Chapter 9
nine
HUNTER
I no longer have to work for a living—I’ve been independently wealthy for most of the past decade—but I enjoy my job. The thrill of the financial kill never gets old, but being cooped up in an office certainly does.
I rarely work a full day anymore, but I do work almost every day, and I can’t remember the last time I took off on a Thursday. Thursday is a day when things happen, when everyone’s pushing to finish business before the weekend.
But I have no problem calling to let my assistant know that I’m taking an extra day off, this morning. Elaina is a handful and can’t be trusted to follow directions without clear and explicitly-outlined boundaries.
Or so I tell myself as I wake her with a cup of coffee, telling her to get dressed for a tour of the neighborhood.
“A tour,” she murmurs, blinking sleepily as I open the drapes, revealing the sun-drenched city below. “Sounds fun. Will there be snacks?”
“I will feed you, yes, but this isn’t for fun,” I say. “It’s to make sure you stay away from places where you might be seen by someone we know. Weaver and Anthony don’t come to this neck of the woods often, but when they do, they’ll be passing within a few blocks of the building to head to meetings and the like. Therefore, you will need to make sure you stay away from those areas.”
She gives a little salute. “Sir, yes, sir. Ready to have no fun at all, sir.”
Despite my promise not to fall under this woman’s flirtatious spell, I find my lips curving as I say, “Fine. Tiny amount of fun. But then, right back to the grindstone for you.”
“The grindstone… Is that what they’re calling it these days?” She grins at me over the rim of her mug, and I can’t help but laugh. She takes a sip, humming as she swallows. “This is delicious. You make a mean cup of coffee, drill sergeant.”
“Thanks,” I say. “One of my many hidden talents.”
Her brown eyes dance with trouble. “In addition to knowing exactly how to grind your stone?”
“Damn straight,” I say, my voice huskier. I’m tempted to grind her stone right now, before she has a chance to put on pants. But if we start up again, I’m not sure I’ll be able to get out of bed before noon. She’s…addictive that way. “Up and at ‘em, Murphy. You’re burning daylight.”
She salutes again before rolling out of bed, coffee still in hand. I’m treated to a tempting flash of her ass as her silk shorts ride up in the back on my way out, a fact that has me hard by the time I reach the kitchen.
This woman…
She does things to me.
Things the grueling summer heat will hopefully tamp down as we walk the city streets.
Thirty minutes later, the sun is indeed beating down on our heads without mercy as I guide Elaina up Eighty-Second Street, doing my best to ignore how good she looks in her vintage sundress.
The pale, yellow cotton hugs her curves in a way that’s almost obscene. I’ve already caught three different men giving themselves whiplash as they wheeled their heads around to get a better look at her ass.
Not that I blame them.
That ass is a work of art.
But that doesn’t stop the caveman urge to punch them from rising in my chest. I glare at the last one with such menace, that when he finally rips his gaze from Elaina’s body long enough to realize he’s been caught, he flinches like I’ve struck him.
He lifts a hand in a silent show of surrender, keeping his gaze on the pavement as he gives us a wide berth.
Elaina chuckles as she murmurs, “Where were you when I was seventeen and creepy old men used to follow me around the theme park?”
“I was thirty-three and staying far away from teen girls,” I say, the reminder of our age gap enough to make me feel slightly ashamed of myself for how often I’ve thought about being inside her this morning. But only slightly… “When you come out by yourself, please wear something less conspicuous.”
She hums thoughtfully. “And why would I want to do that? I’m not afraid of creepy old men anymore.” She casts a flirty glance my way beneath her lashes. “I actually like some of them.”
“And I like knowing that you aren’t going to get assaulted,” I say seriously. “New York isn’t as safe as it was even ten years ago. And if something happened to you, I’d have to kill someone, and going to prison would interfere with many of my future plans.”
Her gaze softens, and there’s a hint of vulnerability in her tone as she murmurs, “That’s sweet.”
“Threatening murder?”
“Yes,” she says. “A guy wanting to unalive other guys for touching you without permission is hot.” She smiles before declaring in a deceptively innocent voice, “I’m at least twenty percent wetter than I was a second ago.”
I arch a warning brow and she giggles.
“Brat,” I whisper.
“What? I’m not lying…” She slides her hand into mine, a gesture that feels surprisingly intimate.
I’m even more surprised when my fingers close around hers, holding on as we round the corner, turning onto the shady side of the next street.
“Our first stop, the library,” I say, motioning toward the historic building ahead. “It’s quiet, air-conditioned, and you’re highly unlikely to run into anyone we know. The reading room on the second floor has nice natural light and comfortable chairs, and they recently installed a small sandwich shop on the main floor.”
