Chapter 4
four
HUNTER
I check my watch for the third time in five minutes, fighting the urge to text Anthony and bail on “joining the fun” tonight.
A community center lobster boil followed by country dancing sounds about as appealing as a root canal without anesthesia, but declining the invitation would be rude. Anthony went out of his way to include me in the group plans, even though I wasn’t part of the “Sydney and Gideon” wedding festivities.
He’s a good friend. I don’t have many of those, and I’d like to maintain the ones I do have. Friends, unlike lovers or distressed companies looking to be acquired, are difficult to replace. I have a friendly obligation to attend this lobster boil.
But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.
I also don’t have to like the fact that Elaina will be part of the “group date.” As the only two single people in the equation, we’ll no doubt be thrown together, which could be dangerous. We’ll have to be careful to keep our chemistry under wraps. I don’t want any of our mutual friends looking back on tonight and thinking the two of us ever had the potential to be anything but polite acquaintances.
I attempted to text Elaina to warn her that I was going to be joining the outing, but the text didn’t seem to deliver.
But if she’s surprised to see me standing beside Anthony on the sidewalk outside her café come seven p.m., she doesn’t show it. She simply waves to everyone and pretends to need her memory jogged when Weaver introduces us again. She expresses that it’s nice to “meet” me again in the perfect neutral tone—not too warm, not too cool—and falls in beside Maya as we make our way down the street.
She’s a natural. I couldn’t have found a better partner in deception if I’d held a national casting call.
If anyone will be able to fool my shrewd and discerning mother, it’s Elaina Murphy.
And I already know Mom will have no problem believing that Elaina turned my head. She’s a knockout. With her curves wrapped in a cherry-red sundress and her dark hair in a high ponytail, she looks like she stepped off a vintage pin-up poster.
The kind designed to remind soldiers exactly what they were fighting for back home…
“You’re staring,” Anthony murmurs from beside me.
Fuck . Caught already.
“I’m observing,” I correct, aiming for a breezy tone. “You don’t see many fashionable women in a town this size.”
Anthony makes a dubious sound. “Right. Her fashion sense. I’m sure that’s what caught your attention.” He lowers his voice as he adds, “Just FYI, Elaina eats men for breakfast, buddy. Even men like you.”
I arch a brow. “Men like me?”
“The ones used to doing the loving and leaving,” he clarifies. “Not the kind who get loved and left. She’s made more than one manly lobsterman cry in his chowder around here. When she says she’s not looking for anything serious, she means it.”
“Noted,” I say, doing my best not to smirk.
So that’s why Elaina was so upset with me for slipping out the back door without saying goodbye. She likes to be the one doing the ghosting. I beat her at her own game and damn, if I don’t enjoy that.
Winning is one of the few things I still relish with the same enthusiasm that I did as a younger man. These days, I couldn’t care less about trendy bars or invites to high-profile cocktail parties, but winning?
That never gets old.
“I think I’ll stick to lobster and beer,” I continue. “Leave the flirting to those of you who are already happily coupled. I have too much going on right now to spare the energy for anything else.”
Anthony sobers, his brow furrowing. “How is your mom? I’m sorry I didn’t ask before.”
“It’s fine,” I say, meaning it. “Nothing’s changed, and I doubt it will. The doctor estimates that she has somewhere between six and nine months.”
“I’m so sorry.” Anthony claps me on the back, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “If you can’t stay for the wedding, after all, I understand. It felt like the fact that you were in Sea Breeze on business was a sign you should be my best man, but if you need to get back to your mom, I?—”
“No, it’s fine, I’ll stay,” I assure him. “She wouldn’t want me to miss your wedding. She knows we’ve been friends for a long time. I’ll head back on Wednesday morning, as planned.” I lift my nose, taking an experimental sniff of the air as we join the line of people outside the community center, waiting to purchase tickets to the event. I grunt, my lips turning down as I grudgingly admit, “It smells amazing in there.”
“It’s going to taste even better,” Anthony says, grinning.
“Okay guys, everyone has to try the garlic butter,” Sully calls back to the rest of us from the front of the group. “It’s to die for. Seriously. If you ate it too often, it would kill you.”
