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“I want to stay. Just one night with you.” I pause only for a minute before pinning my heart right to my sleeve. “Consider it my fantasy come true.”
The lines between his brows deepen, and he gives me a questioning look, but that's it. No words. My Lord, this man is pensive.
I grab his forearm and tug lightly. “Come into the bathroom with me. I want to help you wash your hands.”
“I can do it,” he says softly.
I run my fingers over his. “You need to put some gauze on them.”
I catch a flicker of something on his face that I think might be embarrassment, but it's gone just as fast, and for a long moment as he gets a First Aid kit from a cabinet, he's Hunter West, the enigma/fantasy/unattainable.
When he's back in range, I put my hands on his smooth shoulders and urge him onto the side of the tub. “Sit.” I grab a chair from behind me and pop open the kit.
Cleaning his fists is surprisingly intimate. It makes my belly clench, not because he's beautiful—and he is, especially with his torso bare—but because I feel so much for him.
I run a damp towel over his right hand, and I'm hit with the memory of Loveless telling me about the Hunter she found in Sarabelle's room that night. “Don't look at me...” I frown. Didn't she say he was holding his cheek? His words from the conversation with his father ring in my mind. “I'm not the one who hit a little fucking kid!”
My stomach clenches. I have so many questions, but I have to wait until the right moment. He still seems edgy, uncomfortable, as I wrap gauze around his palm, so I want to keep it light for now. I briefly meet his gaze. “When's your next tournament?”
“Supposed to be in two weeks.”
“Do you split your time pretty evenly between here and your vineyard?”
He shakes his head. “I prefer the vineyard. When I can be there.”
Which I hope is a lot. I’m practically gleeful when I think of him being so close.
I glance up at him as I switch hands, and I find him looking down at me through long, dark eye-lashes. His face looks so handsome, it’s hard to think about anything else. take a deep breath as I tie off the gauze around his left wrist. “I was wondering...how do you think Sarabelle ended up with your cufflink?”
He locks his jaw. “Do you really want to hear this?”
Still sitting on a chair in front of him, I nod. “I know that you're not guilty, Hunter. Not only do I not think you would do something like this, but you didn’t sound guilty on the phone, and no one at Love Inc. thinks you are. Those three things are good enough for me.”
He rubs a hand back through his hair. “I don't want to drag you into this.”
“Is it because you don't trust me?”
“No. It's because I'm worried for you.” He doesn't meet my eyes, but he does take my hand and lead me next door. On the way, he grabs an undershirt from his drawer and slides it on.
When we get into my room, he says, “Let me help you pack. I don't know who might show up here. It's not a good place for you to be right now.” He presses a kiss on my cheek. “Libby, you've done enough, and I appreciate it. What I'd like best is for you to go home and don't worry about me.”
“I'll go tomorrow if you still think I should. But for tonight let's just talk, or...I don't know. Watch movies or something.”
He gives me a skeptical sort of look. “Watch movies?”
“I bet you have a hell of a home studio somewhere in here.”
“And if the cops show up and take me off in handcuffs?”
“I'll post your bail.” I smirk a little. “I have the money.”
I start to fold and organize my clothes, which are laid out by outfit all over the room, and Hunter leans against the bed. It's a little awkward, but also kind of companionable. “I'm surprised you went to a brothel for sex,” I say after a few minutes.
“Are you?” he smiles a little ruefully.
“You could get it on your own.”
“True. But I'm emotionally detached. Women don't like that.”
