Chapter Three

Dani

Hunter Kiss lifts his hand off my shoulder and stands, and suddenly I’m able to breathe again. He was sitting so close to me in just a towel, all that bare skin and rippling muscle on display. I swear at one point I imagined myself licking his perfect abs. Which is fine. I mean, I am a warm-blooded female with needs and he is damn fine. And his cock...

I can't stop thinking about how large he was.

Large and getting larger.

God, I need to get laid. But not by Hunter. No way.

“I just need to get dressed and then we’ll be set.” He cocks a brow. “Unless you’d rather undress and we can talk here. Afterward.”

That damn bastard. He knows he’s getting to me.  

I suck in a breath at the thought of all that could occur in getting to afterward, but force myself to scowl. I will not give him the satisfaction of knowing how utterly fantastic I find his body. I can't let him know how much he turns me on.

He laughs. “No? Okay, be right back.”

He turns and disappears into what I presume is his bedroom. Stay strong, I remind myself, trying hard not to remember the feel of his body pressed against mine, and definitely not imagining following him into his room. Deep breaths. I’m not here for me.

Chad, think of Chad.

And sure enough, the mad desire I was feeling for Hunter eases. Curiosity takes its place.

For the first time, I’m alone and because I’m not distracted by sparring with him, I’m able to better take in my surroundings. His penthouse is right out of a modern design magazine, with high-end finishes in every direction.

The place is kept in pristine condition, but I presume that’s due to a well-paid staff. Or perhaps spending very little time at home. Harsh sunlight is kept at bay with shaded floor-to-ceiling windows that line the entirety of the walls.

God this place is like a fucking museum. I stare at what might be a chair, but might also be a statue, afraid to sit. The couch has too much of Hunter’s delicious soapy smell all over it, so can’t sit there. I need to stay strong and focused.

I pace around, just checking things out. To the right is—yep, it’s his bedroom with a huge bed with a light grey duvet—and to the left of that is a large seating area with what I can only describe as a big ass fucking TV suspended from the wall. I bet he probably fills this place up on game nights with his buddies.

Beyond that is a white dining table with light wooden accents that compliment the sleek grey-toned floors. The kitchen glistens with a dull whiteness that’s still somehow alluring. A laptop sits on the counter.

He steps out of the bedroom and I meet his gaze. He’s now wearing a perfectly ironed and well-fitted suit with a bright pink tie. I wonder if he purposely picked the color to match my hair.

He glances at his laptop, screen blank, and is it my imagination or does he look at me approvingly? Then he steps past me and opens the door, gesturing with his hand. “Ladies first.”

It takes no time to reach the glass-trimmed elevator, the same elevator Amy, his girl-of-the-night, had run out of, slamming into me in the lobby. She’d been hysterical, and I’d asked if she was okay, and she’d told me she definitely wasn’t okay and who the bastard responsible for that was.

That same bastard now reaches forward to press the elevator button, and I get a good whiff of his scent again; less soap now, and more a potent combination of sandalwood and apples.

Dreamy. Just downright dreamy. I can’t help but close my eyes as I inhale.

I shake my head quickly. No, there will be none of that. It doesn’t matter that he’s handsome and cocky in the most irresistible way. It doesn’t matter that he smells good and is obviously rich. All that matters is Chad, and what’s best for his future, and unless Hunter Kiss can convince me that going pro before he graduates college is it, he and I have only just begun to battle.

Remembering that I’d been the one to literally throw the opening salvo, I mentally wince. I glance over at him. There’s a slight, darkening bruise at the edge of his left eye. I tell myself I already apologized numerous times, but I really want to apologize again. The only thing that stops me is the knowledge I can’t show weakness, not where Chad is concerned.

The elevator flashes open. We’re both silent as we enter the boxed space. When the doors close, we’re left staring at ourselves in the mirrored doors. My eyes drift to the side, taking in the sight that is him. Underneath the harsh elevator lights, his jawline is even more refined, and seemingly not a single damn hair is out of place. His skin is flawless, and he’s built with just the right amount of muscle and leanness.

His eyes find mine in the mirror, catching me in the act.

I clear my throat. “This is a very nice complex.”

“Are you hitting on me again?” he smirks.

“Wh-what? I never hit on you!” He is so annoyingly arrogant.

“No? I seem to remember you getting me out of my towel.”

“You—I mean, that wasn’t my fault…” I feel myself blushing. How does he do it? He’s so arrogant, but so damn charming at the same time. I hate feeling so flustered around him. Get it together, you have to keep the upper hand...if not for yourself then for Chad.  