“But so worth it. The baby and I need two lobsters, I think,” Sydney says, making her new husband laugh.
Gideon hugs her to his side. “Done. We’ll get extra dessert, too.”
Sydney hums happily as she leans her head on his shoulder. “Just when I think I can’t love you more…”
“Barf,” Maya chirps from where she’s arm-in-arm with Elaina, earning an eyeroll from the knockout in the red dress.
“Oh, stop,” Elaina says. “You and Anthony are every bit as disgusting.”
“Maybe worse,” I agree as Elaina guides Maya to Anthony’s side, reuniting the lovebirds, who embrace with a guilty laugh.
“Fine, but we can’t help it,” Maya says, following Sydney and Gideon toward the front door. “Love does things to a person.”
“Yes, nauseating things,” Elaina agrees sweetly, winning another laugh from the group. “Which is why I will be sitting beside my new buddy, Hunter, at dinner, the better to digest my lobster in peace.” She thumps me on the bicep with the same, chummy energy as my friends from the gym, hopefully nipping any “will they, or won’t they?” speculation in the bud.
“Sounds like an excellent idea,” I say, admiring the skill with which she’s managed to sort out the seating arrangement without making a big deal out of it.
Inside the hall, long tables covered in brown paper and stocked with empty metal buckets for collecting lobster shells, stretch the length of the room. The walls are decorated with fishing nets and buoys, giving the whole place a maritime feel that would feel kitschy if it weren’t so clearly authentic.
The nets are dusty enough to have been hanging here since the old woman selling tickets was a kid, I realize, once we’re seated and I’m granted a closer look at the décor.
I’m so busy studying the dust—and hoping the kitchen is cleaner than the rest of this place—that I don’t notice that everyone else has gone to fetch bowls of chowder until Elaina jabs me in the thigh with one pointy red nail.
“Nice of you to warn me that you’d be here,” she mutters through her teeth, just loud enough for me to hear. “You’re lucky I have an excellent poker face.”
“I tried texting,” I say. “Twice.”
“Did you?” Her lips quirk. “Oh, that’s right. I blocked your number after you left town. Sorry, I forgot.”
I set my freshly-delivered beer down without taking a drink. “You what?”
“Blocked you.” She shrugs, maintaining her pleasant smile as she accepts a glass of sour-smelling white wine from the server, waiting until the older woman hustles away before adding, “But don’t take it personally. I block all my one-night stands. Just to avoid the hassle, you know? It’s easier than trying to remember which Ryan is which when he calls three months later.”
I grunt. “I get it. In your shoes, I likely would have done the same.”
“I figured. Game knows game, my friend.” She holds up a tiny fist between us, arching a brow when I stare at it for what is, apparently, a beat too long. “Fist bump?” At my blank look, her jaw drops. “You don’t know about fist bumps? Where have you been living? Under a rock?”
“On the Upper West Side. Surrounded by very wealthy people who shake hands, as their WASP God intended.”
She smiles. “ Their God… But not yours? Are you Catholic? Jewish? A pagan, who dances naked under the full moon?”
“None of the above,” I say dryly. “I’m not religious.”
“Me, either, much to my late mother’s dismay,” she says with a sigh. “Just another thing we have in common.” She flutters her lashes. “In addition to being shameless sluts who refuse to be tied down. Now, stop flirting with me, the others are on their way back. I know I’m irresistible, but we’re supposed to be playing it cool.”
I take a drink of my beer, concealing my smile.
This woman…
She’s a handful.
And a part of me fucking loves it.
The other part warns that loving anything about Elaina is a mistake I would be a fool to make.
“You want some of my soup?” Maya asks Elaina, motioning toward her bowl as she slides back into her chair. “You know I won’t be able to finish it all. My eyes are always bigger than my stomach when it comes to chowder.”
“No, thanks,” Elaina says, rising to her feet. “I’ll go grab a little cup of my own. You want one, Hunter?” she asks, her tone light, but distant, as if I’m simply the friend of a friend she’s determined to treat with kindness.
“No, thank you,” I say, matching her polite disinterest, note for note. “I’ll wait for the salad course.”
