by Tina Donahue
She couldn’t say yes, she couldn’t say no. She wanted to bitch at him for putting her into such an impossible position, start an argument that would allow them to part with some measure of relief. At least until the heartache hit.
Hunt didn’t seem to mind the coming sorrow. With more courage than she felt, he waited for her answer.
She rolled away from him and left the bed, grabbing her heels and cape that one of the escorts had thought to lay on the edge of the mattress.
The bedsprings squeaked as Hunt shifted his position, but he didn’t say anything.
Alexa finally turned. Something indescribable washed over her at how unguarded he looked, how accessible, his hair sticking in all directions from their bed play, his beautiful eyes filled with what? Hope? Desire? Acceptance of whatever she was and had been, affording her what she’d always yearned for from a man? His approval left her dizzy and weak, scared as hell too. Her pulse beat so crazily, she was certain he could hear it.
Outside the tent, the Town Car’s motor hummed. Birds alighted on the top of the canvas, their wings flapping before they settled down and broke out in song.
Hunt continued to hold her gaze. “Tell me to leave you alone and I will. Tell me you don’t love me as I believe you do and that’ll be the end of it.”
Her mouth trembled. She tried to say the words, to lie, but couldn’t.
He took a deep breath and sighed it out. “Then tell me you’ll meet me on Wednesday.”
Such an easy matter to agree to and yet so difficult for her, because she had no experience with loving a man this much. She knew rejection, solitude, protecting herself above all else. That should have told Hunt to run from her as fast as he was able.
He didn’t move.
At last, Alexa murmured the only thing she could, “I’ll try.”
Chapter Twelve
It hadn’t been Ronnie’s intent to join Wallace when he picked up Alexa, but he persuaded her it might be for the best.
“She really likes Mr. Prescott,” he’d said, “more than she can help herself.” With his arm linked through hers, he’d led Ronnie to the Town Car. A casual observer might have thought they were a couple, rather than her requiring his support to walk such a short distance.
Once he’d settled her in the front passenger seat, he’d added, “After spending so much time with him, I’m afraid she might need you.”
No kidding. Alexa departed the tent like a zombie, clutching her high heels to her chest rather than wearing them, seemingly unaware of the gravel beneath her naked feet. Her eyes were wet, her mouth quivering as though she was trying very hard not to cry.
Ronnie figured Hunt must have declared himself. If he’d been mean or had disappointed Alexa in the least, she would have worn her screw-you expression, convincing herself that he was no different from any other guy and she was lucky to be rid of him.
She finally made it to the vehicle’s door and simply stared at it.
Wallace leaned toward Ronnie and mumbled, “Should I give her a bit more time to decide if she wants to go back to him?”
“You better get the door,” Ronnie said.
He helped Alexa into the backseat. She chewed the side of her thumb and kept sneaking peeks at the tent as though she hoped—or dreaded—Hunt coming out of it.
Ronnie turned a bit more in her seat, waiting for Alexa to notice her.
She didn’t. What in the hell had happened in there, outside of Hunt telling Alexa he loved her? Had he proposed marriage? Children?
Wallace guided the sedan down the incline. Alexa dropped her heels and turned completely around, looking at the tent from the back window, her fingertips touching the glass.
Ronnie exchanged a glance with Wallace.
“Everything all right?” he asked Alexa.
She sagged against the seat, noticing Ronnie. “What are you doing here?” She sat up and touched Ronnie’s shoulder. “Are you feeling okay? You look tired.”
“So do you.”
Alexa’s face turned a bright red. Snatching back her hand, she pulled her fingers through her hair, combing it as best she could.
“Anything you want to talk about?” Ronnie asked.
“I swear I won’t listen,” Wallace said.
Alexa whimpered.
“Stop the car,” Ronnie told him. “I’ll get in the backseat. All right?” she asked Alexa.