He shrugs and purses his sweet, pretty lips. “It’s okay. I kind of liked how your eyes devoured me when I was naked. If you want me to shed my suit, no need to hit me; just ask.”

“Oh my God, full of yourself much?” I roll my eyes and shake my head. On the outside, I try to remain unmoved. On the inside, I’m a bundle of guilt and wanton urges. I decide to focus on the guilt and thus am unable to keep my apology at bay any longer. “Again, I really am sorry for hurting you. I feel terrible about it.”

He looks to me with something stirring in his eyes.

“Yeah?” Suddenly, he presses the stop button and the elevator jerks as we come to a sudden halt. “I know how you can make it up to me.”

“What are you doing?” I swallow a nervous lump in my throat.

“Showing you how you can make it up to me. You ever heard of seven minutes in heaven?”

“No,” I lie.

He looks at me chidingly but plays along. “It’s a stupid game where teenagers throw two hornballs into a closet together and lock their asses up for seven minutes with the goal of sexual fireworks exploding. Usually all that happens is awkward breathing, and then everyone lies and says they hit whatever base they think sounds cool.”

“We’re not twelve,” I feel the need to point out, but I can’t discern if he’s being serious or not.

“And something tells me I won’t need seven minutes to hit all your bases.” He bites his lower lip. Sweet Jesus, why do I find this—why do I find him—so damn sexy right now? “I only need sixty seconds to make you scream.”

I just about melt into the damn floor, feeling as if my entire being could turn into a pile of goo. This is not who I am. I am a strong, independent woman and I will not melt for anyone.

My guard goes up. “You can’t handle me,” I say, trying to sound strong. I cannot show him that he’s getting to me. I glare at him, hoping he’s buying the act.  

He takes a measured step toward me.  His eyes lock with mine. My mind flashes to his naked body. His rock hard—with rippling abs and that sexy vee that most men can’t achieve—body.

“There’s only one way to find out,” he whispers into my ear, causing my entire body to tingle with anticipation.

Damn, he called my bluff. He leans a little closer. His wonderful scent hits me.

And I melt. For a moment, I forget where I am or who I'm with. I forget about Chad. Instead, I remember how Hunter looked naked. How he swelled while I was looking at him.

I remember my needs, needs I've been neglecting for far too long.

Before I know it, I’m trembling and breathing hard, and I actually tilt my head back and close my eyes in preparation for his kiss. I can no longer fight my attraction to him, and with him so close, it was only a matter of time anyway.

My eyes pop open when he bursts out laughing. “I’m just fucking with you.”

I’m not proud of what happens next. It’s instinct or more likely the fact that I’m horrified that I fell for his game. I’m itching to slap him but somehow I control that tendency and…

* * *

“I don’t have much of an appetite,” he grumbles as we walk down the busy early sidewalk. He rubs his ear, which I squeezed quite hard moments before, and glances at me with a frown. “You really ought to see someone about your anger issues.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” I reply. Despite the fact that I pinched his ear like some curmudgeonly aunt, I can’t help but feel he’s laying it on a little thick. Still, he might be right. I have been so angry lately. Angry at my dad. Angry at myself for my fears about Chad. Even angry at Chad, which makes no sense. When I feel the sting of unshed tears, I blink quickly.

Then I recognize the man and woman walking toward us.

“Shit,” I exclaim and try to duck for cover, but it’s too late.

In front of me, Taylor Ballard smirks, and my heart sinks.

Hunter glances at me and then at Taylor, and when he looks back at me, understanding seems to light his eyes. He throws one arm around my neck and pulls me in close, holding me safe and secure as we pace closer and closer to my ex and his new wife. Just as we’re about to pass them, Hunter plants a soft kiss against the side of my head, and I let out a forced grin of happiness. When Taylor’s wife looks at Hunter admiringly, I feel my grin become more genuine.

Taylor frowns and then just as soon as he appeared, he’s gone. I’m met with equal parts relief and sadness, relief because at least that douchebag will mistakenly believe I’m happy, and sadness because I’m obviously still bothered by the breakup—or rather, the reason for the breakup—no matter how long ago it was.

But I hate showing emotions, especially to someone like Hunter, so I break away from his touch. “Um…Thanks for that.”

“No problem.” He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his slacks, playing the part of the cool guy. “He was an ex?”

“He’s in the past.” I bow my head. “And that’s all that matters.”

