Page 25 of Tame Me

I huffed as I rolled my eyes and instantly regretted it. The last thing I wanted to do was talk about Alexander.

“Ooooh, maybe not, huh?” The softness in his gaze made my heart melt, and in the time it took the elevator to reach the lobby, I swear the tiny, mirrored cube heated up several notches.

The elevator doors pinged open, providing the perfect distraction from his question, and as we walked side by side to the Triple H Bar, I resisted looking over at reception.

As if we’d planned it, we both headed toward the barstools we’d sat in last time. He pulled one out for me to sit and placed his hand on my shoulder. “Would you like a wine? Shaw & Smith, isn’t it?”

He remembered! “Yes, please.”

Hunter turned away, and it was impossible not to admire his bottom as his cheeks bulged and flexed beneath his khaki chinos.

He leaned on the counter to place his order with Tania, and despite his checkered button-up shirt, the toning in his arms was unmissable. He smiled, and once again, I was reminded that Hunter McCall could be the lead actor in one of those survival shows.

Carrying an ice bucket with a bottle of wine in it and two wine glasses crossed over at the top, he returned, placed it on the bar in front of us, and slipped onto the stool at my side. Our knees touched, and my heart fluttered at the familiarity of this simple move.

He filled our glasses, handed one to me, and held up his own glass. “Cheers.”

We chinked them together. “Cheers.”

As I sipped my wine, I studied Hunter’s hand around the stem of the glass. His fingers were strong, manly, and his nails were neatly trimmed. I couldn’t wait to get those hands on me, in me. I nearly giggled at my naughty thought.

“What are you smiling at?”

“Oh, ummm . . . nothing.”

“It didn’t look like nothing.” He raised one eyebrow, and I had a feeling he could wait out my answer all night.

I decided on the truth and hoped like hell I wouldn’t seem like a fool. “I was just thinking how glad I was that I called you.”

When he smiled, his whole face lit up, and his eyes twinkled in the discreet bar lighting. “I didn’t think you were ever going to call.” He reached his hand forward and placed it on my knee just below the hem of my dress.

His hand was warm, and my heart did a little dance. Hunter had a hint of a warrior in him, a man who'd do anything to save a loved one, yet he combined that with a visible softness.

“Did you want to tell me about your weekend?” His eyes were vivid blue, and in the red lighting, the edges faded to an interesting violet color. But most of all, his eyes showed his genuine interest in my answer, and after a quick mental debate, I decided I wanted to tell him.

I wanted him to know everything about me.

But that was impossible. Hunter knew me as Memphis.

Fighting a knot in my throat, I said, “I had to go home for my dad’s sixtieth.”

His dark eyebrows drew together. “You don’t get on with your parents?”

“They’re okay, but they invited my ex to the party.”

“Oh.” He clicked his fingers. “The cheating bastard ex-fiancé.”

I burst out laughing. “Wow, you have a good memory.”

“Yes, so I’ve been told. What happened?”

As we sipped glass after glass of wine, I relayed everything that had happened, from the heated encounter with Chelsea-Lea to dropping Alexander to the kitchen floor.

Hunter was a great listener, and it felt so right telling him about my whole weekend. But at the end of my story, I sipped my wine and wondered if the brutality of my two encounters over the weekend made me sound like a psycho nutter.

“I’d say you had a great weekend.”

I blinked at him. “Really?”

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