stood at Sunny’s shoulder but made no effort to intrude on her duties as a reporter. When Sunny had gotten the required statement from Joe Andrews and a thank-you from Anne Kelley, she headed toward the exit.

  She needed calm and space—anywhere away from Ryan Malone. She thought she was going to make it when Ryan caught up with them.

  “Don’t worry about what happened,” he said. “This will work out.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I always thought. I was wrong. It’s not your fault, Malone, but the last problem I had got me fired.”

  “Ted Fields isn’t going to fire you.”

  “I didn’t think my last boss would fire me either, but he did. I gotta get back to the station. Thanks for the lunch.”

  “Tomorrow night, Sunny. The address is 3148 Peachtree Road, penthouse suite. I’ll tell the security guard to expect you and your father about six o’clock.”

  “Are you sure? Ryan, I think we ought to call that off.”

  “No way. I’ve bought enough food to feed half the television station. Besides, if you don’t come, Lottie will have my head.” He took her hand and held it for just a moment, looking deep into her eyes. “I didn’t plan on us, Sunny. Didn’t expect it. But I’m not letting Edward Hinton spoil whatever we have. You and I are more important than that.”

  Then, as if his previous actions hadn’t been compromising enough, he reached down and kissed her, a quick goodbye kiss that promised they weren’t done yet.

  “Trust me,” he said with a smile. “You haven’t seen all my talents yet.”

  All his talents. On the way back to the station she chewed on that statement. She told herself she wasn’t sure she wanted to. And she knew she was lying. Thank goodness her father would be there tomorrow night. She would need a head clearer than her own. If Edward Hinton sold the picture of Ryan fondling her breasts in the woods, it could ruin everything for her. At the same time, she refused to allow Ryan to “fix” the problem by buying the photograph. If Ted fired her, at least she’d have faced the problem straight on.

  A far greater threat to her peace of mind was Ryan Malone. Could she afford to let their relationship develop any further? Did she even want that? She let out a sigh. Who was she kidding? She wanted him as much as she wanted her career. Dammit, why couldn’t she have both?

  “YOU’RE DOING A FINE JOB, Sunny,” Ted Fields said as she turned in her story on the golf tournament. “You got pictures of the stars, interviews with the winners and made the folks in Atlanta say, ‘Ahh!’ over the money raised for all those children whose families can’t afford to pay hospital fees. I never would have thought that good news would excite our viewers.”

  “Sure, and which part of the story do you think they’re excited about, the children, Joe Andrews, or Ryan Malone and the ‘Good-News Girl’?”

  “Sunny and Ryan, of course. It’s human nature, my girl. Viewers always go for the stars. Why do you think they invite them to play in the tournaments?”

  Sunny sighed in frustration. “Ted, I need to talk to you. Something happened today that…could jeopardize my position here. It involves Ryan Malone.”

  “If you’re worried about your relationship with Ryan Malone, don’t.”

  “I am worried. It isn’t just the relationship.” She hesitated, trying to find the right words, then decided there weren’t any. “Today there was an incident—with a honeybee—in the woods. Malone had to get it out of—”

  “Get it?” Ted prompted.

  Sunny took a deep breath. “Out of my shirt.”

  “I see,” Ted said, seriously, “And how is that going to affect your career at WTRU?”

  “Someone photographed us, a freelance journalist who seems to think it will reflect badly on my reputation as a journalist. Stop and think. So far, I’ve been with Ryan Malone in every on-the-air story I’ve done: the Valentine Ball, the nursing home party, the golf tournament. It looks as if the wealthiest bachelor in Atlanta is my protector, as if he’s providing the news for me to cover. That’s bad enough. But now it appears that he’s—fondling me in public.”

  “And the fans will probably love it.”

  “But the people whose respect I have to earn to do my job won’t,” she argued.

  Ted pushed his glasses up his nose and pursed his lips. “What does Malone say?”

  “Actually, he asked the man what he wanted, if the pictures were for sale. They are for sale to the highest bidder.”

  That made Ted angry. “Professional blackmail! What’s the weasel’s name?”

  “That’s what I called him. His name is Edward Hinton.”

  Ted groaned. “To call that man a weasel is to insult the weasel. He’s been fired from at least one newspaper and one television station for, let’s call it, manufacturing news. If you hear from him again, tell him to give me a call.”

  “You’re not going to buy the picture, Ted. I won’t allow that. I’ll resign and find a job as a…” she thought about Lord Sin and finished “…janitor, if I have to.”

