Baby Be Mine (Spinsters & Casanovas Series Book One)

by Wanitta Praks

  Exciting, invigorating, sensual, and heartwarming—that was the list of words Hunter would use to describe the best sex ever. But what Hunter had just experienced last night with his mysterious goddess didn’t even come close to that list. In fact, it was better, so much better that it superseded the list and should be classified in its own category as the most intense and heartfelt sexual experience ever. The kind that made you cry, smile, and go all giddy in the stomach at the same time.

  This experience wasn’t just the mechanical process of putting it in, climaxing, then taking it out again. No, this went beyond that. This was like a soul connection, like he’d just found his other half. And he thought he didn’t have another half.

  They did it twice last night. Both times she submitted without fail, which just excited him even more. And both times he admitted that he’d floated to heaven and back.

  Hunter had never felt so much joy as when he sensed the orange light touching his eyelids. At last he could see her face. Last night, the curiosity to see her was so strong that he almost turned on the bedside lamp, but because he was so hungry for her again after round one, he went to indulge her sweet nectar once again. And by the end of round two, he was so exhausted that he had fallen asleep.

  That was a first for him because usually after his midnight exercises with women, it would take at least three to four rounds before he could be induced to sleep. But his goddess had put him to sleep only after round two. And the peculiar thing was when he woke, he felt so refreshed, which never happened before in his whole life.

  Hunter laughed in giddiness, happy that after what they’d experienced last night, he would get to see the one woman who could actually put him to sleep, and sleep soundly too. He couldn’t wait to nestle himself beside her; in fact, he wanted to spoon her right now.

  Hunter promised to himself this morning that he’d make it his mission to see her face and know her name. Just the image of her blond hair in the nightclub wasn’t sufficient enough to embed that image in his memory. It was so mundane that his brain discarded it into the junk department. No, the image he wanted to embed in his mind would be her sleeping face with her blond hair cascading like a paper fan on the pillow, spilling out in disarray. He wanted that image to stay glued in his mind for all eternity because he felt such a strong connection with her. So come heaven or hell, he would at least get to know that much about her. Hell, he’d already decided since last night that he was going to propose she become his girlfriend. Now that was an honor most girls wouldn’t be willing to pass up. Perhaps once he’d seen her face and knew her name, they could go for round three.

  Yes, round three, Hunter thought, as he could feel himself going hard with just that idea alone. He wanted to see her cry out his name when she floated to heaven and then back. He wanted to see her expression when she hugged him after their intimate moment. With that thought in mind, he felt around for the warm body lying beside him, only to jerk upright and swear vigorously when the warm body was nowhere to be found.

  Hunter felt hot and cold all of a sudden. He pulled at his hair in frustration. More curses gnashed out of his mouth and he smashed his fist violently against the pillow. He was always the one to leave first, not the woman. Now the role had been reversed. He didn’t like this feeling at all.

  Where was she? Where did she go? He needed to find her. And find her fast, because he wasn’t sure if he could sleep with another woman again, what with the memory his mysterious goddess had imparted on him.

  Ahh, damn shit. Why did she have to leave so fast? Just when his morning wood was up too.

  * * *

  “Who are you after, Mr. Silverton?” the Korean waiter asked Hunter, who came stalking into their club at exactly seven a.m. in the morning, sporting a hairstyle that resembled a sparrow’s nest, with his dusty-corn tresses spiking in all directions.

  “One of your waiters, a kiwi boy to be precise, about yea high.” Hunter got straight to the point, indicating the height with his hand up to his shoulder. The so-called waiter he was after was in fact Max. “Did you see him? Last night.”

  “I don’t think we have anyone that short working here.” The waiter shook his head, replying blandly, then felt a little afraid at the sudden flare that appeared in Hunter’s eyes. Okay, that was definitely the wrong answer.

