Treasured by Thursday
Page 50
She felt Hunter’s free hand run down her waist and hip.
“Does this feel like a man who doesn’t desire you? A man hung up on your past?” he whispered, his warm breath against her ear.
He shifted her hips closer, the hard edge of him pressing her into submission.
“No.”
He nipped at her chin, the side of her lips. “Never think for a minute I don’t want you . . . just like this.”
She reached around his waist, tried to get closer.
He groaned, his breathing heavy. “You’re not ready for me.”
Gabi was fairly certain she was. The scent of her desire mixed with his.
“You hated me last week,” he said against her cheek. “You’ll hate me again next.”
She started to shake her head.
“Yes. You will.” He took some of his weight off of her, but didn’t completely let go. “Hating me I can handle. Hating yourself for letting me inside of you . . . I don’t think I can live with that.”
His rejection still stung, even if he made sense.
Instead of the hot kiss she expected . . . wanted more than air, he kissed her forehead and walked away.
True to his word, he stayed away from his wife for nearly an entire week. He did, however, find a reason to call her every day. Is escrow going as planned? Have the media let up? Do you know where to go to catch my plane for Dallas?
She saw through all of it. By Friday, she sent him a text . . . Escrow is closing next week, probably Thursday. I only hit one tabloid today. You’re in two. The car will be here at eight to take me to the airport . . . and before you ask, the weather is fine.
As he read her text, he smiled.
Another blinked in before he could respond. The flowers are beautiful.
Her local florist knew his credit card number by heart.
He tapped his fingers on his desk, searching for a reason to hear her voice.
She picked up on the first ring. “Couldn’t stop yourself, could you?” There was laughter in her voice.
“This is important.” He leaned back in his chair, stared out over the New York skyline.
“I’m waiting.”
“What are you wearing?”
“Excuse me?”
He laughed, caught his own slip. “In Dallas?”
“I was thinking yoga pants and a sport bra . . . you?”
He squeezed his eyes shut. The image of her in spandex shot straight to his balls. “That might work.”
“A dress, Hunter. I’m wearing a dress.”
“What color?”
“What is it with you and women’s fashion? Going to take on Bloomingdales? Macy’s?”
“I don’t think the world of fashion could handle me.”
She laughed, the sound warmed him more than it should. He was playing a dangerous game but couldn’t seem to stop himself.
“I was thinking black. Or red . . . red is a power color, and since you’re going into a business relationship with the Adams, I thought a power color would be appropriate.”
Damn, that was smart. He remembered early on in his acquiring years he’d listened to a media consultant say nearly the same thing.
“Did your brother teach you that?”
Her short laugh told him otherwise. “I taught him. He’s taken the power suit to a new level, but I spent countless hours explaining the need to dress like you’re already the boss.”
“Wear black.”
“And if I want to wear red?” she huffed.
Once again, he was reminded that she wasn’t his employee. “Please.”
“It kills you to say that . . . doesn’t it?”
“Years off my life.”
“Well, if that was your important question . . . I need to go.”
“Hot date?”
“You found me out, Hunter. I’m cheating on you already.”
She was teasing, so why did the hair on his neck stand on end? “What’s his name?”
“Dale,” she offered without hesitation.
Silence.
“Bloomingdale. Seems I’m in need of a new black dress.”
“I’ll get you for that.”
“No, I’ll get you. I’m using your credit card.”
As she should, he mused.
“Drive safe,” he told her.
“Jump off a building,” she replied.
Hunter hung up with a smile on his lips.
He turned to drop his cell into the cradle on his desk to charge when it rang. Thinking it was her, he answered laughing. “Couldn’t stop yourself, could you?”
There was a moment of silence, then a sound that resembled a fax machine tone. He glanced at the screen, noticed the call came from Remington.
Hunter listened for a few seconds of continuous hum and squeals, then hung up.
He attempted to call Remington back and was met with the same tones assaulting his ears.
Without thought, Hunter disconnected the call.
Chapter Eighteen
She’d arrived at the Dallas/Fort Worth airport to a long limousine that drove her to the hotel. She’d had a stopover in the airport a time or two in the past but had never visited the city. It was greener and much flatter than she expected. Overall the city was easy on the eyes. Wide streets compared to the mainland of Florida that she’d spent time in . . . and certainly more spread out than the Los Angeles area.
Seeing as it was Texas, she half expected to see cowboys on horseback, guns mounted on their hips.
There were plenty of Stetsons, and boots . . . but not a horse to be seen . . . well, outside of the few fields they’d passed before landing.
The two-bedroom penthouse suite at the Dallas Hyatt held a second floor. A second floor in a hotel. Gabi tried not to be impressed and failed.
