“Surveying your kingdom, princess?”
She flushed at the memory. She and Erin had been playing princesses trapped in a castle dungeon, and they needed a prince to rescue them. Alyssa tried to get Hunt to play the role. He’d refused as any twelve-year-old boy would. Mad and pretty much used to getting her way, she’d said, I’m Princess Alyssa, you have to do what I say.
He’d laughed in her face and told her he wasn’t going to be some dumb prince, he was going to be a Marine. Calling her princess became one of his teasing nicknames.
“Joke’s on you, Marine. You’re rescuing me.”
Hunt laughed. “You got your wish. I’m playing your hero now.”
He’d moved so close behind her that his words feathered over her exposed neck. Her skin prickled with sudden awareness of his size and heat. Even as a little girl, she’d wanted him for her hero, but she wasn’t a child anymore and this wasn’t a game. Embarrassed at her intense reaction to his nearness—to him—she wrapped her arms around her waist. She’d expected some nostalgia at seeing Hunt again. But this was vastly different from when she’d been six and wanted to play a game. Or fourteen and fell so hard for him, wondering what it’d be like if he held her hand with his strong artist’s fingers. Or if he kissed her.
She wasn’t a girl anymore. No, she was a scared woman who’d foolishly trusted the wrong man. At least she knew Eli was safe for now. One of the Once A Marine guys, Griff Rankin, was already there, and had sent Hunt a text that the family was secure. She needed to unravel the mess she was in, not add more complications.
She slipped to the side and reached for her bag. “I guess we should get settled.”
Hunt tugged the bag from her hand and headed into the house, stopping to key in a code on an alarm pad.
Alyssa glanced in the earth-toned living room on the right and office on the left, before going into a great room. On the left was the kitchen. Thick crockery dishes in glass-fronted cabinets and marble counters with rich earthy veins proved some updating had been done. In the center of the room stood a long table made of reclaimed wood on a scroll iron base. And the right had a corner couch covered in throw pillows and facing a big screen TV. That sense of familiarity swept over her. Oh, sure, the countertops, couch and a few other things had changed, but overall the house still had that same homey feel.
He led her past the sitting area to the hallway. After entering the first door on the left, he set her suitcase on the thick white comforter piled high with burgundy pillows. Her room. The one she had every summer she’d stayed there from the time she’d started coming right after her dad died. Alyssa had been barely six. Her mom had to work long hours and wanted Alyssa to have fun on her summer breaks without constant bodyguards. She and Erin had bonded and it just seemed like a good solution. Plus her mom came on weekends and she got to relax too.
With too many emotions swimming through her, she focused on Hunt. He took up a lot of space in the room. Had she forgotten how tall he was—passing the six foot mark while she hovered around five and a half feet? When she’d been really young, he’d seemed huge and massively strong to her. He could pick her up and toss her in the air.
He still looked as if he could easily pick her up or handle almost anything life threw his way. Strength and confidence flowed from him in a steady stream, along with an undercurrent of danger.
The need to understand this man drew her attention to the script wrapped in tribal markings flowing over his biceps. Moving closer, she tried to read it but part of it was hidden beneath the arm of his T-shirt. “What does this script say?” Giving into impulse, she traced one of the lines.
He sucked in his breath.
She jerked her fingers back. She’d been stroking his skin, as fascinated by the hills and valleys of his muscles as the beautiful markings. What was wrong with her?
Hunt shoved up his shirt sleeve and turned to show her. “Brothers in blood.”
That meant something to him important enough to mark his skin, just like her tat did to her, and she wanted to grasp it. Since he only had a sister, she asked, “For the men you served with?”
“Yes. I’d bleed for them.” He rotated and pushed up the other sleeve, showing her his left arm. “This is for all the ones who gave their lives.”
Leaning closer, she studied the ink. “Sacrifice Remembered.” That powered through her, the absolute and permanent respect he gave the men who died serving their country. Lifting her eyes, she said, “Last time I saw you, you didn’t have any tats.”
Dropping his sleeve, he studied her. “I’m not that guy anymore.”
