She wasn’t sure what had come over her, aside from the fact that she’d felt the need to change something after a decidedly mediocre (and final) date with Ross Alford on Tuesday.
The inspiration had come yesterday when Brit’s cousin posted a picture of the two of them as kids playing naked in a kiddie pool, Bridget Jones–style. Brit had always been blond, but she’d forgotten that she was nearly white-blond as a little girl.
It had darkened as she’d gotten older to a sort of blah light brown, which she lightened every month to a sunny yellow shade. And then she got to thinking . . .
If she was lightening her hair anyway, why not lighten it all the way?
Her stylist had been thrilled with the idea, though she’d nixed Brit’s idea of cutting it. Instead, she’d suggested letting it grow and running a straightener through it to cut down on some of Brit’s natural body (a polite, stylist way of saying poof).
The result was . . . well, startling.
In a good way. Gabrielle, the stylist, had refused to let Brit look in the mirror until she was done with her “magic,” and for a strange split second, Brit hadn’t recognized herself.
In addition to the hair being several shades lighter and smoother than it usually was, her skin had seemed brighter, her eyes bigger. . . . She’d looked—and felt—new. Confident. Not in a crazy major-makeover kind of way, just a subtle shift that said, It’s time to change it up, Robbins.
It didn’t hurt that before coming over to Emma and Cassidy’s party, she’d changed out of her work blouse and into the black top that Hunter had been so fond of during her wardrobe overhaul.
She’d also told herself on the entire ride over that her decision to wear it had nothing to do with the fact that Hunter had been a fan of it.
Or that he’d mostly ignored her all week, other than when work necessitated communication.
“Come in, come in,” Riley was saying. “Emma and Cassidy are around here somewhere, but I don’t think they heard your knock.”
Not a surprise. Cassidy and Emma’s apartment was good-sized by Manhattan standards, but it was packed with people. Mainly the Stiletto and Oxford crews.
Cassidy was Oxford, Emma was Stiletto, and their relationship was sort of legendary. Brit had been delighted to get an invitation to their just because party, because as Cassidy had pointed out, a party was just about the only way to survive January in New York.
Brit put the champagne in the fridge, though it clearly wasn’t needed—yet. The counter was covered in every possible wine, beer, and cocktail option available.
“Riley, who’s your hot friend?” Sam Compton asked, dropping an arm around his wife’s shoulders and winking at Brit.
“Doesn’t she look amazing,” Riley gushed.
“Um, oh my gosh, so amazing.” This from Mollie, Jackson Burke’s girlfriend, a sparkly blonde who was as whip smart as she was cute. “I love it. It completely suits you.”
Brit gave a self-conscious laugh as she shrugged out of her coat. “Thanks.”
She scanned the room for a place to put her coat, and Cassidy walked over, taking it out of her hand and pecking her cheek. “Hey. Nice hair.”
“Nice hair?” Riley said in exasperation. “That is such a guy thing to say.”
Cassidy looked at Sam and Jackson, who’d joined their group. “What the hell did I say wrong?”
Brit patted his arm. “Nothing. Thank you for the compliment.”
“What are you drinking?” he asked. “I can happily volunteer Sam or Nick to make you a cocktail, or I’m pretty decent at pouring wine and opening beer bottles.”
“White wine.” She glanced at the assortment of white wines chilling in an ice bucket. “Surprise me.”
Brit had just accepted the wineglass from Cassidy when she felt a tug on her arm.
It was Julie Greene, Riley’s fellow Stiletto columnist, a bubbly blonde who tended to be the life of every party.
“So glad you’re here,” she said, air-kissing Brit’s cheek. “I’ve been dying for you to meet someone. A guy.”
“Um, what?” Brit asked, feeling a stab of panic.
“I know, I know. Blind setups are the worst, but the second I met him, I knew you guys would hit it off. He works with Mitchell, but I promise he’s not one of the asshole Wall Street types. He’s hilarious, and good-looking, and a total gentleman, and wait until you see his arms. And his jawline, OMG, I could die—”
“I’m confused.” Mitchell Forbes interrupted his wife’s barrage of compliments in his usual dry, unruffled tone. “I could have sworn you were married. To me.”
