Wanting Hunter: Book 1 in the Cameron Family Saga

by Shirley Larson

  Justin hadn’t called him grumpy bear since he was eleven. So here Hunter was at the ball, trussed up in his monkey suit and feeling like the grouch Justin had labeled him. He hadn’t been here five minutes when a bevy of women circled round him, sniffing money. Rose somebody or other went on about how wonderful it was that he could come, she realized he must be a very busy man and it was so good of him to take the time to come tonight, thus implying she knew he was rich.

  Jacqueline Von somebody asked him if he wasn’t pleased about the turnout and how much money would be going to the hospital.

  Sharon somebody went so far as to lay a hand with perfectly manicured fire-engine red nails on his arm and chime in with, “I was so sorry to hear about your brother being called up to Afghanistan.”

  “I was sorry, too,” Hunter said gruffly and moved away from this gaggle of gabbling women. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to freshen my drink.” And get the taste of your false sympathy out of my mouth.

  Would it always be like this? Was there a woman on the planet who wasn’t aware of his financial status? Or even better had something else in her life to worry about besides the clothes she wore or the designer purse she carried?

  Feeling very much out of her comfort zone, Liz Cameron scanned the room for a familiar face. She found one. Not a face that made her feel more comfortable in this sea of beautiful people. Hunter Cameron stood chatting with the three women circled around him (naturally), a champagne glass held carelessly in his hand. Yes, he was familiar, but knowing he would be there listening to her sing made her more nervous, not less so. Her breathing changed subtly. Why did he have the power to affect her in such a way? She didn’t know him, only by sight. But there was something about him, about the way he held his shoulders that told her he might be feeling the same irritation in this crowd that she did.

  Thursday night, after her performance as Anna, Sal, the director, had caught her in her dressing room. “Hunter Cameron was in the audience tonight. Joan told me he gave you…and only you…a standing ovation. You got something going with him?”

  “Me? No.” Liz wrinkled her face in an expression of disbelief that he would even suggest it. ‘I’ve never even met the guy.”

  “Well, word has it, he watched the show pretty closely. He’s never been much of a theatergoer. Maybe he’s loosening up.” Sal had given her a look. “Maybe you loosened him up.”

  She scoffed. “I doubt that very much.”

  Now, a day later, in this ballroom, she wondered about that conversation. Was it possible the great and mighty Hunter Cameron was interested in her? Not likely.

  It was odd, but Hunter didn’t look comfortable in his tuxedo. It fit him perfectly, had been custom tailored to span those broad shoulders, but when Liz studied him, that song about wishing I were somewhere else popped in her mind. He was one handsome devil, standing head and shoulders above everyone else with his black hair threaded with a few scattered strands of gray. He looked solid, trustworthy, not a description she would have given most tycoons. He’d started out in construction and maybe that was why Liz thought that if a woman leaned against this man, it would be like leaning into a solid wall of muscle.

  One of the women put her hand on his arm and turned a sympathetic smile up at Hunter. Good grief. Spare her from indulging in that kind of adulation. Just because he was handsome as sin and richer than Croesus, didn’t make him anything special. Yeah, right.

  The meal had been cleared, people sat or stood chatting, waiting for the entertainment to begin. Liz had agreed to sing her signature solo, “Hello, Young Lovers.” But one of the dangers of performing in a setting like this was that she had no costume, no follow spot, no magical set behind her. She would stand on a bare stage in front of the band, the most difficult venue in which to deliver an emotional song. In addition, these people had not come to see her, but to mingle and network. Her singing would be an unwelcome interruption into their working the room.

  At last Liz was motioned to the podium and the piano introduction started. There was a bit of a hubbub, but the people quieted the minute she began to sing. As she sang, she found her gaze drawn to Hunter’s dark eyes. She should be looking around the room, drawing other people in. But she couldn’t. Once his eyes locked on her, she sang just to him, creating a world where only the two of them existed.

  When the song ended, there was silence. Then the clapping began, and Liz tore her gaze away from Hunter to bow her head and acknowledge the applause. She climbed down off the podium, knowing it must have been very obvious that she had sung to Hunter. Time to escape the room and go out to cool off on the balcony. She almost made it to the double doors when Stan Loring grabbed her arm. “Hunter Cameron wants to meet you. Nice job on the song by the way.”

  “Thanks.” While she fought to regain her poise, Stan pushed her through the glittering crowd. How could she face Hunter when she’d made such a fool of herself?

  Stan said Hunter’s name. Hunter turned around. He saw her, then turned back to the group he was speaking with. She flushed, surprised at his rudeness. But evidently he’d just needed to finish up his conversation and excuse himself. Now he gave her his full attention. Those blue eyes took her in without a change of expression.

  Chapter 4

  She’d faced male power and control before, but not in such a lethal dose. Under the silk of her dress, her woman’s body rose up and said, Hello, handsome.

  His eyes were cool, dark and bottomless. He betrayed nothing of his own feelings while drawing her in with his magnetism. Her fantasy of love on the beach percolated through her brain, more vivid than ever.

