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“Huh?” Hunter looked down at her. She was sexy in that sophisticated, man-eater kind of way. Definitely not a girl who was making her money walking the streets. He’d seen her type at team parties. Beautiful. Skilled. And discreet. A high-end escort, no doubt. Macy wouldn’t have chosen anything less. Though he was floored she’d chosen anyone at all. Who the hell did that?
No one. And especially not girls like Macy.
That’s when he realized what this was.
Another test. Another of Macy’s hoops to jump through.
Mother. Fucker.
He held up a finger, letting Delilah know he needed a minute, and then yanked his phone from his pocket. He hit a button and put it to his ear, his other fist balling with rising anger. The phone rang a few times and was one ring away from rolling over to voice mail when Macy answered.
“Hey, baby,” she said, her voice soft but way too alert to be fresh from sleep. She’d been awake, waiting.
“Hey.”
“Everything okay?”
“Mace, what the hell are you doing?”
She laughed, the sound a little too lilting, forced. “You made it to your hotel room, I presume.”
“Answer my question.”
“I know it’s a little crazy, but thought I would do something nice for you.”
“Nice?”
“Yeah. You’ve been so stressed, I thought maybe . . . Is she not pretty enough? I tried to choose a woman I thought you’d like,” she said, her words careful.
“She’s gorgeous,” he said, wanting to be mean all of a sudden. “Knockout body. Killer rack.”
Delilah grinned at the compliment and put her hand to her hip, striking a pose.
“Great,” Macy said, her tone going tart. “Should be a fun night for you, then.”
“I’m sending her home.” He gave Delilah a pointed look and cocked his head toward the door. “I’m not interested.”
Delilah lifted a brow but didn’t attempt to debate. She strolled over to the couch and begin putting on the dress she had draped over one of the chairs. She didn’t bother hiding her skimpy lingerie as she shimmied her clothes back on, but apparently, she’d been prepaid, because she looked more than happy to be off the clock.
“Oh?” Macy asked. The bright victory in that one word was so fucking annoying that Hunter wanted to throw the phone. “You sure?”
Devon stepped around him and leaned against the back of the couch, arms crossed, eyes curious.
Hunter wet his lips. “This is where I say that I don’t want any other woman touching me besides you, right? That I’ll wait for as long as I need to because you’re worth it. That you don’t have to ever worry about another woman turning my head.”
He could almost hear her grin over the phone. “Oh, babe, you’re so—”
“I’m not saying it, Mace. That’s what I’m supposed to say.” He turned his back on Devon and began to pace. “But I’m not doing this anymore. I told you I was fine waiting, and I was. I’ve waited without complaint for two years. But this, what you’re trying to do, is bullshit. A relationship isn’t supposed to be about making someone perform like a circus animal.”
Delilah strolled past him, giving him a little finger wave before slipping out.
“Babe—”
“No, I can’t—” He leaned back against the wall, the foundation of his well-bricked life sliding from beneath him. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Wait, I’m sorry,” Macy said in a rush. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just—I don’t know. I told myself that even if you took me up on the offer, I’d be okay. She’d just be performing a service for you. But this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I’ll fly up there and we’ll talk. This was a mistake. I’ll make it up to you. I just—you know I get paranoid. You’ve been so distant, I started to think you were cheating and . . . I thought this would let me see if—I’m sorry.”
He closed his eyes and let his head tip back against the wall. Macy. The girl who was so desperate not to repeat her parents’ marital mistakes that she’d go as far as hiring a goddamned hooker to prove her guy was true. Macy, who wanted to be married so badly. Macy, who had chosen the wrong man for those dreams. “I won’t make you happy.”