“No. Stay where you are.” She pulled up her legs and wrapped her arms around them like a frightened little girl. “You should be in bed. Why did you follow me out here? Nothing happened.”
“Nothing?”
Alexa’s chin trembled.
Ronnie murmured, “Did Hunt tell you he loves you?”
“No.”
“You’re kidding,” Wallace said. “What a bastard.”
Ronnie slapped his arm and turned back to Alexa. “Is that why you’re upset?”
“No—I’m not upset. He wants to see me again. Get to know me. Go grocery shopping.”
“He wants you to move in with him?” Ronnie blurted.
Wallace cut in, “Maybe he wants to get married.”
All the blood drained from Alexa’s face. “He wants to have lunch with me next Wednesday. Just lunch…to start our relationship.”
“You said yes?” Wallace asked.
Alexa lowered her head to her knees.
Ronnie’s heart twisted. “Did you say no?”
“I said I’d try.”
“And will you?” Ronnie asked.
Alexa grasped her legs even tighter and didn’t answer.
Hunt stared at his computer screen, not even pretending to read his report on a healthcare bill. Alexa filled his mind, especially how she’d looked during their last moments together. Days had passed since then, but he recalled her panic, the way she kept putting distance between them, finally fleeing the tent.
He’d gone to its entrance and listened to the car departing, cursing himself for wanting to run after it. What she’d said earlier had been spot on—their relationship shouldn’t be so hard. Once he’d told her how he felt, she should have reacted as he’d fantasized, bursting into tears because she was happy, not scared, hugging him as though her life depended upon it and suggesting they move in together.
At the very least, he’d hoped she’d start stalking him again.
Their first day apart, he kept glancing over his shoulder, thinking he felt her in the crowd. More than a few women and even one guy gave him inviting smiles. He ignored them all, wanting—no, demanding Alexa.
When he couldn’t stand their separation any longer, Hunt had repeatedly dialed her number, then hung up before the call connected, knowing he couldn’t push her. She had good reason not to expect anything but disappointment from men. Her father had taught her that lesson very well.
Fucking prick.
Hunt tightened his fists, wishing he could confront the man, preferably in front of her to prove he was different. She could trust him no matter how long they were together. He’d piss her off during that time, sure. That was a given since he had as many irritating habits as she undoubtedly did, but he’d never abuse their bond. She had to know he genuinely loved her. What man would pursue a woman as he continued to do with Alexa unless his heart allowed him no other choice? Given the circumstances, he’d done all that he could, providing her with the opportunity to continue with him. And now it was Wednesday. In a little more than an hour, he’d know if she was willing to go forward or if he’d never be seeing her again.
Oh shit, I can’t do this.
He broke out in a cold sweat. His legs felt weird, as though they wouldn’t support his weight if he stood. Was he having a stroke? God, not that. He couldn’t get sick now. To have her show up at the restaurant when he didn’t would be more than awful. She’d never believe anything else he would say or—
A rap on his door interrupted Hunt’s thoughts. Alexa? Had she been unwilling to wait until their luncheon date to see him? Was she going to allow her
self to feel as deeply as he did?
The door swung open. Hunt stopped several feet from it and glared.
David took a step back as though he knew not to come in any farther. Tim breezed past the man and narrowed his eyes at Hunt. “Are you going to barf?”
“Real smooth,” David muttered, then asked, “You going to be all right?”
“I’m fine,” Hunt lied, returning to his chair. “I’ll be even better when both of you leave.”
Tim moved deeper into the room. David closed the door and followed.
“You’re going the wrong way,” Hunt said, pointing to the area behind them.
Tim sank into a chair. “The same might be said for you.”
“We’re here for moral support,” David offered.
“Well, I am,” Tim said, then jabbed his thumb in David’s direction. “He wanted to start an office pool as to whether she’d show or—”
David punched the back of Tim’s chair. “Shut up—I did not. That was your stupid idea.”
