Hunter. Diana Palmer
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She tried to picture Hunter with a woman in his arms, and she blushed at the pictures that came to mind. He had the most magnificent physique she’d ever seen, all lean muscle and perfection. Thinking of him without the civilizing influence of clothes made her knees buckle.
With an angry sigh, she put out the light and got under the sheets. She had to stop tormenting herself with these thoughts. It was just that he stirred her as no other man ever had. He could make her weak-kneed and giddy just by walking into a room. The sight of him fed her heart. She looked at him and wanted him, in ways that were far removed from the purely physical. She remembered hearing once that he’d been hurt on the job, and her heart had stopped beating until she could get confirmation that he was alive and going to be all right. She looked for him, consciously and unconsciously, everywhere she went. It was getting to be almost a mania with her, and there was apparently no cure. Stupid, to be so hopelessly in love with a man who didn’t even know she existed. At her age, and with her intellect, surely she should have known better. But all the same, her world began and ended with Hunter.
Eventually she slept, but it was very late when she drifted off, and she slept so soundly that she didn’t even hear the alarm clock the next morning. But she heard the loud knocking on the door, and stumbled out of bed too drowsy to even reach for her robe. Fortunately her gown was floor-length and cotton, thick enough to be decent to answer a door in, at least.
Hunter glowered at her when she opened the door. “The plane leaves in two hours. We have to be at the airport in one. Didn’t I remind you that I’d be here at six?”
“Yes,” she said on a sigh. She stared up at his dark face. “Don’t you ever smile?” she asked softly.
He lifted a heavy, dark eyebrow. “When I can find something worth smiling at,” he returned with faint sarcasm.
That puts me in my place, she thought. She turned. “I have to have my coffee or I can’t function.”
“I’ll make the coffee. Get dressed,” he said tersely, dragging his eyes away from the soft curves that gown outlined so sweetly.
“But…” She turned and saw the sudden flash of his dark eyes, and stopped arguing.
“I said get dressed,” he repeated in a tone that made threats, especially when it was accompanied by his slow, bold scrutiny of her body.
She ran for it. He’d never looked at her in exactly that way before, and it wasn’t flattering. It was simply the look of a man who knew how to enjoy a woman. Lust, for lack of a better description. She darted into her room and closed the door.
She refused to allow herself to think about that smoldering look he’d given her. She dressed in jeans and a pink knit top for travel, dressing for comfort rather than style, and she wore sneakers. She left her hair long and Hunter could complain if he liked, she told herself.
By the time she got to the small kitchen, Hunter was pouring fresh coffee into two mugs. He produced cinnamon toast, deliciously browned, and pushed the platter toward her as she sat down with him at the table.
“I didn’t expect breakfast,” she said hesitantly.
“You need feeding up,” he replied without expression. “You’re too thin. Get that in you.”
“Thank you.” She nibbled on toast and sipped coffee, trying not to stare. It was heart-breakingly cozy, to be like this with him. She tried to keep her eyes from darting over him, but she couldn’t help it. He looked very nice in dark slacks and a white shirt with a navy blazer and striped tie. He wore his hair short and conventionally cut these days, and he was the picture of a successful businessman. Except for his darkness and the shape of his eyes and the very real threat of his dark skills. He was an intimidating man. Even now, it was hard going just to make routine conversation. Jenny didn’t even try. She just sat, working on her second piece of toast.
Hunter felt that nervousness in her. He knew she felt intimidated by him, but it was a reaction he couldn’t change. He was afraid to let her get close to him in any way. She was a complication he couldn’t afford in his life.
“You talk more at work and around other people,” he remarked when he’d finished the piece of toast he’d been eating and was working on his second cup of coffee.
“There’s safety in numbers,” she said without looking up.
He looked at her until she lifted her head and then he trapped her blue eyes with his black ones and refused to let her look away. The fiery intensity of the shared look made her body go taut with shocked pleasure, and her breath felt as if it had been suspended forever.
“Safety for whom?” he asked quietly. “For you?” His chin lifted, and he looked so arrogantly unapproachable that she wanted to back away. “What are you afraid of, Jennifer? Me?”
Yes, but she wasn’t going to let him know it. She finished her coffee. “No,” she said. “Of course not. I just meant that it’s hard to make conversation with you.”
He leaned back in his chair, his lean, dark hand so large that it completely circled the coffee mug. “Most people talk a lot and say nothing,” he replied.
She nodded. Her lips tugged up. “A friend of mine once said that it was better to keep one’s mouth closed and appear stupid than to open it and remove all doubt.”
He didn’t smile, but his eyes did, for one brief instant. He lifted the mug to his lips, watching Jenny over its rim. She was lovely, he thought with reluctant delight in her beauty. She seemed to glow in the early morning light, radiant and warm. He didn’t like the feelings she kindled in him. He’d never known love. He didn’t want to. In his line of work, it was too much of a luxury.
“We’d better get going,” he said.
“Yes.” She got up and began to tidy the kitchen, putting detergent into the water as it filled the sink.
He stood, watching her collect the dishes and wash them. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes narrowed as they sketched the soft lines of her body with slow appreciation.
He remembered the revealing red dress she’d worn the night they’d staked out her apartment, and his expression hardened. He hoped she wasn’t going to make a habit of wearing anything revealing while they were alone together. Jennifer was his one weak spot. But fortunately, she didn’t know that and he wasn’t planning to tell her.
“I’ll get your suitcases,” he said abruptly. He shouldered away from the wall and went out.
She relaxed. She’d felt that scrutiny and it had made her nervous. She wondered why he’d stared at her so intently. Probably he was thinking up ways to make her even more uncomfortable. He did dislike her intensely. For which she thanked God. His hostility would protect her from doing anything really stupid. Like throwing herself at him.
He had her bags by the front door when she was through. It was early fall, and chilly, so she put on a jacket on her way to the door. He opened the door for her, leaving her to lock up as he headed toward the elevator with the luggage. They didn’t speak all the way to the car.