The Hungry Heart

by Brenda Gayle

  So this is what it’s like to be with someone who really knows what they’re doing.

  Her experience in the boyfriend department was pretty limited. She’d always wondered if she had been missing something because sex had never lived up to its hype. Now she understood—she’d been trying with the wrong partners. She had no idea it could be like this. All she’d needed was someone who really knew how to pleasure a woman.

  “Nora?” Hunter paused to look down at her. His eyes had darkened to an inky blue. “Stop over-analyzing. Live in the moment.” He lowered his lips to her mouth again. But it was too late.

  Of course he knows what he’s doing, idiot. He’s out with a different starlet every night. You’re just tonight’s entrée.

  She pushed against his chest and he stepped back with a sigh.

  “I think you should go,” she said.

  “Don’t do this, Nora,” his voice was hoarse. At least he wasn’t a complete cad. He obviously was attracted to her, whatever consolation that was.

  “I’m not doing anything.” She tried to seem blasé, but to her ears she simply sounded brittle, and a little hurt. “I’m not going to say it wasn’t enjoyable. I’m not even going to say I wish it didn’t happen, but let’s be realistic here. You and I are incompatible. There’s no future.”

  He smiled that ridiculous sexy smile that made her legs turn to jelly. “Who said anything about a future? Can’t we just have fun tonight? Enjoy each other?”

  “You were right last night. I can’t have fun—at least not your kind of fun. Thanks for checking up on me. I accept your apology. Now, I think it’s best if we go our own separate ways.” She walked to the other side of the living room using the couch as a physical barrier between them.

  He watched her and it was several seconds before he spoke. “I think you’re wrong. I think you can have fun. You’re just afraid to open up.” He held up his hands to stop her from arguing. “But that’s a discussion for another time. For right now, we need to figure out where you’re going to sleep tonight.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here,” she said.

  “Nora, be serious. Your apartment is in shambles. The lock on the door is broken. You can’t stay here. It’s not safe.”

  “Fine. After you go I’ll push the couch in front of the door.”

  “Not good enough. Anyone can push it out of the way. Besides, the lock on that door was deliberately broken.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “If they had simply picked the lock, it wouldn’t have been broken. If they had forced open the door, the hinges would be damaged. For some reason, they wanted the door to look undamaged, but be unable to lock. Maybe they’re coming back.”

  “For what?” Nora felt the chill of apprehension. What he said made sense, but what could they possibly want in her apartment?

  “I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel right. Look, I can have a locksmith here to replace the lock in twenty minutes, but I still don’t want you sleeping here tonight.”

  “A locksmith? It’s after midnight.”

  “Unlike you, Miss Cross, I don’t mind using my family connections for preferential treatment.” Hunter pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and began dialing.

  Except in this instance it’s not for you, is it? Nora had the sense that despite his words, he rarely, if ever, relied on the Graham name for personal gain.

  She listened to him make the arrangements and when he was done asked: “So where am I supposed to go at this time of night?”

  “If you still refuse to go to your sister’s, you’ll have to come back to the Roundtree with me.”

  “To your place?”

  “It’s always sex with you, isn’t it?” he teased, and laughed as he saw her glow pink with embarrassment. “I can’t believe how easily you blush with your complexion. Fear not for your modesty, madam, the Roundtree has one hundred and thirty-six rooms. I’m sure we can find you your own if you don’t want to share mine.”

  “Oh.” The Roundtree was a lot pricier than she could afford, but it would only be for one night, and she was tired of arguing.

  “I’ll straighten up out here while you go pack a few things,” he said, gently ushering her toward the bedroom.

  Nora sat down on the box spring. She felt as if she would collapse at any moment, but she needed to gather some clothes and toiletries for tonight and the next day. Most of all, she needed to get out of this jumpsuit. It caused entirely too much trouble.

  She stripped quickly, pulling on a pair of jeans and her comfortable ivory cable-knit sweater. She tied her hair back in a black scrunchie, and then went to her closet to get her overnight bag.