Julie blew him a flirty kiss, then turned back to Brit. “You are still single, right? If you’re seeing someone I can totally abort my mission.”
Brit thought of Ross and the blah date. Then she thought of Hunter, the way he’d barely looked at her this week.
“Yeah, I’m still single.”
“Excellent.” Julie scanned the crowded room until she found who she was searching for.
Brit took advantage of the moment to take a big sip of wine.
Sexy is a state of mind. Sexy is a state of mind. . . .
Julie pulled her forward again, and a second later Brit was being introduced to the best-looking guy she had ever seen.
“Julie, this is Jon Cook. Jon, Brit Robbins. She works on Cassidy’s team.”
“Cassidy’s the one drinking the pink cocktail?”
“Nope, that’s Lincoln.”
“Ex-football player?” Jon tried again.
“That’s Jackson. Cassidy’s an ex-soccer player.”
“The host,” Brit added, throwing the guy a bone. “Probably the one to offer you a drink?”
“Yes,” he said in relief. “Sorry, everyone’s great, it’s just . . .”
“I know,” Brit said with a laugh. “Trust me, I so know. Sometimes I can’t keep everyone straight. Don’t even get me started on trying to figure out who has kids, who’s pregnant—”
“Who’s pregnant?” Julie demanded.
“Nobody. I don’t think,” Brit said. “Hypothetical.”
“Damn. I’ve finally gotten good at buying baby gifts.”
“Really?” Mitchell said, joining them. “You gave Taylor and Nick a bottle of Sam’s whiskey.”
“That was for them,” she pointed out. “Not the baby. I got the baby . . . Crap. Did I get the baby something?”
“So, Brit, what do you do?” Jon asked, drawing her attention away from Julie’s panicked musing.
“I’m on Oxford’s digital-operations team. I basically figure out how to get all of the various stories and advertisements and images up onto the website at the right time. It sounds boring, but I promise I love it,” she said with a smile. “Julie said you’re on Wall Street?”
He nodded. “Yep. I could give you the really boring details, or we could skip over that part for now and talk about something more interesting. Favorite superhero, desert-island chip, that sort of thing.”
She laughed. “I’ve always had a soft spot for Spider-Man. Scrappy and underrated. As for chip . . . oh man, tough choices. Sour-cream-and-onion potato chips, maybe?”
He winced. “Oooh, I’m sorry. The correct answer was Iron Man and Cool Ranch Doritos.”
“Okay, I’ll grant you that Robert Downey Jr. is delightful, but Iron Man’s backstory is sort of blah.”
“As opposed to Peter Parker, who got bit by a bug?” he said with a smile, stepping closer to her to let someone move past them.
The person passed, but Jon didn’t step away, staying just a little bit closer to her. Intentionally.
Damn, she and Hunter hadn’t gotten to this point in their lesson. They’d done the post-date routine but not the pre-date routine.
Brit smiled up at him, remembering not to flutter her eyelashes, as Hunter had told her she was prone to doing in a bad way. Instead, she took a sip of her wine and held his gaze just a moment longer than necessary.
Jon smiled back.
He said something else. Something about Marvel movies or the Avengers, and Brit nodded along, but her attention wandered as the crowd shifted slightly, and her gaze landed on . . .
Hunter. He was dressed in a long-sleeved black shirt, dark jeans, and was talking to a gorgeous, petite black-haired woman with an hourglass figure, perfect red lipstick application, and her hand resting possessively on Hunter’s arm.
Brit’s stomach dropped, and she sucked in a quick breath of surprise at how much the sight hurt.
That was new. And unwelcome. She’d seen Hunter flirt with hundreds of women. She’d watched him date. Watched him leave a party with a woman on his arm, knowing they’d probably end up in bed.
She’d never thought a thing of it.