  She had to banish that wanton vision. Hunter was no fool. If her idiotic daydream was apparent on her face, he’d know it.

  She was more than beautiful. She was real. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but he couldn’t. He simply had to stand there like a stuffed dummy in a tuxedo and act as if her presence didn’t affect him at all.

  Privacy, he thought. He needed privacy for his first meeting with a woman this desirable. “I was just on my way out to the balcony to get some fresh air. I wonder if you’d care to join me.”

  “I’d like that,” she said, in a beautiful low voice he remembered so well from hearing her deliver her lines on stage.

  He put a hand on her back in a discreet place above her waist and guided her through the crowd to the double doors that led out to the balcony. His hand was calloused and rasped on the fine silk of her dress. He shouldn’t have touched her, but he couldn’t help himself. The double doors closed, locking the sounds of music and laughter behind them. It was never quiet in the city, but the sound of traffic seemed to come from another world far below.

  Now that he had her out here, he knew he couldn’t look directly at her or he’d be unable to resist the urge to gather her up in his arms and kiss her so passionately he’d frighten her to death. So he went to the parapet and leaned on the stone wall to gaze out over Central Park.

  When he seemed unwilling to initiate a conversation, Liz followed him to the parapet and stood a bit away from him. “Funny. I’ve lived in New York for several years and I’ve never been in Central Park. Never been horseback riding, never ice skated on Christmas Eve.”

  He turned around to face her, his expression shadowed. “You do realize there’s a municipal law against non-attendance in Central Park.”

  She hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t expected him to be even slightly whimsical. “I wonder what penalty I’ve incurred.”

  “You’ve been sentenced to sing for free at the Charity Ball.”

  She smiled at him. “What a relief. Sentence already served, sir.”

  “Would it surprise you to know that I also have never been in Central Park?”

  “No, actually it wouldn’t. You’ve been busy building an empire. Empire builders are notorious for their non-participation in recreational activities.”

  “Your voice should be registered as a lethal weapon.”

  S
uch a beautiful compliment zinged to her out of the blue in that dark, husky voice sent a gaggle of shivers up her spine. “Thank you…I think.”

  He turned away from her and looked pensive. She felt an immediate empathy. It was a beautiful night with beautiful stars and she didn’t want him to be sad. “Is there…something on your mind?” she asked.

  That chiseled face turned to her. “What makes you think so?”

  His voice was cool, but not unfriendly. “Women’s intuition? But whatever it is, you’re not going to tell me, are you?”

  He leaned on the parapet again, but he turned his body to look at her. “Why spoil this moment out under a New York moon with a beautiful woman? What is that song, something about being between the moon and New York City?”

  She was surprised that he could quote a song that had been popular several years ago. “I know the one you’re thinking of.” She took her courage in hand and shot him a straight-from-the-chest look. “I believe the rest of the song is about falling in love.”

  He stood there for a bit, watching her. “Not an emotion I’m familiar with.”

  She was about to say, ‘I don’t believe that,’ when he finished, “or ever want to be familiar with.”

  He stared at her, those laser blue eyes inviting her to make of his words what she would. “You don’t believe in love?”

  Still leaning with one elbow on the parapet, his beautiful face caught in the filtered light from the party and a touch of star shine, he said, “I guess you could say that.”

  He was exactly as she imagined he would be, pragmatic and sensible. She hated it, that something, or someone had shut him down. This beautiful man should be loved fiercely and for his own sake, not for what he owned or did. She couldn’t let him see that she felt sorry for him. He would not appreciate her sympathy. “I’ll bet you think the world goes around by gravity or rotation or centrifugal force, one of those ridiculous scientific reasons, right?” she asked, smiling.

  His lips lifted in that half smile that made him even more beautiful. “The correct answer must be in there somewhere. I suppose you think love makes the world go round.”

  “There you go, quoting another song,” she said, half laughing. “For a man who doesn’t believe in love, you seem to know quite a few songs about it.”

  “I assure you my repertoire is limited. When I was a kid, I thought Ninety Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall was the best song ever written.”

  “I don’t think I know that one,” she said, playing him. “Can you hum a few bars?”

  In his not unpleasant baritone, he sang, “Ninety nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety nine bottles of beer. Take one down, pass it around, ninety eight bottles of beer on the wall.”

  “You do know if anyone hears you, your reputation as a serious CEO will be in jeopardy.” At the look in his eyes, her laugh caught in her throat. “What are you thinking?” she asked him, knowing it was a bold question to ask this coolly controlled man.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “Yes,” she said and held her breath.

  I’d like to take you in my arms and kiss you till there was no moon. “Why did you sing your song to me?”

  She hadn’t expected this, a full acknowledgment of what she’d done. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”

  “I’m not easily embarrassed. To be embarrassed you have to care what other people think about you.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “No,” he said flatly. “Does that surprise you?”

  “Not much,” she said. “I thought you’d be a rather hard man.” Too late, she realized she’d made an unfortunate choice of words.

