by Hannah Ford
When dinner was over, they went and sat in the living room together. Hunter said he liked to read after dinner, and so he asked her what she enjoyed reading, because he wanted to find her something from his library. She replied honestly, even though she knew there was a chance it would anger him.
“I was really enjoying Blue Horizon,” she said. “Only now I can’t finish it. I feel like anything else would be a disappointment right now.”
She glanced at him, concerned that she might see the first stirrings of anger in his expression. But he seemed completely fine with her response. In fact, he was smiling a little. “We agreed you won’t finish Blue Horizon. But, I think I have something else you might get a kick out of. Wait right here.”
Hunter left the room and Kallie sat with her glass of red wine and sipped, wondering what new surprise he had in store for her. She was feeling a bit dizzy and warm—sort of fuzzy around the edges. She was happy with Hunter, talking to him, watching the way he reacted to her stories. He was always right there with her, always so present to her needs and interested in her thoughts, she realized, and that was one of the things she loved about him.
Love. Was it way too early in the game to be using such a word to describe her feelings for a man who was as flaky as Hunter Reardon? Probably, yes, she thought. But anyway, Kallie rationalized, she just loved certain qualities he possessed.
As she grappled with her feelings, Hunter re-entered the room carrying a binder of some sort. Puzzled, Kallie put her glass of wine down on the glass coffee table and took the binder that Hunter presented to her.
“You might find this funny,” he said, pointing to the large white binder in her hands. “That’s some of the old writing I did for my creative writing program back in college.”
Kallie’s eyes widened. Something from Hunter Reardon’s secret, never-to-be-spoken-of past! She felt like she was holding the Dead Sea Scrolls in her hands. Kallie couldn’t believe he was just handing over something so personal like this. He didn’t seem to mind sharing it at all.
She flipped the cover open and immediately came face to face with a printed page of text. At the top of the first page was the title of what must have been a short story or something. It was bold and underlined, and it read:
IT CAN’T ALL BE LIKE THIS
by Hunter Reardon
Kallie examined it as Hunter sat down beside her.
“You wrote this for class?” she asked.
He nodded, opening the binder rings and pulling out the paper, and then setting the binder on the table. “Here. I’ll read my book and you can read this. It’s not Blue Horizon, but it is a little known early piece by the same author. Some might even call it a collector’s item.”
Kallie smiled, her eyes still wide. “You’re sure, Hunter?”
“Of course I’m sure. Just don’t roll your eyes too hard. There’s some fairly atrocious prose in there.”
“I doubt that.”
“No, I’m serious. But it isn’t the worst thing I ever wrote, either.”
So Hunter sat with his novel and Kallie settled in next to him on the couch, reading his old college story. At first, she was distracted by how nice it all was—being curled up on the couch with Hunter, nestled in with his arm around her shoulders.
But then she began reading the story, and instantly she was gripped, just as she had been by Blue Horizon.
It was a different type of story from Blue Horizon, which had been a thriller with a very hot romance. This was more literary—the tone of the narrator was very different from what his novel sounded like. But it was still good in its own way, and even more intriguing because she thought that perhaps it held clues about Hunter’s earlier life.
The story was about a young man named Jude Seagal, a young but unsuccessful poet. Although Seagal was a rather negative, bleak character, he was also very funny—kind of like Woody Allen, Kallie thought.
Throughout the story, Seagal tried to understand why some people seemed to live a charmed life, while other people suffered endlessly.
The character went from one situation to the next, searching for answers about the unfairness of the world. But meanwhile, he seemed to develop into a rather selfish, caustic character.
The last line in the story was this:
What kind of man, Seagal wondered, could be bothered to cry only for himself?
Kallie put the story down and glanced sideways at Hunter, who was still engrossed in his novel.
After a moment, he noticed her looking and put the novel down. “Finished?” he said.
“Yes. It was really amazing. I was riveted.”
He smiled. “I thought you might like it.”
She hesitated. “Well, anyway—thanks for letting me read it.”
“What were you going to say, Kallie?”
She sighed. “I’m not allowed to ask you personal questions.”
Hunter chuckled. “This once, I’ll allow it.”
“Well, what made you write that story in particular? Did you know a person like Jude Seagal?”
Hunter shook his head. “No, not exactly. But maybe there’s a bit of him in me, or vice versa. It was kind of a dark time in my life. I was wondering why bad things happen to good people, I suppose. Fundamentally, it was a question of fairness. I understand Seagal’s quest to make order of the chaos. I understand his wanting to believe that things should balance out in the grand scheme of things, when often they don’t.”
“But you’re much more like Douglas Banks,” she told him, referring to one of the characters in the story who’d led a “charmed life.”
Hunter’s brow furrowed. “You think?”
“Yes,” she said. “You’re handsome, talented, a gifted writer. You’re the man who has it all, the one who’s gotten everything that God could see fit to grace you with.”