  An old storage box had been pulled from the deep recesses of the closet and torn open, its contents dumped on the floor. She hadn’t thought about that box in years. It was one of the few things she still had from when she’d left home. She picked up the items, placing each one back into the box. There were some high school yearbooks, a friendship bracelet, a cork from her first bottle of champagne and...That’s funny.

  She pushed aside a pile of clothes that had been pulled off their hangers. It wasn’t there. The picture was missing.

  She crawled deeper into the closet, but couldn’t find it. She sat back on her heels.

  Who would want an old picture of Karen and me?

  The photo had been taken in their parent’s backyard, and showed her big sister with a baby Nora sleeping in her arms. Her mother had had the original photo blown up to a five-by-seven print and given it to her just before she’d left home to work in Washington. Nora hadn’t wanted it, but she’d stuffed it into the box to avoid another argument.

  It was creepy. Why would anyone want an old photo of someone they didn’t know?

  Then it hit her. It wasn’t the picture they were after. It must have been the sterling silver frame. Nora had always thought it was far too ostentatious for such an ordinary image. She could never understand why her frugal parents would have bought such a thing. It was a photo of Karen, though, so that may have been all the reason they’d needed.

  I guess those kids did get something after all.

  She threw the rest of her things into an overnight bag. Hunter was right. Even with the lock repaired, she wouldn’t feel safe sleeping here tonight. And now, knowing that someone had stolen a picture of her—even if it was only for the frame—she did feel violated.

  “You okay?” Hunter asked as she came out of the bedroom.

  “Yeah, fine. Just tired.” He didn’t need to know about the photo.

  Chapter 8

  “I’m sorry Mr. Graham, I don’t even have a broom closet tonight.”

  Hunter slammed his fist down on the gleaming cedar-red marble countertop of Roundtree’s reception desk. “C’mon Mark, there’s got to be something. It’s February for heaven’s sake.”

  “I’m afraid not.” A long-time employee of Roundtree, the night manager was used to dealing with difficult guests. Hunter fumed at the sympathetic but firm expression on his face as Mark stood his ground. “Between the legislature’s extended sitting and the pharmacists’ conference starting this weekend, I’ve got nothing. I can’t even send you to one of the other hotels in the area. They’re all refusing our overflow requests. The best you’re going to get is a motel on the edge of town, but I’m afraid it would be pretty sketchy.”

  Hunter looked over at Nora. She had collapsed into one of the over-stuffed lobby chairs as soon as they’d arrived. He was worried about her. When she came out of her bedroom she had looked pale, and she hadn’t said anything on the drive over. The reality of what had happened had started to sink in.

  “I can reserve you something for Monday night,” Mark added.

  “No, it’s just for tonight. Thanks anyway.” Hunter glanced at his watch. It was very late. Nora could argue all she wanted, but she’d run out of options.

  He walked over to her and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Come along,
Sleeping Beauty. Time for bed.”

  She rose without a word and handed him her bag. Now he was really worried.

  He piloted her across the hotel’s lobby with its unique blend of Pueblo and Spanish adornments.

  Frank’s folly, Hunter thought, looking up at the ceiling that extended just beyond Santa Fe’s legal building limit. He knew what most of Santa Fe society thought of Frank Hart—that he was too bold. But Hunter admired the man’s audacity. He dared to pursue his own dreams.

  He deeply inhaled the scent of burning wood and appreciated the aura of warmth generated by the three enormous kiva fireplaces that nestled in alternating corners of the hexagonal reception area. The days had been warmer than usual this week, but once the sun dipped below the horizon, the temperature still fell below freezing.

  Hunter glanced into his restaurant as they passed. He doubted anyone in his family would understand. Even Michael and Chad, his two older cousins who had left Rancho Tres Hermanos to follow their own paths, didn’t understand his dilemma. Their break with the ranch had been complete. Hunter still wanted to be a part of it, just not in the way his father and uncle wanted him to be.

