Dirty Little Secrets. Kierney Scott

opera? And it wasn’t you in Maui with the lingerie model? Perhaps it was your twin in Nice with that heiress?”

      “Christ, you read a lot of tabloids.” James lay back on the hospital bed.

      He looked too big for the bed, his legs too long, his shoulders too broad. He looked like a man in a child’s bed. Physically he was very daunting. If he wanted to hurt her, he could, quite easily. The thought unsettled her almost as much as the realisation that she assessed everyone on their potential to inflict pain. Old habits die hard.

      “I don’t read any tabloids actually, but thank you for making my point for me. So-called legitimate news organisations report on where you are and who you are sleeping with.”

      “Only because you read it, sweetheart.”

      “Don’t flatter yourself.”

      “Woman, you just named three chicks I shagged this year. I would say you’ve taken an interest.” He grinned. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled properly.

      Her stomach did a flip. Jesus, she needed to get it together. He was flirting with her and she liked it. Lack of sex did strange things to a woman’s brain. “Hardly. I was trying to make a point and you put me off. So congratulations on that, because that is hard to do.”

      She turned to look down the hall and see if a doctor was coming to tend to him. The examination room suddenly seemed hot. She hoped he could not see the blush she felt creeping across her cheeks. She didn’t blush. Self-imposed abstinence was turning her into a schoolgirl. She was going to add sex to her to do list, or even just buy new batteries, that might take the edge off. All the thinking about sex reminded her of the point she had been trying to make. “Oh, now I remember: real news outlets should not be reporting on who you or anyone else is having sex with. If no one is getting hurt, it is nobody’s business.”

      “We print what people buy. Supply and demand. If you don’t want to read it, stop buying it. The almighty dollar speaks loudly, sweetheart.” He closed his eyes and sank his dark head deeper into the pillow. His body language was so relaxed and indifferent, it would have infuriated her had it not aroused her. He was so masculine and in charge of his surroundings, even now with a broken hand and split eyebrow. Something primitive in her responded to him, it was part of herself she had not seen in a very long time.

      She let out a long breath. “If that is your justification, we can hardly have a productive conversation.” There was no point arguing, he was not going to be swayed and there was no jury to convince.

      He opened one eye. “Keep fighting, counsellor, this is the most animated I’ve seen you all night. I like seeing the ice queen melt a bit. Not too much though, I like your rough edges.”

      Her back stiffened at the ice queen reference. She knew people called her that, hell, she prided herself on it, but she wasn’t entirely comfortable with James Emerson knowing about her reputation in the courtroom. “I don’t engage in arguments I can’t win,” she lied. She lived for a good argument. “If you think money trumps ethics, there is no changing your mind.”

      “I also think democracy could not function without a free press. But the money is good too. Either of those things would get me up in the morning. How lucky am I that I have both?”

      “I think that is as close to an admission as I am going to get that your profession is, for the most part, completely mercenary.”

      He lifted his head and smiled. “Are we making admissions now? I like this game. Now your turn. Admit that it turns you on to read about people fucking on the beach, doesn’t it? If one of my newspapers made you come that bit harder when you were underneath your husband, I have done you a service. You’re welcome.” He closed his eyes again as he lay back.

      Her breath caught in her throat. No one spoke to her like that. Her mouth was dry but between her thighs there was a wetness she had not felt in a long time. Every beat of her heart pushed blood lower into her body, heightening her awareness of his proximity. She pretended to cough to give her an excuse to move away.

      “Cat got your tongue?” he asked. “I usually cringe when I see a story about my sex life. But now I’ll smile just a little, knowing I helped get you off.”

      She opened her mouth to speak but nothing coherent sprang to mind. For God’s sake she argued for a living. She should be able to shut him down with a few words, but every single one in her lexicon failed her.

      “I kind of like you quiet. Who knew all it would take is a little talk about my sex life? Christ, I haven’t even given you details. I’ll save those for when I really want to shut you up.”

      She cleared her throat, her pride allowing her to rise to the challenge. “If you want me to shut up, you could always just ask me.”

      “Really? You don’t seem the type to take orders. Is that another confession? The ice queen secretly likes being ordered about? Too bad this is all off the record, because that front page would sell out.”

      “Why are we talking about your sex life?” she demanded.

      “I don’t know. Why are we? You brought it up. Shall we talk about yours? When was the last time the senator rode you hard? Really had you panting, just begging him to fuck you? I’m guessing it’s been a while. I can see the way your eyes are dilated. You’re turned on. If you’d been fucked lately you would tell me to shove it up my ass.”

      She willed her body to relax, but each word he spoke turned her on more, winding her up tighter. “I wasn’t aware you were an expert in body language and a journalist. You’re obviously a man of many talents. And by the way, I would not just tell you to shove it up your ass. I would do it for you.”

      “Feisty. But before I indulge you any further in your fantasy, I should tell you I’m not really into having things shoved in my ass or shoving what I got in anyone else’s. No judgement, just not my thing. Why use an ass when the good Lord created something perfect for the job?” He crossed himself and then kissed his thumb and index finger.

      Her heart beat harder against her ribs. He looked simultaneously angelic and deviant, saint and sinner all wrapped into one beautiful package. Screw the batteries, she was going to need something rechargeable.

      They were both temporarily distracted by a knock at the door. Moments later a teenager in scrubs walked in. He flipped through the chart looking for something, because apparently the blood covering James’ face did not illustrate the problem well enough, he needed to read about it first.

      “Hello. Mr. …Emerson?”

      James nodded.

      “I’m going to stitch you up before you are sent down for x-rays. And probably a cast. Yep, that is going to need a cast.” The doctor eyed James’ hand suspiciously but he made no attempt to examine it.

      Megan itched to ask if this was his first day. He didn’t look old enough to be a doctor; he didn’t even look like he was shaving yet.

      “Great. And the night was just getting fun. It’s been a pleasure, Mrs. McCoy. It is my sincerest hope we can do this again soon.”

      “Likewise.” Megan smiled even though she was put out that Doogie Howser had interrupted her verbal sparring session. She had not felt so alive in ages. She wasn’t likely to see James again, which was probably for the best because she had gone too long without sex to withstand a full charm offensive. “I will tell Lynette to expect your call.”

      James’ eyes narrowed in question.

      “To schedule an interview with Ben,” she reminded him.

      “Christ, I nearly forgot you are married,” he said. His voice was like liquid chocolate, hot and sweet.

      He hadn’t forgotten. But she had.

      And that was a problem. If there was anyone one who she needed to remember her role in front of, it would be the owner of Global Media Network.

      Megan turned and left without looking