  “Look, I just need to find him so he can help me look for a certain woman, the one who—” Hunter stopped short. Should he tell this waiter about his circumstances last night? Surely he didn’t need to elaborate all that much, but he was at his wits end here. He really needed to find his mysterious woman fast. The morning wood he sported earlier was only appeased thanks to her faceless memory and a long shower. How pathetic could he get? It was that blonde. But try as he might, he just couldn’t picture her in his goddess’s place.

  “Oh, are you talking about that blonde from last night?” the waiter asked, suddenly remembering the woman who had asked him to hand the note to Mr. Silverton, the man standing right in front of him now. In fact, she had come in again bright and early at exactly 6:30 a.m.

  “Yes, yes, that was the one.” Hunter nodded.

  “Oh, she came in here this morning and gave me a note for you.” The waiter went to the back office, muttering, “I’ll just grab it for you. She looked really pissed by the way. I tell you, Mr.…”

  Hunter ignored the waiter’s comment and just tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for him to extract the note from his office.

  Grabbing the paper and thanking the waiter, Hunter rushed outside and dialed her number.

  “Hey,” Hunter said soothingly, using his best flirty tone.

  “Who’s this?” came an angry voice.

  Hunter frowned. That didn’t sound like his mysterious woman from last night.

  “Your mysterious guy…” Hunter sapped all his energy on perfecting his voice so he could seduce her and hoped she would run straight to a taxi with her lingerie on, straight into his arms so they could commence round three. “From last night. We had the best sex. Remember?” he added. “Listen, I was thinking we could—”

  “You bastard!”

  Hunter was struck speechless when his mysterious goddess interrupted his speech.

  “I waited for you last night,” she shouted through the phone, causing his eardrum to ring. “All night, in fact. All by myself. You didn’t even turn up. You playboy. Don’t ever call this number again.” Then the line went dead.

  Hunter stared at the phone blankly, confused about the turn of events.

  He scratched his head. If his mysterious woman was waiting for him last night and he didn’t turn up, then—

  Just who the hell did I sleep with last night?

  * * *

  Anton had wanted her. Despite his being a bit drunk last night, she was certain he had clearly confessed as much. But just to succumb to his advances because he’d confessed and called her his mysterious goddess? She just couldn’t believe she could be this lewd and naïve.

  She remembered her heart beating a thousand beats per minute when he kissed and hugged her. It felt so wonderful and so beautiful that she was lost in an endless world of pleasure and magic, and when she woke again, the next thing she knew, she had already walked out of the hotel and was now wandering around the streets aimlessly like she’d lost her mind.

  Why did she behave like this? Why didn’t she wait until morning to confront him about what they’d done? She could discuss it, explain to him her problem. Then maybe they could form a real relationship.

  But she knew she couldn’t. The truth was she was afraid when morning came, all the magic would disappear and the spell would be broken. She didn’t want that. She wanted to cherish that memory forever. And as a bonus, she also had Anton’s sperm, even though it would seem she had stolen it. Then again, he had stolen her innocence, so that made them even.

  So here she was, still in her own reverie, wandering around Central Queenstown with many tourists milling around her, going in and out of th
e many cafes and breakfast bars at the early hour of seven a.m.

  The sun was starting to crawl slowly from behind the majestic mountains in the east, sparkling mountain peaks like white crystals.

  She checked her phone. She’d been walking for two hours now. Spying a park bench, she decided to rest for a bit. Her gaze turned toward the direction of Silverton Hotel. She didn’t want to go to her suite yet. She didn’t want to see Max yet. She could deal with him later. For now, she just wanted to relish in those memories a little longer, because she knew if she returned to the hotel, reality would hit when she saw the real Anton, all somber.

  How would he react when he saw her next? Would he remember last night? Did he text her only because he wanted to sleep with her? So many questions, not enough answers. What should she do if she saw him again? How should she react? But to tell the truth, she felt a bit in love with the Anton of last night, more than the daytime Anton. He felt so very different, so close and so intimate, unlike the cool and collected man who only meant business.

