by Tina Donahue
“Have you told her I called?” he asked.
“Several times.” Ronnie seemed genuinely regretful, as if she didn’t understand Alexa’s behavior either.
“Ask her again. Give me a call back. All right?”
She sighed. “I’ll do my best.”
That was two days ago. No call. Nothing. Flannigan had given him Alexa’s life history from birth to now, but not her cell number, email address or her current place of residence. That, it seemed, was a state secret even a crackerjack investigator or an Internet search couldn’t breach.
Crap. Hunt dropped his phone on the table and searched for his server. Where the hell was his bourbon? If ever he needed a drink, it was—
His thoughts paused. He felt his facial muscles going slack. There, to the left, no more than six tables away, Alexa sat, facing a man.
Lightheaded, Hunt gripped the arms of his chair. His pulse continued to race. What in the fuck was she doing here of all places? Who in the shit was that guy?
From the cut of his hair and the wrinkles on his neck, he was older, maybe late fifties, early sixties, dressed in a dark suit similar to all the other men here. Given the rapt interest Alexa was showing him, he might have been the love of her life…or another client.
Hunt’s dizziness passed, replaced by mounting frustration. Was that her thing? She liked old guys? Or was she just pretending enthusiasm with this man as she’d done with Tim and David? Not him though. Hunt knew her response to him had been honest from the get-go and had grown more intimate with each passing second, especially when they’d been alone in the bath and she’d breathed “yes”.
That one word, her husky, yet submissive tone had changed his world. He’d gone straight to heaven, then down to hell when she wouldn’t grant him another date, meeting, assignation, whatever.
He dug his thumbnails into the chair’s wood, staring at her, unable to hide his disapproval. Not only had she refused him and had the gall to eat here with someone else, she’d changed her damn hair.
Why? Was she wearing a wig? She had better be, rather than cutting it. Gone were those glossy black locks dangling to her ass. Today, her hair was chin length, in one of those sleek bouffant styles Hunt had seen in TV reruns from the ’60s. The way the strands captured the light told him they weren’t cheap synthetic material, but the real deal. No different from her striking beauty.
That night on R Street she’d worn little makeup. Today, she had on none at all. She didn’t need it. Good genetics had done its best job on Alexa, preparing her for a future as a model, actress, TV personality or a call girl, despite her many academic accomplishments.
So, did she generally meet clients for lunch in very public places? What call girl did that? If the guy was important, someone might see them together. Didn’t she know that? Didn’t she care? Was she in love with him? Did she want him to leave his wife? Had he promised to do so already?
Hunt frowned. Was that why she kept refusing to book a night with him?
He was out of his seat before he knew he’d be leaving it, working his way around the other tables to get to hers, all while telling himself he could be wrong. Maybe it wasn’t Alexa, just a remarkable lookalike.
The closer Hunt got, the more convinced he became that it had to be her. He recalled the curve of her cheek, the graceful arch of her brows, the tiny mole on her throat, the way she looked in gold. Her linen blouse was the same color as the dress she’d worn on their one evening together.
As he neared, he saw something else…recognition in her eyes. Her glass stalled just shy of her mouth, her drink forgotten. Tea perhaps, given all the ice and the wedge of lemon left on a side plate. The guy with her looked over his shoulder.
He wasn’t anyone Hunt had ever seen on the Hill or in the news. Ignoring the man, Hunt regarded her. “Alexa, I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Her face drained of color, her previous blush gone.
Good, he had her attention. And something else. Her interest. Hunt saw the same heat in her velvety eyes that he had that night on R Street. Warmth she hadn’t given his friends then or her dining companion now. “Nice to see you again.”
He offered his hand.
She looked like she wanted to bolt, but finally accepted his gesture.
Her fingers were ungodly soft, more so than he recalled, making everything stop. He no longer heard the din from the restaurant and traffic. For one crazy moment, he had to keep from lifting her hand to his mouth. He imagined licking the length of each finger, his tongue sweeping over her polished nails. Him gathering her close, holding her in his embrace, indulging in her warmth and sweet scent, experiencing the hush of her breath against his throat, her damp kisses.
