Thousand Yard Bride by Nora Flite, Allison Starwood Page A

deep crevice between his pecs and abs.
    “What are you doing?” I asked him, mouth dry.
    His eyes locked with mine, one brow quirking. “Trying to relax. Thanks for taking care of that girl. Contrary to popular belief, I don't bang everything that walks.”
    “I never said you did,” I countered, suddenly on guard at his defensive tone.
    “You didn’t have to. I can tell that’s what you think of me." He dipped underwater, coming back up so quick that the water ran in rivulets down his nose and ears. He pushed his hair out of his face. “Did you at least have a little fun tonight?”
    I bristled, because his implication was clear: he thought that I thought he was a walking mindless fuck machine, and that in contrast, I was bland and humorless. “Yeah, I did. A little. And don’t worry. I made sure no one took pictures of anything . . . untoward,” I said, trying to sound like I was still doing my job to the best of my abilities.
    "Untoward?" he asked, grinning with one side of his mouth. "Like when we were dancing together?"
    The memory had my lower belly tingling. I was sure that while we'd been grinding together, I'd felt the hard shape of his hungry cock. Clearly, I hadn't imagined the chemistry between us. I had to shut this down—I couldn’t be crushing on my new client! Both our careers were on the line.
    "It wasn't serious," I mumbled. "It meant nothing. No one will think we're having sex or something so messed up."
    “ Messed up?" he spat. "That's really how you think of me. I’m just some manwhore who'd sleep with anyone." He sounded legitimately annoyed. “Don’t you think I get enough shit from my parents? Despite what you’ve heard to the contrary, I am an adult.”
    “No, that’s not what I meant. I'm just trying to point out no one will think badly of either of us from some silly dancing,” I argued. “I'm trying to say I did my job. I don’t think that you're a . . . a manwhore.” My eyes slowly traced the hard lines of his bare chest, and I had to fight back an involuntary groan of appreciation. “I think you’re very, very—" What had he said? "Adult.”
    Hunter didn't speak. Like a crocodile waiting to strike, he hung low in the water and studied me. Then with patient precision, he made his way out of the jacuzzi towards me, drops of water rolling down the taut lines of his figure.
    No one should be so gorgeous or so dangerous. It made no sense to my frazzled brain that he could be smiling at me while his black pupils ate me up and spit me out. I froze, wondering what he was going to do to me right here, right now—and undecided whether it would be my greatest wish come true or the worst thing that could possibly happen.
    "I'm glad you agree that I'm not a monster," he whispered, hovering over me so that a single drop of water dripped onto my cheek.
    What I saw in his gaze wasn’t just the pure animal lust I’d expected. It was desire, yes, but also a kind of vulnerability, a need to be seen. He suddenly seemed more real to me, more human.
    “Hunter, of course you’re not a monster. I see that. And I honestly want to help you deal with all of this media nonsense. You deserve for people to see the real you. You’re so talented, and focused, and hard working. That’s what I see. Really.”
    My words seemed to have the opposite effect than the one I’d intended. Hunter turned away with a sneer, looking out at the city lights. He spoke fast and with purpose, like he was letting something out. “Yeah, yeah. So talented and about to waste everything. People think that I was born some star athlete just because my dad was a multiyear MVP. It wasn't that easy for me.
    "When I was a kid, I wanted nothing to do with football because I saw what it did to my parents. My dad was always cheating on my mom, and she stuck by him, for me or for some other stupid reason." He barked out a hollow laugh. "And the worst part is, she never even called him on it. Everyone always treated him like a