“Does this feel like a man who doesn’t desire you? A man hung up on your past?” he whispered, his warm breath against her ear.
He shifted her hips closer, the hard edge of him pressing her into submission.
“No.”
He nipped at her chin, the side of her lips. “Never think for a minute I don’t want you . . . just like this.”
She reached around his waist, tried to get closer.
He groaned, his breathing heavy. “You’re not ready for me.”
Gabi was fairly certain she was. The scent of her desire mixed with his.
“You hated me last week,” he said against her cheek. “You’ll hate me again next.”
She started to shake her head.
“Yes. You will.” He took some of his weight off of her, but didn’t completely let go. “Hating me I can handle. Hating yourself for letting me inside of you . . . I don’t think I can live with that.”
His rejection still stung, even if he made sense.
Instead of the hot kiss she expected . . . wanted more than air, he kissed her forehead and walked away.
True to his word, he stayed away from his wife for nearly an entire week. He did, however, find a reason to call her every day. Is escrow going as planned? Have the media let up? Do you know where to go to catch my plane for Dallas?
She saw through all of it. By Friday, she sent him a text . . . Escrow is closing next week, probably Thursday. I only hit one tabloid today. You’re in two. The car will be here at eight to take me to the airport . . . and before you ask, the weather is fine.
As he read her text, he smiled.
Another blinked in before he could respond. The flowers are beautiful.
Her local florist knew his credit card number by heart.
He tapped his fingers on his desk, searching for a reason to hear her voice.
She picked up on the first ring. “Couldn’t stop yourself, could you?” There was laughter in her voice.
“This is important.” He leaned back in his chair, stared out over the New York skyline.
“I’m waiting.”
“What are you wearing?”
“Excuse me?”
He laughed, caught his own slip. “In Dallas?”
“I was thinking yoga pants and a sport bra . . . you?”
He squeezed his eyes shut. The image of her in spandex shot straight to his balls. “That might work.”
“A dress, Hunter. I’m wearing a dress.”
“What color?”
“What is it with you and women’s fashion? Going to take on Bloomingdales? Macy’s?”
“I don’t think the world of fashion could handle me.”
She laughed, the sound warmed him more than it should. He was playing a dangerous game but couldn’t seem to stop himself.
“I was thinking black. Or red . . . red is a power color, and since you’re going into a business relationship with the Adams, I thought a power color would be appropriate.”
Damn, that was smart. He remembered early on in his acquiring years he’d listened to a media consultant say nearly the same thing.
“Did your brother teach you that?”
Her short laugh told him otherwise. “I taught him. He’s taken the power suit to a new level, but I spent countless hours explaining the need to dress like you’re already the boss.”
“Wear black.”
“And if I want to wear red?” she huffed.
Once again, he was reminded that she wasn’t his employee. “Please.”
“It kills you to say that . . . doesn’t it?”
“Years off my life.”
“Well, if that was your important question . . . I need to go.”
“Hot date?”
“You found me out, Hunter. I’m cheating on you already.”
She was teasing, so why did the hair on his neck stand on end? “What’s his name?”
“Dale,” she offered without hesitation.
Silence.
“Bloomingdale. Seems I’m in need of a new black dress.”
“I’ll get you for that.”
“No, I’ll get you. I’m using your credit card.”
As she should, he mused.
“Drive safe,” he told her.
“Jump off a building,” she replied.
Hunter hung up with a smile on his lips.
He turned to drop his cell into the cradle on his desk to charge when it rang. Thinking it was her, he answered laughing. “Couldn’t stop yourself, could you?”
There was a moment of silence, then a sound that resembled a fax machine tone. He glanced at the screen, noticed the call came from Remington.
Hunter listened for a few seconds of continuous hum and squeals, then hung up.
He attempted to call Remington back and was met with the same tones assaulting his ears.
Without thought, Hunter disconnected the call.
Chapter Eighteen
She’d arrived at the Dallas/Fort Worth airport to a long limousine that drove her to the hotel. She’d had a stopover in the airport a time or two in the past but had never visited the city. It was greener and much flatter than she expected. Overall the city was easy on the eyes. Wide streets compared to the mainland of Florida that she’d spent time in . . . and certainly more spread out than the Los Angeles area.
Seeing as it was Texas, she half expected to see cowboys on horseback, guns mounted on their hips.
There were plenty of Stetsons, and boots . . . but not a horse to be seen . . . well, outside of the few fields they’d passed before landing.
The two-bedroom penthouse suite at the Dallas Hyatt held a second floor. A second floor in a hotel. Gabi tried not to be impressed and failed.
