by Meg Ripley
And he’d grown quite accustomed to getting exactly what he wanted.
He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d walked away from a woman empty-handed as he had that night. He was good looking—and he knew it—and those that weren’t swayed by his appearance or his reputation in bed, tended to be swayed by his eleven-digit bank account.
But not this one.
Back in his seat, the show had held little appeal; the blonde beside him, even less. He’d debated going after the woman, but that thought had been the final straw. No woman—no human—would ever have Noah Hunter following behind her like a lost puppy.
He’d left the theater—with every intention of taking the blonde upstairs, using her to banish every thought of the lovely woman on stage—but he’d taken her home instead, fleeing in his Aston Martin, navigating the highway at a hundred and thirty miles an hour.
Twenty minutes outside the city, he was finally where he needed to be. He’d parked the car and strode out into the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but the sandstone peaks of the national conservation area.
He’d looked around, listening at the same time for any signs of human life, but the area was empty. So, he’d closed his eyes, letting the heat that was ever-present in his core spread outward, winding its way through his extremities. It took only seconds, though many centuries ago, it had not come so quickly. It had taken many years to perfect the swift change that would let him morph from one being to the other in little more than a blink of an eye.
When the heat filled him entirely, blazing in every fiber of his body, he let it spread out further. It burst from his fingertips and toes, and radiated from every muscle in his body as it took over and changed him, morphing his body into the massive beast within. But he hadn’t paused to revel in the long stretch of his plated neck or the wide spread of his wings. He launched off the ground with the push of his powerful legs and soared high above the clouds, feeling the need to escape, not from his home or the confines of his human life, but from the woman who lingered in his mind.
Yet she stayed with him no matter how far he flew, always there in the forefront of his mind, and eventually, he’d abandoned the effort to escape her and returned home. Surely, it was only the unfamiliar sting of rejection that kept her there, and she would be nothing more than a vague, unpleasant memory by morning.
It was better now, the desire to seek her out mitigated some by rational thought, though he could in no way describe his memory of her as vague.
Vivid eyes.
Irresistible curves.
Coupled with the chaos awaiting him at the hotel, it would no doubt be some time yet before he was ready to return, so he walked on, covering the sidewalk in long strides. Certainly, he looked like a man on a mission, but he just wanted as much speed as possible. Walking was such a slow method of locomotion, but it wasn’t like he had much of a choice in broad daylight.
He was just about to turn the corner, seeking out the path riddled with as few obstacles to his brisk pace as possible, when the scent of something irresistible wafted past him. He stopped, chastising himself for letting her into his thoughts once again. But it wasn’t a memory drudged up at random; she was right there, sitting at an open-air café not twenty yards away across from a tall man with jet black hair.
Was he something substantial to her? Was he the reason she’d turned him down? He bit back a snarl at the thought, baffled by how much the thought bothered him. Not willing to consider the unfamiliar jealous streak, he focused his attention fully on the woman instead.
She looked like a model, dressed for a 1940s vintage photo shoot. Sitting with her legs crossed primly, her hands were wrapped loosely around a mug in front of her on the table, and her head was tilted up to the sun. Her eyes were closed and her cupid bow lips slightly parted, as if the sun itself was caressing her with a lover’s touch.
The jolt of desire that shocked through his body mimicked the response she’d caused in him the other night, but he forced his gaze away. There was no way in hell stirring things up with her was a good idea, even if she hadn’t turned him down. She wasn’t the type of woman to screw and then forget, and forgettable, substance-free women were the only type of women for him. So exactly why the hell his feet were leading him in her direction was beyond him.
It wasn’t until she opened her eyes that he realized he was standing directly in front of her, separated only by the small table where her hands now gripped her coffee mug tightly.
But her eyes hadn’t looked like that the other night, had they? He would have described them as sapphires then, but no, that would be too mundane. They were brighter, and a lighter shade of blue, like the rare Paraiba tourmaline from Brazil.
He cringed mentally to himself; since when was he the type to wax poetic over a woman’s features? It wasn’t like this was his first—or even thousandth—time running into a beautiful woman.
“So, we meet again,” he said to her before turning to nod to the man who was already in the midst of standing up.
“Mr. Hunter,” the guy piped up with a goofy grin on his face. “It’s an honor to meet you. It’s too bad I was just leaving, but I’m sure the lovely Claire Thomas would be delighted if you’d join her.”
The woman didn’t respond, but she looked up at the man with enough venom in her glare it was a wonder the guy didn’t drop dead right there. Instead of dropping on the spot though, he smiled brighter, waggled his fingers in a quick wave and left without another word. The guy was an interesting character, it seemed, but good riddance to him, nonetheless.
“May I join you…Miss Thomas?” he asked politely, turning his attention back to the beauty in front of him.
Despite her lack of interest the other night, it still threw him for a moment when she didn’t respond enthusiastically. Instead, she glanced around surreptitiously, as if she was seeking inspiration for an excuse. Apparently, finding none, she nodded slowly. And he discovered something else he liked about her: she didn’t squirm beneath his gaze like so many were apt to do. She was a strong woman, not the least bit intimidated by his presence.