No he wasn’t. That idealistic young man with the ready smile and laughing eyes had hardened into this powerful, sexy, and shrouded in darkness man, one that tugged at a part of her that had been numb for seven years.
She could see he was somehow warning her, but of what? Besides, she’d changed too. “I’m not that girl who had the silly crush on you.”
Hunt’s gaze cleared and a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Nope, you don’t get to make it unimportant. I was your first crush, wasn’t I?”
Whoa, that was a quick change from dark to playful. She went with it and waved a hand at him. “Please, I was an impressionable girl with a new crush every other day.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You’re making that up. Take it back.”
That familiar teasing glint in Hunt’s eyes eased the knot of tension that had been lodged between her shoulder blades since yesterday. “Nope, totally true. I think you were like the fifth guy that summer that I had a tiny crush on.”
“Tiny?” He crossed his arms, his shoulders bulging beneath his T-shirt as he glared at her with a challenge. “That’s cruel, baby girl. I was your first big crush. Admit it.”
Hearing another of his old nicknames for her stirred warmth deep in her chest. Hunt hadn’t ever had romantic feelings about her, but he’d cared. And he still cared enough to bring her back to the vineyard now and help her. His friendship meant everything to her. But she wanted to keep things light, easy. “Do you get tired from carting around that oversized ego?”
“Look who’s talking about ego, cover girl. I can’t buy a damn candy bar without you staring at me in the checkout line.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s not me. Aside from the long list of talented people doing my hair, makeup, nails, clothes and jewelry, those pictures are airbrushed. There’s nothing real there.”
Hunt shuddered. “No wonder you wanted to escape. All those people buzzing around would irritate the shit out of me.”
A laugh bubbled up her throat. “It’s annoying, but I have to be nice. That’s exhausting.” And so useless. It’d be different if being a model was what she wanted to do. But Alyssa was famous for nothing more than being her mother’s daughter, and having been in the accident that killed Jenna Brooks—the famous child actress turned screenwriter and producer. That one horrible night had left the public with an insatiable curiosity about Alyssa and she hated it.
“Well, now that you’ve made your escape, why don’t you get settled? I’ll call in a pizza.” He headed out and paused in the doorway, his eyes cautious. “Do you still eat pizza?”
She smiled. “Only if my personal chef makes it.”
Hunt’s jaw dropped.
Alyssa rolled her eyes. “Kidding. Yes, I still eat pizza. Sheesh.”
A gleam lit up his eyes. “Once I’d have picked you up and tossed you in the pool for yanking my chain like that.”
Echoes of her and Erin’s screaming laughter when Hunt or his dad had done that played in her mind. “Sure, but you were young then. Now you’re like what? Thirty? You’d probably throw out your back.”
Hunt strode across the hall, tossed his bag in his room, and turned to lean a shoulder against the doorjamb. “Are you baiting me? That water’s cold. I haven’t started the heater yet.”
She laughed. “Let’s call it payback for thinking I’m such a snob.”
“Now that we
have your food preferences cleared up, you must be hungry. You just picked at your food when we stopped for lunch.”
She should have realized he’d noticed that. Since last night, she’d been too upset to eat. “Nerves I guess.”
“Yeah?” Hunt crossed the hallway and loomed over her. “How are you feeling now?”
Easy answer. “Safe.” Something she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Chapter Four
After her shower, she followed her nose out to the family room. The scents wafting from the closed pizza box resting on the island made her stomach rumble.
Hunt had his back to her as he opened a bottle of wine. The ends of his damp hair hit about mid-neck. A white T-shirt pulled across his back as he expertly uncorked the wine. He wore black pajama bottoms… Stop. She pulled her eyes up just as he turned.
His gaze tangled with hers, then rolled over her gray racer back tank and leggings, practically scorching them off her skin.
Alyssa’s breath caught at the naked approval in his eyes. Then he blinked and blanked the expression. “Griff checked in while you were in the shower. Everything is fine. He has a team coming in tomorrow. The kid is safe.”
