Spy Thy Neighbor

by Shandi Boyes

  Hunter and Isaac's moods are somber and brooding, whereas I have a gigantic smile stretched across my face, and my eyes are full and bright. The intrigue, the mystery, and the vibrancy is too much for me to handle. I have more storylines swirling in my mind than I've ever had. If I didn't have the curious glances of Hunter and Isaac, I would have whipped out my phone and jotted down some notes. But not wanting to encourage more curious rubberneckers, I keep my cell in my clutch and my eyes straight ahead.

  Lessening the size of my smile, I inwardly battle to get my childish antics under control. My fidgeting halts when the warmth of a hand heats the skin high on the back of my thigh. All cogent thoughts disappear when the hand glides up the silkiness of my dress, stopping only once it hits the curve of my backside. A breathless moan ripples through my O-formed mouth when the cheek of my ass is cupped and squeezed by a rough hand, kneading away my giddiness and replacing it with rampant horniness.

  Keeping my head facing the front of the packed car, I shift my eyes to Hunter. He's also facing forward, seemingly unaware of the sweat-forming friskiness happening right next to him. But from the gleam in his eyes and the twitching of his top lip, I have no doubt it's his hand feeling up my backside.

  "I thought you wanted us to be friends?" The tremble of my voice shamefully exposes my excitement to his tease.

  “We are friends, Paige,” Hunter replies, keeping his eyes planted straight ahead.

  "So groping my ass is your idea of friendship?" I strangle out quietly, shocked I can articulate speech. Usually it isn't just my body that freezes during sexual contact; my words fail as well.

  I grimace when the lady standing next to me takes a step forward. Obviously, my quiet declaration wasn’t that quiet. I freeze like a statue when Hunter’s fingers dip lower, inching closer to the one region of my body that's sitting up and paying very careful attention to every slight movement he makes. The heat in the car turns rife, and it feels like the walls are closing in on me as he continues his endeavor of ceasing my childish fidgeting.

  Through heavy pants, my eyes shift to Hunter. I have no idea how he's maintaining his calm, cool demeanor. The slickness that coated my panties when he walked out of the suite wearing a tailored suit has doubled, and my throat is hoarse from the blazing heat warming my body. I'm an utter wreck.

  “All this to stop me fidgeting?” I choke out, my voice strangled by arousal.

  The corner of Hunter’s lips tug higher. “That, and the fact I couldn’t resist seeing if your ass felt as good as it looks in that dress.”

  The exultant smirk curving my mouth turns into a full grin when he mutters, “It does,” under his breath.

  My attention sidetracks from Hunter’s teasing hands when the elevator dings, announcing we've arrived at the lobby. As a congregation of people exit and enter the elevator, I stand still, frozen in place with desire. If Hunter didn’t relinquish my bottom from his magic hand, I would have happily spent the remainder of my night riding the elevator, because that ride was more enthralling than any rollercoaster I’ve ever been on.

  The trip to the gala is made in complete silence, my mind too baffled to configure speech. The confusion about my friendship with Hunter has reached a level of weirdness even someone as quirky as me can't comprehend. Hunter is giving me different signals, left, right and center. He pulls out the friend's card but then lavishes me with more attention than Riley ever gave me. He denies my advances but then gets friendly with my backside in an elevator full of strangers. He's confusing the heck out of me.

  By the time we arrive at the hotel thirty minutes later, my excited fidgeting returns, although not as paramount as it was earlier, still weighed down by the lust thickening my blood from Hunter’s earlier tease. After a quiet word with Isaac, Hunter crooks out his elbow in offering. See? Mixed signals.

  Smiling to mask my confusion, I accept his offer. A surge of excitement sparks my veins, ignoring the rush of wooziness Hunter's touch has caused to my brain as I glide into the hotel foyer. The aroma of overpriced champagne lingers in the air as he guides us into the heavily populated space housing hundreds of well-dressed patrons. Just as Hunter predicted, numerous gala attendees turn their eyes to him when he graces them with his presence. Once their judgmental eyes finish assessing Hunter in great detail, they study me with just as much depth.