And I do. Only the salad course comes at the same time as the mussel course and soon our entire table is littered with napkins and the shell bucket is overflowing.
Then the lobster arrives, and everyone digs in. Soon, there isn’t a clean space on the butcher paper.
It’s…repulsive.
“You look like you’re going to be sick,” Elaina whispers as the others make fun of the extra-large bib the waitress has just brought over for the very pregnant Sydney. “Don’t you like shellfish?”
“I do,” I mutter. “But this table is…foul.”
She snorts in amusement. “Well yes, but that’s part of the fun, silly. Try to relax and enjoy. Get your hands dirty for once. You might like it.”
“I’ve gotten my hands dirty before. I shoveled shit on our farm as a kid,” I say, watching her dismantle her lobster with the efficiency of a longshoreman.
My own efforts have been…less successful.
My lobster currently has no legs or claws, but I’ve yet to skewer a single bite of the pink crustacean sprawled across my plate.
“A farm boy, huh?” Her forehead furrows. “That’s one I didn’t see coming. But it clearly wasn’t a farm near the ocean, was it? Do you need help, pumpkin?” She casts a pointed look at my plate. “There is a learning curve, and no shame in needing a hand.”
“Thank you, but I’ll manage,” I say, attempting to trap one detached claw in my cracking device, only to send it sailing off the edge of the table.
I glance back to the group at large, grateful to see Elaina is the only one who seems to have noticed my…mishap.
She holds out her hand palm up, curling her fingers. “Give it here before you hurt yourself. Or the lobster. The poor thing’s already dead. At least let it be consumed with dignity.”
I scoot my plate her way, asking as she makes quick work of my former nemesis, “How was the eye exam?”
“Helpful. Annoying. Bossy. But most of all…unexpected.” She finishes with the claws and tail and moves on to the legs, exposing every tiny sliver of meat with just a few deft cracks, like magic. When she’s done, she jabs the tiny lobster fork into the lump of claw meat with an aggressive thwack . “What’s your game, Mendelssohn?”
“No game. Just want the future mother of my child to be able to see, that’s all,” I murmur as I guide my plate back to its original position. “Thank you. This looks delicious.”
“Tastes even better,” she says, skewering a bite from her own plate. “And I’m not your future anything yet, buddy. Don’t you forget it.”
My lips part, but before I can reply, Anthony calls my name from further down the table, “Don’t you think so, Hunter? The hipsters in Brooklyn would lose their minds over a place like this. We should open one in my old neighborhood in Red Hook!”
“There’s a Son’s of Italy hall for sale two blocks from my apartment building,” Maya pipes up, every bit as excited about the idea as her fiancé. “And it has an amazing piece of land in the back. We could do a lobster feed and beer garden!”
“Sounds inspired, if you ask me,” Elaina says, pointing her fork Maya’s way. “Then, you’d have a piece of home right down the street. And the port’s close to your place, right? So, you could get fresh catch delivered pretty easily in the summer?”
“For sure,” Maya says.
The three of them fall into a discussion of how much they’d need to earn to keep the project afloat, just for the fun of it all, and what to do with the space when lobster is out of season, sparing me the need to respond.
For which I am grateful.
Restaurants are notoriously risky investments and not a venture that holds the slightest interest for me. I already have more money than I’ll ever be able to spend, and I enjoy winning too much to set myself up for failure.
I also enjoy watching Elaina dance after dinner way too much for a man who’s supposed to be ignoring the woman in the red dress…
But even shifting my chair to face the wall of filthy nets isn’t enough to keep me from tracking her every movement as she leads one line dance and giggles her way through learning another.
Predictably, every male gaze in the room is trained on her ass, her tits, her smile.
Even the ones looking at her face piss me off.
They should keep their eyes to themselves…
Raging jealousy. Great sign that you’re not getting possessive about this woman, a voice whispers in my head.
I ignore it. I’m always possessive with what’s mine—even if the woman in question is only mine for the night—and jealousy is normal at a time like this. I’m hoping to fuck a baby into this woman.
Other men angling to get their dicks anywhere near her is a direct threat to my own ambitions.
