Treasured by Thursday(32)

“’Fraid so, Mrs. Blackwell.”

She looked out the back window and saw several sets of lights. “Are we picking Hunter up?”

Charles maneuvered the large car around the corner and onto the freeway. “He asked that I deliver you to his residence.”

She glanced at the fitted full-length gown complete with spaghetti straps that held the dress in place, and high heels that would be better off walking into a concert hall than a penthouse suite. Then again, she’d never seen Hunter’s home, the home she refused outright.

She sat back to enjoy the drive and realized she’d be alone with Hunter once they arrived on Melrose. And if escrow closed in two weeks as planned, they’d be alone together often.

Her nerves began a slow dance down her spine and to the tips of her fingers where she tapped them against the seat.

“Would you care for music, Mrs. Blackwell?”

“Yes—No, I . . .” This wasn’t a good sign. “Tell me, Charles, how is it you always seem to be available to be my driver?”

She met the man’s eyes through the rearview mirror. His pleasant, unthreatening smile helped.

“Mr. Blackwell requested my service. Said he wanted to know who was driving his wife around.”

“Oh . . .” she wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“He said that trusting your drivers was important to the both of you. I really appreciate your endorsement.”

She was about to tell him that she hadn’t gone out of her way to endorse him but realized that wouldn’t come out right. “Did he say anything else?”

“Just asked me to watch out for you.”

“Spy?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. More like, he knows you’re a beautiful woman and are married to one of the richest men in the States. You never know who might lurk, ya know?”

That didn’t sit well. Her face must have shown her concern. Charles instantly jumped to put her at ease. “Before I took this job, I trained in firearms and hand-to-hand self-defense. You’re safe with me, Mrs. Blackwell.”

His conviction made up for his size.

She really needed to get over her paranoia. Maybe it was time to see her counselor again. It had been six months and she’d not felt the need. But since she said “I do,” that need seeped back in.

Six blocks and four red lights from the complex Hunter lived in, Charles used his hands-free phone and called ahead. “Two minutes,” he said.

If Gabi was worried about the paparazzi getting too close, she needn’t have. Not only was Hunter standing at the curb when Charles pulled in, but beside him were two men twice his size, their hands loose at their sides while they all but dared the media to shove in too close.

Hunter opened the door and extended a hand.

He wore a tux. Crisp black, clean white shirt, and a tie that was a little askew. His hair was mussed a little in the front, as if he’d run a nervous hand in it prior to her arrival.

Gabi placed one leg out of the limo and felt his eyes find her bare skin under the slit of her dress. She placed her hand in his and let him lift her from the low car.

When she stood her full height, nearly meeting his gray eyes in her four-inch heels, she realized he hadn’t let her hand go. Instead, he lifted it to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

Flashes exploded around them.

Of course . . . the media was close enough to grab pictures, but not close enough to touch.

“You’re stunning,” he said under his breath.

With a tug, she removed her hand from his and placed it on his tie. Once it sat perfectly, she smiled.

“Mr. Blackwell . . . one picture.”

“Some of us have to make a living,” another voice called.

Gabi noticed Charles move behind them and waved his hands in the air as if to remind the media to keep a distance.

“I have kids to feed, Mrs. Blackwell . . . help a guy out?”

Hunter started to pull her away and she held firm. The need to feed the kids was probably a line, but Gabi didn’t think there would be any harm in smiling for a few shots.

Hunter nodded toward the building and Gabi pulled his hand closer.

A ghost of a smile met his lips and did a dangerous twist to her gut. Understanding of her desires had him moving close and placing a hand around her waist. That dangerous twist did a double flip. Instead of thinking about it, she turned toward the man with kids and a huge lens and smiled.

Hunter turned her toward the media on the other side of the bodyguards and tugged her closer still. She felt the full length of the man, from shoulder to hip, and for the first time in more months than she could remember, she didn’t shiver. Even though the night was cool and she hadn’t bothered placing a wrap over her shoulders, she was warm.