  Well, there was nothing to do now anyway. Best just let nature take its course. Not long to go now before she fell pregnant… she hoped.

  The smell of freshly baked bread and brewed coffee filled the air, reaching her olfactory senses and sending a signal to her stomach, which gave out an embarrassing growl just to let her know it was past time to break her fast. Having nothing else to do, she stepped into one of the cafés and ordered her breakfast. Nothing like pancakes and a fresh pot of aromatic green tea to start the day and face reality.

  When the food arrived, her mouth salivated on its own accord. She took a bite of the yummy-looking pancake dripping with strawberries and honey, topped with banana on the side. It was amazingly delicious. The honey on her tongue was so sweet it reminded her of the kiss last night before Anton… before Anton… Clarice couldn’t finish her thought as her cheeks grew hot, blooming red as the strawberry on her plate. She guessed the feeling of them being together would be forever ingrained in her mind.

  Clarice stored this thought at the back of her mind, and she promised she would revisit it and tell her baby that she or he was a product of their love, even if Anton was under the influence of alcohol.

  Yes, she would do that she thought as she continued to chew her breakfast slowly, when a sight not three tables away almost caused her to choke on her meal, breaking into her thoughts.

  Clarice blinked and then she blinked again. No, it must be an apparition, she thought. The person sitting three tables away from her, all consumed in chomping away on his steak, face masked with anger like someone had stolen his beloved Ferrari, looked just like that Casanova from back in Auckland.

  No, this was Queenstown. Surely she wouldn’t be running into him again. So she rubbed her eyes twice to fend away the illusion. But no matter how many times she rubbed them, Hunter’s image was still sitting there eating his steak.

  Yikes, it really was him. What was that Casanova doing here anyway? Horrible, this was horrible. Why of all places must she run into him here? Why did heaven decide for her to see him now?

  Hiding behind the oversized menu so Hunter couldn’t spot her from this distance, Clarice ate her meal like she vying for the Guinness World Record of who could eat the fastest. Almost choking a few times because her mind was no longer on her food and too consumed in looking at Hunter to make sure he wasn’t looking her way, she poured some piping hot green tea into her mug and automatically chucked the whole contents of the cup down her throat, and dear heaven, she almost screamed in pain when the scalding hot liquid scorched her throat.

  Serves me right for eating like this, Clarice thought, but she had to make her escape ASAP. She knew if he saw her, he would ruin her day again, like all the previous times they’d met. Today, though, she didn’t want to see him. She wanted to be alone, to replay the scene of last night, so escape she must.

  Without further ado, she got up from her chair and paid for her meal, then briskly walked away from the café, heading back toward Silverton Hotel. She didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until she was in the elevator, coming face to face with a painting of red roses.

  Examining the painting with the intricate petals and vines winding around each other, Clarice felt a sudden desire well up inside her, which in turn made her cheeks burn. Remembering last night, she shyly turned away from the painting, thinking about Anton and herself, bodies entwined together like those rose vines. Eager to get another sneak peek, she turned back to the painting, then was suddenly reminded of Elise and Whitney. Clarice mentally noted to herself that she must pay a visit to both the girls when she returned to Auckland, to inform them of her adventure through Max’s scheme.

  Behind her, Clarice heard the elevator ding, indicating the door was closing. Suddenly, a yawn overcame her. With her eyes closed and her body slouched against the wall, she suddenly realized she was tired. Luckily, she still had today to spend in the hotel before flying back home tomorrow.

  She wondered what Max was up to last night, but her thoughts were cut short when the elevator door dinged open again.

  Clarice opened her eyes again and straightened herself, not wanting anyone to see her in such a state. It wouldn’t be right for a gum specialist to act like a child, closing her eyes and slouching around like she could sleep anywhere.

  Once she got her posture together, she waited patiently for the other occupant to appear, but when he did appear, she realized heaven was never going to be on her side when it came to that Casanova.

