Selling Scarlett (35 page)

"I did."

"How come?" He cups my cheek, still gentle, but I can sense him closing off.

"I've got my reasons."

"But you could sleep with any girl."

Loosening his grip on me, he laughs, and I look up at him. "I'm glad you find me so appealing, Miss DeVille."

I blush. "Almost any girl."

His jaw drops open in a funny way, and I grin so hard I can feel the dimples in my cheeks.

"Is it because you like to keep your distance?" I ask.

“Wow.” He sort of chuckles a little bit. “Sneak attack.”

I shrug, because I didn’t really mean to sneak attack. I just felt like I had an opportunity. Pretense has never been stripped away like it is now between the two of us, so I figure I should take advantage of it.

Hunter seems to feel the same way. "Keep my distance?" He strokes up and down my cheek bone, and I feel hypnotized as I reach out and put my palm on his thigh. "What do you mean, keep my distance?"

My knees part a little as he steps closer, coming in between them.

"Do I strike you as a man who keeps my distance?"

"I don't mean that," I say, breathless. "I mean, no relationships."

"I have a better question: How is it a pretty girl like you's still got her V-card?"

"I'm not a girl," I whisper.

"No, you're not."

He leans down and covers my mouth with his, and I pull him close, feeling his hardness with a heady rush as he rocks his body into mine.

"You're a woman," he says, between hard kisses. "Goddamned gorgeous one at that."

My hands drift into the pockets of his jeans, and oh my God, that ass. It's tight and firm and everything a man's ass should be. I want to pull his jeans off. Squeeze it. Kiss it.

I'm panting, elated by his compliments, as he trails gently down my throat and kisses my collar bone.

"I'm like you," I whisper into his hair. "Want to keep my distance."

"Not doing a very good job of it," he pants.

He comes up for air, pushing his forehead against mine, so close that I can count the yellow flecks in his irises. "You know what I mean,” I murmur. “I don't want a relationship. I never do. I mean I never have."

His eyes change, going from aroused to something more shrouded as runs his fingers down my arm. "Probably your mother."

I lean back, stunned that he said that to me. "Probably so.” I guess I come off as the screwed-up daughter of a drug addict. Lovely.

"I'm only saying because I've had my share of therapy," he says, squeezing my hand before he walks back around the counter, to the oven. He opens it, and a heavenly sweet smell wafts out.

"You have?"

"Yes ma'am. Mostly when I was a kid."

"After your mother passed away?" It's a forward question, but then he's been forward with me.

Something passes over his face—something ugly. He covers it quickly and nods. "Something like that."

"Well you're probably right.” I lean against the bar, propping my head in one of my palms. “Relationships, other than with Suri and a few other friends—they just don't seem worth it to me.”

"That's because you don't want to get hurt."

"You're quite the Ann Landers, Hunter West. I'm shocked."

He looks at me without any trace of a smile. "I do write an advice column. Vegas High-Rolling. For the
Las Vegas Sun News
."

I gape, and he laughs. "You gotta be outta your fucking mind if you think anyone would give me a column." He sobers a little. "Pardon the French. I don't have the cleanest mouth."

"I'm sure you don't," I say coyly. I'm feeling a little more relaxed now, and happy to flirt with him, and willing to broach sensitive subject. Like: "So what's up with you and Priscilla?"

"Nothing but the sky," he says, pouring two tall glasses of orange juice.

"You don't care about her, but there's chemistry?"

"I don't care about her," he says flatly.

His eyes meet mine, and they're so cold, and all of a sudden it's painfully obvious to me that we're not really friends, or breakfast buddies, or anything at all. We don't know each other, and I've struck a bad cord with my prying question.

Hunter turns back to the stove and begins to pile two plates with food. When he speaks again, his tone is lighter. "I’ve got a question for you: weren't you even a little worried about who would win your heart?"

"Uh, yeah. My friend Suri kept joking that it would be someone old and slimy."

He smirks, piling scrambled eggs on two big, square plates. "Are you saying I'm over the hill?"

"I didn't know you'd swoop in to rescue me."

"That wasn't a rescue. Believe me." He checks the oven again, then shuts it. "Do your parents know?” He sticks his hands into his pockets and leans against the sink. “I assume not."

"They don't."

"I'm surprised your friends let you go through with it."

"I needed the money," I say. "And it was one friend. I didn't really let her argue."

"Well, I'm good for it." He rubs the bridge of his nose, like he has a headache.

"Do you win a lot at poker?"

"More in investments." He peeks into the oven one more time, and I think how sexy he looks in chef mode. "What kind of jam do you like?"

"Strawberry."

"I'm a strawberry man myself."

He slides the jar of homemade jam over to me, then puts the oven mitt back on and opens the oven, pulling out a tray of...