  “It isn’t illegal to buy photographs,” Ted admitted. “Don’t worry. There’s not much that we haven’t had to deal with. I admit this might look bad but I can’t see what harm it can do for the viewers to know you’re romantically involved with Malone—if you are. If we’re talking careers, it can’t hurt his and I�
��m thinking that it won’t hurt yours. Let’s don’t get worried yet. Are you getting settled in?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “I suppose. So far I’ve not had a lot of time to spend in my apartment, but my dad’s coming in tomorrow for a few days.”

  “I’d like to meet him,” Ted said. “Bring him by the station.”

  “I will,” Sunny agreed, her mind still reeling from her day. She’d started with Ryan Malone, then run head-on into Edward Hinton. She’d already decided that Hinton was an opportunist. About Ryan, she was totally confused.

  SUNNY SPENT THE AFTERNOON checking out running trails, settling on one that hugged the bank of the Chattahoochee River. Though it was late February, the trail had enough joggers to make her feel safe without being so crowded that she lost the pleasure of the solitude. Plaques along the river marked battle sites from the Civil War. Magnolia trees dotted the hilly terrain, along with huge water oaks and stately loblolly pines. The dirt here wasn’t sandy like her favorite running spots in south Georgia. Instead, the soil was dark and rich, broken here and there by gashes of red Georgia clay and clusters of wild azaleas already budding and ready to bloom in a few months.

  The path was well maintained, allowing her to set a steady pace, the rhythm a kind of hypnotic meditation. She needed that. In a week’s time she’d traversed the roller coaster of emotion that came from a new town, a new job, her sensual reaction to a male stripper and the unexpected feeling of belonging that had come over her since Ryan Malone intruded in her life. Now she was committed to having dinner with him tomorrow night. At least, with Lottie and her father along, they wouldn’t be alone. She didn’t trust herself to be alone with the tycoon. But, she justified, she wanted her father to meet Ryan, didn’t she?

  Finally, the approaching dusk forced her to turn around. She covered the last half-mile in a walk, making it back to her car just as the final rays of sun disappeared. She was tired, but she felt better. Ted was right. Edward Hinton couldn’t hurt her. In fact, she might just make him her next investigation—after Lord Sin.

  Lord Sin. That name took her thoughts in another direction. Tonight, on her way home, she’d stop for take-out Chinese and watch the rest of his tape. By now, Sin ought to know enough about her to decide whether or not to grant her an interview. She’d given Ryan Malone ample opportunity to get her into his bed and he’d failed. Why didn’t that make her feel good? From now on, she was on her own. She’d find the mystery man without any help.

  What she didn’t expect was to find Ryan Malone sitting on her top step.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I wanted to see you. I hope you like Chinese,” he said slowly, letting his gaze capture hers, then slide down her body until he caught sight of the paper bag and the carton of noodles she was carrying.

  She couldn’t help it. A warm rush of pleasure washed over her traitorous body. She liked him. She was glad he had come. In spite of her arguments to the contrary, she wanted to see him—no, needed to see him. At the same time, finding him here waiting was disturbing. She didn’t know what to say. Catching sight of his carry-out containers, she stood there, smiling like a dope. “Chinese? Yeah, I do.”

  “Good. Another thing we have in common. May I come in?”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “I guess. But it would have been better if you’d called first.”

  “I was afraid you’d say no.”

  “I probably would have,” she said as he stood when she slid past him, feeling the instant response of her nipples grazing his chest as she opened the door and turned on the lamp inside.

  “That’s what I thought. What else do you like to eat?”

  “Pork and beans.”

  “Another common interest. We like the same food. We’re both ambitious. Neither of us knew our fathers or know how to fish. That’s a pretty good start. At least it works for me. And, Sunny—”

  “You like me. Admit it, Malone. You like me.”

  He nodded. “I do.”

  “And,” she went on, enjoying the uncertainty she was seeing in his face, “with or without Hinton’s pictures, we’re the hottest couple in Atlanta right now.”

  “We definitely are. I used to hear kids say that if they were going to be accused of doing something anyway, they might as well get the benefit of the act. How do you feel about living up to your potential?”

  “Don’t joke about it, Malone. Just tell me what you’re doing here. Why did you come?”

  He looked around the spotless apartment, taking in the personal touches she’d given the place. Bright colored cushions, candles, books and— “Puzzles? You put picture puzzles together?”

  “I do. At least my father and I used to do that.”

  “I did, too, once, when I lived…” He swallowed the rest of his sentence. He had lived with a family once where the grandmother always had a puzzle on her coffee table. She’d been lonely, too old to fit into the young family, and he’d felt a kinship there, for a time. Then he’d been moved to another home and there were never any picture puzzles again. He didn’t know why he’d never bought any. But Sunny had.

