Adie Ashby-Tate was.
Oh, he’d known who she was the moment he stepped into the ballroom of the Grantham-Forrester. He instantly recognized her from Kate’s incessant social media posts. And who else but the owner of the company would be the last to leave?
With her shaggy, short espresso-colored curls cut close to her head and her delicate features, she reminded him of a young Audrey Hepburn. Her skin was a deep shade of cream, and her eyes...
He ran his hand through his hair and blew out a long stream of air. Those eyes... Jesus, they were gorgeous. Against her luminous skin, they were the color of dark coffee beans tipped onto winter snow.
Her body, slim but curvy, had been a revelation and she’d fit him perfectly, as if she were a puzzle piece he hadn’t known he was missing.
Puzzle piece, luminous skin, the action in his pants... How old was he, thirty-five or fifteen?
Hunt rubbed his hand over his jaw. He’d been immediately attracted to her looks, but catching her at the end of her event, he’d seen the woman beneath the salesperson, a woman more down-to-earth than he’d expected for someone completely immersed in their world, his world.
It was a place laced with over-the-top opulence, fantastic service and unforgettable experiences. It was a world of excess and bling, instant gratification, pride and arrogance. According to his online research, her father was a British lord, her mother an American tobacco heiress and she was their only child. Adie’s mother was a former famous model, her father was once—before inheriting a fortune from his parents—a professional polo player. These days, her father didn’t seem to do much of anything, choosing to hop from superyacht to superyacht, mansion to mansion in the pursuit of pleasure, accompanied by a variety of young, busty women.
Their daughter was very much a product of that rich, aristocratic world. Adie’s dress, a shorty frothy number, had been designer, and fat diamond studs had glinted in her pretty earlobes. Her perfume was expensive and her accent was upper-class British, thoroughly classy. She was the real deal, a proper aristocrat and, although he hadn’t seen her working the room, Hunt knew she’d done it with grace and charm.
He should’ve introduced himself, that much was obvious, but if he had, he wouldn’t have gotten to kiss her, hold her slim body against his, feel her sleek curves under his shaky fingers. He’d been surprised at her offer to go upstairs—because she hadn’t seemed the type—but he’d wanted to accept her unexpected offer, because, hell, that kiss blew his socks off.
Knowing that she needed to know who she was going to bed with—a potential client, one of the most influential business people in the city, according to Kate—he’d been about to introduce himself when her damn phone rang.
He’d watched as a frisson of fear and wariness replaced lust in her eyes and he’d seen his chance slipping away.
By the time she’d finished her conversation, it was obvious she was having second thoughts about what she’d proposed. So, he’d kissed her goodbye, knowing he’d see her again in less than eighteen hours.
And that they’d soon be picking up where they’d left off.
Hunt massaged the tight knot in his right trapezius muscle, thinking that he had work to do, lots of it. But, because he was acting like an adolescent, he couldn’t stop thinking about Adie’s sweet and sensuous kiss. It had been the sexiest of his life and, had they gotten to the really good stuff, Hunt thought there would have been a good chance of them setting the hotel on fire.
It had been that hot.
He couldn’t remember when last, if ever, he’d had that same take-her-to-the-floor reaction to a woman. He’d been busy lately and hadn’t slept with anyone but Griselda for more than a year, not because he was committed to her or their arrangement—he wasn’t—but because he’d been too busy to bother.
Right now, he’d ditch everything...
EVERY.
THING.
...to take Adie Ashby-Tate to bed.
Hunt released a frustrated growl, annoyed that he couldn’t move his focus and concentration onto anything other than a gorgeous woman with big brown eyes and a pixie face.
This wasn’t who he was, wasn’t what he did. He was never distracted by women and he never allowed them to affect his productivity. Work was all that was important.
He had several companies to run, a legacy to create, goals to reach. People—women, friends, acquaintances—sucked up time when he could be working. But here he was, completely distracted.
God.
Help.
Him.
Hunt heard the door to his office open and looked up as his long-time assistant approached his desk, staring down at his tablet. “So, Griselda is off the list of people for whom I must purchase a Christmas gift? Is that correct?”
Very. “Yep.”
Hunt noticed the curiosity in Duncan’s eyes, but didn’t explain that he’d broken off his two-year—Fling? Liaison? Affair?—with Griselda a few days earlier when she’d asked him to consider co-raising a child with her. His “hell no” had been rather emphatic and his ending of their fling/liaison/affair had been the vehement exclamation point on that subject.
Honestly, people exhausted him.
He’d thought he’d hit the jackpot with Griselda. Thanks to his bouncing between foster families and group homes as a kid, his short but drama-filled marriage, and his best friend and business partner’s death, he’d deliberately chosen a woman who made no demands, financial or emotional. And Gris never had. Until the other day when she’d asked him to father her child.
And all thoughts of his ex faded on meeting Adie last night...
Duncan pursed his lips. “Well, not buying Griselda an expensive piece of art or jewelry should save you a pretty penny.”
Hunt swallowed his smile and hoped his expression remained inscrutable. Even after so many years as his PA, Duncan still acted as if Hunt were on the knife-edge of slipping into debt. Since he had enough money for a hundred lifetimes, even if he chose never to work another day in his life, Duncan’s penny-pinching and cost-cutting attitude was a constant source of amusement.
Leaning back in his chair, Hunt looked up and noticed a deeper worry in Duncan’s eyes, something more intense than the cost of gifts. Duncan was almost as stoic and implacable as Hunt so seeing his stressed face was a surprise.
“Everything okay?” Hunt asked, sitting up and leaning forward.
Duncan gripped the back of the visitor’s chair and shook his head. “I just got an email... Uh, my first partner, the man I thought I was going to marry, is in the hospital after suffering from what they are calling a brain episode. For some reason, and although we haven’t been together for more than fifteen years, he designated me to make any medical decisions if he’s incapacitated. And, he’s incapacitated.”