Chapter 16

16

Hunter

"Mr. Whittington is Zara your girlfriend?"

"Zara, are you dating Mr. Whittington?"

More flashlights go off.

What the fuck? How did the paparazzi know I was here? Not that I’m trying to hide my movements, but it’s not like I broadcasted to the world that I’d be here today. Perhaps, someone spotted me entering earlier?

My security detail brackets us in, one to my right and another on the other side of Zara.

"This way," David, one of my bodyguards says, and leads us through the throng of news people. One of the paps steps in our path and aims his camera in our faces. I reach out to cover the lens. "No photos."

"How about a comment then?" He lowers his camera. "Are you two dating?"

"Ian, isn’t it?" I smile and hold out my hand. "How are you today?"

Ian hesitates, then takes my hand. "You still haven’t answered the question. Is she your girlfriend?"

"She is a...friend."

"Was that a hesitation I sensed there?" Ian’s gaze narrows.

"Have I ever lied to you before?"

He slowly shakes his head.

"We are here to see a mutual friend, and you caught us leaving together."

"Hmm." He doesn’t look convinced.

"When I do have a girlfriend, if I ever have a girlfriend, I’ll be sure to let you know."

He releases my hand. "I’ll hold you to that."

I nod, then brush past him and reach for Zara’s hand, both to guide her forward, and because I want to protect her from the pack, but she shakes it off. She flounces past me, a smile pasted firmly on her features. Her gaze is calm, certainly calmer than what I’m feeling now.

We reach my car, and I hold my door open.

"I am not leaving in the same car as you."

"Get in, Zara."

"They’re still watching us," she hisses.

"And I’m giving my 'friend' a lift."

"I have my own car."

"David will follow us with it."

She scowls. I glare at her. "Fire, do this, please."

Maybe it’s because I say please, or because she can’t wait to get out of there, but she pulls out her key fob and slaps it into my outstretched hand. I hand it over to David. She slides inside the car, and I follow her. One of my security detail gets in the front seat next to the driver and we’re off.

"We’ll drop Ms. Chopra off at her apartment first."

My chauffeur nods, and I raise the barrier between the front and back seats.

She arches an eyebrow. "Fancy."

"Have I impressed the hard-nosed Ms. Chopra?"

She raises a shoulder. "Never seen a Range Rover with one of these." She nods toward the now raised divider.

"It’s custom built."

She shoots me a sideways glance. "I assume it’s also armored."

"And has a self-contained oxygen supply."

"Should you be telling me all this?"

"It’s not a secret; you can look it up on Wikipedia. But even if it wasn’t there, I’d share it with you."

She shakes her head. "Don’t do that."

"Do what?"

"You know what. You’re trying to pretend we have a future together and we don’t."

"But we could."

She squeezes the bridge of her nose. "You’re not listening to me."

"I am, but I don’t agree with you."

"We were in that hospital together and you saw what happened. Already the newshounds are circling."

"And you and I are veterans at playing the media," I point out.

"Which is why I can’t believe I allowed myself to be caught coming out of there with you."

"You couldn’t have known that they’d have sniffed a story so fast."

"There’s no story." She lowers her hand and locks her fingers together in her lap.

"Not yet."

She tips up her chin. "Never will be."

"You’re stubborn."

"And you’re a pain in the wrong place."

"I can do a lot to alleviate any pain in any part of your body, baby."

She groans. "Ugh, that was terribly corny."

"So, why are you smiling?"

Her lips twitch. "Am not."

"You are, too."

She covers her mouth with her palm.

"That’s cheating."

The skin around her eyes crinkles.

I smirk. "Now you really are smiling."

She drops her hand and folds her arms across her waist. "You’re good at distracting from the topic at hand. A born politician."

"And you do a fantastic job with your PR agency."

"You sound surprised."

"It was a genuine compliment." I raise my hands. "Honest."

"Hmph." She finally turns to scan my features. "Apparently, you do mean it," she finally says.

"Of course, I mean it. I’ve always admired your work ethic, your focus, and how you’ve defused the trickiest of media situations for your clients, including how you handled yourself back there." I jab my thumb over my shoulder.