  Although most of the eyes he has gained are from snobbish, prudish people, a handful of the women's gazes aren't loitering on him just because of his tattooed hands and rugged appearance. They appreciate the core-tightening view. I can't blame them. There's nothing as sexually stimulating as a stealthy, brute of a man in a refined suit. Hunter's aura no doubt implies he's a man of great stamina, but it's his eyes that expose his true self. Underneath his rugged appearance is a soul worth exploring. A soul I plan on unearthing.

  “I told you.” Hunter leans in close to my side. “They’re either assuming you're a little rich girl who is out to make daddy mad, or I’m some rich schmuck with a trophy wife on his arm.”

  “So which one am I? Rich bitch with daddy issues, or money hungry trophy wife?” I jest, trying to lighten the somber mood encroaching our intimate gathering.

  His eyes swoop down to mine. “Yeah, I’m not falling for that one.” He guides us to the corner of the room. “No matter which way I answer, I’d be digging my own grave.”

  I elbow him in the ribs but don’t bother refuting his statement since it was acutely accurate. When we reach a small alcove in the corner of the room, Hunter relinquishes me from his side. Holding back the whine his loss of contact compelled, I eye him curiously. He digs his hand into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and produces a diamante-encrusted black satin mask.

  “It’s a masked gala,” he explains, spinning his finger, requesting for me to turn around.

  Excitement thickens my blood when I twirl around as requested. After tucking a stray tress of hair behind my ear, Hunter slips the mask in front of my eyes and fastens the straps at the back of my head. A grin curls on my lips when I feel the heat of his body on the smooth coolness of the satin material. Once the mask is secured, I spin back around to face him.

  I wobble in my stilettos halfway around. He has also put on a mask. It's similar to mine, minus the diamantes. The blackness of the mask on his already concealed face makes his blue eyes even more sharp-witted and bright. The grin on my lips tugs higher when I remove a frayed strand of silk off Hunter's cheek, and his muscles twitch in response to my touch. Maybe he's a sexual fidgeter?

  The twitch impinging his cheek grows when he slips his hand into the pocket of his trousers and produces a silver necklace. The chain is so thin, it's nearly invisible, but the gorgeous murky green emerald stone clasped in the middle of a twisted silver design is mesmerizing. Warmth glows on my cheeks when he places the pendant on the curve of my pushed-up breasts before fastening the clasps at the nape of my neck.

  His citrus-smelling mouth fans my lips when he says, “There you go,” under his breath.

  I'm honestly at a loss for words. Not just at his generosity, but at the way he instills it. No fanfare, no groveling, not even a jewelry box. He just presented it as if he has placed a vending machine prize around my neck and not a precious gem.

  "Thank you.” I adjust the pendant, so it sits in the middle of my chest. "It's breathtaking."

  My words come out weak, strangled by emotions. I'm not used to being awarded gifts without a penance attached to them. If I were smart, I would have realized sooner why Riley always arrived home from weekend meetings with a gift in tow.

  “You’re welcome.” Hunter cups my jaw to lift my downcast head. “It’s a necklace, Paige, not an engagement ring.”

  “Yeah, but with the dress, you don’t think it’s all a little too much?”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “But if it makes you feel better, you can class it as a partial payment for your services tonight.” His voice is jam-packed with sexual innuendo.

  When I kick him in th
e ankle, he chuckles a full-hearted laugh. There's no sexier sound in the world than Hunter’s chocolatey-smooth chuckle.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “If they would just leave their post for twenty seconds, I’d be set,” Hunter grumbles.

  We've spent the last thirty minutes in the opulent foyer of the hotel, waiting for two security officers to move away from the only door housing the mainframe for the hotel security. I've downed four long island iced teas during the sweat-mustache producing surveillance. I needed something in my hands to stop my fidgeting. Now, I'm more jittery from the alcohol pumping in my veins than euphoric.

  “We have to do something,” I huff, sliding off the barstool. “Cause they look settled in for the night, and I’ve reached my quota on iced tea.” My voice slightly slurs, exposing the truth of my statement.

