Chapter 39

39

Zara

"How do I look?" I pop out a hip and the light bounces off of the Swarovski crystals that decorate my shimmery-silver, one-shoulder dress. It clings to me like it was made for me, which it probably was, considering it arrived in a box by special delivery just a few hours ago. I almost turned it away, until I noticed the label on the box. Armani. Only a fool would turn away the chance to wear an Armani original, and a fool, I am not. Still, I hesitated when the courier handed over the second box. This one bore the Manolo Blahnik label. And if I had any doubt, the third box—this one sporting the Birkin brand—sealed the deal.

"Well?" I quirk an eyebrow at the phone which I’ve propped up against the mirror.

"You look gorgeous and that dress might as well be painted on," Solene replies from the screen.

"That’s what I thought, too." I turn sideways, running a hand down my stomach.

"You look amazing, Z."

"It’s the dress," I demur.

"It’s the woman in the dress. Your confidence shines through."

"That’s the glitter of the Swarovski crystals." I laugh weakly.

"The man knows your weakness." She chuckles.

"Doesn’t he ever." If I had any remaining doubts about accepting the dress, they vanished as soon as I slid it on. Something about the gunmetal color, and the one-shouldered cut, lent a regal air to the outfit. As for the fit… It’s clear he memorized my curves. There’s no other way the dress could have fit without my having tried it on in advance. I thrust out a leg and the slit, which slashes almost up to my waist, parts to reveal the line of my thigh. As for the heels, the Manolo Blahnik’s have a bondage-type strap that clings lovingly to my ankle.

"Those shoes alone are going to make the man combust."

"I hope so." I look at myself with a critical eye. I’m dressed to bring a man to his knees. And he must have known this would be the outcome when he sent me this specific combination of clothes to wear.

"You sure about this, though?" Solene’s voice pulls me out of my reverie.

"You mean about wearing the clothes he sent me?"

"It’s your favorite designers, and creations you couldn’t possibly buy off the shelf, so I’m not surprised you didn’t turn it away. It’s just…won’t he misinterpret your wearing the clothes he sent you for your encouraging him?"

"He might." I run my palms down the Swarovski studded fabric. "And if I had turned it away, he’d have won, and I can’t allow that."

"This thing between the two of you isn’t a game," she cautions.

"Sure could have fooled me," I murmur

"Just don’t want you getting hurt, babe."

Might be a little too late for that. I turn to face her image on the phone screen. "I’ll be careful, I promise."

"Good. You’re a strong woman, Zara, but you have a heart that can be hurt easily."

Damn, when your friends see you so clearly, it’s humbling. "You’re a good friend, Solene."

"Because I’m looking out for you?" She laughs. "If our roles were reversed, you’d do the same. You know that."

"You bet I do."

The doorbell rings.

"That must be Liam and Isla." I blow a kiss at the phone. "I love you, babe; can’t wait to see you in person."

"Same, and don’t forget to tell me all about it."

"I promise" I disconnect the call, then drop the phone into my clutch with my lipstick and house keys. A last look at myself, and I grab my coat and head for the door. When I throw it open, he stands there with one hand against the doorframe.

I open and shut my mouth. "What are you doing here?"

"Liam and Isla are running late, so I offered to pick you up."

"I didn’t hear anything from Isla." I scowl.

"Have you checked your messages?"

I pull out my phone, check my messages, and sure enough, there’s one from Isla.

Isla:

So sorry babe. Liam’s mom wasn’t feeling well—she’s fine now—but Liam wanted to look in on her before we went to the ball so we’re running late. I hope you don’t mind that Hunter’s coming to pick you up. I know things are rough with you two, but you do work together now, and he offered. We won’t be long, I promise. See you soon.

Guess in all the excitement of the new clothes and accessories, I missed her message. I pull up the app for the cab company, and he places his hand on mine. Tendrils of heat flicker out from the point of contact. Both of us pull back.

"What are you doing?"

"I’m ordering a cab."

"It’s Friday evening; you’re not going to get one in time."

"We’ll see." I type out my destination, press the relevant buttons and the app stalls. "Damnit." I try again and again; each time the app crashes.

"I have a car waiting, Zara."

I ignore him and continue to try the app with the same result. "Bloody hell." I drop the phone back in my bag and scowl at him. "You planned it all, didn’t you? Inviting me to the ball?—"

"As my PR official; nothing personal about this."

"Then making sure, somehow, Liam and Isla couldn’t pick me up."

"You think I orchestrated Liam’s mother falling sick?" His gaze widens. "Not even I could pull that off."

"Hmph." I scan his features. He’s combed back his hair and is wearing a tux which outlines his broad shoulders. His crisp white shirt stretches across his chest. His jaw is freshly shaven, the bowtie at his neck turning his entire look from sophisticated to positively deadly. Why does he have to look so edible? So hot? So sexy, so everything. I frown. He arches an eyebrow.

"Something wrong?"

"You have a—" I lean up and press my thumb to a dot of blood at the edge of his jawline. I show him the drop of scarlet, then bring the digit to my mouth and suck on it.