"I’m a PR consultant." She angles her head. "Though I admit, being in the eye of the camera, rather than the person pulling the strings, has a very different feel to it. It’s a good lesson to take away. I often demand a lot of my clients when they come to me with their problems. I’ve forgotten how you have to think on your feet while you are caught in the crosshairs of the paparazzi."

"You are inherently empathetic?—"

"No, I’m not," she bursts out.

"—however you may try to hide it," I finish my sentence.

"Stop trying to find good traits in my character," she mumbles.

"Stop putting yourself down so much."

We stare at each, and a reluctant smile pulls at her lips again. "You’re persistent."

"I am."

The moment stretches, the space between us, once again, charged with that connection that’s shimmered between us from the moment we met. I reach over and rub the edge of her lips. She pulls away from me.

"Your lipstick; it’s smudged."

"Oh, god, and that’s how the photographers saw me?" She dips into her ever-present bag—now placed on the seat between us—and pulls out her lipstick and compact. She paints her lips with the color, and heat tightens my groin. She smacks her lips together, and fuck me, I almost come in my pants. I guess I make a sound, for she shoots me a sideways glance. "You okay?" she asks in an innocent voice.

"Don’t push it, Fire."

She tilts her head. "Should I call you Brimstone then?"

"You may call me yours."

Her features harden. "Don’t do this, Hunter."

"Now that you’ve refreshed your make-up, I think it’s time."

"Time for what?"

"This." I reach over, clamp my fingers about the nape of her neck, and pull her close.

Her gaze widens. Her chest rises and falls. She swallows, but doesn’t pull away.

"Do you want this, Zara?"

She doesn’t answer.

"Tell me you don’t want my lips on yours. Tell me you don’t want to feel my breath entwined with yours, my fingers squeezing your arse, my cock in your pussy as I pound into you and take you to the edge but don’t let you come… Not until I’ve pulled out and taken your arse; and even then, when you beg me, I won’t let you orgasm—not until you agree that you belong to me and then?—"

"Then?" she whispers.

"I still won’t let you orgasm—not until I’ve shown you how explosive it is when you’re in my arms. Until I’ve convinced you how good we are together. Until I’ve taken every hole in your body and shown you the kind of pleasure you’ve never felt before. Until every part of your body belongs to me. Until your curves cry out for my ministrations, your flesh yearns for my touch, your mind can no longer resist me, and your emotions and senses are honed in on me. Not until you acknowledge you are mine."

Her pupils dilate. The gold in them lightens until they seem almost silver in color. She lowers her gaze to my lips, and the pulse at the base of her throat speeds up.

I tighten my grasp about the nape of her neck. "Tell me to stop, Zara, and I will."

"Hunter, I... I can’t." She raises her gaze to mine. "But if you kiss me, I’ll never forgive you."

Zara

That’s the last thing I said to him. In the back of his car, with the shaded glass of the windows hiding us from the outside world. He held my gaze for a second longer, his hold on the nape of my neck seemed to tighten almost imperceptibly, and then he loosened his fingers. He pulled back his arm, turned his head away, and it was as if a physical wall came down between us. He rolled down the screen that had hidden us from his chauffeur and bodyguard in the front seat, and for the rest of the journey he didn’t look at me or acknowledge me again. He pulled out his phone and began to scroll through his messages. A first.

He never did that before. He always focused one-hundred percent of his attention on me, and now that I don’t have it, I miss it. A few seconds earlier, he had his hands on me, his gaze locked with mine. And now, it’s as if he’s withdrawn from me. Completely. Of course, he did. The horrible, sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach tells me I’ve lost him. Irrevocably. I told him I’d never forgive him; it never occurred to me he might not forgive me.

I pushed him away once too often, and now, he’s never going to look at me the same way again. It’s really over, and he’s never going to pop up in my life the way he’d been doing. The fact that it’s been more than three months since that incident confirms it.

I glance through my office window and see the throng of shoppers on the streets of Soho. The Christmas lights were lit a few weeks ago. Christmas decorations began appearing in shop windows a few months ago. When autumn turned into winter, with the temperature plunging and warnings of early snowfall, I had no idea. I buried myself in work after that last run in with Hunter.