After what seems like a never-ending stream of upbeat country songs, featuring men singing about loving beer and making sweet love to their trucks, the DJ transitions into a slower number, this one about a house under water that seems to be a metaphor for domestic violence. Musically, it’s much better than the cookie-cutter garbage that came before, but I can’t help drawing connections between the beer-and-truck-loving men and the plaintiff voice of the female vocalist, lamenting her lack of a boat to carry her across the water, away from her pain.
Maybe she should leave the beer-and-truck boonies and move to a place with public transportation and better emergency services, the way my mother finally did when I was a teenager.
And maybe if the woman under water leaves now, her children won’t grow up believing love is a dangerous thing, best avoided.
I’m about to lean over and ask Weaver—who has also refused to join the absurdity on the dance floor—if you eventually grow immune to the music, or if my ears will still be bleeding at the end of the night, when I catch sight of a tall guy in a Stetson approaching Elaina on the dance floor.
I straighten, eyes narrowing on the reasonably good-looking younger man, with only a hint of a paunch above his giant belt buckle.
What the fuck is wrong with these people? We’re in Maine, not Texas oil country. What’s with the hats and cowboy jewelry?
“Barnaby Holbrook,” Weaver supplies, making me curse myself again for being so obvious. “Third generation lobsterman. Dumb as rocks, but good guy. We don’t have to worry about him.” He nods toward the opposite corner of the dance floor. “I do like to keep an eye on the skinny redheads over there, though. The Roy brothers. They misbehave when they’ve been drinking and they’re already five beers in. Last time we were at one of these things, Robby Roy grabbed Sully’s ass during ‘Achy Breaky Heart’.”
“And he’s still able to walk?” I ask, only partially kidding. Weaver is borderline obsessed with his fiancé, Sully, and every bit as possessive as I am.
“I was on my way to deck him, but Sully got to his jaw first,” he says, his lips curving as he watches his tall, blonde, and effortlessly beautiful other half cross the room, returning to his side now that everyone else has coupled up for the slow dance. “She doesn’t take any shit, my girl.”
Elaina doesn’t either, but I’m still not sure I’d be able to stop myself from teaching any man who touched her without permission a painful lesson.
Hell, she’s given “Barnaby” her permission, and I still don’t like it. The proprietary way he places his hand on her lower back as they sway back and forth makes my jaw clench. And when he leans down to whisper in her ear, sneaking a peek down the front of her dress in the process, it’s all I can do not to charge the dance floor.
I take a slow pull of my beer, telling myself to look away. This is none of my business. In fact, it’s good if she’s seen dancing with other men. It will help maintain our cover.
Barnaby’s hand slides lower, dangerously close to cupping Elaina’s curvy little backside, and my bottle creaks in protest.
“You two okay over here on the sidelines?” Sully asks as she sags down into the empty seat between us.
“Never been better.” Weaver puts his arm around her shoulder as he passes his beer to her for a drink. “Watching you dance, even to music that makes my ears bleed, is one of my favorite things.”
With a soft laugh, I admit, “I was just thinking the same thing. About the ears bleeding, not about watching Sully dance.”
Sully grins as she hands the beer back to Weaver. “Oh, I know. It’s awful. I grew up listening to country music with my dad on the boat all the time, but it wasn’t like this modern stuff. It was real country. It had heart and soul and grit. A point of view.” She shrugs as her lip curls. “This stuff is so bad it almost feels like a parody, you know? I can’t help but laugh every time one of them mentions a truck. It’s just so ridiculous, I—” Her eyes widen as she glances past me. A beat later, she’s tapping Weaver on the chest. “Uh-oh. Roy brothers alert. Rory just cut in on Barnaby and is drooling on Elaina’s boobs already.”
I shift my focus back to the dance floor, where a skinny redhead with a patchy beard is indeed leering down at Elaina with a slack-mouthed grin. He leans down to say something and she leans back with a slight flinch, making me think his breath must be horrendous.
She responds, then offers what is clearly a forced laugh, before motioning to our side of the room, and trying to step away.
But the mouth breather tightens his grip on her waist, pulling her fully against his lanky frame, making her flinch again.
“I’ll go cut?—”
“I’ll go,” I say before Weaver can finish his sentence, up and out of my chair in seconds.
