He sounds strangled when he asks, “Never?”
I want to die. My hand actually comes to cover my mouth. I jerk it down, so frazzled I actually stop my ascent. I look into his surprised face, feeling like an idiot.
“I don’t mean I’ve never done...anything ever,” I say quickly. “Never dated, I mean. I just mean it was nothing serious.” I clench and unclench my fists as we step onto the second floor, done in vibrant navy blue, pale green, and gold.
I run a hand back through my hair, now sweaty, and Hunter looks at me like I’ve grown horns. “Are you gay?”
“Do you think I’m gay?” I ask him pointedly.
He smirks, and I tell myself to get back on my game. You’ve got this.
We go about twenty feet down the hallway on the left, and Hunter opens the door to a room that’s done in green—just like another room, in another of his homes. “This will be yours.”
“It’s lovely.”
He nods once. “It should have everything you need.”
“Thank you.” But I’m still confused. I wish I had the nerve to ask him why he wants me hanging around here for a week, and why he seems fine with the possibility that he might not get what he paid for. We do have chemistry. I know that much. So what gives?
He looks me over, head to toe, and I feel a blush cover my cheeks. “You can dress however you want.” I look at him like he’s crazy, and he adds, “I mean, I don’t want you to feel obligated to walk around the house half-naked.”
Really? “Are you sure you don’t want me to just go home? Because I can. If this isn’t...you know, working out.”
He puts his hand on the small of my back and pushes me gently into the room. “I’m sure, Libby.” He leans on the doorway. “Call for me if you need something. Press one on the phone, and it will ring my cell.”
And that’s it. He’s gone, and I’m alone in my lingerie and silky robe, feeling more confused than ever.
Chapter 23
Hunter
THIS IS A fucking mess.
I am a fucking mess.
I gave her the room adjoining mine? Really? I drop my head into my hand and use my fingertips to rub my throbbing temples. I haven’t slept in days and having Libby next door isn’t going to help. Shit is hitting the fan with this Sarabelle situation, which means having Libby here is an even worse idea.
So why did I do it?
It’s not all that hard to figure out. I didn’t want anybody else fucking her. And it’s not a caveman thing. I don’t want to possess her—I don’t want to possess any woman. And yet…I just can’t stand the idea of another man...
Jesus H.
Libby DeVille, a fucking virgin. I thought she felt tight when I had my fingers inside her, but I thought she was just inexperienced. Not a goddamned virgin.
I’m leaning against the hallway wall, hard as a baseball bat and straining against my fly, when I get a call from Dave.
“What’s up, man?”
“Bad news.” My stomach sinks, and I hustle down the hall so Libby doesn’t hear me. “In addition to claiming all Sarabelle’s client logs earlier today, the FBI is out at Love Inc. right now. Went in the back way, across that desert and that patch of grass behind the left manor. One of my people says they’re hot for you. They’re even interested in tonight’s bidding.”
“Fuck!”
“I’d feel the same way if I were in your position.”
I grit my teeth. “Fuck. Fuck fuck.”
“I’ll call when I’ve got more details.”
“Thank you, Dave.”
“Sure thing.”
The line goes dead, and I suck back a big breath. Fucking Priscilla.
I practically jog to my office, where I page the head of ranch security, Julian, and give him instructions on how I want this place protected. Then I pull out my .38, stick it in the holster I wear against my abs, and pull off my black T-shirt. I stride to one of the guest rooms, grabbing a white undershirt out of a package I keep in the top drawer for visitors. Then I pull on my ragged bomber jacket and go back into my office.
I pull out my phone and call Priscilla. It rings four times before I’m sent to voice mail.
Shit.
It was a stupid move, maybe, but I don’t care. I’m tired of being a sitting duck. I want to move on this.
I slump down in my desk chair and pour myself another glass of bourbon. West Bourbon. Truth is, I find the shit a little bitter. How’s that for a secret?
I’m comforted by the familiar warmth spreading through my limbs, and I decide to call Priscilla again. This time I’m sent to voice mail after one ring.
Shit!
I’m up and pacing, and Rita is on my mind. I’ve known for a while now that if Priscilla leaks the story of who my real mother was, it could lead to scrutiny of the West family. It could end up exposing what happened between Rita and me.