“Good morning, Mr. Hunter. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
There was no sarcasm in her voice, only the tone of polite decorum, but he got the distinct impression she wasn’t finding his company pleasant. He could change that in seconds; if he could touch her soft, sexy body, he’d have her moaning in pleasure so quickly, her head would spin.
But he forced his hands to remain at his sides and sat down in the empty seat across from her. “I was actually in the middle of getting as far away from my hotel as possible,” he admitted honestly, though with a wry smile.
“Well then, please don’t let me keep you from your task.” She smiled, again politely, but without jest. She genuinely wasn’t happy to see him, and as egotistical as it was of him, it still came as a surprise.
And it intrigued him.
“I think I’ve escaped far enough,” he said, glancing back in the direction of the hotel, though it was far enough away at this distance that it couldn’t be seen beyond the buildings and billboards surrounding them.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hunter, but I really must be leaving,” she said in a tone devoid of any hint of apology, not that he would let that dissuade him if it were there. She may have it buried beneath one hell of a cool demeanor, but she was responding to him whether she wanted to or not.
“Please, call me Noah, and I’d be more than happy to accompany you anywhere you need to go.”
“You’re offering to stalk me around the city?” she asked wryly, a smile drawing up the corners of her lips.
“Not stalk, accompany; the difference being I would walk beside you wherever you’re going, not behind you.”
“I see. Well, I appreciate the offer…Noah, but it’s not necessary. I don’t actually have anywhere I need to go.”
Her lips drew up in a full smile then, one that seemed to make her eyes shine even brighter.
/> “But you’re in a hurry to leave?”
“Yes.”
“I should take no offense to your sudden need to depart?”
“You’re welcome to take offense if you’d like, but I do believe it would be less of a blow to your ego if we agree we’re both rather in a rush this morning. Don’t you agree?”
Her smile remained intact, though it wasn’t a scathing one; it was light and teasing. And if he was paying less attention, he’d probably chalk it up to a polite brush-off.
But he was paying attention. Sure, even he could admit it was possible a woman might not be interested.
But not this woman.
The pulse in the slender column of her neck had sped up since he’d sat down, her pupils had begun to dilate, and though he was certain she wasn’t aware of it, she was leaning toward him more every minute. And oh god, her scent; she wasn’t just interested, she was aroused, and the scent of her had him fighting against a raging hard-on. And yet, despite her attraction to him, she was still eager to send him on his way.
Maybe that was part of her allure; part of the reason he wasn’t ready to get up and walk away. It was clear she wasn’t the type of woman to fawn over the rich and famous, and that made her a challenge: a woman he would have to win all on his own merit. And wouldn’t the payoff be all the sweeter for it? An image of that payoff flashed through his mind and he gritted his teeth against the rush of arousal that crashed over him.
“I’ll tell you what; I’ll get out of here on one condition.”
“Oh, and what condition is that, if I may ask?”
How the hell could a woman look and sound so prim and proper, and yet seem so damn seductive at the same time? he pondered. “You agree to join me this evening for dinner.”
“In order to part company now and avoid a few moments of awkward conversation, you expect me to spend the evening with you?”
“That’s the gist of it.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier if I just got up and walked away?”
“Perhaps. But you won’t.”
Sure, it was a bit cocky of him, but true, nonetheless. He could feel it.
“Oh, I won’t?” Her smile grew even brighter, making it apparent he wasn’t the only one who liked a challenge. “Good day, Mr. Hunter,” she bid him as she gathered her scalloped-shaped bag in one hand, stood up and started toward the sidewalk, her hips swaying enticingly with every step.
Damn. He hadn’t been expecting that. In fact, he’d been so caught up in her body’s response to him that he hadn’t even thought about what he’d do if she turned him down. Of course, no contingency plan he could have thought up would have involved him standing up and rushing to follow in her wake—which was precisely what he was in the midst of doing. What the hell was wrong with him?
He caught up to her quickly, his long, determined strides overtaking hers. “I’m going to take a stab in the dark and guess you’re not in Las Vegas on a pleasure jaunt.”
“Why is that? Because I’m not falling at your feet as so many other women do? Certainly, any woman with pleasure on her mind must jump at the opportunity to spend the night with the infamous Noah Hunter.”
“But I’m not wrong, am I?”
“No, you’re not wrong; I’m here on…business. You’re also stalking me, Mr. Hunter.”
“I’m walking beside you, not behind you. Remember? Not stalking.”
“Well, thank goodness for the clarification. Tell me, are you always this persistent?”
That brought him up short. The fact was no, he wasn’t. Then again, no one had ever appealed to him on so many levels, from the innate to the intellectual. Still, if he was using the least bit of common sense, he’d be getting far away from this woman who seemed to possess some strange sway over him.
“What business are you in, Claire?” he asked, not wanting to think about why the hell he wasn’t putting an end to this foolish pursuit, and needing to think about something other than the way her glossy lips glistened in the sun; how the rise and fall of her chest pressed her breasts enticingly against the V-cut bodice of her dress.