A new client—another impossible media disaster—a well-known politician turned down claims from a woman who insisted she was his illegitimate daughter. This time, I not only helped him navigate the barrage of negative publicity that followed his daughter’s interviews with the press, but I also brokered a meeting between the two. I banked on the fact that when he came face-to-face with her he’d accept her, and sure enough, that’s what happened. He even agreed to appear on her social media feed and publicly apologize for the emotional distress he’d caused her. He also publicly embraced her as his daughter, and the two hugged in a very touching moment on screen. Now that, I count as a win.

And perhaps, a few months ago I wouldn’t have been so insistent that he meet with his daughter. Perhaps, I’d have focused only on the job he’d engaged me for, which was to redeem his reputation—which, by the way, I delivered in spades. But I knew I could make a difference, so I insisted he meet his daughter. In fact, the public claiming of his daughter helped to soften his reputation and make him more popular. It all worked out, and it wasn’t all planned by me.

I’m…softening? Thawing? I can feel myself wanting to do better, to do good where I could. Oh, make no mistake, I’m still a cut-throat career woman, but somehow, something inside me insists I do more. The part of me I denied since my younger brother died… That emotional core of me came alive. And maybe, I have Hunter to thank for it.

I’m not going to admit that I miss his presence in my life, sporadic as it may have been. But I’ve been counting on him making an appearance two months to the day I lost him. In fact, I ensured I met up with Summer and Karma and their friends in the hope that I’d see him… And also, so I could test myself. Did I actually miss him? Or was it my ego, bruised because he no longer seemed to want to pursue me? Maybe the fact that he’d been so insistent, and not taken no for an answer was more than a little flattering. It was the first time a man had been so persistent, and I enjoyed it. So now that he backed off, it was sobering. I felt a little deflated.

Or maybe it was the Christmas season which I admit is not the most favorite of times for me. It reminded me of how much I missed my younger brother. I was going to meet my parents and my twin of course, but this season is always a reminder of another year that Olly was no longer in our lives.

My phone vibrates. I turn to my table, look at the name of the caller in surprise. I raise the phone to my ear. "Lord Alan, what can I do for you today?"

"Zara, how are you?" My mentor’s plummy voice fills the airwaves. He comes across as a crusty, old English gentleman, but his views have always been ahead of the times. No doubt, that’s why he saw the potential in me and in my company, and hired me for my first project—to salvage the reputation of a bad boy rockstar after he trashed his hotel room and was caught urinating out of his window. A picture the paparazzi had a field day with. I not only helped turn around his reputation, but I also introduced him to a few charities which he supports to this day. Another win.

"I’m very good. How is Heather?" I ask after his wife.

"The same. She wants me to work less, but you know me. I’ll rest when I’m dead."

"And not be around to trouble the rest of us? I can’t see that happening anytime soon."

"Very true," he laughs, then quietens. I sense him gather his words and wait for a few seconds. Sure enough, he clears his throats then says, "I do have a very interesting project for you… Something which, if you deliver on it, will establish you as the go-to person when it comes to media management."

"Sounds intriguing," I narrow my gaze on a young couple walking arm in arm down the sidewalk. They stop to admire a window showcase. The girl leans her head into the man’s shoulder, and his arm tightens about her. It’s no different than hundreds of couples I’ve seen before but somehow, the way her dark hair flows down her back, as well the man’s confident stance, the way he pulls her even closer as if he wants to hide her from the sight of the world, reminds me of Hunter and myself.

"Zara, are you there?" Lord Alan asks.

"Yes, of course." I turn away from the window and begin to pace my office. "So, it’s a confidential project, and you can’t tell me who the client is?"

"Not until the day you start."

I chew on the inside of my cheek. "Isn’t that highly unusual?"

"Not in situations like this where we can’t afford any information leaking."

"Hmm." I walk over to the couch in the corner of the room and lower myself onto it. "Of course, it’s related to something political?"

He stays quiet.

"Is the top leadership of one of the political parties in trouble?"

"I didn’t say it was political." His voice is cautious.

