Hard Beat(27)

“Don’t you think that’s something that was important for me to know?” I lean my hip against the edge of the dresser, but my eyes never leave hers. I’m trying to gauge her body language by her responses.

“Why didn’t you —”

“I’m the one asking the questions here. Not you.” I cut her off. I want answers, and I intend to get them. “Who are you working for?”

Her eyes widen slightly, and her brow narrows in confusion. “Worldwide News?” She answers hesitantly, drawing the words out as if asking me if it’s the correct answer.

“No. That’s who you’re pretending to work for. When you steal my story, who are you going to report for and take the glory for yourself?”

Surprise flickers across her face instantaneously at the same time as she starts shaking her head back and forth. “You’re a crazy * – you know that?” she says, voice rising as she steps toward me. “A neurotic, controlling one at that!”

“Get used to it, sweetheart!” I step into her space, welcoming the fight I see flashing in her eyes. “No one takes what I’ve busted my ass for, for themselves.”

“Certifiable!” she mutters with a roll of her eyes, and the simple action sets me off. Who the hell is she to question me when she’s the one trying to play me for the fool? “I screw up, and you think I’m trying to steal your story from a source I’ve never even met before?”

“Let’s add it all up, because one and one sure as f*ck isn’t equaling two here.” I need to pace, work through the anger eating me from the inside out. The space in my room is small, but I manage to find a path. “You hit on me in the bar, we sleep together, but the next morning you swear that you didn’t know you were going to be assigned to me. Bullshit!” I cough the word out and hold up my hand to cut her off when she tries to argue. “You were freelance for how long before within the blink of an eye, my partner? Let me ask you… As a freelancer, were you a reporter, a photographer, or were you both? Why be just one when you can have it all, right?”

“Fuck you,” she spits out, and it takes everything I have not to be an even greater * than I’m already being and tell her, No, thanks. Been there, done that.

Just as she’s about to say something else, I continue. “Then you miraculously know I’m on a possible story… how? By the way I walked out of the lobby? I mean how the f*ck did you know to follow me up to my room and ask? And then of course being the good guy that I am… I bring you with me where you proceed to spook the f*ck out of my contact when you bust out in Dari, and then…” I turn to face her, and she steps back so that her shoulders are against the wall. I can tell she’s rattled, but I’m glad because I’ve learned that when you’re rattled, your true colors show, and I’m waiting for hers to light up this room like a damn rainbow. “And then you take his f*cking picture? A man who is giving me information about high-level meetings of terror officials and you take his picture?” My voice escalates with each word as I take another step forward to where I’m so close I can feel the heat of her body in the space between us even though we’re not touching. “One and one is adding up to a whole bucket full of bullshit that seems a little hinky to me.”

We stare at each other, eyes locked, jaws clenched, anger emanating off us in invisible sparks in the space between us that I can’t see but can sure as hell feel. I’m so fixated on my spite and anger that she catches me off guard when she shoves against my chest to push me away from her. My hands close around her wrists and she tugs, only serving to bring us closer together.

“Let me go!” She struggles, but I hold tight.

“I want answers.” I grunt out in amusement because even though she’s so damn petite, she’s also quite strong, and holding her still takes some concerted effort.

“Like I said, f*ck off.”

“It seems to me your mouth needs to be washed out with soap. Not real classy for a lady to keep repeating words like that.”

“Oh, I’m a whole lot of classy. I just reserve all my f*cks for *s like you who deserve them.”

“I deserve them if I’m wrong, and yet you are doing absolutely nothing to prove that point.” She tries again to yank her hands away, and I just grip tighter. We keep brushing into each other, the physicality of it all setting off every one of my body’s damn nerve endings. Still, I just want to tell them to shut up. I don’t want her. No way in hell.

Not now. Not ever again.

But damn it is a hard thing to ignore when heart rates pick up speed, bodies are inching closer, and muscles are tense.

I know a perfect way to get her to stop. “Look, if you’re into the whole rough thing, it’s not really my cup of tea, but I’m sure I could bend my ways for you.”

Bingo! She stops struggling immediately with a shocked expression on her flushed cheeks. She blinks her eyes rapidly as she processes what I’ve just said. “Ever heard of sexual harassment?”

With her wrists still in my hands, I lean in close enough so that I can hear her quick intake of air at my unexpected response. “I’m pretty sure we threw the idea of harassment out the damn window the moment we slept together and you walked out without a word… but please, feel free to call Rafe and explain how you were trying to get in good with me.”