Gently, he squeezed her hand. She curled her fingers a bit more, her thumb stroking his, longing on her face.
He hadn’t been wrong. She had wanted him that night and still did now. If anything, her hunger for him had grown as his had for her. And that got Hunt to thinking about something he hadn’t considered until this moment.
He asked, “What brings you here today?”
He came on such a regular basis the waitstaff could set their watches by him. And yet he’d never seen her in this particular establishment before. If he had, Hunt would have recalled that on the night they first met.
She released his fingers, clearly wanting him to do the same with hers. Hunt held on a second longer than he should have to let her know he’d finally figured out what she was doing.
“You eat here a lot?” he pressed, knowing she didn’t.
“My friend suggested this place,” she said, gesturing to the man across from her.
Hunt said nothing, waiting for more.
“He’s an old professor from school,” she finally added, then quickly corrected herself. “That is, he’s a professor from one of my old schools.”
Sure. And Justin Bieber was Hunt’s baby brother. He turned to the man. “Nice to meet you, Mr.…”
“Wallace,” Alexa offered before the old guy could say a word. “Professor, this is Hunter Prescott.”
The man looked shell-shocked, like he didn’t want to shake hands or discuss why he was here. In other words, like a john caught in a vice sting.
When he said nothing and Alexa too fell silent, Hunt had an insane urge to ask her for a date. He figured she’d say no, claiming to be busy. Not wanting that kind of rejection in front of Professor Whatever, Hunt took a step back. “Have a good meal.”
She sipped her drink.
He returned to his table and gestured for his server.
“I’m sorry your drink isn’t here yet,” the boy said. “I’ll check on it immediately.”
“It can wait.”
The boy nodded and opened his pad. “Are you ready to order?”
No. Food wasn’t what Hunt wanted. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a hundred, handing it to the boy. “This is yours. I need a favor.”
“Of course.”
Hunt watched Alexa as he told the server what he wanted. “Can you do that?” he asked. “If not—”
“I can. No problem.” Pocketing the money, the kid left the table and went to do what he’d been told.
Hunt waited, counting the seconds. When he’d reached three minutes, Alexa made her move as he sensed she would, leaving her table, heading into the restaurant.
He followed, tailing her to the restrooms all the way in the back. His server gave Hunt an “all clear” nod. With nothing to stop him, Hunt placed his hand on Alexa’s before she could open the door to the ladies’ lounge.
She didn’t flinch or utter a cry of surprise. She’d damn well expected him to do this.
If ever there’d been a moment in his life when he’d wanted to sigh, it was now. Her scent surrounded him. Its intoxicating fragrance coupled with her musk made him forget everything except having her. Hunt edged closer, his chest touching her back.
She didn’t move away. He hadn’t figured she would.
Leaning
down, he whispered, “You’ve been following me.”
She turned as well as she could given their proximity, her face a mask of feigned outrage. “What?”
“You heard me. What I want to know is why? We don’t need to play games, Alexa. I want you and you sure as fuck want me.”
Before she could contradict him or ask how he knew her name, Hunt captured her mouth, slipping his tongue inside.
She sagged against him. All fight forgotten.
Holy fuck, he couldn’t have planned for this moment to be as good. Turning her to face him, Hunt held Alexa as he’d wanted to for days, kissing away any future protests that might surface. She tasted better than he recalled, fresh and minty, hot and willing. She drove her fingers through his hair, keeping him to her.
He wasn’t about to leave her again. With her body held tight against his, Hunt kissed her deep and hard. He groped for the bathroom knob. Turning it, he used his body to push her inside.
She pulled her mouth from his and looked over, checking to see if anyone was in this small makeup area or in the next room of stalls.
They were blessedly alone, thanks to the generous tip he’d given his server.