At that, Hunter’s eyes glazed a little. She could see that his smile had become strained. “Yeah, well…you do have a point, Kallie. Seagall, if he were here right now, might judge me much the same. But everything isn’t always as it appears.”
“I know that,” she said. “I was trying to compliment you, not insult you.”
“No insult,” he smiled, but the smile was artificial.
“Hunter—“
“Honestly, I’m just wanting to read a while longer if it’s all right with you,” he said. His voice had gotten that edgy quality with which she was becoming well acquainted.
“Sure,” she said. Only now she had nothing left to read. “Maybe I’ll just go up to bed.”
“Fine.”
She got up slowly from the couch, suddenly feeling cold and depressed from the wine. The edges were fuzzy still, but in a distorted way. She walked to the stairs, hoping he would call her back, but Hunter never uttered a word.
Instead, she went to bed by herself, crawling under the cool covers and trying to let herself fall asleep, even though she wasn’t quite tired enough yet.
Finally, sleep did come, though.
When she awoke, it wasn’t clear what time it was. Hunter was sliding into bed beside her. His arms wrapped around her and his lips came close to her ear as he scooted his hips up against her from behind. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“It’s okay,” she whispered back.
She moved against him and he against her. Soon he was kissing the back of her neck and his hands were cupping her breasts. She was completely naked, because she had no change of clothes and hadn’t wanted to snoop through his drawers, nor go back downstairs to ask him for anything else to wear.
He seemed to be enjoying her state of undress, however, as he grinded against her and massaged her bare breasts. “Kallie,” he whispered. And then he kissed up and down her neck, as his hand strayed down to the wet place between her thighs.
She oohed slightly as he began to rub, opening her with one touch.
His hand was magic, his touch was magic. All of her concerns and reservations floated away as he held her in the darkness and his hot
body burned against hers.
Moments later, he was sliding into her from behind, fucking her with precision and passion, every stroke sending chills of delight through her body.
She came three times before he finally finished, and then they lay together, as if glued to one another, for the rest of the night.
***
When she awoke the next morning, Kallie was disoriented. It felt fairly late in the day, judging by the light that was filtering in through the windows.
She sat up, squinting, and then reached down to her purse and took out her phone. It was just passed eight in the morning. Not that late after all.
She had a bit of a headache, which Kallie attributed to the wine from the previous evening.
And then the memories of the late night encounter came flooding back to her and she smiled, remembering everything about how he’d touched her and the way his body had felt against hers.
Sliding out of bed naked, she didn’t know at first what to wear. But then she saw that Hunter had laid out another robe for her—at least, she assumed it was meant for her.
In any case, she put it on and slowly padded downstairs, expecting to find him in the kitchen or the living room. Then she thought he might even be in the basement—perhaps working on a new contraption for later?
She didn’t know. Going back to the kitchen, she saw that he’d already put on a pot of coffee. Straining to hear anything, she stopped and listened. And finally, distantly, she heard it. Clacking noises. Faint at first, but once her ear had tuned in on the sounds—she knew it was Hunter at work.
Kallie followed the hallway down to the end, where there was a door ajar, just past the basement.
Sitting inside a relatively small office was Hunter, with a laptop computer open and a printer nearby. Reams and reams of paper were strewn all over the desk and even the floor. There was also a bulletin board and tacked to it, more pieces of paper with red lines everywhere and handwritten notes. It looked bizarre, she thought, but then she’d never known any professional writers.
This must be how they work, she told herself. No judgment. And funnily enough, it was the only room in the house that actually appeared lived in.
Hunter turned as she stood outside the room. “Hey!” he said, smiling, which greatly relieved Kallie. “You’re up.”
“Yes, I am. Thanks for the robe.”
“It looks good on you.”
“I think if it were up to you, I’d never wear anything else.”
“Can I help it if I find a good bathrobe incredibly sexy?” He swiveled fully around and looked her up and down. “Come here.”
She walked in, feeling as though she were walking into a mosque or temple or otherwise sacred space. “Am I allowed?”
“Yes, Kallie. But only if I specifically invite you, so don’t get any more ideas about snooping through my stuff.”
She laughed, walking inside. He reached out, took her hand, and then sat her down on his lap. He smelled good—like coffee, but his breath still had the hint of mint that she always noticed. He kissed her firmly on the mouth. “Damn you taste good,” he told her. His hands ran under her robe to her thighs.
She felt her skin tingle and a chill ran up her spine. “What’s going on in here?” she asked, trying to keep her thoughts straight as he touched her beneath the robe.
“Oh, just some work. I always work best in the morning.”
She wanted to ask him what he was working on, but decided against it. “Are you going to be working a while longer or—“
“No, I’ve been at it already for close to two hours. Time for a break. You feel like having coffee?”
They left his office and went back to the kitchen, where Hunter poured her a cup and made himself a fresh mug, and then they went up to the terrace and sat at the table, sipping coffee and talking.