“Don’t worry,” Tim said to Hunt. “No one knows about today or what happened at the tent or anything else involving Magique.”
“Alexa,” Hunt growled.
Tim drummed his fingers against his knees. “I don’t want you to take this wrong.”
“Good. Then don’t say it.”
He sighed. “Just listen to me, will you? My guess is she won’t show, all right?”
How could it be? That would fucking kill him.
“I may be many things,” Tim continued, “not all of them good, but I am a realist and I can see this has gone far beyond anything I expected.” He leaned up in his chair and spoke more quietly than he had before. “Face it, Hunt, you had your fun with her—thanks in large part to me letting you use my place—but that’s all it was. She’s not going to be who you want her to be. She sure as hell won’t be good for your career. How in the fuck could you take her to any functions in this town when half the guys here have already booked evenings with—”
“Shut up.” The back of Hunt’s chair smacked into the window. He went around his desk, stopping in front of Tim. “Don’t say anything bad about her. Ever. Got it?”
David backed away.
Tim pushed to his feet. “Sorry, man. I’m just worried about you. You’ve never been like this with any woman. I thought it was funny at first, but now it’s nuts. Especially with her.”
Hunt moved closer, crowding Tim. The man stepped to the side, putting distance between them. Hunt followed. “And why is it nuts with her? Because she’s what? A whore?”
“I didn’t say—”
“You didn’t have to.” Hunt continued to advance as Tim retreated. “If she’s a whore, what does that make you? What does it make any of us?”
Tim bumped into the credenza, knocking a glass to the floor. It shattered. Hunt stepped over the shards as he continued to advance. “We acted like pigs and she’s the one to blame? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Hey, I’m not saying anything at—”
Hunt cut Tim off. “She has good reason for what she’s done. What’s your excuse? You had the fucking world handed to you. Your family thinks you walk on water. They refuse to see any faults, and trust me, there are many.”
“Fine, okay, I’m a prick, a pig, an SOB.” Tim lifted his hands in surrender.
“She’s who I want, got it?” Hunt growled at them both.
“Of course,” David said quickly. “If there’s anything we can do to help, let us know. We’ll be there for you.”
Tim made a face. “Now you’re talking like we’re girls or something.”
“Screw you,” David said to him and turned back to Hunt. “Anything, all right? Just let us know.”
“I’m fine,” Hunt said.
Hell, he was great, and he’d be even better once he saw Alexa again, because she would show up for their date, eager to see him.
He arrived at the restaurant twenty minutes before schedule, unable to help himself.
George, the elderly host, checked the clock on the wall, staring at it in confusion. “Mr. Prescott…”
“I’m early,” he said. “That’s not a problem, is it?”
“No, not at all.” George gestured to the server Hunt had given the hundred to that afternoon Alexa had been here. The boy glanced expectantly at Hunt while George whispered to him. He murmured something in return, then hurried away.
“Forgive us, but your table’s not quite ready,” George said. “Would you care to wait in the bar?”
“Has a young lady been in here asking for me?”
George’s white brows inched up a bit. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“Have you been at your station the entire time?”
“Well…yes.” He glanced past Hunt at the patrons lining up behind him. Leaning closer, he asked, “Would you like me to check with the servers to see if your young lady has been asking for you?”
His young lady. Hunt liked how that sounded.
Smiling, he said, “No. I’ll wait outside for my table.” He headed in that direction, then thought better of it. If Alexa had arrived early, could be she was in the bar, downing some liquid courage, a drink stronger than the Black Velvets she liked. It was even possible she was just outside the ladies’ lounge, hoping for a repeat of the last time they’d been here.
Hunt grinned, until he recalled Ronnie’s criticism of how he and Alexa behaved when they were together. Reading each other’s body language, going at it like oversexed teens rather than communicating as everyone else did.
Easy for Ronnie to say. Talking was where Alexa got all screwed up, staring instead of answering his questions, afraid to surrender to her feelings for him.
