by Nora Flite
The worst part was he wasn't alone in this game. Jam, another member of the Kings Club, came up to me and started dancing. His huge arms swung like axes in a battle; it didn't entice me to get very close to him.
“Hey," he laughed, winking down at me. "You’re Jo, right? I’m Jam. Hunter told me you love to dance.”
That son of a bitch. “Oh," I said sweetly, "Did he?”
“Yeah, he said you couldn't get enough dancing or drinks in your life. Check this out.” Jam put his hand behind my ear and then showed his palm to me. In it were two airplane bottles of vodka. The stupid trick was actually cute, especially coming from a huge football player.
I folded my arms in the hope that he'd get the hint—I wasn't down for more drinking. "I don't know many football players who are also magicians."
“I'm a rarity, baby. Magic both on and off the field,” Jam said.
“Does that line ever work with women?”
“Of course it does.” Straightening up, he corrected himself. “Ok, not really.” Jam flashed the bottle of vodka again. “So, want that drink?”
I started to say no, but to my surprise, I reached for the bottle. "Actually," I laughed, breaking down and rolling with my own honesty, "I do." It had been one long, exhausting day, and fighting the party lifestyle was starting to lose its gloss.
Plus, I was a grown ass woman—what was one more drink?
I unscrewed the top of the little bottle and downed it all in one gulp. It burned, but I managed to say, “Thanks, Mr. Magician."
“My pleasure. How about a little dancing, then?”
I don’t know if it was the shot or the smug look that Hunter was shooting me across the room as he danced with some flawless supermodel, but something possessed me to rise to the challenge. “I guess I could fit that into my job description.”
Jam led me deeper into the room, and even though he had no rhythm at all, I bounced along with him to the sweat-inducing club music. My skull felt mushy, the vodka pressing against my nerves and numbing my senses.
In the middle of swaying to the third song, Hunter appeared behind his friend. He was shooting heated magnetic energy at me; I pulled up short, losing my balance. There was a big glass of something with ice cubes and a salt-crusted rim in his grip. “Jam, you taking care of my girl, here?” His eyes darted between us both.
Unless I was crazy, that was the stare of a jealous man. I had to hide my triumphant smile.
“She's got swagger! She’s all right with me,” Jam said.
“Yeah, she’s all right,” Hunter said, muscling Jam’s gyrating hips away from me. “Mind if I steal her for a minute?”
“Sure thing, Hunt. Wait, actually, let me get a picture of you two.” Jam ripped out the most beaten up smartphone I'd ever seen. Did he run it through a damn trash compactor? I rolled my eyes, but smiled for the photo anyway.
Hunter crammed against me, his arm like steel where it caught me around my shoulders. The tips of his fingers brushed my bare collar bone, and I knew my smile had broken away a second before the phone flashed.
"Thanks, guys!" Jam said, spinning away and staring down at his phone.
Still flustered by Hunter's possessive hold, I didn't fight him when he pulled me into the center of the room. His almost-hug turned smoothly into a solid squeeze of my hips. The player rocked me, making me dance with him in front of everyone.
"You having fun?" he asked, his body creating a deep shadow over me that made me feel so strangely small.
Swallowing down a dizzying wave, I considered my answer. Hunter was doing what he'd been trying from the moment we'd met; he was determined to fuck with me. It was probably how he got his rocks off, just making women feel like they couldn't predict him—couldn't control him.
Biting my tongue, I put my hands on his shoulders. Two could play this game, and by the way Hunter's smile twitched, I had a feeling I'd just won some points. "Lots of fun," I said, grinning. "And so far it's been peaceful."
"Boring, you mean," he chuckled.
"Sometimes boring is the best outcome, Hunter."
Wrinkling his nose, he swung me around. "Agree to disagree."
I don’t know if it was the DJ playing a beat-heavy remix of Tainted Love, or the clean smell of Hunter’s sculpted body so close to mine, or maybe just that everyone in the suite was having such a good time, but pretty soon I stopped checking my watch. It was crazy how great I felt, how my work stress had melted away. Lanie would have been so proud of me.