She was thinking about it now. Jealousy, pungently bitter, seemed to grab at her.
Hunter was completely absorbed with whatever the woman was saying to him. At least it seemed that way to Brit.
Without warning, his gaze snapped off to Brit. Not searching, as though sensing someone’s gaze on him, but knowing. He knew exactly where she was and, judging from the dark look on his face, exactly who she was talking to.
Scratch and lean, the way you do when you’re not interested, she silently begged him. Do that thing you do when you want an escape route. Give me some indication you want me to come save you from her. . . .
His eyes locked on hers for a long moment before he deliberately shifted his attention to his pretty companion, bending down to whisper something in her ear that made her tilt her head back and laugh, her hand climbing even higher up his arm, practically caressing his biceps.
Brit whirled around to Jon, shocked that in addition to feeling jealous, she felt suspiciously like crying. There was a little anger mingled in there too, though she didn’t know why. She didn’t understand any of this.
“You okay?” Jon asked politely, giving her a concerned look.
“Yeah, sorry,” she said, giving a shake of her head. “Actually, it’s a little warm in here. I think I’m going to grab a glass of water.”
“Sure. I’ll be around,” he said, thankfully not seeming to take her excuse as a brush-off but not overstepping and following her either.
Brit smiled appreciatively and headed to the kitchen, finding a clean glass and helping herself to one of the carafes of what someone had labeled H20 with a sticky note and a Sharpie.
She’d just poured the water when someone stepped behind her, close enough that she could feel him. And she knew it was a male.
She also knew which male it was.
Brit turned around and looked up into her best friend’s face. Only he didn’t seem like her best friend right now. There was none of the calm safety she usually felt around Hunter. Instead, he seemed like someone infinitely more dangerous, and she felt nervous.
And also exhilarated.
“Got a minute?” he asked.
Her gaze flitted across the room to Jon, who was talking with Mitchell. “Actually, Julie introduced me to this guy. I think—”
Hunter interrupted her by grabbing her wrist and pulling her across the apartment, through the crowds of people. He walked past the bathroom and, giving a quick knock on a closed door, opened it and pulled her inside.
Then he shut the door.
Chapter Sixteen
Hunter hoped Cassidy and Emma wouldn’t think him overstepping by temporarily commandeering their guest room, but for now he had more important things to worry about.
“What the hell was that?” he asked, looking at Brit.
“What was what?”
“I thought we talked about the eyelash-fluttering thing. It doesn’t work.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Seriously? Don’t be an ass. And you know what, I don’t plan to flutter my eyelashes. Maybe that’s just how I blink!”
“It’s how you flirt,” he clarified, crossing his arms.
“So!” she shouted. “Maybe it is. It’s not like I’ve made a secret that I want to meet someone. And let me remind you, you’re supposed to be helping me through this whole awful dating process, not just berating me.”
She was right. She was completely right. He’d said he would tell her how to get guys to see her as girlfriend material.
He could tell her that she didn’t need any help right now. That Mitchell’s friend had been eating up whatever she was feeding him.
That she was the hottest woman in the room, especially with—
“What did you do to your hair?”
“What did I—” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “You know what? You’re in a mood, and you’re being insulting. You want to be a jerk, go for it, but I’m not going to stay here and listen to it.”
She tried to push past him, but Hunter blocked her way. “I didn’t mean to be insulting. I like the hair.”
“I’m so glad,” she said sarcastically. “But I wasn’t doing it for you.”
“For who, then? The guy you just met?”
“For me, you ass.” She pushed at his shoulders. “What is wrong with you, Hunter?”
God, he wished he knew. He felt . . . out of control. Crazed.
Jealous.
He was jealous of that guy out there, who was probably perfectly decent. Possibly perfect for Brit. And instead of rooting for her, instead of doing as he’d promised and helping her get a date with the guy, Hunter wanted . . .
What?
What did he want?
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong,” he said quietly. “Long week, I guess. Sorry for being a dick.” Long week because I tried damn hard to stay away from you.