“Mr. Prescott?” George said as Hunt strode past.
He called over his shoulder, “I’ll be in the bar or the ladies—” He stopped.
Several diners continued to watch him.
“I’ll be in the back,” he mumbled and headed toward the bar even though he wanted to go to the lounge to see if Alexa was there. Hunt walked past a series of stools, not seeing her, then craned his neck to check out the tables.
From behind, Vince asked, “Your usual, Mr. Prescott?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
She wasn’t at any of the tables. Hunt headed toward the ladies’ lounge.
“Mr. Prescott?”
What dammit? Gritting his teeth, Hunt glanced over. Vince gestured to the bourbon he was pouring.
“I’ll get it in a minute,” Hunt said. “Put it on my tab.”
“Yes sir.”
He shouldered his way past a group leaving their table and found himself behind several women who were also heading for the lounge. For one wild moment, Hunt considered tapping the shoulder of the woman closest to him, asking her to see if Alexa was inside.
The curious glances of the men nearby stopped that foolishness. Dropping his hand, Hunt continued to the men’s room, paced a bit, then left and haunted the hallway for a few minutes. No Alexa. However, the other ladies came out. He headed back to George’s station.
The older man handed menus to a server who led his guests to their table.
Hunt checked the waiting crowd. Still no Alexa. “Is my table ready yet?” he asked.
“Excuse me for a moment,” George said to the next patrons in line. He spoke into his microphone headset, listened, then smiled at Hunt. “Yes, it is.” A snap of George’s fingers brought another server over. “Please see Mr. Prescott to his usual table.”
“A young lady will be joining me.”
“Of course.” George grabbed another menu and handed them to the server. “Both of you enjoy,” he said.
The weather was even more miraculous than it had been the last time—upper seventies, sunny with a mild breeze that wiggled the tails of the linen tablecloths and the canvas umbrellas. A good sign Hunt knew. A spring day filled with hope and promise.
He settled in his chair and glanced at the table where Alexa and Wallace had
sat. Today, an elderly couple was there, looking content with their silence. There wasn’t a need for endless conversation. They understood and were comfortable with each other.
Before he’d met Alexa, Hunt wouldn’t have noticed the pair. If he had, he would have thought they looked dull as death, leading equally boring lives. Going to bed together, waking up, making it through another day only to repeat the process endlessly, their lives fossilized.
The thought of doing that with Alexa was exciting enough to make Hunt’s pulse race.
He wondered what she’d be wearing today. That same gold blouse from the last time, along with her narrow brown skirt? He really liked how demure she’d looked in it given that she was naked beneath. Surely, she wouldn’t wear panties or a thong today, though he hoped for stockings and a garter belt.
His cock stirred at the thought. He draped his napkin over his lap, hiding his arousal from the server who arrived with his forgotten bourbon.
“Thanks.” Hunt took a healthy sip, trying to relax and focus on something other than Alexa or the time.
It was ten minutes before their scheduled date.
Instrumental R&B played. The diners’ voices rose and fell, punctuated with occasional laughter. Silverware clacked against china plates. Tires hissed over the asphalt. Horns blared.
Hunt continued to listen for the tap of Alexa’s heels, her approach. He inhaled deeply, wanting to smell her rose and jasmine fragrance, not what the other women were wearing.
The ladies behind his table must have bathed in their perfumes. The sweet scents were so cloying, it overpowered the succulent odor of grilled steaks. If he hadn’t been waiting for Alexa at his usual spot—the place she’d be looking for him—he would have asked for another table.
Three minutes to show time.
He downed his drink, appreciating its heat in his throat and belly, desperate to calm down. His legs felt funny again, as they had in his office. He hoped to god that he’d be able to get to his feet when she arrived. Would she push to her toes to kiss his cheek or would she offer her hand for him to shake? A deceptively formal greeting given what they’d already shared.
What they’d continue to do from here on out.