"You didn’t have to. When Lord Alan, who’s been retired from the industry and public life, calls me, I know it has to be about something more than a celebrity being caught with his pants down or a sportsman caught having an affair with a reality TV host."

"You did enjoy managing the positive spin campaign on that one though," he chuckles. He’s referring to one of my previous successes, where I brokered an understanding between said sportsman and his estranged wife, so she didn’t open up to the media about his other kinks. True story.

"That was one of the more satisfying campaigns I’ve worked on. The wife walked away with a massive settlement, and he later married his mistress, so everyone was happy."

"And if you take on this campaign and deliver on it, you’ll consolidate your position as Kingmaker within the UK media circuit, a position which I know you’re aiming for."

"So it definitely has to do with politics," I state.

"I can neither confirm nor deny that, Councilor," he laughs.

"So that’s a yes."

"I never said that."

"Right." If there’s one thing Lord Alan is good at, it's evading an issue. He can’t be drawn into an argument at all. Not unless he intends to put forth his point of view which, at the moment, he is not in a mood to do. It’s from him, I learned how to steer a conversation so it benefits me.

"So you’ll do it?"

I blow out a breath. "You know I’d never turn you down."

"I know. And perhaps it’s wrong of me to ask this of you, but I think, in the end, you’ll thank me."

"Is there nothing else you can tell me about it?"

"Graham!" I hear a woman’s voice call out his name over the phone.

"I’ll call you when the details have been hammered out, my dear. Give my regards to your brother." He signs off.

I lower my phone to the table. My brother who’s been overseas the last three months playing cricket matches and shows no sign of coming home, that brother? The last time I’d heard from Cade, was a rushed call before he’d left the locker room to get on the pitch. I doubt I’ll hear from him again before the new year, if that.

Of course, I could go spend Christmas with my parents. But they still run the corner shop in a little corner of Leicester, so they’ll likely be working through the holidays. Not even on Christmas, will they take time off. I’ve often told them they could afford to employ people to cover for them, but they won’t even consider it. It’s an unbroken tradition of forty years that the shop has stayed open. The only times they shut it was the day my father had a heart attack—not that he slowed down after that. And he insisted my mother open the shop the next day, which she had, reluctantly, leaving him in the hospital. And the other time was when the Queen passed away. They are staunch royalists, my parents. They admired the Queen for her work ethic, tenacity, and dedication, values they tried to instill in the three of us. And which my brother and I rebelled against, in our own ways.

My father’s parents immigrated to the UK from the Indian subcontinent. My mother is English, but having married my dad, she seemed to have converted completely to his style of thinking and living, which equals embracing the need to equate your worth with your work. Despite my best efforts to rebel, some of their mindset must have sunk in because obviously, I inherited my workaholic tendencies from them.

Why else would I be at my desk in my office, at four p.m. on Christmas Eve? I definitely do need to get out of here.

I reach for my bag, when my phone rings again. Amelie’s name lights up the screen.

"Hey you!" I say by way of greeting.

"Are you still in the office?" Amelie’s wide-eyed gaze stares back at me from the rectangle of my phone.

"I was just leaving."

"Oh, are you coming over to our place for our Christmas Eve party?"

I wince. "Umm, I wasn’t planning to, if I am being honest."

"Aww, Z!" Amelie pouts. "Everyone is here, including Karma and Summer." Karma’s son had been kept in the neo-natal unit for nearly a month before being discharged. Since she brought him home, the boy has thrived and seems to grow bigger every time I see him.

As for Summer’s kid, he looks exactly like a mix between her and Sinclair, and is the sweetest little boy I’ve ever seen.

"Victoria and Saint will be here with their new baby too," she adds.

She’s referring to Saint, who’s one of the Seven, and his wife Victoria, who had her baby at home. I love hanging out with them, but right now, I just need some time alone.

"I’m thinking of leaving London for a bit over Christmas."

"Really?" She tilts her head.

"Yeah." I rub the back of my neck. "I’m exhausted, and I think I could do with some down time."

"You’ve been working so hard lately," she says as she scans my features. "I understand why you want to get away, though I do wish you could come here. It would be nice to have you over. Why, even Hunter Whittington has promised to come by."