She shrugged in acceptance of his apology, starting to move around him once more, and once more he stepped in front of her. Not ready to let her leave.
“So, what’s the plan?” he said.
“What plan?” She looked up.
“With this guy. Seems as good as any to practice on.” He tried to keep his voice light and friendly. To regain the easy footing they’d always had around each other.
She took a deep breath and seemed willing to meet him halfway and put the argument behind them because she smiled before responding.
“Actually, I think I’m doing okay on my own,” she said cautiously. “Maybe you were right all along. Maybe it’s simply a confidence thing. Before when I saw a cute guy, I’d be so focused on getting him to like me that I think I must have somehow given off sisterly vibes or something.”
“No sisterly vibes with this guy, huh?”
“Too soon to tell,” she said with another smile, a little softer this time. “But I doubt I’m going to figure it out hiding in Cassidy’s guest room with you.”
“Right. No, probably not.”
“Right. So . . .” She jokingly extended her arms and mimed the gesture of moving him aside.
He didn’t move.
“Hunter,” Brit said with a laugh. This time she put her hands on his arms and actually tried to move him aside.
He still didn’t move.
She looked up, her expression confused. “Hunter?”
He stared down at her. Don’t do it. Don’t do it, man.
Fuck it.
Hunter bent down and captured her mouth with his.
Brit gasped against his mouth but otherwise went perfectly still.
Hunter waited another moment, giving her a chance to push him away. Praying that she wouldn’t.
Slowly, his hands lifted to her face and his lips moved against hers. Slowly, he explored her mouth.
God, she tasted good.
Better than he’d hoped. Better than he’d imagined.
Better than he’d ever experienced before.
Brit sighed softly against his mouth and he coaxed her lips apart, his tongue finding hers as he tilted her head slightly to deepen the kiss.
Her hands lifted, her fingers wrapping around his wrists as she began to kiss him back. Hesitantly at first, and then matching his increasing need as her arms went around his neck and her body pressed a
gainst him.
Hunter groaned, a hand going to her back, pressing her even closer, but it wasn’t enough. He slipped his hand beneath the hem of her shirt, palming the bare skin of her back as he devoured her mouth.
Brit. He was kissing his best friend.
The thought should have sent him pulling away in horror, but instead it made him greedier, more desperate to know more of her. To know all of her.
His hand slid to the side of her waist, skating up along her rib cage until his fingers skimmed the edge of her bra, so close to—
The door opened, and Brit reared back so quickly, he barely got his hand out from beneath her shirt without tearing it.
“I—oh. Oh! Oh dear.”
Hunter closed his eyes at the interruption. Emma or Daisy’s voice. Hard to tell sometimes, since they were identical twins.
Hunter turned toward the door. It was both of them, Daisy wide-eyed and stunned, Emma thoroughly bemused.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Brit lift a hand to her swollen mouth. She looked a little shaky. No, a lot shaky, and he wanted to wrap his arms around her, to tell their friends to get the hell out and give them a minute to sort out what had happened.
“Was just showing Dais the new paint color in here,” Emma said in a mild tone. “But it can wait.”
“No,” Brit blurted out, her voice a little too loud. “No, it’s your home, we were just . . .”
“Yes, what were you just?” Daisy said with a teasing smile.
Hell if I know, Hunter thought.
And Brit apparently didn’t either, because she didn’t answer the question.
Instead, she gave a quick shake of her head and moved toward the door. “I’ve got to go,” she whispered.
“Wait, Brit.” He tried to grab her hand, but she pulled away. “Don’t. Please.”
“Sorry,” she said quietly to Daisy and Emma as she passed them. “I . . . I can’t right now.”
“Are you okay?” Daisy asked in alarm as Brit moved down the hallway toward the front door.
“Obviously not,” Emma murmured as Brit pushed through the partygoers and opened the front door of the apartment, stopping only long enough to pick up her purse from the assortment of handbags on the console table. “She forgot her coat.”
I Think I Love You Page 13