She arches a brow my way. “Sounds good. But how do you know about the reading room if you’re never here?”
“I didn’t say I was never here,” I say. “Just that you’re unlikely to run into anyone else that we know. I’ve found my peers tend to avoid public places where the homeless use the restroom.”
Her lips curve. “Right. And finance bros are allergic to actual books, right? They prefer to read on screens or have a crypto currency podcast blasted directly into their pre-frontal cortex.”
“Exactly.”
“But you like turning pages?” she asks as we pause at the crosswalk in front of the library steps.
“I do,” I say. “I find it relaxing.”
“Me, too,” she says. “And I like the smell of real books. And I mean, I have taken an e-reader into the bath before, but it’s risky.”
“Very,” I agree. “I stopped after I dropped the second one in the water.”
She laughs, the sound drawing more male attention from farther down the block. “Same. We should start a book club while I’m here.” She bobs her brows. “We could read something steamy together. Help set the mood.”
“I don’t think I need any help in that department,” I say, making her laugh again.
“Me, either,” she says. “So, where to next? Or is the library my only option?”
“Of course not,” I say, guiding her across the street. “A single location wouldn’t be much of a tour. We have several stops left to go.”
“Oh good! I’m enjoying it so far. It’s more peaceful here than down near Union Square, where Sydney and Gideon live. I like it. Feels homier. More private.”
“And less like a tourist attraction,” I agree, pleased that she shares my appreciation for the Upper West Side.
Not everyone enjoys the peace, but it’s the only thing that’s made staying in the city possible for me. I ran out of patience for the constant bustle halfway through my thirties, thankfully just as I came into the kind of money that would allow me to move out of the financial district and into the penthouse of my dreams.
I show Elaina several restaurants where she’ll be safe from prying eyes, including an excellent sushi place, a diner specializing in omelets, and a Jamaican jerk chicken spot that looks like a hole in the wall but serves some of the best coco bread I’ve ever tasted. We sample the bread with a plate of jerk chicken for lunch, and Elaina agrees that every bite is delicious.
As we circle back toward home in the early afternoon, I point out the third best grocery store in the area—also safe, and still excellent and well-stocked—and a stationary store she might find interesting.
Finally, we arrive at our final stop, a hideous office building that looks like the concrete box where hope went to die.
“Well, this is…not the prettiest place,” she says, her brows drawing together as her gaze tracks up the facade and rows of tiny windows.
“It’s depressing as hell,” I agree. “I’d jump out a window if I worked in one of those offices. But there’s a hidden gem on the third floor. Come on.”
She follows me toward the entrance. “Yeah, I think I would want to jump, too, but good luck getting out one of those tiny windows.”
We debate which came first—the depressing building that spurred the tiny windows as a suicide deterrent, or if the tiny windows, which made the building depressing—and emerge from the elevator on the third floor, grinning at our shared love of dark speculation.
“Oh wow!” Elaina’s eyes light up as she scans the brightly lit atrium and small food court. “This is a gem. And is that a shave ice, place? We used to have one of those on the pier, but it closed down a few years ago. I miss it. I love a snow cone on a hot summer day.”
“A shave ice is not a snow cone,” I say, leading the way toward Poke and Ice, the Hawaiian-themed food court offering. “It’s a delicacy, and theirs are excellent. Nearly as good as the one I had the last time I was in Kauai.”
“Well, well, someone’s passionate about frozen treats,” she teases as we take our place at the end of the short line waiting for counter service.
“I’m passionate about excellence in all things. Mediocrity offends me.”
“I figured,” she says, nodding as if I’ve confirmed something she already suspected about me. “You’re a snob.”
I grunt. “A snob wouldn’t be eating at a food court. Or a jerk chicken place with grease an inch thick on the wall.”
“Oh, yes he would,” she says, undeterred. “If he were a quality snob, not a price-triggered snob. It’s okay, I’m a quality snob, too. You should see the way hand-milled flour cuts into my bottom line at the café. But it makes a difference. Same with dark chocolate chips and vanilla. It’s the good stuff, or nothing at all.”
“Agreed,” I say, trying to ignore how good she smells as she sways closer, like sweet flowers, a hint of coconut, and summer sunshine.
When we reach the front of the line, Joey, the owner, greets me by name. “Hunter, what’s up, brother? You having the usual?” he asks, already reaching for a block of ice.
“Yes, please, Joey,” I say. “And whatever my friend would like.”
