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He stops a pace away and looks at the journal in my hand, specifically at the picture.
“And when you found the paper, you decided to snoop around?” he fills in finally looking at me.
“I…” I groan inwardly at yet another one of my foolish mistakes. I also quickly realize that if I even think of lying I’ll only make myself look worse. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Translation: you didn’t mean to get caught.”
My shoulders drop and I frown. “I was just looking around. You’re not exactly an open book. I hardly know anything about you except for what’s online or what Paige has told me, yet I’m supposed to be marrying you in a few weeks.”
My honesty surprises me. It seems Hunter is surprised, too.
He looks at me for a few more seconds then proceeds to the drinks cabinet.
With his fingers lingering over the little wrought iron latch, he looks back at me, his eyes roaming over me in that contemplative manner again.
“What’s your drink?” he asks, continuing to stare.
I blink several times, confused by his question. “My… drink?”
“Yeah, what do you drink, Bellissima?”
“Cocktails.”
A slow smile creeps across his lips. “Cock-tails.” The innuendo in his emphasis and the expression on his face have my body heating up again. “What kind?”
It’s Sex on the Beach but I think it’s best I keep that to myself. “Just something fruity.”
He turns back to the cabinet and grabs a few bottles of liquor from inside. I recognize the vodka, gin, Italian bitters—only because I speak Italian—and a strawberry syrup mixture he takes out of the mini fridge, but nothing more.
Everything else has a foreign name that looks like Russian or French.
Hunter mixes a bunch of the liquors together in a glass pitcher, then adds a dash of this and a dash of that from some smaller bottles on the side. He does it so quickly I can’t keep up. It’s like watching a wizard concocting a potion.
Moments later he grabs two large glasses, shoves some ice in each, then pours his impressive strawberry-colored cocktail into them.
All this time I’ve been standing here in the same spot, with his journal in my hands as I’ve watched this strange shift to our prior conversation play out.
Hunter walks back toward me with the drinks. I expect him to hand me mine but he sets the glasses down on the desk and clears a space. He then surprises the hell out of me when he picks me up and places me to sit there.
I gasp and he gives me a wild smirk. “Don’t worry, the shark won’t bite you tonight. Not unless you want me to.”
I roll my eyes at him. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to figure out what I should do with you. Right now we’re drinking, and this is how I want you.”
A chill rushes over me from the seductive tone in his voice, then his gaze drops to my bare thighs and I suddenly become aware that my nightshirt has ridden up my legs. I adjust it but Hunter is still looking at my thighs as if I have nothing on.
His gaze drifts back up to meet mine and he picks up the drink, holding it out for me to take.
“Thank you.” I set the journal down next to me and accept the glass. “What did you make?” It looks and smells as good as if it were mixed in one of those swanky nightclubs in the city.
“Something sweet and fruity. You’ll like it. Go on, taste it. Tell me what you think.”
I do, and oh my wow. I’m totally blown away by the kaleidoscope of flavors.
The strawberry-something he used is the most dominant taste with a kick of grape and raspberry. The alcohol enhances the flavor, making it taste like nothing I’ve ever had before.
I look from Hunter to the drink, feeling a little smile tugging at the corner of my lips. I realize this is possibly the first time I’ve felt like smiling around him. It’s strange considering moments ago I almost thought I might have to run for my life.