After a while, my sassy new heels started killing my feet. "I need to take a break. Dance on without me." Stepping back, I was surprised by how his grip tightened on my forearm. Then he released me, hunching his shoulders and backing into the crowd.
What the hell was that?
Staring after him, I watched the bodies swallow him up. It was unsettling, and I felt relief when he appeared again in a corner, a new drink in his fist. The man had an uncanny talent for pushing my rules. My feet were throbbing too much for me to chase him down and ask him to quit, so I stumbled to a chair and dropped into it with a big, satisfied sigh of exhaustion. This partying stuff was no joke.
Finally, people started leaving. I counted them for fun, like they were sheep—but that was a terrible mistake, because it made me sleepy. No, I thought in a panic, This isn't just sleep. I drank too much. Shit shit shit. I immediately texted my sister: Lanie, I cannot drink like I did in college!! Sooo tipsy.
Lanie responded: Oh, like you ever partied hard in college, lightweight. Drink water. Take a deep breath. You’ll be fine.
I took my sister’s advice and grabbed a bottle of water from the suite’s bar. But what I really needed was some fresh air. I made it to the sliding glass doors without stumbling too badly in my new shoes, but once I got out there I realized that Hunter was already on the balcony.
He also wasn't alone.
While I'd been sure I'd counted the last party-goer as they exited, he was standing next to the jacuzzi talking to a tall blonde in a bandage dress who was practically drooling all over him. She kept touching his arm while tilting her head back and exploding into drunken giggles.
Then she leaned really close, and I was terrified she'd kiss him and that I'd have to see her kiss him. Acting on impulse, I shouted, "Wow! What a view!" They both startled, staring at me with mixed emotions. Real smooth, Jo. “Fancy meeting you out here,” I said, trying to sound as put-together as possible.
Hunter wasn't smiling, his voice brittle on the edge. Had I pissed him off by interrupting him? “I needed to get away from everything. I could use a break from all the socializing, you know?”
“I totally know,” the blonde gushed. Hunter shot me a pained expression, and I noticed his body was angled away from her, his intense eyes not breaking contact with mine.
Finally, I caught on. He wanted the girl who was out there with him to leave. And as his official handler, I knew exactly what to do.
Swaying towards them, I said, “Hi there, um, what’s your name, again?”
“Christina,” she slurred.
“Christina, are you staying at the hotel?”
“Uh huh,” she giggled.
“You know, you look tired. Are you tired?”
“I—”
“You do look tired,” Hunter cut her off. “But you gave me your number already, right?”
“Uh huh,” she nodded.
“Great!” I said. “Let’s get you to your room so you can get some rest.”
“But Hunter and I . . . ”
“Hunter is tired, too. Time to call it a night.” I led Christina back into the hotel room. Then I dialed down to the front desk to send someone up to make sure she got back to her own room safely. A few minutes later, a concierge knocked.
Gently, I guided Christina out into the hall, tipping the employee a twenty as she whisked the blonde away. Done and done.
I went back out on the balcony and looked around. Shit. I’d lost Hunter. For a moment I panicked, wondering what
sort of shenanigans he’d probably gotten himself into while I was distracted from my post, then wondering with growing horror if the whole thing with Christina had been a distraction so he could sneak away and raise hell out in the wilds of Los Angeles in front of a few camera lenses.
His voice came from behind me, low and gritty. “Hey, Jo.”
I whirled toward the sound. There he was, shirtless, lounging in the hot tub. My breath caught in my throat. The glittering LA skyline was spread out behind him, but all I could focus on was his hot, wet body.
Hunter was covered in ink, the harsh blacks and orange colors highlighting the cutting edges of his muscles. With his arms stretched behind him, elbows high, he made it easy to see the long and deep crevice between his pecs and abs.
“What are you doing?” I asked him, mouth dry.
His eyes locked with mine, one brow quirking. “Trying to relax. Thanks for taking care of that girl. Contrary to popular belief, I don't bang everything that walks.”