  CHAPTER 17

  “You.” Clarice squeaked, then clamped her mouth shut before she started cursing Hunter, who in fact was the occupant she had waited for. But before Hunter could turn his face to look at her, she pretended to dig into her large bag, hiding her face.

  Oh dear, why all of a sudden must she have an itch in her throat? Trying to hold it in, she couldn’t help releasing a massive cough, which alerted Hunter to her presence.

  Hunter was a bit taken aback when he turned to see a petite woman holding a bag near her face, huddled in the corner of the elevator like a scared mouse. And here he thought he was all alone when he entered. He supposed he was too depressed over losing his mysterious goddess that he didn’t give a thorough look at his surroundings. He couldn’t get a good look at her face, but man, was her body definitely his type. Kind of reminded him of the avocado.

  Clarice cut her eyes a bit so she could take a sneak peek at Hunter when she was sure his attention was elsewhere. She lowered the bag a little more to get a better view.

  He looks horrible, she thought, absolutely horrible. In fact, even worse off than when she’d first seen him at the café. That hair was even more messed up than before. And his clothes… What was he doing last night, all wrinkled up like that? Then a scenario of the Casanova’s activity of last night swam into her head.

  He must have bedded a woman, and by the looks of things, she must have kicked him out. Otherwise, that Casanova would never appear in anything other than pressed and branded clothing. Serves him right.

  At that very moment, as Hunter was about to push the eleventh floor button, he turned to face Clarice, who almost jumped in fright, automatically smacking her bag right in her face just so Hunter couldn’t see her, resulting in a loud thwacking sound.

  The price of keeping one’s identity anonymous was very painful indeed. Dear heaven, that hurt like hell.

  Damn you, Casanova. It’s all your fault.

  “Hey,” Hunter asked somberly, eyeing the woman who was acting strangely. “Which floor?”

  Crap, he wants me to answer him? In order to keep her identity safe, she decided to use her best impression of an old lady’s voice.

  “Eleventh floor,” she said seductively.

  Shit, that sounded like his mysterious goddess. Hunter’s eyes immediately jerked toward the woman who still held that bag blocking her face.

  “Say that again?” Hunter asked, which came out more like a demand, piqued at the woman’s voice. Co
uld it be her?

  Heaven help her! Was she so affected by last night that her voice was still laced with that seductive passion? She had to use her hoarse voice if she wanted to fool Hunter into believing she was an old woman. Muster up that croaky voice, Clarice. Muster up that voice now.

  “Eleventh,” she said seductively again.

  Oh deary me, it came out wrong again.

  By this stage, Hunter was convinced the woman who shared the same lift was actually hiding something from him, and he bet his life that he was not wrong.

  Moving closer, he tried to sneak a peek at her face, but whichever direction he turned, she would counteract, as a result, hiding her identity from him.

  Clarice could feel his gaze on her. Hunter was standing so close. If he saw her face, she was sure she’d die. Hunter would annoy her again. She didn’t need this. Not at all. How to get rid of him? she thought.

  Obviously, standing with the bag in front of her face for the duration of the lift’s journey would not be successful because she could sense at any minute now, Hunter would advance, demanding to see her.

  Then an idea struck her. She pretended to cough profusely, indirectly telling him to stay away or she might pass her virus onto him. Then she dug into her bag and donned the clinical mask that she usually kept in her bag for times like this. Extracting her pair of dark-shaded sunglasses, she donned those too. Her stage was set. So when Hunter’s hand landed on her shoulder, pulling her around to face him, the look on his face almost made her burst out laughing because it was just so hilarious.

  Hunter almost jumped out of his skin when he saw Clarice all dressed up like she was infected with a deathly virus, complete with clinical mask and glasses.

  “Sorry, young man. Don’t mind me. I just got a wee bit of a cold,” she put on her old lady’s voice. Finally, it came out right. She just hoped she sounded sick enough to halt his suspicion of her. “Best to stay away.”