It took everything she had not to ask the questions blaring in her mind. How does Eli look? Has his front tooth grown in yet? Is he happy? Alyssa had the yearly pictures but that was like getting two drops of water after being stranded in the desert for years. She craved more. And it infuriated her that Nate had pictures—at least the one he’d shown her, but probably more.
“Okay, thanks.”
“I wondered if you’d ask for more pictures than you already get, or grill Griff about the kid.”
She shook her head. “No. I mean I want it, but I have an agreement with his parents. They are in control of what pictures and information I get about Eli. And they’re being extremely cooperative about me providing protection. I won’t overstep that.” No matter how much she wanted to. She’d given up the right, pure and simple. Now she had to live with that choice.
“Fair enough.” He held up the bottle. “Wine?”
Bad idea. She was tired, hungry, and too vulnerable. She opened her mouth to say no. “Sure.” Huh, there seemed to be a miscommunication between her brain and tongue.
“Can you grab a couple waters from the fridge? I started the fire pit in the front. Let’s eat there.”
They went outside and settled around the stone pit in the center of the terrace. The dark, grape-scented night and gently crackling flames soothed some of her ragged edges. Propping her feet up on the stone ring, she took the plate piled with pizza. The smell tantalized her again, finally tripping her memory. Her mouth watered, but she turned to Hunt who sat next to her. “Greek pizza?”
“It was your favorite.”
Her heart did a happy little skip that he remembered. “I haven’t had this in years.” She took a huge bite, her mouth filling with the feta cheese, peppers and olives. “Better than I remember.”
The wine warmed her along with the fire as she stuffed herself with pizza. Curiosity that she’d been suppressing all day surfaced. “So you bought this place from your parents?” It couldn’t be cheap.
“Yep, right when I came home two years ago. They were tired of the upkeep and wanted to travel. Both Erin and I didn’t want to let it go, but she’s not in a financial position to buy it, so I did.”
Every time he mentioned his sister, Alyssa missed her more. “Erin’s Loft is doing well. I follow her online.” Erin sold the products of local artists, including her own pottery.
“Yes, but her business takes a lot of her money, and I didn’t want her getting in over her head. And…”
“What?” She turned, watching him in the firelight.
“I needed a place to sculpt.”
“Oh.” There was an intensity beneath that statement she didn’t understand. Hunt’s parents and sister were driven artists—his mom painted, his dad carved stone, and Erin did pottery. For Hunt, it had been more of a hobby. He had an insane amount of talent, but his love had been the military. So when had this need manifested itself? “Is the studio still out back?”
Hunt’s jaw twitched, then he turned. “I keep it locked. You can go anywhere else in or out of the house, feel free to use the pool, whatever you want. But the studio is off-limits.”
She lowered her slice of pizza, her stomach tensing. Years ago, she would burst into the studio when he was working, and he never cared. Had welcomed her. She’d take pictures or chatter, but mostly she’d just wanted to sit there, letting the music he had playing wash over her as she watched him sculpt. And now he didn’t want her in there.
She opened her mouth to ask why, then thought better of it. She hadn’t seen him or his family in years; she didn’t have the right to demand answers. He’d been extraordinarily generous to bring her here, keep her safe, arrange for protection of Eli and his family. For the first time in the last miserable twenty-four hours she felt safe. If he wanted her to stay out of his studio, then she’d respect that. “Okay.”
“I don’t let anyone in there, it’s not just you.”
There it was again, that tension eating at him. She reached across the space separating them and touched his forearm. “I’ll respect your privacy.”
He relaxed, grabbing another slice of pizza.
“So what are your folks doing in Scotland? Sightseeing?” She smiled thinking of them.
“Mom has a job there. One of her former art students became a bestselling author, bought an old castle ruins and built a house on the property. Mom is painting a few murals in the house.”
“Castle ruins?” Alyssa was instantly caught up in the romance of it. “Is it authentic? My mom told me stories of her and my dad going to Scotland to tour some of the ruins. I’ve always wanted to go, maybe take some pictures.”
Hunt topped off her wine glass. “Why haven’t you done it?”