I cross the floor with measured steps, doing my best to maintain an expression of polite interest. If he plays nice, Rory will never have to see the murder in my eyes. And if not…
Well, I have an excellent lawyer.
“Mind if I cut in?” I murmur once I’m beside them, just loud enough for our small corner of the floor to hear. “Elaina promised me the first slow dance.”
“I did!” Elaina says, widening her eyes my way in silent thanks. “He’s a stuffy guy from the city who’s never slow-danced in his entire life. Can you believe that, Rory? Never!” She laughs one of her infectious laughs even as she presses her palms into his chest with enough force to allow her to twist free. “Isn’t that wild?” She giggles as she sways into me.
I swing her away from Rory with one flex of the arm I wrap around her waist, keeping my focus locked on the drunk man to ensure I’m ready if he decides to start something.
Rory blinks, looking confused for a moment, before his cheeks flush with embarrassment. He glares at me for a beat, his beady brown eyes resentful, but a beat is all it takes for him to realize that he doesn’t want to poke this bear. I’m not only taller and stronger; I’m meaner and a hundred times more dangerous. Despite his intoxication, Rory is apparently able to read that truth in my gaze, and makes a swift departure from the floor, his tail tucked between his legs.
“Thanks for the rescue,” Elaina murmurs, pitching her voice low enough that only I can hear. “But you could have done it in a way that looked less like you were marking your territory.”
“You think?” I sway toward the back of the room, away from the curious gazes of our friends who are still dancing, and Sully and Weaver against the wall. “I find marking my territory is the fastest way to get rid of the competition.”
“Well, yes, but you’re not supposed to be competing for me,” she says. “We’re supposed to be casual acquaintances who are not the slightest bit attracted to each other. That way our friends will never imagine that you’re the man who knocked me up and left me in a very nice penthouse.”
I glance down at her, my lips hooking up on one side. “I believe I said a condo, not a penthouse.”
She smiles, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, yes, but you could afford a penthouse. I did a deep google search on you while I was waiting for my curlers to set. You really are a billionaire. Like buh billionaire with a B. Not a multi-millionaire or just wildly rich. You are obscenely, offensively wealthy.”
“Offensively?” I echo. “You don’t seem offended.”
“That’s because I’m a nice person,” she says. “But I am offended. Billionaires are the bad guys.”
I arch a brow. “Does that include Weaver, Gideon, and Anthony, as well?”
“Weaver, a little, yes, but Sully’s working on adjusting his moral compass. Anthony has already quit the finance racket to be a professor, and Gideon is just a hippy builder who loves the outdoors and happened to get lucky. He didn’t pillage for his wealth.” She gives me a quick up and down before sniffing in disapproval. “Unlike you. You’re like a pirate, raiding and looting and leaving the companies you suck dry worse off than when you found them.”
“Am I a vampire or a pirate?” I ask, unfazed. I’ve heard this argument before, and my conscience remains clear. “You’re mixing your metaphors. You’re also ignoring the fact that if I didn’t take advantage of these opportunities, someone else would. Likely someone who wouldn’t donate to charity as generously as I do. The broken system is what it is. Until it changes, there’s no sense in me changing the way I do business.”
“But if everyone stopped exploiting the broken system, then it would have to change,” she says, her idealism shining in her eyes. “We need a revolution, Hunter.”
“A revolution or a penthouse?” I challenge. “You can’t have both.”
She rolls her eyes. “I was kidding about the penthouse. And I don’t actually expect you to join the resistance, don’t worry. But I will be raising our child to be a bleeding heart who wants to narrow the wealth gap. You shouldn’t be making half a million dollars in passive income every month while kids are kicked off food stamps. It’s disgusting.”
“I agree,” I say, adding in a softer voice. “And you can raise the child any way you please. I’m sure, no matter what moral code you ascribe to, you’ll do an excellent job. As far as I’ve been able to discern, you have an impeccable heart, and I have no doubt you’ll be an amazing mother. Any child would be lucky to have you in their corner.”
She blinks, studying me, before letting out a long slow breath. “You…”
My brows lift.