“I never said you did,” I countered, suddenly on guard at his defensive tone.
“You didn’t have to. I can tell that’s what you think of me." He dipped underwater, coming back up so quick that the water ran in rivulets down his nose and ears. He pushed his hair out of his face. “Did you at least have a little fun tonight?”
I bristled, because his implication was clear: he thought that I thought he was a walking mindless fuck machine, and that in contrast, I was bland and humorless. “Yeah, I did. A little. And don’t worry. I made sure no one took pictures of anything . . . untoward,” I said, trying to sound like I was still doing my job to the best of my abilities.
"Untoward?" he asked, grinning with one side of his mouth. "Like when we were dancing together?"
The memory had my lower belly tingling. I was sure that while we'd been grinding together, I'd felt the hard shape of his hungry cock. Clearly, I hadn't imagined the chemistry between us. I had to shut this down—I couldn’t be crushing on my new client! Both our careers were on the line.
"It wasn't serious," I mumbled. "It meant nothing. No one will think we're having sex or something so messed up."
“Messed up?" he spat. "That's really how you think of me. I’m just some manwhore who'd sleep with anyone." He sounded legitimately annoyed. “Don’t you think I get enough shit from my parents? Despite what you’ve heard to the contrary, I am an adult.”
“No, that’s not what I meant. I'm just trying to point out no one will think badly of either of us from some silly dancing,” I argued. “I'm trying to say I did my job. I don’t think that you're a . . . a manwhore.” My eyes slowly traced the hard lines of his bare chest, and I had to fight back an involuntary groan of appreciation. “I think you’re very, very—" What had he said? "Adult.”
Hunter didn't speak. Like a crocodile waiting to strike, he hung low in the water and studied me. Then with patient precision, he made his way out of the jacuzzi towards me, drops of water rolling down the taut lines of his figure.
No one should be so gorgeous or so dangerous. It made no sense to my frazzled brain that he could be smiling at me while his black pupils ate me up and spit me out. I froze, wondering what he was going to do to me right here, right now—and undecided whether it would be my greatest wish come true or the worst thing that could possibly happen.
"I'm glad you agree that I'm not a monster," he whispered, hovering over me so that a single drop of water dripped onto my cheek.
What I saw in his gaze wasn’t just the pure animal lust I’d expected. It was desire, yes, but also a kind of vulnerability, a need to be seen. He suddenly seemed more real to me, more human.
“Hunter, of course you’re not a monster. I see that. And I honestly want to help you deal with all of this media nonsense. You deserve for people to see the real you. You’re so talented, and focused, and hard working. That’s what I see. Really.”
My words seemed to have the opposite effect than the one I’d intended. Hunter turned away with a sneer, looking out at the city lights. He spoke fast and with purpose, like he was letting something out. “Yeah, yeah. So talented and about to waste everything. People think that I was born some star athlete just because my dad was a multiyear MVP. It wasn't that easy for me.
"When I was a kid, I wanted nothing to do with football because I saw what it did to my parents. My dad was always cheating on my mom, and she stuck by him, for me or for some other stupid reason." He barked out a hollow laugh. "And the worst part is, she never even called him on it. Everyone always treated him like a god, and he really thought he was one. Still does."
The flutter in my chest became a hard elastic ball. Hunter was pouring out a part of him that I had no right to hear, we barely knew each other. For some reason, though, he'd decided to grace me with some honesty.
Abruptly, his expression morphed into a cold scowl. His eyes shot to me, burning into my guts and confusing me with how my knees shook. I wasn't scared—not really—but Hunter was exciting the way a roller-coaster was.
He asked, "Why am I even telling you this? You’re corporate like the rest of my dad’s stooges. Don’t pretend you care.”
