Hunter nodded hello. “Ms. Barlow.”
She gave him a smile, but it didn’t touch her eyes, not like it had in his hotel room.
“Get in.” Maggie leaned across the console of her supersleek car and opened the passenger-side door. “Please. I’d like to take you for a cup of coffee if you have some time. Clear the air before we get down to business.”
The woman was nothing if not direct. Years of flings had primed him to expect a woman to brush the uncomfortable under the rug, not come clean and say, Hey, remember how I asked you for amazing sex Saturday? Well let’s talk about that so we can both focus on my book.
Hunter opened the rear passenger-side door and tossed his duffel in the backseat. He held up the Marriott bag. “Your shoes.”
“Thanks.”
He slid into her car, which cost more than his annual salary and then some. “So, coffee?”
“There’s a place in town.” Maggie put the car in gear, her eyes on the road. “They have great cinnamon buns.”
Hunter shook his head. “I can’t talk openly about our missions in a public setting. We’re better off at your place.”
“My home?” He could hear the surprise in her voice.
“Unless you want to meet in my motel room.”
She sighed with what he guessed was frustration as she pulled out of West Point and turned onto the main road. “My place it is. For today. I’ll find somewhere private, but more professional for us to meet tomorrow. Before we
debate locations, we should discuss Saturday.”
Hunter turned to study Maggie as she kept her gaze focused on the road. He glanced down at her hands, positioned at ten and two on the steering wheel. Her right pinky finger tapped the wheel. He found her anxiety oddly reassuring. He might not know everything about the wealthy writer in the ugly suit, but he could still read her nerves.
“I had a great time,” he said.
“I did, too.”
Hunter studied the side of her face. One blond curl had escaped her severe hairdo and he wanted to reach out and give it a tug, but he stopped himself. He didn’t like her. He shouldn’t want to touch her.
“But I meant it when I said it was a onetime thing,” she continued. “I just got out of a relationship. And on Saturday, well, let’s just say I needed to find a part of myself. Does that make sense?”
“A serious relationship?” He narrowed his eyes, his gaze still fixed on the errant curl. What had this guy done to her that sent her hunting for orgasms?
Maggie flexed her hands around the steering wheel. “We were engaged.”
Hunter’s eyebrows shot up. A broken engagement, a one-night stand—it sounded as if Miss Maggie had more issues with commitment than he did. At least he hadn’t been just another Saturday night. Her innocence hadn’t been an act. She’d never gone searching for sex in a Toyota before her trip to the car show. He found that thought reassuring.
Not that it was any of his business, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking. “What happened with your ex?”
She hesitated. “Irreconcilable differences.”
Hunter looked out at the road as Maggie took a sharp turn without slowing down. He’d bet his next paycheck there was more to her breakup. “So you decided to ask the first stranger you met for an orgasm?”
“It wasn’t my idea. But I admit, I think it makes sense to keep my personal and work life separate.” She turned down a pine tree–lined drive and sped through an opening between two stone pillars, one marked with a private sign.
“Not working so well for you?”
“No. Not really.”
“Relax, Maggie. You don’t have to worry that I’m here for a repeat of Saturday night.” Not that he’d object if she offered. Every time he looked at her he remembered the way her skin tasted against his lips, how her body felt pressed up against him.
Hunter stared past the trees into the open fields, trying to push the erotic images out of his mind. “I take my work seriously,” he added.
The car slowed to a stop in front of a three-story white house with green shutters. A white wraparound porch circled the first level with a set of gray stairs leading up to the double door. Hunter didn’t know the first thing about architecture, but if he had to guess, he’d say the place had to be two hundred years old. Ancient, but perfectly maintained.