Free Private Scandals by Nora Roberts

“Meantime, I figured we’d round out the piece with some interviews. Some passengers, a few of the emergency crew—some of the flight crew, if we’re lucky. We should be able to get it in for a special report before the late news.”
    “I’ve already lined up a couple of passengers who are willing to talk to me on air.”
    “Good. Take Joe and do it, while I see if I can finagle an interview with the pilot.”
    She snagged his arm before he could pivot away. “I need my mike.”
    “Oh. Sure.” He handed it over, then offered the earpiece. She looked like a wet dog, he mused. Not a mongrel, no indeed. One of those classy Afghan hounds that manage to maintain dignity and style under the worst of circumstances.His pleasure at being alive went up another notch. It was a pure delight to watch her glaring at him. “I know you, don’t I? Aren’t you on the Sunrise News? ”
    “Not for the past several months. I’m on Midday. ”
    “Congratulations.” He focused on her more intently, the misty blue of his eyes turning sharp and clear. “Diana—no, Deanna. Right?”
    “You have a good memory. I don’t believe we’ve spoken before.”
    “No, but I’ve caught your work. Pretty good.” But he was already looking beyond her. “There were some kids on the flight. If you can’t get them on mike, at least get them on camera. The competition’s here now.” He gestured to where other newsmen were milling among the passengers. “Let’s work fast.”
    “I know my job,” she said, but he was already moving away.
    “He doesn’t seem to have a problem with self-esteem.”
    Beside her, Joe snorted. “He’s got an ego the size of the Sears Tower. And it isn’t fragile. The thing is, when you do a piece with him, you know he’s going to do it right. And he doesn’t treat his crew like mentally deficient slaves.”
    “Too bad he doesn’t treat other reporters with the same courtesy.” She spun on her heel. “Let’s get pictures.”
     
    It was after nine when they returned to CBC, where Finn was greeted with a hero’s welcome. Someone handed him a bottle of Jameson, seal intact. Shivering, Deanna headed straight for her desk, turned on her machine and started writing copy.
    This, she knew, would go national. It was a chance she didn’t intend to miss.
    She tuned out the shouting and laughing and back-slapping and wrote furiously, referring now and then to the sketchy notes she’d scribbled in the back of the van.
    “Here.” She looked down and saw a hand, wide-palmed, long-fingered, scarred at the base of the thumb, set downa glass on her desk. The glass held about an inch of deep amber liquid.
    “I don’t drink on the job.” She hoped she sounded cool, not prim.
    “I don’t think a swallow of whiskey’s going to impair your judgment. And,” he said, drifting easily into a rich Pat O’Brien brogue, “it’ll put some heat in your belly. You don’t plan on operating heavy machinery, do you?” Finn skirted her chair and sat on the edge of her desk. “You’re cold.” He handed her a towel. “Knock it back. Dry your hair. We’ve got work to do.”
    “That’s what I’m doing.” But she took the towel. And after a moment’s hesitation, the whiskey. It might have been only a swallow, but he was right, it put a nice cozy fire in her stomach.
    “We’ve got thirty minutes for copy. Benny’s already editing the tape.” Finn craned his head around to scan her screen. “That’s good stuff,” he commented.
    “It’ll be better if you’d get out of my way.”
    He was used to hostility, but he liked to know its source. “You’re ticked because I kissed you? No offense, Deanna, but it wasn’t personal. It was more like primal instinct.”
    “I’m not ticked because you kissed me.” She spoke between her teeth and began to type again. “I’m ticked because you stole my story.”
    Hooking his hands around his knee, Finn thought about it and decided she had a small, if not particularly