  I yank Hunter off the barstool by the lapels of his suit. His delicious aftershave swamps my senses, adding to the giddiness clustering my brain and twisting my stomach. Once I have the lapels of his suit jacket smoothed back where they are supposed to be, I lock my eyes with his amused gaze. He has a smug smirk on his face. Even hidden under a beastly beard, his smile still makes my knees weak and my panties moist. As his eyes bounce between mine, the grin on his face turns mocking, no doubt perceiving what has instigated my new bout of stiltedness.

  Hunter isn't reserved or shy, which is not surprising. A man with his stamina requires a sense of assertiveness and dominance. If he lacked either of those, the skills I witnessed numerous times in my first six weeks at Bronte's Peak wouldn't have been as fire-sparking as they were. The twisting of my stomach winds all the way up to the base of my throat. Before Hunter and I became friends, his liaisons never bothered me. Now… they sting a little. Not at all similar to the heartbroken angst Riley pummeled me with, but the sting of a paper cut. Small but still painful enough to feel.

  "Paige," Hunter mutters, his tone flat like he can intuit where my thoughts drifted to without a word spilling from my lips. He's so much like Pepper.

  He doesn’t know about Riley, but I may have been a little snarky to him last week about his numerous female companions. I didn’t mean to get snippy at him, but with it being that time of the month, the occasional bitchy comments slipped from my lips before I had a chance to rationalize my jealousy. Thankfully, Hunter took my snide remarks in his stride by completely ignoring them and changing the course of our conversation. But only now am I wondering if my bitterness is why I haven’t seen any visitors at his place the past few weeks?

  Ignoring the outlandish beat of my heart, I return Hunter’s flirty smile before saying, “I’ll give you thirty seconds, but any longer than that, you’re on your own.”

  Feeling brazen with the small buzz of alcohol warming my blood, I lean in and press a kiss to the side of his mouth before sauntering away from him. I don’t need to turn around to know his eyes are on me; I can feel it in my bones.

  With a vivacious smirk, I greet the security officers guarding the door as I saunter by with an extra swing to my hips. Pulling back my shoulders, I hoist my bosoms out further, their small size at least two cups bigger thanks to the aid of a strapless silicone-padded bra.

  I inwardly cheer when my prance gains me the two extra sets of eyes I was endeavoring to secure. Just as I reach the middle of the foyer, I inhale a nerve-cleansing breath before throwing my arm up to my forehead and collapsing to the ground.

  Half of the grimace crossing my face is thanks to the acting classes Pepper dragged me to during our college years, and the other half is from the rigid hardness of the marble floor. I think I’ll be sporting a bruise for that effort in the morning. The clatter of stomping feet booms into my ears as the security officers and Hunter rush toward me.

  I lock my eyes with Hunter and squint before inconspicuously nudging my head to the security office the guards have just left unattended. When a smirk peeks out from beneath his newly trimmed beard, I switch my small whimpers of pain to a howl. Hearing my devastating sobs, the security officers increase their already brisk pace as Hunter slips into the office undetected.

  “Oh dear, they must have over polished the floor,” I sob, my voice sounding as pathetic as my reason for falling on the world’s most level surface.

  The security guards fuss over me, requesting I remain on the ground as they call in assistance from the medical team on the radios strapped to their shoulders. I continue with my over-the-top performance for nearly thirty seconds, giving it my all. I even manage to pick up a southern accent I’ve never had just to increase the authenticity of my Oscar-worthy performance.

  Just as I’ve finished giving the security officers the entire rundown of my clumsiness the past twelve months, Hunter emerges from the security office. The smile on his face when he taps two of his fingers on the breast pocket of his jacket is the largest I’ve ever seen. After jerking his head to the entrance of the ballroom at my nine o’clock, he returns to his original station at the bar.

  “Stay on the ground, honey; we have confirmation the medic is close by,” one of the security officers with gorgeous dark skin says when I scurry onto my hands and knees.

  “Oh, I’m fine. It was just a little tumble.” I scamper to my feet, which is no easy feat in a dress that nearly weighs as much as I do. “See.” I step forward three paces before spinning around and sauntering back. “I’m perfectly fine. It must have been all the wonderful help you fine gentleman issued. How could I possibly thank you?”