“I don’t see why it’s relevant, but if you must know, I’m an archaeologist.”
Suddenly, it clicked. He knew he’d heard her name before, when he’d made a hefty purchase from the British Museum a year prior. But when he’d heard the name back then, he’d never imagined Claire Thomas would be a twenty-something beauty who got more interesting by the minute. “You’re a rather accomplished woman for someone so young, are you not?”
Her steps slowed as suspicion flickered in her eyes, but she covered it up quickly. “Oh well, when other children were playing with dolls and building blocks, I was exploring Megalithic temples and deciphering stone tablets.”
“Sounds like you had an interesting childhood.”
She was silent then, and he was beginning to think he’d turned down the wrong conversation road. He really should accept that he was sunk and abandon this ship, but he wasn’t going to do that. He wanted her, not just her body—though he certainly had every intention of getting his hands on that—but something more, something that had never mattered to him before.
As long as they were two consenting adults having a good time, ‘something more’ had never made a difference to him, but it did now. He wanted the woman beneath this cool exterior because she was more than just a nice set of tits and a pair of great legs. He had a feeling Claire Thomas was unforgettable, worth every bit of effort it took to get her.
“Look, I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, but I think it would be a shame to miss out on an opportunity to get to know one another. I would very much like the chance to get to know you, Claire. Have dinner with me this evening.”
She stopped walking altogether and looked up at him. He wasn’t even going to guess at what she was thinking, given how wrong he’d been up to this point. He was never wrong like this. After spending so much time amongst them, he could read them almost as clearly as if they spoke their thoughts aloud. And yet this woman was an enigma that had him guessing wrong at every turn.
“Alright, Noah, one dinner; but only if you agree to find some other toy with which to amuse yourself thereafter.”
She was a very well-spoken woman for one from a generation that seemed to spend more time texting in acronyms and emoji than speaking in polished English. Why that mattered to him, he didn’t know, but he found he liked that this beauty was an intelligent woman.
“I think any man who thought of you as nothing more than a toy is a fool. But alright, if you want nothing to do with me after, I won’t bother you again.”
“Fair enough,” she conceded.
He reached out and clasped her hand in agreement, more for an excuse to touch her in some way than to formally seal the deal. But he’d barely felt the soft skin of the palm of her hand when she pulled away abruptly, though not before he’d seen blatant lust blaze hot in her eyes.
Or had he felt it? Strange, but he’d swear it wasn’t only his own desire that had coursed through his veins, it was hers.
And fear; her fear. A fear of her own response to him?
How it was possible for him to feel what she felt, he didn’t know. But as irrational as it was, it left him without a doubt in his mind that Claire Thomas wanted him as much as he wanted her, so much that it scared her. If he could get her to let her guard down just a little that night, the result would be cataclysmic.
“I’ll see you this evening, Noah. Eight-o-clock?” she asked a little breathlessly, though she had already taken a step in the opposite direction.
“Seven, and I’ll meet you outside your lobby.”
She nodded, but before he could say anything else, she turned and started down the street, fumbling in her bag and pulling out a pair of gloves, which she tugged onto her hands with jagged movements.
Was that why she’d recoiled from him? Was she a germaphobe? No, that couldn’t be it. She’d had her bare hands on a coffee cup from the café when he
’d first spotted her. And she placed her hands on the table in front of her when she’d stood.
Damn, could the woman possibly be more of a conundrum?
Well, he was going to find out—unless she reneged on their agreement and he wound up alone outside her hotel lobby. He’d think it unlikely, but had learned in the space of a few minutes that there was no point in speculating what the exquisite Claire Thomas would or wouldn’t do.
3
The day passed far more quickly than Claire would have liked. It always happened that way; time slowed to a crawl when one wished for it to fly, and it rushed headlong when one would sacrifice a great deal to make it sluggish. She stood now in front of her hotel room’s mirror, turning this way and that, merely delaying the inevitable. The dress looked fine; it clung to her midriff and hips, and fell beautifully just past her knees—a shortened replica of Jean Harlow’s signature gown.
Some people no doubt found her odd, swathing herself in clothes from the 1930s and 40s, but they didn’t know how rightly the fashion suited her. She could still remember the first time her uncle had taken her to see Miss Harlow star in Hell’s Angels, a wholly inappropriate film for a fourteen-year-old girl at the time. Uncle William might not always have been the most responsible parental figure—at least, according to some.
She turned abruptly away from the mirror, well aware of what she was doing. She was letting her mind wander down memory lane rather than facing the inevitable evening that lay ahead. What on Earth had she been thinking? Agreeing to a dinner date with that man? He was a rich, cocky Don Juan with a color about him that she couldn’t remember ever experiencing before.
And yet, beyond his physical appeal, there had been something about him that drew her nearer despite her better judgment; something as unique to him as the aura that clung to him. But the moment he’d taken her hand, she felt it, with a clarity and congruity she’d never known. Combined with his desire, the heat coursing through her body threatened to overwhelm her. She’d never felt fire so hot in her veins and the unfamiliarity had scared her, making her flee as quickly as possible.