Just in case the hundred didn’t encourage the boy to keep new arrivals out of here, Hunt threw the door’s deadbolt. Claiming Alexa’s mouth once more, he steered her toward the mirror and the shelf beneath it.
Her kiss was as brutal as his. She clawed at his suit jacket and wrapped her ankle around his leg to bring him closer.
Wasn’t going to happen that way.
This time, he ended their kiss and turned Alexa to face the mirror, guiding her to lean down and spread her legs just as she had in his office fantasy. Her narrow brown skirt hiked up with the movement. Hunt reached beneath it and shuddered in delight. She wasn’t wearing stockings or panties.
God, god, god.
If he didn’t get relief soon, he was going to start crying like a little girl. Come on, dammit. Getting his erection past his boxers and pants was an effort. The crown was bigger than he’d ever remembered and nearly purple, looking bruised by the time he tunneled it into her.
Hunt’s mouth fell open at her delicious wetness and heat, her body sheltering and confining his.
She made soft mewling sounds that told him she wanted this as much as he did. To make certain she never forgot this moment, he touched her clit, stroking the tiny nub as he pumped.
With her mouth against her shoulder, Alexa muffled her cries of delight.
Outside, footfalls came down the hall accompanied by men’s voices. The knob to this room rattled.
“What the fuck?” a deep voice said.
“Wrong room, fool,” a new voice answered, as low-pitched as the first.
“Oh.”
The hinges on another door squeaked, and then the wood thumped slightly as it shut.
Alexa grunted. To Hunt, she sounded even more excited. At the thought of being discovered? Reprimanded? Possibly punished?
Continuing to pump, he struggled to hold off, his chest and shoulders aching from tension. His cock didn’t care. The damn thing kept getting thicker or she was getting narrower, the rasp of their bodies begging him to come. He refused, thrusting for minutes, a fucking marathon in the carnal world of most men. For him, it wasn’t enough. He had to impress Alexa and mark her as his alone. As—
Aw hell.
She tightened her pussy again, timing her constrictions to each of his pumps, working him in the best way she could, wanting him to climax just as she was, her gasps and muffled moans signaling her orgasm.
His came next, forcing him to clench his jaw to keep from shouting and bringing anyone to the door. His panting went on for too long and then exhaustion consumed him. Weary, Hunt leaned over Alexa, burying his face in her silky tresses. They were real, just as he’d suspected, and also bore her scent. “Did you cut your hair?”
If she had, she deserved a damn spanking. Not that he’d ever lift a hand to her, unless she was into that kind of stuff…playful punishment meant to generate pleasure. Somehow, Hunt sensed she’d enjoy that.
“Which hair?” she purred.
He laughed wearily, then ground his body into hers, driving his limp cock deeper inside to show her that he was still boss.
She made a contented noise, a happy slave.
If she kept that up, he’d be hard again quicker than a horny teen. “The hair on your head.”
“It’s a wig.”
Thank god. “Take it off.”
“No.”
He huffed out a sigh. “Please?”
“No.” Her body stiffened ever so slightly beneath his, matching the edge in her response. “Let me up.”
“No…I’m not ready.” He wound his arms around her torso and held her gently, tenderly as he’d wanted to on the terrace. “Thank you.”
Just like that, she softened beneath him again.
He brushed his lips on the sensitive skin beneath her ear.
She trembled and whispered his name, thrilling Hunt to his core.
Come on, get hard, he urged his damn cock, even as he knew his body was still minutes away from being ready. Stalling, he asked, “What?”
A moment passed as if she didn’t know how to answer, and then she squirmed beneath him, no longer soft and submissive. “I mean it. Let me up. I have to go.”
Faster than Hunt thought possible, his contentment and fatigue vanished. He wanted to shout “why?” but didn’t. Frustrated, he decided to do what she’d asked and released her.
She went into one of the stalls. The roll of toilet paper made rattling sounds, telling him she was cleaning up, removing all traces of him, just as she had that night on R Street before she’d straddled Tim.
That didn’t improve his mood. Her sighs, however…
They told him of her uncertainty and need, as great as his. They sounded as though she wanted more.