  He felt Nora trip and he tightened his grip on her arm. She was barely keeping up. Normally he’d take the stairs, but he figured that in her exhausted state she’d be unable to manage them.

  Both elevators stood empty at this late hour and he released her to push the button to the third floor. As their car ascended, Nora slumped against the wall and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She felt soft and warm. He’d liked the jumpsuit—more than liked it, really—but she seemed more herself in her comfortable sweater and blue jeans.

  Comfortable. Relaxed. Funny, up until this moment those were words he’d never have thought he’d use to describe Nora.

  She baffled him. On the one hand she seemed socially inept, only able to focus on her career. But the more he got to know her, the more he realized how much more to her there was. Buried deep beneath the Type A workaholic was a real woman, although a complex one to be sure.

  He couldn’t help comparing her to the models and heiresses he usually dated. It surprised him that he found her infinitely more appealing. Maybe he had grown tired of listening to his dates prattle on about their latest vacation or some juicy morsel of gossip they’d heard, just biding his time until he could take them to bed and stop the inane chatter.

  Wow, he’d never thought about it like that before. Was he really that shallow?

  Nora was different. She had a strong personality and knew what she wanted from life—and she expected to work hard and earn everything she had. At the same time, she was compassionate, funny, intelligent, and very, very feminine despite her determination to hide it from the world. She had the soft gentle curves of a woman, the kind of body that yielded pleasurably to a man’s touch.

  Don’t go there.

  Nora had made it perfectly clear she wasn’t interested in a casual relationship, and he wasn’t interested in anything else.

  Still... thinking about how sexy she had looked in the jumpsuit that evening, and how silky her skin had felt as he’d slid his hand into the opening at its back, made him tremble. He shifted uncomfortably, his arousal heightened as he remembered how she’d quivered in his arms when they’d kissed. Her response had been as bold and passionate as his own.

  The elevator slid gently to a stop. Not a moment too soon.

  He bit back a moan as she snuggled closer to him while he guided her down the hallway and slid the keycard across the reader to open his suite.

  She didn’t argue as he led her to his bedroom.

  ****

  The room was pitch black, but Nora sensed it was morning. She glanced at her bedside table. The clock displaying seven-sixteen wasn’t hers. It took a moment, and then she remembered. Her apartment had been broken into, and Hunter had insisted she stay at a hotel last night. She remembered entering the lobby of the Roundtree Hotel, but nothing after that. She sat up and fumbled to switch on the lamp.

  Holy cow! Did he get me the Presidential Suite?

  This was unlike any hotel room she’d ever been in. The walls were rich terracotta adobe with an assortment of southwest paintings and a tapestry of red, blue, brown and white that resembled the Navajo Chief’s blankets she’d seen for sale at the markets. Indigo blue curtains covered two sets of windows on her right. Beside a door, along the far wall, was a large antique-looking dresser that matched the handcrafted tables bracketing the enormous bed in which she was sitting. Opposite the windows were two doors. One was ajar revealing a sizeable bathroom, its black onyx countertop reflecting the light from the bedside lamp.

  Resting on something at the end of her bed she saw her overnight bag as well as her sweater and jeans, neatly folded.

  What the…?

  She looked down. Thank God. She was still wearing her bra and panties.

  Nora leaned back against the mountain of pillows, still tired. She glanced at the clock again. Seven-twenty.

  Dammit. She needed to get up. She was supposed to meet Billy at her office at nine, and Becca was going to be late.

  Oh crap. Billy was staying at this hotel. She’d really better get moving if she didn’t want to run into him in the lobby. That would be a lot of fun to explain.

  A small groan of pleasure escaped as her bare feet descended into the plush carpeting. So this is how the other half lives.

  She didn’t want to consider how much of a dint one night in this room was going to put into her meager savings. At least it wasn’t tourist season when hotels boosted their rates considerably.

  She grabbed her toiletry bag and padded to the bathroom. The cool tile was a delightful contrast for her toes.

  Something wasn’t right.