“You’re trouble,” she says. “Just when I’ve decided you’re irredeemable, you go and say something like that.”
“Something true? I believe in truth.”
“I know you do,” she says, her parted lips offering an invitation that’s hell to refuse. “But it was also kind. Almost…sweet.”
I meet her gaze, holding it as I assure her, “Kindness isn’t a priority, and I’m not sweet, not even close. Assuming that I had a soft underbelly you could uncover with time would be a mistake.”
She bites her lip, making me ache to do the same. “Got it. You’re a bad man.” Her tone grows sultry, teasing as she adds, “Note to self, do not forget that Hunter is a very… Bad… Man.”
And that’s it, as much as I can tolerate without teaching my tempting little brat a lesson.
Before she can do more than suck in a breath of surprise, I’ve whisked her through the back door, out into a small garden area that is, thankfully, invisible from inside.
And dark.
And private.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you remember,” I rumble as I wrap my hand around the back of her neck and tug her mouth to mine.
She comes without hesitation, groaning against my lips as we crash into each other, hot and desperate, our hands roaming as I fuck her pretty mouth with my tongue.
“Damn,” she curses as I kiss my way down her neck, dragging my teeth over her sensitive skin as I squeeze her breast through her dress. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?” I ask. “Make your panties wet with just a kiss?”
“Yes.” She groans again, a hungrier sound this time, a sound of surrender that goes straight to my dick.
I urge her legs up and around my waist, lifting her into the air, and suddenly I’m drowning in the taste of her, the feel of her, the way she wiggles against my erection like she can’t wait for me to slide inside her.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she gasps between kisses. “We’re going to get caught.”
“Quite possibly,” I agree, reaching down to jerk her panties to one side, heart lurching in my chest as her slick heat coats my fingers. “But this soaked little pussy isn’t going to take care of itself.”
“God, yes,” she says, gasping as I shove two fingers deep. “Fuck me, please. I need you inside me. I need it so bad.”
I’m reaching for the close of my pants, ready to give her exactly what she’s asking for, right up against the wall of the Sea Breeze Community Center, when a sweet voice calls, “Elaina? Are you out here?” from the other side of the door.
I have a split second to set Elaina on her feet and drag a hand through my hair as I step away from her before Maya closes the door behind her, exposing us both. Luckily, Elaina has just finished jerking her dress back into place and has somehow managed to get her smeared lipstick to disappear.
To her credit, she even sounds relatively composed as she says, “Yeah, we’re here. Just hiding from the Roy brothers until the slow dancing is over. I didn’t want Hunter to feel obligated to spin me around the floor all night.”
“I’m not much of a dancer,” I add, playing along.
Maya smiles. “Oh, but that’s okay. Anthony and I are both terrible dancers, but we still have fun doing it. You don’t have to be good to have a good time, and we won’t judge.”
I smile. “That’s generous, but I think I’ll head back to my rental. I have some work to take care of early tomorrow, right after the market closes in India.”
“Me, too, Indian markets are top of my list tomorrow,” Elaina says, making me arch a brow and Maya giggle. “No, wait, just kidding, I have to get up at five a.m. to bake scones.” She reaches for Maya, her arms spread wide. “Come here, lady. Give me some sugar and then come get some sugar at the café tomorrow morning whenever you’re up. Mondays are always slow, so we’ll have plenty of time to talk wedding ceremony stuff in between customers.”
“Sounds perfect.” Maya hugs her tight, before they part and start toward the door.
Elaina glances over her shoulder with wide eyes and a big grin that makes it clear she’s a little thrilled that we nearly got caught. “You coming, Hunter?”
No, I’m not, but I was damned close five minutes ago…
Aloud, I say, “No, I think I’ll stay out here for a few more minutes, enjoy the cool sea air. It’s warming up in there.”
“So warm,” Maya agrees. “I’m glad it’s not just me. I’m never wearing a sweater dancing again, even a light, summer sweater.”
After they head inside, closing the door behind them, I roll my shoulders back, take a deep breath, and realize the button on my pants is undone.
Fuck…
I’m going to have to up my game to keep up with this woman. She’s proving to be more of a handful than I bargained for.
And a twisted part of me is loving every minute of it…