Suddenly I got defensive. Nothing pisses me off more than people telling me how I felt. “Yeah, fair enough, I care about my career. Of course I do. It’s my whole life, as pathetic as that sounds. But what makes me so good at this job is that I do care about my clients. In fact, I—”
Hunter’s response was dripping with derision, “There it is. ‘Client.’ I’m never just Hunter. Hell, I can’t even escape my own name. My father’s legacy follows me all over. Why can’t I be my own damn person? I’m always ‘player,’ ‘wide receiver,’ and even the ‘King of Diamonds’ crap is bullshit. And don’t talk to me about why you’re great at your job—I heard about how you screwed up with that poor model that had the drug problem. Did you ‘care’ about her, too? Or were you hoping she’d just disappear?”
For a moment I was too stunned to speak. “Yes, actually. I really did care about Camille. I still do. I might not have been able to save her on paper, or in the media, but you know what? I convinced her to get help. Probably saved her life. And that’s something I can be proud of. The rest is up to her.”
“Is that all true?” Hunter looked confused.
“Yes,” I told him. “I consider Camille to be a friend, and I hope when she gets out of all this that she’ll remember that. Do you think I’m entirely heartless and just in this business for a paycheck? Do I look like some emotionless machine?”
“No,” he said, looking down at the water. “You actually look . . . really great. Impressive, even. I’m glad we’re working together.”
The guy should have been a baseball player with all these curve balls. "Really?" I could smell that scent of mint on him again, and it was more intoxicating than anything I’d had to drink that night.
“Really.” His hot hands were on my wrists. When they constricted, I lifted my eyes and found him gazing down at me like I was the only woman in the world. In that mere second I was lost—I'd come undone. I should have backed away.
I didn't.
Hunter took my hands, pressing them against his chest, and then he pulled me into the hot tub. I thought about my new dress for half a breath; it had cost a pretty penny, it was probably the nicest thing I currently owned.
Water seeped into it, the weight holding me down and making it easier for me to stop struggling. That black dress was drowning, as dead as the tiny voice in my head warning me I was making the biggest all-out-fucking-mistake of my life.
And then all I could think about was his body pressing against mine. I could feel his strength, his heat, the power of his muscles through the clinging fabric. Hunter led me into the middle of the jacuzzi, his hold on me too gentle—too restrained.
In a single upwards tilt of my chin, his lips found mine. His mouth was as soft and sweet as I'd hoped for. One sweep of his tongue made my belly clench. Another had my knees folding, my insides twisting in
a wet ball of heat. I was kissing an electrical socket that had smiled at me too many times today—I could sense the shock wave that would fry my existence and ruin me entirely.
And I didn't care. I didn't care at all.
Our tongues tangled, my body was right up against his and I could feel his hard cock through his swim trunks. All pretense was gone; whatever had held Hunter at bay before disintegrated. "Fuck," he growled along the still-dry side of my skull. "You feel so damn good, Jo."
He pressed up against me, creating pressure on my clit. I needed more and Hunter was eager to give it to me. He turned me around and unzipped my soaking wet dress, drawing it off my shoulders. It floated around my middle like a lily pad, neither of us caring if it stayed as long as it wasn't in the way any longer.
There was a worming noose of guilt tightening on me when he exposed my very boring black cotton bra and panties. I hadn't exactly expected to give a lingerie showcase tonight. But Hunter said nothing, he didn't even hint that he was disappointed I wasn't decked out the way some fashion model might be.
He kissed down my neck, across my shoulders, and down my back. He unclasped my bra and spun me into the edge of the jacuzzi, grabbing me from behind, kneading my tits, pulling me closer against him. As the cool night air hit my skin, I broke out into goosebumps and my nipples hardened within the fabric of my bra, aching with sensation.
Hunter twisted me back to face him with a low groan, kissing a line from the front of my neck down to my chest, sucking each nipple hard and slow until I gasped at the tightening throb in my clit.
Amber pools focused on me, his lust glossing the surface of his deep stare. "Talk to me," he suddenly demanded. My mouth opened a hair, his kiss shutting me up before I follow his command. He broke free with a raspy gasp. "Tell me you want to do this."
His words cleared some of my fog. I could have gone along quietly, and maybe I would have, but Hunter wouldn't have it. Was it because he was so edgy over being thought of as a manwhore? Or was it because he got off on hearing me tell him I wanted him?