He just studies me, like he’s thinking before speaking for once.

“What?” I groan.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head with a light chuckle. “It’s just nice to know that somewhere deep down in the vast reaches of your dark soul, you have a heart.”

“Funny,” I scoff, just as I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I retrieve the phone and it’s a message from Eve, the receptionist at the tattoo shop where I work. Someone showed up needing a tattoo repair, is basically hysterical, and is willing to pay big bucks for me to come back early from lunch for a consultation. In fact, it’s such an exorbitant amount that there’s no way I can turn it down. Chad got a full scholarship for college, but I still try to give him extra spending money, plus I’m saving to open my own tattoo shop one day. “Shit,” I grumble and come to a dead stop on the sidewalk. “I’m going to have to postpone this meeting.”

“Seriously?” He arches one brow and turns to me. “You made me walk all the way down here.”

“Relax. We’ve gone two blocks.”

“What’s so important that you’re just going to run off?”

“I know you might not get what I’m about to say, but some of us have to work for a living.” I know he works for a living—his job is the whole reason I came to see him—but with his fancy apartment and car, he obviously has enough money he could probably be retired by now. I shove my phone back into my pocket. “I have a client needing a tattoo repair done ASAP.”

“You’re a tattoo artist?” He nods. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense since you like inflicting pain.”

“Stop it.” I shoot daggers with my eyes. “When is a good time to meet again?”

“Anxious, are we?”

“Anxious for you to convince me why I should trust you with my brother’s future. If you fail to do that, you’re going to leave my brother alone.” It’s not a question. It’s a demand.

“Hell no.” He leans against the brick building beside us, and crosses his arm. “In the end, it’s your brother’s decision. But at least you can say you earned your disdain for me legitimately.” He pauses briefly, his eyes studying me. “Isn’t there any part of you that’s afraid you might be wrong?”

There is. Despite his good looks and cocky attitude, I have done my research, and my research tells me Chad should be thanking his lucky stars that Kiss Talent Agency and Hunter Kiss specifically are interested in signing him. But it’s going to take more than hearsay to convince me. “Look, let’s just see what happens, okay?”

“So long as you don’t hurt me again. But what am I worried about? Once you get to know me better, you’re going to love me.”

I just shake my head. “My God, you’re arrogant.”

“I’m also right. Just you wait and see.”

I narrow my eyes. “Really? You’re that convinced?”

“Yup.”

His sheer arrogance has me looking him over for any sign of weakness but all I notice is how scrumptious and clean-cut he looks. No piercings. No tattoos anywhere on his body (which I know because I have seen all of his body, thank you Lord). Almost everyone I know has at least one tattoo (except for Chad, who’s afraid of needles), and since Hunter’s skin is virgin-pure I smile wickedly. “How about we place a little bet then? Just for fun?”

He has the good sense to look cautious. “What kind of bet?”

“If after our talk you haven’t won me over to the degree I give my brother the thumbs up to sign with you…” I snicker, thinking about all the possibilities. “You have to let me tattoo something on you. My choice.”

“What?” He jerks back away from the wall. “What do you think I am, crazy?”

“You doubting your powers to win me over?” I taunt, taking a step toward him.

“I’m doubting the sanity of a woman who comes to a man’s apartment, throws a phone at him, then pinches his ear,” he shoots back.

“Okay fine. I’ll let you approve the design. How about that?”

“No. Why mar something that’s already perfect, right?”

I roll my eyes. “Fine. No betting.”

He shrugs. “Either way, I’m signing your brother. Plus…”

Now I’m the one looking at him with concern. “What?”

He shrugs again. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll take your bet after all.”

“What do you mean?”

“Depending on what you’d be willing to give me when you lose the bet, well, I might be willing to take the chance. I know what I’d ask for.”

When I say nothing (I’m too busy imagining all the things he’d ask for and all the things I’d happily give him), he coos, “Not going to take the bait? Or do you want me to tell you? Because I’d be happy to, in graphic detail.”

“I just bet you would,” I mutter. “As I said before, I’m not your type, but you’re not exactly my type either.”

“What type is that?”

“I like a man who’s inked. Pierced. Dirtied up a bit.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Ms. Cross. But we both know you want to see me naked again. And I definitely want to see you naked. Preferably when you’re splayed out underneath me and taking my cock.”

My jaw drops open. “You—you…”

He chucks me lightly underneath my chin. “We’ll talk soon,” he says with a wink, then walks away.