Who would she have gone with? She hadn’t taken a real vacation in years. “No time. My travel is all booked by Dragon Wing for work. The Cannes Film Festival. Monaco. Or locations for promoting reality TV shows or made-for-TV movies. Anyway, I’ll go one day.” She sipped some wine and changed the subject. “I bet the murals your mom’s painting are amazing.”
“You could visit my parents and see them. The owner isn’t there, and they’ll be there for another few weeks until they need to be back for the award dinner.”
“They’re getting an award?”
“Lifetime achievement award from P.A.L. for more than thirty years of supporting peace over violence. It’s at a hotel in L.A.”
“Wow, honored by the Peace Advancement League, that’s wonderful.” His parents were dedicated pacifists, so very different from Hunt. Yet they hadn’t tried to stop Hunt from following his dreams as far as Alyssa knew.
“I’m sure they’d love you to come to the award dinner.”
“Maybe.” First she had to sort out her life. “Right now, this is perfect. Just sitting here with the fire pit going, great pizza and wine.” She took another sip, enjoying the peaceful night. “So what about you, Hunt? You’re obviously not married unless you’re hiding your wife in the locked art studio.” Hmm, the wine was loosening her tongue.
“That sounds like a movie plot, cover girl.”
She glared at him. “Really? Calling me cover girl is going to be a thing now?”
“Does it bug you?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s going to be a thing.”
Of course it was. She walked right into that by admitting it bugged her. Wait…he’d evaded her question. “So no wife then. Are you dating?” He wasn’t planning on being here alone forever right? The vineyard was meant to be lived in. Maybe a couple dogs chasing squirrels or stretched out by the fire…and yep, she’d had enough wine. Alyssa set her glass down. “I’m waiting for an answer.”
“No.”
The abruptness startled her. “No you won’t answer or no you aren’t dating?”
Orange and yellow light danced over the profile of his face. Tension rode his jaw, and she had to reclaim her wine glass to keep from tracing it, or sinking her fingers into his hair. Was he going to answer her? “Hunt?”
“I don’t date.”
“Ever?”
“Not in nearly two years.”
“So maybe it’s not weird that I stopped wanting sex with Nate two months ago—” Stop talking. Alyssa slapped her hand over her mouth, a flush heating her neck and cheeks. Squeezing her eyes shut, she spread her fingers and said, “Let’s forget I said that. Stupid wine.”
“I would, except you accused me of having a wife locked up in my studio. So…payback sucks, baby girl. You’re telling me that a living, breathing man agreed to stop having sex with a beautiful woman like you?”
“What about you? You don’t date, so obviously you’re not big on sex.” Were they actually talking about this?
“I said I don’t date, as in having a relationship. I never said I don’t have sex. I’m a huge fan of sex. It’s right up there in my top five favorite things.”
Alyssa couldn’t tear her gaze from him as the firelight played over the hard edges of him. Once he’d been the poster boy for clean-cut military, now he’d gone all tatted up sexy danger.
“Your turn. Why were you going to marry a man you stopped wanting?”
She didn’t know how to answer that. Had she really ever wanted Nate, or was sex expected of her and so she did it? “Sex got to be too much work.”
“Sex is work?”
“Nate was attracted to the woman on the magazine covers. Full makeup, sexy but not slutty lingerie.” And she was telling Hunt this why? Because you could always talk to him. “After a while sex was as much work as getting ready for a photo shoot or appearance. And frankly, the payoff wasn’t that great.”
Hunt choked on his wine, his head jerking up and eyes colliding with hers.
The fire crackled. At least it better be the fire and not the tension tightening low in her belly. Why did his perusal make her vividly aware of her body, of herself?
“I don’t know what the hell you were doing, Lyssie, but that wasn’t sex. Not the kind you deserve with a man who cares about your pleasure. There’s nothing hotter than a woman losing control from my touch. Nothing. Not a perfect body, lingerie, makeup or anything can compare to watching her eyes lose focus, her body shudder from bliss… That’s sexy and it’s a gift. But you know what really pisses me off?”
Exposing the Heiress Page 3