  She took the cardboard containers into the tiny kitchen. He could hear her opening cabinets and rattling dishes. “When you lived where, Malone? Were you born in Atlanta?”

  “Yes, I’m one of those rare born and bred Atlantans. What about you?”

  “Albany, Georgia. That’s ‘All-Benny’ to the people who live there. Two years at Valdosta State and a degree from the University of Georgia in Communications and Journalism.” The conversation was normal but there was nothing natural about the currents swirling around the small apartment. She had to do something.

  Sunny took a soft drink from the refrigerator, walked back into the room, handed the can to Ryan and kept going. “Sorry, don’t have anything stronger. If you’d like to eat your food, go ahead. I’m going to shower now and eat later.” As quickly as she could, she scurried into her bedroom and closed the door.

  Ryan took a sip from the icy can, trying to moisten his dry throat. The apartment was certainly big enough for one person, but it suddenly seemed too small for two. He slid out of his jacket and draped it over Sunny’s on the back of the chair and wandered over to her stereo. Mozart, the sound track from Titanic, Celine Dion, Neil Diamond, Elton John and—he grinned—George Jones? The woman had interesting musical taste, not too different from his own. He slid the Celine Dion tape into the player and touched the on button.

  The sound of water splashing pulled his thoughts back to Sunny, of her bare breasts, of the feel of her skin beneath the lace of her bra. If she were any other woman, by now they’d be showering together. He tightened his grip on the can. No woman had ever kept him at bay this long or kept him as interested. It had to be her resistance that attracted him to her. He couldn’t be falling for her. He just wanted to make love to her. Once he’d done that, the need would go away, or as Lottie had said, his itch would be scratched. The sooner that happened, the better—for both of them. Then his life would go back to normal.

  He continued his stroll around her living room. Bookshelves filled with an even wider selection than his own. She read everything from horror to nonfiction. Politics seemed to be a favorite topic. Casually, he pulled down a book praising Richard Nixon’s contributions to history, thumbed through it and gave a laugh. The woman not only read her books, she argued with them. In red pen, all around the margins she’d scribbled her disagreement with his policies. Never one to pass up a debate, he jotted a few rebuttal remarks, then swapped Nixon for a gossipy tell-all about Princess Diana. Here the arguments were supportive of the Princess, as Ryan would have expected.

  It was the scrapbook of newspaper clippings that took him to the easy chair by the table lamp. It was the scrapbook that told him what had made Sunny Clary run. Headlines read: Local Accountant Suspected Of Wrongdoing. And Byron Clary Takes Kickbacks. He’d heard Sunny tell Lottie about her father but the harsh accounting of his trouble expl
ained a lot. Sunny’s father had been the controller for a large government contractor whose buildings dotted the state. Guilty of buying inferior products and padding the expense sheets, the company and its partners in the wrongdoing had made millions. And Byron Clary signed off on the purchase orders. Kickbacks had been paid and cancelled checks made out to Clary seemed to prove his guilt.

  Sunny’s father had gone to jail. The company had failed. And months later, the owner had drowned in a boating accident. The politicians who’d awarded the contracts went unscathed.

  A sound caught Ryan’s attention and he looked up. Sunny, wearing a white robe, was standing in her bedroom door, leaning forward to towel dry her hair. There was something Elizabethan about red hair against all that white.

  “Are you still here?” she asked, without turning her gaze to him.

  “Yes. I’ve been looking at your books. You have an interesting collection.”

  “I like to read. It makes me think. What makes you think?”

  He ran his fingers through his hair and tried to answer her. He really did. But all he could think about at the moment was that she was nude under that robe. That the breasts he’d seen yesterday were free.

  “What’s wrong? Did my question leave you speechless?”

  At that moment his stomach growled. Not a gentle little reminder growl, but a roar designed to get attention. “I’m having a hard time thinking about anything except my stomach,” he said.

  “Do you think about your stomach a lot?” she asked.

  “Well, not as much as I think about my other body parts. Actually, the stomach is probably one of the most demanding but least attractive, conversationally and sensually, that is.”

  She raised up and wrapped her towel around her hair. “Are you all right, Malone?”

  One corner of his mouth curled up. “Not really.”

  From the look in his eyes, Sunny realized she’d made an error. She should have pulled on a sweatshirt, maybe a suit of armor. She should have forced him to go, feigning a necessity to work or her need for sleep after a long day. Now it was too late.