  “Oh, I’m hard, all right.”

  There was no mistaking his meaning. Color rushed to her cheeks. “You don’t mince words, do you?”

  “Sometimes I shred them. But never mince them.”

  Relieved that he’d left the sexual innuendo behind, she smiled. “Slice and dice?” She entered into the game, glad that they were more neutral ground.

  “Only on Sundays,” he said. “So why did you?”

  She lifted her head. “I wanted to see if I could disconcert you. Move you out of your protective shell.”

  “I have a protective shell?”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s about a foot thick.”

  “So do you think you succeeded?”

  “There was a minute or two when I thought I had you. But no, I don’t think I succeeded.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Are you telling me I got under your skin a little?”

  “No.” He paused, knowing she’d be disappointed. “I’m saying you got under my skin a lot.”

  “So,” she said. “Are we just going to stand here playing word games or are we going to go off book?”

  “By off book you mean?”

  “It’s theater lingo. It means you’re leaving the script and improvising.”

  “Are you good at improvising, Liz?”

  “It’s one of the first things an actress learns to do.”

  She pushed herself off the parapet and took a step toward him. “I really want to know what it feels like to have you kiss me.”

  Had he ever known a woman as honest as this? He didn’t think so. “You don’t mince words, either, do you?”

  “Not unless I’m talking to a director.”

  “I’m not a director.”

  “No, thank God. It was my greatest fear in life that I’d fall in love with a director,” she said, with such heartfelt emotion that he smiled.

  “You don’t like directors?”

  “Some are wonderful. They give you room.” Hunter moved closer, so close she could touch him. “Others just yell and it’s their way or the highway.”

  “Directors have to be in charge, I would think. Much like my construction bosses.”

  “Leaving no room for suggestions?” she asked, a tilt to her head showing she was only slightly serious.

  He slipped his arm around her waist. “Do you like to make suggestions?”

  She was finding hard to breathe, hard to concentrate on their conversation. “I do,” she said. “I like to think that my involvement makes a difference.”

  “What would your suggestion be?”

  “Shut up and kiss me?”

  Liz stood wrapped in his arms and she couldn’t remember when it felt so good to have a man this close. She tilted her face up to him. He bent his head and he was close, so close that she could hardly breathe. She closed her eyes.

  The double doors burst open and Will Geisler stood in the opening. “There you are. Oh. Sorry, Hunter.”

  “As well you should be,” Hunter murmured in Liz’s ear. While he stood there with a decidedly irritated expression on his face, Liz slipped out of his arms and went back to the parapet. Incredible, she thought that Hunter had made his desire for her so plain and had come that close to kissing her on their first meeting. Deep inside her, an ache began. Something very precious had vanished in a split second.

  “Hunter, I wonder if I could steal you away for a minute.”

  “I was talking to Miss Farnsworth…”

  “Was that what it was? Well, listen. An anonymous patron has agreed to donate another ten thousand dollars to the hospital if you’ll match it. But he wants to see you about it first.”

  “There’s an offer you can’t refuse,” Liz said turning back to Hunter and smiling, doing her best to recover from her disappointment.

  “Let’s do this another time,” Hunter said to Will.

  “Hunter, you know how these things are. You have to strike when the iron is hot.”

  “Yes,” he said, his mouth lifting in a half smile, and Liz knew he was thinking about her. He turned to her and said, “I’ll call you. Tomorrow.”

  “I’ll look forward to hearing from you. Now go,” she cut in. “It’s for the good of the hospital. Please.”

  She would put the good of the hospital ahead of her own pleasure, Hunter thought. For that
was the kind of woman she was. “Good night, Ms. Farnsworth.”

  “Mr. Cameron.” She bowed her head and put on her brave face. “Have a good evening.”

  Without a backward glance, Hunter followed Stan into the ballroom.

  Alone in the starlight, Liz tried to make sense of what had just happened. She had never been that bold with a man. Was it true that when a woman trusted a man, she was free to express her sexuality?

  Chapter 5

  Just like that, Hunter was gone. Liz was as altruistic as anybody else when it came to the hospital, but…darn it. She couldn’t remember when she’d been so subtly drawn in…or had wanted a kiss quite so badly. He’d said he would call her. Didn’t men always say that and seldom follow through? If he didn’t call, she would weather the disappointment. She’d been disappointed before. But as she stood there in the cooling evening, she knew that if she didn’t hear from him, it would hurt. It would be hard to forget those wonderful moments of intimacy that were so rare in her life.

  Liz didn’t know how long she stood on the balcony, trying to bring her body back to some semblance of normalcy when a man who she at first thought was Hunter and then realized she was mistaken, strolled through the door. He said, “Dr. Livingstone, I presume.”

  She laughed. “How clever of you to find me in the African jungle.”

  “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Alex, the lessor known brother who resembles Hunter but alas! lacks his powerful charisma.”

  “I don’t know. I think your charisma does quite well.”

  “Hunter say much to you?”

  “Is that why you came out here, to quiz me about your brother?”

  “You bet. What did he say?”