Page 152 of Deadline

“Well, then you’re shit out of luck.”

He heard her jeweled reading glasses hit her leather desk pad. She was hacked. “Dawson, why are you doing this to me?”

“To you?”

“Is this your sick payback for me being promoted over you?”

He laughed. “Don’t flatter yourself, Harriet. This has nothing whatsoever to do with you.”

“Ohhh, okay. I get it. Duh! You’re holding out for perks. Fair enough. I think I can talk management into giving you a bonus for the piece. I can’t guarantee it, but I’ll try. I can positively guarantee that it’ll be the cover story.”

“No story.”

“From now on, I won’t give you assignments.”

“You mean I don’t have to cover blind balloonists?”

“You can write about whatever your heart desires, and that’s a huge concession for me. In exchange, give me thirty-five hundred to four thousand words.”

“I’ll give you six.”

“Six thousand?”

“Six words. Do. You. Want. The. Champagne. Back?”

She hung up on him, which was just as well, because his room-service sandwich had arrived. But when he opened the door, it wasn’t the expected roast beef on rye that greeted him.

Chapter 27

I’ve already made a fool of myself in front of you,” Amelia said. “But I’d rather not look like one in front of them.” She tipped her head to one side.

Dawson stepped into the hallway. Midway down, two uniformed officers were watching them from the open door of the elevator. He looked back at Amelia. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, if you invite me in.”

He stood aside. She called a thank-you to the deputies, who had insisted on accompanying her when she’d stated her intention of going to Savannah. She pulled the door closed and flipped the bolt, then turned to face Dawson.

He said, “I thought you were room service.”

“Disappointed?”

“Surprised. Where are Hunter and Grant?”

“I left them at the beach house in good hands. They and the deputy have bonded.”

The conversation died there. She went farther into the room and took a look around. When she saw the ice bucket and champagne, she asked, “What’s the occasion?”

Completely baffled, he said, “Amelia, what are you doing here?”

“I suppose it was rude of me not to call first, but—”

“Screw manners,” he said impatiently. “Why would you come at all? I thought I would be the last person on earth you’d want to see after last night.”

As they stood there looking at each other, the aftershocks of

that explosive encounter were still being felt. The demand, the frantic groping, her hands, his mouth, the insistent coupling, the ecstasy of the synchronized climax.

Suddenly he frowned with concern. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”