Page 60 of Reckless Desire

“Obviously, I couldn’t date in a normal way. Or I believed I couldn’t because while not many of my clients expected sex, I was dating for money. So eighty-two-year-old Priscilla was the perfect solution. We struck up an unconventional friendship. She was something else.” He chuckles sadly. “I even introduced her to Caro. They hit it off.”

A smile lingers on his face as his eyes look nowhere in particular, deeply engrossed in memories.

“I swear I never wanted to con her out of her money. She left it all to me. The apartment and assets. A lot of it. She was cunning, though. She suspected I’d just give most of it away to cancer research in Julia’s honor, so she made a significant donation and conditioned the inheritance with several clauses and stipulations that would make it difficult for me not to accept.”

“It sounds like she really cared. Like you really made a difference in her life.”

“I hope so. Ash was pissed at first. He couldn’t believe he’d trained her for years and I was the one benefiting. He felt like I swept in and got rich on his turf. It took him months before he snapped out of it. Now we work together, so in some way he benefits from the money, too.”

“I can see how Ash might have felt entitled to get a cut, but he was wrong. I don’t think he’d ever use it as smartly as you, building a business that spreads health.” I lift his hand to my face and rub my cheek against it.

“That sounds way too noble. But I’d appreciate it if you’ll allow me to spend a negligible part of it on you, beautiful.” He leans forward and kisses me, gently grazing my lips.

I don’t know if I want to be treated like that by him. Clearly Hunter is now more in London’s and my other siblings’ league, and I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that. It’s not that I’m jealous of their financial success, but it reminds me of what I don’t have and probably never will. Pathetic? Perhaps. Real and raw for me? Definitely.

“Thank you for telling me,” I whisper against his lips. “You’re a good man, Hunter Stuart.”

“Don't idealize me, beautiful. After Julia’s diagnosis I had to grow up fast. But believe me, I was an immature party-seeker before. I was sleeping around before the escort gig. More than when I was a paid companion.”

“Jesus. Let’s ease up on the honesty now.” My heart gallops in my chest like a spooked horse. If I was worried about measuring up to his expectations in the bedroom before, I’m ready to run now.

Hunter throws his head back, laughing. “You got pale, beautiful. Imagine the benefits you’ll reap from my training.” He winks.

Jesus, this man. “What is the surprise detour?” I try to recover my composure, involuntarily doing Kegel exercises.

“Right.” He pulls me up and drags me outside. I stumble and giggle all the way to our destination. Somehow this man riles me up with his brutal boldness, and then he relaxes me immediately.

Muffled music greets us as we enter a dark diner. Hunter leads me to the back corridor and the song gets louder. As we descend a flight of stairs, a thousand butterflies flutter through my chest and stomach.

Slow eighties music bounces off the walls in an intimate underground club. Several couples sway on a small dance floor.

“May I have this dance?” Hunter bows and leads me to join the other dancers. He holds me to him.

Tight. Possessive. Overwhelming.

“You remember…” I fight tears, clinging to him like my life depends on it.

“Of course. I don’t want you to ever miss dancing again,” he whispers in my ear.

He twirls me and pushes me away, only to pull me close again. He leads us through the rhythm with confidence and playfulness. Two people synchronized by the beat of music and its echoes in our hearts. We don’t need to chase connection because it’s there. Simply. Naturally. With ease and abandon.

In that moment, I realize with chilling certainty my heart is irrevocably at risk.

ChapterTwenty

Hunter

Iwas pissed when Sydney suggested we split the bill. What the hell? But in the end, it led to a conversation that cleared the air a bit. It also opened up another channel of intimacy between us, and who would have thought that laughing and swaying at the club would deepen it even further.

Taking her dancing could have backfired. The last thing I wanted was to remind Sydney of her late husband. But as I held her in my arms, gliding along the floor, all my worries dissipated.

I’ve never been a fan of dancing, but with her it might become an addiction. Everything about her has slightly unhealthy habit-forming tendencies. And we’ve yet to get to the bedroom. If I’ve picked up on Sydney’s occasional blushes and shy looks correctly, her head isn’t yet completely on board with the idea.

Case in point—as we ride the hotel elevator to our floor, the air is as thick with need and hunger as the last time, and her eyes again hold that tinge of nervousness. When I trace my finger down her spine, she tenses, and an almost inaudible gasp escapes her. The sound sends a direct message to my pants and the pressure behind my zipper is almost painful.

I’ve waited to spend the night with her for so long. For years I denied myself even the hope that it could happen. I’m still not sure if we’re heading toward disaster, especially after the altercation with the fucking principal.

But there is no denial anymore. Sydney stares at the door, practically vibrating with anticipation and a dose of hesitation beneath it. Dancing relaxed her, but she looks like she is considering bolting.

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