He moved a bit closer then halted, not wanting to push too much. For minutes, he waited.
When Alexa came out, she stopped herself from looking at him, opting instead on checking her hair in one of the mirrors above the sinks. Once she’d smoothed the wayward strands down, she walked past him to the door.
“Hey, wait a sec.” He grabbed her hand. “No goodbye? No see you next time? No let’s make a date? A real date? Dinner. A movie. The theatre. Dancing. Whatever you want.”
Her expression grew guarded, her eyes veiled. “No. We won’t be seeing each other again.”
Hunt frowned. “Why?”
She seemed lost, unable to answer, then stroked his cheek, her thumb grazing his lips. “Thank you.”
Hunt heard sadness and something else, an invitation for more. He gathered her to him. Alexa molded her body to his as if she’d been born for this, her arms slipping around his shoulders, clutching him as tightly as he did her.
With his cheek pressed to hers, he murmured, “I need to see you again.”
She shook her head.
Screw that. “I know what you’ve been doing,” he said. “I’ve been coming to this restaurant on the same days of the week for years. Like fucking clockwork. This is the first time I’ve seen you here, not too long after our night on R Street. I don’t give a shit about what you claimed with that professor guy. He didn’t suggest you two coming here. You’ve been following me. Don’t deny it.”
She didn’t. She pulled out of his embrace and went to the door. “I have to go.”
“No, you don’t. You’re running from me. Why?”
“What you want wouldn’t work out.” With that, she left.
He followed her to the terrace. She slipped around a group of people. By the time Hunt got past them, she was two tables away.
As intent on escape as she was, he was as determined to catch her, continuing until David stood in his path.
“What are you doing?” his friend asked. “Our table’s back there.”
Hunt glared at him.
“We can move to another if you want,�
�� David said.
Not the one where Alexa sat with that guy, her made-up professor, pretending that nothing had just happened in the ladies’ lounge.
“You okay?” David asked. “What are you staring at—whoa.” He did a double take, then whispered, “Is that Magique?”
Hunt returned to their table and took his seat, watching her, drinking her fucking in. The color in her cheeks belonged to him, no other man. The softness in her eyes, the submissiveness was his too. He smiled, proud as hell of himself no matter what she’d said or claimed, especially the part about them never seeing each other again and a relationship not being possible.
“It is her,” David murmured, taking his seat. “So you two worked things out?”
Huh? “What are you talking about?”
“Tomorrow night. What else?”
“What about it?”
David made a face that said he wasn’t following. He regarded the others around them, then leaned forward and kept his voice low. “Tim and I have another, ah, date with her. Tim set it up. He’s richer than Bill Gates, he can afford it. He didn’t want to book you too—he said you were a hog about it the last time—but I talked him into it. He went ahead, until the lady making the reservations said Magique didn’t want to see you again. Did you straighten it out with her?”
Hunt’s gut continued to churn.
She was having a luncheon date with that old guy, she was willing to entertain Tim and David again, but she refused to do the same with him? She’d just given herself willingly, eagerly in the ladies’ lounge, but she wouldn’t let him book another so-called date or make a normal one like he’d just tried?
Uh-uh. She wasn’t getting away with that. She was his now. She’d settled the matter with her “yes” and “thank you”, the way she’d softened in his arms.
Their time together wasn’t at an end. It was just beginning. He was going to prove it to her.
Chapter Five
“You need to relax,” Alexa said to Wallace.
Advice she should have heeded herself. No matter what had just happened at the restaurant, everything was going to be all right.
She’d survived this long without Hunt in her life and would continue to do so, this time making certain of it. It had been a huge mistake to give in to her yearning, allowing him to embrace her again, holding him in return as though he were her lifeline when he wasn’t. Even so, she couldn’t deny how good he’d felt, so solid and strong, washing away all the loneliness she’d known, making her believe she wasn’t only wanted, but cherished. A moment Alexa figured she’d treasure, fool that she was.