“What’s the usual?” Elaina asks as she studies the menu board, nibbling at her bottom lip as she considers her options. “Everything sounds so good!”
“I do the lilikoi and lime with fresh mint and a scoop of vanilla ice cream at the center.”
Her eyes go wide. “Damn, that sounds good. How would you feel about adding a touch of cherry into that mix, Joey?”
“I’d feel great about that,” he booms, his tanned face breaking into an even wider grin. “You’ve got good taste, woman.” He winks as he adds, “So what are you doing with this maniac?”
She laughs as she loops her arm through mine. “I haven’t decided what I’m doing with him yet, but you have the maniac part right.” She grins up at me as she adds, “There’s a stone-cold weirdo under this deceptively business bro exterior.”
I grunt noncommittally and mutter, “Takes one to know one, maniac.”
Elaina laughs and Joey joins in. He also gives us each a snow cap free of charge, seemingly pleased to see me not ordering solo for once.
A few minutes later, we’re settled at a small table near one of the potted palms that dot the food court, and I’m watching Elaina take her first bite of proper shave ice.
Her lashes flutter as the flavors hit her tongue.
“Oh my God,” she moans, the sound sending heat straight to my dick. “This is amazing. The ice is so fluffy. Is that the right word? And the passionfruit is perfect with the cherry and lime, and that cream on top…” She takes another bite, humming with pleasure. “Damn, I’m a fan. Big fan.” She shivers. “Though it would be nicer if it were a little less frigid in here. Why do they keep the air-conditioning set so low in office buildings? Are they trying to make everyone’s nipples hard?”
My gaze drops to her chest of its own accord, where her nipples are indeed straining through the thin cotton, the sight enough to make me thicker.
“I knew you couldn’t help yourself,” she murmurs, her tone pure temptation. “I knew you’d look.”
“I’m a man, not a superhero, Elaina,” I say, making her laugh. I drag my attention back to my shave ice. “Let’s go. We’re nearly back to my building. We can eat on the pool deck. It’s nice and warm up there.”
“Sounds good,” she says, rising from her chair.
Just five minutes later we’re stepping out onto the rooftop, where residents can enjoy the pool during the summer and barbeque stations, firepits, and an abundance of posh outdoor seating year-round.
“This is swanky, too,” she says, gazing around the abandoned expanse. “Why is it deserted?”
“Well, it’s nearly a hundred degrees outside,” I say dryly.
She shoots me a narrow look before rolling her eyes. “Yes, I know. But there’s a pool for staying cool, smartass. A very nice-looking pool.”
“The pool is usually empty until later in the afternoon, when some of the mothers bring their kids up after school or camp,” I explain. “Adult-only hours start at four, but you won’t see many people out until later. Most of the residents here work traditional hours.”
Elaina wanders toward the edge of the brick wall surrounding the large patio, gazing out over the park. “Well, it’s certainly gorgeous up here. I won’t mind being the only one lounging by the pool while you’re at work during the week.” She glances my way as she slips another bite of shave ice between her lips, swallowing before she adds in a sultry voice, “Though I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to play hooky and lounge with me. We could rub sunscreen on each other as foreplay.”
“That could be arranged,” I murmur, watching as a single bead of sweat slips down her elegant neck beneath her ponytail. The carnal part of me wants to lick it away before lifting her skirt and taking her against the brick wall.
But that would be insane.
And there are cameras up here, I remind the feral part of myself that insists it doesn’t care about sanity. All it cares about is getting back inside this woman as soon as possible.
She turns, stepping so close that I can see the flecks of gold in her eyes, smell the lingering sweetness of passionfruit and cherry on her breath.
“Thank you for today,” she whispers. “I enjoyed seeing your secret places.”
“They’re your secret places now, too,” I say, the roughness in my voice giving my thoughts away.
Her gaze darkens in recognition. “What are you thinking about, Mr. Mendelssohn? Decided you might want to read a sexy book together, after all?”
“Something like that,” I say, letting my hunger take control. I tip my nearly empty cup, letting a drop of the melted ice fall onto her collarbone.
She sucks in a breath.
“Though I confess I prefer doing to reading,” I murmur, bending to lick the sweetness away.
Her head falls back with a moan as my tongue laves across her warm skin. She arches closer, her breasts pressing against my chest as her arms twine around my neck. “Don’t stop,” she whispers when I pull back to gaze down at her flushed face.
“I have to,” I say. “We still have one more stop on the approved locations tour.”
She swallows, her pulse fluttering in her throat. “Where’s that?”
“My bedroom.”