It was easy to be with Hunter, Kallie thought as he made conversation about a wide range of topics. Movies, books, politics—he seemed to know a little something about everything and he always had a funny line to say or a cute anecdote.
And yet somehow, she sensed that all of his charm and his funny stories were all carefully designed in such a way as to keep the other person at bay. None of his anecdotes were personal—even if they were about him, you never found out any real details about his life from them.
He was like a magician who worked in words and language, she decided. The illusion was that you were getting to know the real Hunter Reardon, when the fact of the matter was that you knew just as little at the end as you did when starting out.
Still, Kallie enjoyed sitting on the terrace and chatting with him. Even if he didn’t want to share the intimate details of his life with her, he was great to look at and perfectly good company.
The air was refreshing and the coffee was strong. By the time she’d finished her cup, she was feeling like someone had just hooked her up to a car battery. “I should probably go back home before tonight,” she said, sighing and pushing her empty cup away from her on the table.
Hunter cocked an eyebrow. “Why should you go home? We’re going to the dinner together.”
“I know, but I have nothing to wear and—“
“So? I’ll buy you ten outfits, you can have your pick.”
She looked down, her cheeks reddening. “That’s a sweet offer, Hunter. But I couldn’t do that.”
“You can and you will. Remember the contract?” He tapped the tabletop with a finger. “I can quote chapter and verse if you like, Kallie. But one of the provisions, as you well know, is that I pay for your clothing and expenses.”
She bit her lower lip, confused again. There were certain things she hadn’t really taken very seriously in that contract, and one of those things had been the idea that Hunter was going to start paying her way. It was silly, it was wrong—it was like prostitution in a way.
Maybe you should have thought of that before you went and signed the darn thing.
“I’m not sure that I’m comfortable with you buying my clothes,” she said.
He smiled wryly. “And I’m not sure that I’m comfortable with your discomfort.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that we have an agreement. In fact, you pretty much wrote the thing yourself.”
“From memory of what you’d already given me,” she reminded him.
“It doesn’t matter. You could have taken that part out if you didn’t like it.”
She sighed, knowing he was right. “I wasn’t thinking straight, Hunter. I wasn’t thinking of how it would make me feel.”
He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “How does it make you feel?”
“Like you’re paying me for sex. Am I nothing more than a paid escort? I’m sure there are plenty of women who would do the whole BDSM thing if you paid for some nice high-end shoes and purses.”
He shook his head. “We’re not arguing this, Kallie. You had your chance to make changes to the contract. Now is not the time to rewrite the rules.”
“It just makes me uncomfortable. How could I have known until I actually experienced how it makes me feel?”
“I’m buying you those clothes. We’re going shopping,” he said, like a parent scolding a teenager about hitting the books.
She had to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, his own expression not one of humor.
“I just can’t get over how ridiculous this is. I mean, you’re actually angry at me for not wanting your money!”
He finally cracked a smile. “I’m not angry at you. I just want you to enjoy the perks of this arrangement. Stop making everything so difficult.”
“Fine. You want to see shopping? I’ll show you shopping,” she said.
He grinned wider. “That’s the spirit.”
***
Kallie was already exhausted and the engagement celebration dinner was still more than two hours away.
Hunter was lugging the bags and bags of clothes into his house and she was f
ollowing behind him, feeling like a little girl who was handed the keys to the candy shop and the toy store all at once.
There’s a reason nobody ever really opens the candy store and the toy store to a little girl and lets them grab everything in sight, Kallie thought, as she plodded behind Hunter lugging bags and bags of her stuff. And right now, Kallie had the headache to prove why this shopping trip had been such a bad idea.
All told, Hunter had paid for more than eight thousand dollars worth of clothing and sundries. She’d bought a Prada purse and Prada heels, a Gucci bracelet, a dress from Michael Kors, bras and panties from Victoria Secret, and more makeup than any reasonable person needed from Sephora.
The entire time it had been like a game of chicken, with Kallie shopping at high speed and daring Hunter to swerve first and pull the plug on her spending spree.
But he’d stayed the course, and finally she’d been the one to swerve first. Unable to muster up the courage (or audacity) to bring even another stitch of clothing up to the register, Kallie had finally admitted defeat.
Hunter was too determined, too crazy, and possibly too rich for her to make a dent in his armor. She didn’t know when or if he’d have ever told her to knock it off.
Now that they were done with the shopping extravaganza, she was feeling rather sick and remorseful. It was positively wasteful and outrageous to go and spend so much money on things she didn’t even need.
After all, she’d never spent more than a hundred dollars on a pair of shoes before—why did she need to start now?
They got to the master bedroom, and Hunter dropped the bags on the floor and then jumped backwards onto the bed, kicking his feet out and putting his hands behind his head, smiling at her expression of disbelief.
“So,” he said, his usual mischievous grin still in place. “That was entertaining.”
“That was stupid. I think we should bring it all back.”
He shook his head slowly. “Ummm…No.”