  The cheeks of the second officer with pasty white skin and rich hazel eyes turns a shade of pink. Not giving him a chance to issue whatever reward he has formulated in his wicked mind, I say, “I’ll be sure to fill in a guest comment card at the reception desk for the pleasing service I have received before leaving this evening.” My southern accent still in full effect.

  Sweating like a pig on a stick, I spin on my heels and make a beeline for the double doors of the ballroom the fundraiser is being held in. A blast of fresh air from the over-door air-conditioning gives my sweat-slick skin a small moment of reprieve as I glide into the room. My eyes shoot in all directions, eager to absorb the grandeur of the space. Mirrored balls, crystal vases, and black long-stemmed roses give the room a sleek, masculine appearance.

  A squeal rippling from my lips is only just heard over Rhianna's song "Love on the Brain" being played over the speakers when my elbow is suddenly grasped. After muttering an apology for scaring me to death, Hunter guides me toward a set of concealed doors on my left. On our journey, I catch the quickest glimpse of Isaac dancing in the middle of the dance floor with the beautiful brunette I saw at Hunter's house earlier this week.

  Once we enter the room, Hunter pulls down two white catering chairs from a wooden table top, removes his suit jacket, and dumps a hemp bag I didn’t realize he was carrying until now onto the table.

  “Where were you hiding that?” I ask while watching him set up a mini surveillance site.

  “I had a contact in reception hold it for me,” Hunter answers, taking a seat behind a clunky-looking laptop.

  He removes his mask before his luminous eyes lift from the monitor to me. “How many chips is that riveting performance going to cost me?”

  I nudge him with my hip. “Ask me after the bruise on my ass heals.”

  Hunter chuckles before turning his eyes back to the computer monitor. His fingers move across the flat silicon keyboard in front of him at a lightning pace. I watch him carefully, categorizing every little expression that crosses his face as he merges into a world I've never seen him in.

  Now I understand what Isaac meant by not letting Hunter's outward appearance deceive me. He's in his element, and it's a spellbinding visual. In a matter of minutes, he has a state-of-the-art security monitoring station set up on the catering table. All the attendees mingling at the gala or within the hotel are having their faces captured, even the couple getting a little handsy in elevator number six.

  “They are a cute couple,” I gesture my he
ad to an image in the corner of one of the screens capturing Isaac and his female date. “Is she the asset you were referring to earlier?”

  Hunter nods. “Yes, that's Izzy. Isaac’s Aphrodite.”

  “So who is Isaac? Hephaestus, Aries, or Adonis?”

  He smirks. “You studied Greek mythology?”

  I screw up my nose. "Not really. I attended a handful of lectures while waiting for the creative writing class to have an open seat my first semester in college. It wasn't my thing."

  Hunter laughs again, but his focus remains arrested on the computer monitors. I'm shocked he can maintain a conversation while working. I've never been able to work and communicate at the same time. More often than not, I find myself typing the conversation around me, instead of the scene my characters are acting out.

  “Isaac would like to say he's Poseidon, the ultimate protector, but I’d say he's Aries, her one true love,” Hunter says after a short stint of musing.

  My mouth gapes, surprised by his extensive knowledge. “Greek mythology major?” I query with my brow arched.

  “Nope.” He shakes his head. “I just have a bad habit of reading something once and never forgetting it.”

  I giggle and nudge his broad shoulder with my elbow, assuming he's pulling the wool over my eyes. It's only when he locks his truth-bearing eyes with mine do I realize he's being serious.

  “You remember everything you read?” Disbelief taints my voice.

  Hunter’s lips tug higher in one corner as he nods.

  “How many floors are there at the hotel we are staying at?”

  "Sixty-eight," he answers without delay. "The pool, gym, and sauna are located on the twelfth floor, and there was a pamphlet for a Thai restaurant at 1917 Markwell Street sitting on the entranceway table of the presidential suite when we entered."

  My mouth gapes. “What was the hotel check-in clerk’s name?”