"Beignets! Holy crap, I love beignets!" He puts two on a plate and slides it across the bar, then puts two on his plate. He does not come around and sit beside me.

I pick one up and turn the hot pastry around in my burning fingertips. "You're incredible."

"You think so?" He regards me silently over the counter as he polishes off a piece of bacon, then says, "I know you're doing this for Cross Carlson. I'm not sure if I think you're stupid or amazing."

I scrunch my face up. "That's not the only reason. I'm also doing it because I'm tired of being a virgin."

That draws a chuckle from him. "What's so tiring about it?"

"I guess I'm tired of all the anticipation."

He grins wickedly. "I'd say anticipation is one of the best parts."

"I wouldn't know," I murmur, biting into my beignet.

"Are you saying that you want to know?"

"Oh yeahh.” I squeeze my eyes shut, blissed out over the warm, doughy goodness. When I open them Hunter is smirking at me. I blush. “I meant oh yeah, that stuff is really good. But yeah, I do I guess. Otherwise I would have hung onto it."

Slowly, languidly, tiger-like, Hunter walks around the counter. He wraps his hands around my biceps, turning me gently to face him, and pulls me close. Then he bends down slowly, bringing his face close enough so I have an amazing view of his lips. As I sit there, brainless and overheated, he leans closer and licks my lip.

"Powdered sugar," he purrs.

I'm panting, halfway to a heart attack, when he stands back up, looking down on me with a suddenly serious expression.

"You think about this, Libby. Really think about if you want to be with me. It'll be a one-time thing. You just said it—I don't do relationships, and I don't make exceptions, even when I'm tempted."

"I don't either.” Although I haven’t ever had the chance, and with him, I totally would.

"Well I'm in if you are." He strokes his palm over my hair. "You give me half an hour and I'll come find you. You sure?" he murmurs.

I nod, clutching the bar stool so I don't fall off.

"Okay." He trails his hand down my arm and squeezes my fingers, so gentle it almost takes my breath away. Then he kisses my cheek and starts to back out of the kitchen. "One V-card," he says, holding up his hand, "claimed."

Chapter Thirty-Two
~HUNTER~

I feel like I'm living in a dream: part nightmare, part fantasy. The fantasy is easy enough to dwell on. I've got Libby in my house, and soon I'll have her in my bed, underneath me, with those long legs spread and her hot pussy just waiting for my dick . It's a good feeling. One I could dwell on for hours. But I don’t have hours, because this also a nightmare.

I walk into my study, shutting the doors behind me, and go immediately to the bar beside the shelves. If I'm going to call Marchant, I'll need this.

As I toss some back, I try to remember what I did after I heard about her death the night before. I know I drank. I had a dream about Libby, but it almost feels like a memory. I awoke this morning with an awful headache, and even now, after a shower and breakfast, I'm still feeling like shit.

I don’t know whether to tell Libby. It has nothing to do with her, but if I am declared a suspect, I don’t want her to feel duped—like she had sex under false pretenses.

I don't think I'd be found guilty were I to be charged, being that I didn't actually do anything, but I'm not naive. I know my father has his enemies, and so do I, and I also know Governor Carlson is involved in this. Powerful players produce powerful results.

I feel queasy thinking of that, so instead I think of Libby's breasts. How I'll get to kiss them soon. We'll have a good fuck before I send her off, and I'll make it one to remember. One I can re-play over and over, in the dry spell I'm sure I’m about to experience.

I pull my cell phone out. I need to hurry, get upstairs to Libby before she turns on the news. I don't think my name would be on it, but I can't be sure, and I don't want to lose my chance.

I lock the doors of the study dial Marchant. He answers on the second ring.

"Hey, dude. You free?" I frown. Wasn't I the one who called him? "What do you mean, am I free?"

"I'm surprised no one's knocking at your door. I've had someone in a dark suit poking around the penthouse, trying to get past security.”

I frown. "You're not at the ranch?"

"We've closed for a few days for Sarabelle."

"How you holding up?" Sarabelle was one of the women I visited from time to time, but she was Marchant's employee and friend. He feels the responsibility of this even harder than I do.

I can see him clenching that square jaw of his when he says, "If Priscilla Heat did this, I swear I will kill her with my own two hands."

I shut my eyes and rub them. "You and me both. Tell me what you know."

"Dave heard it on the police scanners about ten minutes before I called you last night. He's also got a guy inside the FBI. Says the cufflink has your initials in capital letters. He called me asking if I thought you did it."

Fucking great. "What'd you say?"

"What do you think I said?"

I rub my eyes. "What's going on with her and Lockwood now?"

"Lockwood's been MIA since yesterday. All our people are looking for him."

"And Priscilla?"

"She's at her house. Hasn't moved."