  She dropped her bag on the counter along-side a toothbrush, toothpaste, shaving cream and razor—none of which were hers. They definitely didn’t look like the freebies high-class hotels provided. These belonged to someone.

  She wasn’t in a hotel room. She was in someone’s apartment.

  Hunter. Damn him.

  She grabbed the robe hanging on the back of the door and stomped into the bedroom. She pulled open the door she thought led to the rest of the living quarters, but it was a walk-in closet. Suits, tuxes, jeans, sweaters, and a virtual rainbow of golf shirts hung neatly in rows along either side. A large collection of shoes and boots rested on racks stacked along the back. There were ties, there were hats...

  Jeez, this guy’s got more clothes than most women I know.

  It was the scent that assailed her when she opened the door that made her pause, the irresistible spice of sandalwood—his scent. She didn’t know why she hadn’t noticed before. It was everywhere.

  She glanced back at the bed—his bed. For a second she wondered if anything had happened and she felt her pulse quicken. And then she remembered their kiss. No, she was confident that if they had made love last night she would remember.

  Nora pushed away the gnawing disappointment, not willing to examine it.

  She walked to the door at the far end of the room and opened it slowly. She paused on the threshold, feeling like an intruder.

  The rest of the apartment was equally luxurious. There was a large sitting area with a traditional kiva fireplace in one corner and an open galley kitchen in another. One wall consisted of floor-to-ceiling shelves, completely full of books. She went to them, intrigued.

  The selection was pretty impressive, ranging from what she figured must be every book Dickens had written to examinations of philosophy from John Locke to Immanuel Kant. There was also a good assortment of science fiction—the latest best-sellers as well as such classics as Isaac Asimov’s Foundation series and Frank Herbert’s original Dune books, plus all the sequels and prequels.

  She was surprised. That’s not fair, she chided herself. His reputation as a player didn’t mean he wasn’t well-read.

  She scanned a collection of CDs, all arranged alphabeti
cally on a rack that extended up from the floor. She wasn’t surprised to see Green Day, and there were many other artists she didn’t recognize. As her gaze scanned higher up the stack she had to stop herself from laughing out loud when she discovered a dozen Elton John CDs. She lowered her gaze back down again, checking to see if, by chance, the famous lothario also had Barry White in his collection. He didn’t.

  A number of photographs were arranged on a wooden shelf above the fireplace. In one, a large clan of people stood underneath an arch with the words Rancho Tres Hermanos boldly displayed. It appeared to be three family groupings, each with a woman, a man and a young boy. In one of the groupings, the boy was only a toddler. From what she’d read on the Internet, Nora realized this must be Hunter, the youngest of the ranch’s heirs.

  Another picture showed a teenage Hunter, his arm wrapped loosely around a young brunette who looked to be close to him in age. He was staring down at her affectionately. Nora experienced an unexpected pinch of jealousy in her gut before she noticed the similarity in features between the two.

  The final picture was an old wedding photograph of a stunning woman smiling up at a very handsome man. The woman bore a strong resemblance to Libby Hunter. The man had Hunter’s square jaw and pale eyes, although the photo was faded so she couldn’t accurately determine their color.

  Nora felt a vague discomfort gnaw at her as she gazed at the intimate details of his life so prominently on display. Her own apartment was sterile, lacking any personal bits and pieces. She certainly had no family photos on display. And now her only family photo was gone—stolen.

  Its loss shouldn’t bother her, she reasoned. She hadn’t even looked at the photo since her mother had forced it on her. And the absence of other photos had been entirely her own decision. She didn’t want to be reminded of her childhood. She glanced back to Hunter’s collection, and then turned away before the sense of loss could overwhelm her. She had no happy memories to preserve.

  In the center of the room, Hunter was stretched out on one of the two navy-blue couches. Without thinking, she stepped to him. He lay on his back, one arm under his head, the other draped over the edge of the couch. He was wearing baggy plaid pajama pants and no shirt. She knew he was strong, but she had no idea he was in such good shape.