"He has?"

"Yep. Haven’t seen him, either, since the day he arrived in the hospital after Summer’s delivery."

"Oh?" I murmur, schooling my features into what I hope is an expression of disinterest.

"He hasn’t announced his candidacy for Prime Minister. I wonder why that is?"

I do, too. And it’s not because I’ve been following his appearances in the media or on his social media. Not at all. It’s only because he’s a newsmaker and my team keeps me briefed on all of the goings on when it comes to key figures in UK entertainment and politics, that’s all. “I have no idea.”

"You sure you don’t want to come?"

"Nope." And especially not since what’s-his-face is going to be there. I’ve been so good thus far. Coming face-to-face with him will only tempt me, and I can do without that. "I think it’s best I get away for a bit. Re-energize, clear my head and all that, you know?"

"So where are you planning to go?"

"Umm… I… To be honest, I haven’t thought it through. I only, just now, came up with the idea."

"Hmm." She looks at me speculatively.

"What?" I scowl back. "Do I have something on my face."

"No, but I may have something for you."

I tilt my head.

"I know the perfect getaway place for you."

"You do?"

"Uh, it’s a little cottage just two hours out of London. Set in a beautiful little village which is right out of The Holiday ."

"You’re referring to the Kate Winslet and Cameron Diaz movie?"

"Yep. The cottage is also where Weston and I hooked up for the first time last Christmas."

"Really?" I laugh. "Now this is a story I have to hear."

"I’ll tell you more another time. If you go now, you’ll have enough time to get there before it’s too late."

"Umm okay." She seems awfully keen to get me to go. Maybe she can see how tired I am. "Are you sure it’s okay? Who does the place belong to?"

"Oh, it’s jointly used by all the Seven. It’s been refurbished recently. They have a caretaking service that keeps it in readiness, in case any of them wants to pop over for a weekend away. In fact,” —her features brighten— “we keep it fully stocked. The caretaker is scheduled to go there this afternoon to add some fresh items. Text me a list of some of your favorite foods and we’ll make sure they’re included. You’ll be able to cook something special for Christmas.”

I laugh. “Me and cook?”

“Or not.” She raises a shoulder. “There should be enough in the kitchen that you could whip up a something simple to eat, if you prefer.”

“It sounds ideal,” I admit.

“It’s a gorgeous space. You’ll love it.”

"Hmm.” I chew on my lower lip. “And no one’s going over there this weekend?"

"Everyone’s here for Christmas. Unlike someone I know, who’d prefer to be on her own."

I hunch my shoulders. "I know, and I don’t mean to go all Scrooge on you. It’s just, since Isla and Liam decided to move to the island near Venice…"

"You miss her, huh?"

I rub the back of my neck. I miss Isla more than I realized I would. I hadn’t realized how close a friendship I built up with her and Solene. And with Solene on tour and rarely able to call me, I became dependent on Isla for female camaraderie. But with her married now, and also in a different country, I guess I’m feeling a little more lost than I thought. Normally, I’d be working. It’s when I’m out of the office and need to unwind that I feel a gap in my life. That’s when thoughts of Hunter occupy my mind, which I hate to say, happens more often than I’d like. Which is why this getaway is going to do me good.

"I do miss her, but she deserves her happiness."

"So do you," Amelie murmurs gently.

"And I’ll find it with a nice bottle of wine tonight."

"And a hot tub."

"A hot tub?" I stare at her. "This place has a hot tub?"

"On the back porch. It’s covered, and you can enjoy the view of the fields stretching out in front of you." Her gaze turns dreamy. "It’s so… Rejuvenating."

Did her tone turn tongue-in-cheek there? I gaze at her closely, but her features remain open, even if she does look a little flushed.

"Is it really as picture-postcard perfect you make it out to be?"

"More than you can imagine. If I could, I’d love to go back there, but we’ve already committed to hosting this party, so…" She raises a shoulder.

Someone calls out her name. She turns and waves at someone over her shoulder, then glances back at me. "If you don’t want it then?—"

"You convinced me. Where is this place, how do I get there and, more importantly, don’t I need keys to get in?"