Treasured by Thursday(60)
His eyes still hadn’t left her. “No. Here is fine.” On autopilot, Hunter removed his wallet, fished out a bill, and handed it over.
“Anything I can do for you, Mr. Blackwell . . . anything at all.”
Hunter waved him off. “Thank you.”
The door closed behind him, leaving them alone.
Gabi noticed Hunter flex his hands a couple of times. His feet didn’t move.
“Do you have any idea what you gave that man?”
He shook his head.
She chuckled. “It’s impolite to stare, Hunter.”
He took a few steps in her direction, much like a leopard would stalk its prey.
Gabi moved so the window wasn’t at her back. Not that she was trying to escape . . . or so she told herself.
“Where is the yoga outfit?” he asked.
With a straight face, she managed, “Tucked in my suitcase.”
He growled, nose flared.
She traveled around the table, the six chairs . . . dividing herself from him as he followed.
“The flowers are lovely.”
He didn’t change his course . . . or his gaze.
Gabi pulled herself to a stop and let him advance. The hair on her arms stood on end, her mouth went dry.
“Hunter? What are you—”
He ended the space between them in two steps, his arms pulling her flush with his body, his nose in her hair.
“Thank you,” he said, making no move to do anything more than hold her.
“For what?”
“For not changing your scent.”
The loss for words was huge.
He held her, rested his head close to hers.
As greetings went . . . this one didn’t suck.
She broke the silence a few moments later. “I see you didn’t throw yourself off a high rise.”
His shoulders folded in with laughter. “Such a messy ending.”
“Bad for the image?”
“Hmmm . . .”
He took her head in his hands, and for a brief moment, she thought he’d kiss her.
He didn’t.
“I missed you more than I should,” he confessed.
“You called every day.”
“Wasn’t enough.”
His thumb traced her lower lip before he released a long-suffering breath and moved away.
The slow, simmering onset of sexual frustration started to burn. It shouldn’t, she cautioned herself. Hunter was showing restraint, and she should follow his lead.
No matter how difficult that proved.
Gabi loosened a strand of hair from the messy bun on top of her head and added a little curl.
She went with a little heavier makeup, stuck with a scarlet red lipstick . . . something she was thankful she could pull off.
The knit dress had a turtleneck collar and half sleeves. It hugged her curves, stopping a couple of inches above her knee. The garter belt and fishnet stockings were a last-minute decision. Probably a foolish one that wouldn’t be seen by anyone but her.
As she fastened the last clasp and ran her hand over the edges, she admitted, if only to herself, that she hoped Hunter would discover the sexy addition to her outfit. As much as she loved frustrating the man, she could live on the sexual waves penetrating their every conversation. Pushing him, making him forget his own name, was a power she’d never had with a man before.
She liked it.
A lot!
With one last glance in the mirror, she turned off the light and made her way out of the suite.
Hunter turned away from the picture windows as if in slow motion. Instead of a tie, he wore a slim-fitting knit shirt that sat high on his neck. Over that, he wore a jet black jacket. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear they had coordinated their outfits. His slacks matched the jacket, his shoes the perfect shade of black to blend. The man really knew how to dress. Casual, confident . . . the billionaire he was.
She took her time walking down the stairs, felt his eyes following her.
Speechless. Gabi liked this side of Hunter much better than the conniving bastard who’d all but forced her signature on their marriage certificate.
“I half expected you to wear red.”
She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and let him approach.
“I considered it.”
He offered a ghost of a smile as he rounded the furniture separating them. He picked up a box sitting on a side table and held it out.
“What is this?”
“Open it,” he told her, that ghost smile still lingering.
His fingers brushed hers as she took the obvious jewelry box from his hands.
The hair on her arms prickled and her fingers trembled as she lifted the lid. Sitting on crushed black velvet was a pair of drop ruby earrings. The pear-shaped stones were the size of her little fingernail, a long length of tiny white diamonds set in what looked like white gold made them sparkle in the limited light.
“Oh, my . . . Hunter . . .”