His nostrils flare. His blue-green eyes darken until they resemble pools of midnight blue. "I must have nicked myself shaving."

"Right." I swallow, glance away, then back at him. "If I’m to travel in the same car as you, we need rules."

"Rules?" He arches an eyebrow.

"No touching without permission."

"Goes both ways," he points out.

I flush, then draw myself up to my full height. "That was an instinctive reaction."

"So was mine."

I nod slowly. "Moving on, no looking at me like you want to?—"

"Fuck you?" he interjects.

Heat sweeps up my back. "Exactly. You need to be on guard when we are together in the open."

"I’ll have my game face on."

"No kissing."

"Not unless you ask me to."

"No moving into my space."

"You mean like this?" He moves in until the lapels of his jacket almost brush my dress. Until his breath kisses my cheek, until the heat from his body wraps around me, and his scent—that gorgeous spicy, testosterone-laden scent of his permeates my pores and my cells, sinks into my blood, and arrows straight to my core.

"You promised," I whisper.

“You set the rules; I didn’t agree to anything,” he says, his voice as hushed as mine.

"We can’t, Hunter, please." I swallow.

He glances between my eyes, then nods, and to my relief, takes a step back. "Shall we?"

"You pulled out all the stops, didn’t you?" I accept my flute of champagne and glance about the interior of the Jaguar. It’s definitely custom-made, complete with the bar and the panel between the front and back seats, which is now currently up.

"No reason not to travel in style." He slides the bottle of Moet who think they can do anything and get away without consequences."

"I think" —he tilts his head— "I think you need to see it from my point of view. I remember my childhood as long stretches of desolate homesickness, of having my attachments to home and family broken abruptly several times a year. I lost everything—parents, pets, toys, younger siblings… Of course, I could cry if I liked, but no one was going to help me."

He drags his thumb under his lower lip, and my nipples harden. I shove aside the traitorous reaction of my body and tip up my chin. "So you learnt to cultivate the stiff upper lip. You could either be yourself—homesick, vulnerable, lovelorn, and frightened—or you could perform being loyal, robust, and self-reliant. Wear a brave face and distance your feelings, growing the hardness of heart of the educated.

"And you chose the latter. You convinced yourselves early that you had no great need of love. You decided to act grownup, even when you were very young, for that meant you needed no one. In fact, your experiences toughened you enough that, later in life, when you saw other people cry, you felt no great need to go to their aid. That’s what you’re getting at, aren’t you? That it’s not your fault how you turned out. It was circumstances that made you what you are."

"Didn’t your circumstances make you what you are today?" he counters.

"I hardly think our backgrounds have anything in common."

"On the contrary." He places the champagne flute on the small table and turns to me. "You understand me so well because you’ve been through the same experiences I have, albeit in a different milieu."

I scoff. "Are you contrasting my upbringing with that of your privileged lifestyle?"

He looks between my eyes. "We’re both the products of over-ambitious parents who wanted their children to become over-achievers."

"And here we are," I murmur.

"Indeed. Both of us, high-performing goal-setters, never happy with the status quo. And" —his gaze grows intense— "I’ve never been happier than I am right now, sitting next to you."

I swallow, then set my lips. "You forgot to add, we’re never meant to be."

"You’re here now, aren’t you?" His shoulders are relaxed, yet a nerve pops at his temple. His body is sprawled out against the rich leather seat, but his gaze is wary. This man is so full of contrasts, it makes my head spin. He’s such a puzzle. It both energizes me and chips away at my reservations—all of the hurdles I’ve been throwing in my own path of why I can’t be with him.

"You’re so?—"

"Clever, witty, erudite?" he drawls.

"—full of yourself," I snap.

"And soon, you’ll be full of me."

I blink, then make a gagging sound. "I can’t believe you just said that."

"Believe it. It was a good comeback, though, admit it." He smirks.

"You have a one-track mind."

"Don’t tell me you aren’t, right now, thinking of straddling me as I thrust up and into you."

My belly clenches. My pussy hums. I can feel the evidence of my arousal gnaw at my lower belly and...oh, god, my breasts hurt, my thighs feel so very heavy, and my core? It feels so empty, so aching, so yearning for that sensation when his beloved thickness has me impaled and stretched and skewered around his gorgeous cock. A-n-d, did I just think of his penis as 'his beloved thickness’? Why do his words turn me on so? Why am I so unable to resist him? I squeeze my thighs together, then pretend to frown at him.

"Hunter," I say in a warning tone.

He laughs and raises both of his hands. "Just kidding you, Fire."

"So now it’s Fire, is it?"

"You set my world on fire."

I half-laugh, then turn away. I shake my head, try to gather myself, and I’m all too aware of his big body taking up so much of this small, enclosed space, of his dark scent that envelops me, the cloud of heat that spools off of his chest and pins me in place, the strength of his dominance which is a palpable presence, one that turns my throat dry, that wrings my insides into coils of tremulous anticipation, and oh, god, I’m losing myself. I’m going to hell for what I’m going to do next, but I can’t fight this… Can’t fight us anymore.

I square my shoulders. "So…" I turn to him. "That scenario you painted earlier, do you want to recreate it?"