Treasured by Thursday (Weekday Brides Series Book 7) (15 page)

For the first time since Hunter’s arrival, Val chuckled.

Simona offered a disapproving scowl but didn’t pull Hunter back into a discussion about his family after Gabi quickly changed the subject.

Later, once Hunter and Gabi both pleaded exhaustion after traveling and a busy week, Meg sat on the balcony veranda of their private home on the island.

Meg stretched out on a double lounge, arms above her head, when Val emerged from inside.

The sea lapped up on the shore, and the temperature, even in mid-November, was mild enough to lounge outside without more than a nightgown and a bathrobe.

Meg patted the space beside her, inviting her husband.

He’d shrugged out of his jacket and tie. Still the starched shirt was there, but opened enough to display the sexy edge of a chiseled chest.

With a heavy sigh, he tucked her into the safety of his arms. She didn’t wait long to say what they were both thinking.

“You’re starting to like him.”

He grunted . . . just like his mom, and Meg had to stop from laughing out loud.

“He didn’t want to speak of his family.”

Meg shrugged. “Have you met mine? Not exactly mention-worthy.”

Val kissed the top of her head. “I don’t want to like him,
bella
.”

“He’s attentive to Gabi. The second she started to yawn, he made excuses.”

“To get her alone.”

Meg shook her head and watched the slow speed of the moon dance over the cloudless sky. “If he wanted her alone, he wouldn’t have brought her here. Besides, there’s nothing going on between them.”
Not yet anyway.

“How can you tell?”

“Your sister is much more transparent than you give her credit for. And Hunter was way too tense for a man who’s getting lucky.”

Val groaned again.

This time Meg did giggle.

“Why must you make me think of my sister and sex?”

“She’s a grown woman, Val. Chances are, the last experience she had was with that asshole, Alonzo. Pity that!”

Meg noticed Val’s eyes squeezed tight.

She placed a hand on his chest and kneaded the muscles under her fingertips.

“I don’t want to like the man. He’s bullied my sister into marriage. I know it.”

Yeah, Meg thought the same thing. “Still, he’s clueless.”

“He’s a billionaire on his own accord. No family money to speak of.”

“Still clueless. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have brought her here. She’s safe here, even if she doesn’t feel it yet. If Hunter Blackwell truly meant to harm your sister, this is the last place he would have taken her for a fake honeymoon.”

“Unless she left him no choice.”

Meg lifted her knee over Val’s stretched-out leg and inched it north. “If that’s the case, then you need to give your sister credit. Blackwell is out of his league here.” Meg inched her fingers under Val’s shirt and rubbed the skin she found. “Enough about your sister and her husband.”

Meg caught Val’s grunt with her lips and made him forget about everything but the two of them.

Remington stood in the center of Miami International, plane ticket in his hand. The phone rang and rang . . . finally, he heard Blackwell’s voice.

A recording.

Fuck.

He waited for the beep. “Columbia sucks this time of year. I expect severance pay for this shit. Checking out account number one. Will hit account number two soon.”

He hesitated, then smiled. “Italy sounds good. Better call me soon if you don’t want me there. It’s your dime.”

Remington hung up, smiled.

He loved his job.

Chapter Fourteen

The calm waters held no break to speak of, so Gabi swam a good half a mile from shore before turning on to her back to float.

The water was nourishment for her skin. The tang of salt water in her eyes, on her tongue was the taste of home.

She missed it.

Her family’s interference and constant questioning the night before had kept a smile on her face all evening and even into her dreams.

The sun was still low on the horizon when she’d left the villa after the first decent night’s sleep since she’d agreed to marry. Her husband was still sound asleep in his room.

She let the quiet waters lull her as she floated. The pull of the sea inched her closer to shore.

Water filled her ears, masking the sound around her.

The sound of a gasp and several strong strokes against the water splashed, bringing her relaxed position in the water to high alert.

She heard her name.

Hunter swam her way, his arms and chest bare. Only when he was on her did his stunned expression alarm her.

“What happened?”

His hand gripped her arm, tight. “Are you? Damn . . . you were still. I called your name.”

Gabi kicked her feet, keeping herself afloat. “You thought . . . ?”

His grip tightened. “You didn’t respond.”

She moved her free hand to the one holding her. “I enjoy a morning swim.” She looked around them. “Besides, the sharks aren’t on this side of the island,” she teased.

“That’s not funny, Gabi.”

He was worried. Really alarmed.

“I’ve spent many years of my life in these waters, Hunter. I’m fine.”

“I saw you floating.”

She grinned. “And you came out here to rescue me.”

Hunter managed to stay afloat and cover his eyes with his hands. “You’re killing me, lady.”

“You try to be such a tough guy. In control of everything.”

He shook his head, offered a glare. “I thought you were shark meat out here.”

She laughed, kicked her feet. “Shark-infested island waters aren’t a selling point to my brother’s guests.”

For a moment, they swam in place and stared at each other.

The clear water made her realize that Hunter had jumped in with only boxer shorts. On the shore, she noticed clothing carelessly heaped into a pile.

“Are you a good swimmer?” she asked.

“I manage.”

She started to move. “Last one to shore cooks breakfast.” She ducked under the water and came up to hear him sputter.

“I don’t coo—” He gave chase, not letting the words finish.

Halfway to shore, he’d caught up, his arms stronger, his strokes taking the water and using it to propel him forward.

Still, her home-court advantage helped keep her in the race, but Hunter managed to crawl up on the white sandy shore before she did.

He sat with his arms resting on his knees, his lungs sucking in air.

The gentle waves brought her on shore with some grace. She felt Hunter’s eyes watching her as she pulled herself from the water. The bikini hadn’t had much use since she’d left her brother’s island. The fact that the strips of material didn’t hug her curves as well as they once had was a testimony to the weight she’d lost. Putting it back on hadn’t been a priority.

Instead of dwelling on the condition of her frame, she sat next to Hunter and let the white sand take up residence on her skin. “Next time I get a two second head start,” she told him.

“Five,” he countered. His sharp gaze dipped to her chest and lingered.

She couldn’t help the fidget. When was the last time someone other than a doctor looked at her in as little as a bikini?

“What would you cook me . . . if you’d lost?”

He turned his attention away from her chest and back to her eyes. “Crepes . . . maybe a Belgian waffle.”

It was Gabi’s turn to stare. His straight face and stoic delivery of menu choices had her stunned.

“Crepes?” Even she had no real idea how to manage crepes.

A ghost of a smile started at one corner of his lips and spread. For the first time since she’d met the man, that grin found his eyes.

“If only you could see the shock in your eyes,” he said.

“Crepes?”

He bust. A larger-than-life laugh erupted.

She closed her eyes and envisioned Val’s room service menu.

Gabi swept her hand along the sand, sending a plume of dust his way.

“Hey.” He shot sand her way in retaliation.

“Can you cook anything for yourself?”

“Does coffee count?”

She rolled her eyes. Don’t get mad, she told herself . . . get even. “If you want to get on my mother’s good side, plead ignorance in the kitchen. She’s a sucker for a helpless man in the kitchen.”

“Offering tips on making your family happy?”

She leaned back on her elbows, mirroring his stance. “We’re in this for eighteen months. Might as well find some peace.”

“Hmmm.”

She tilted her head toward the sun. “Besides . . . I miss the island.”

She caught him looking at her through the corner of his eyes. He diverted his gaze to the ocean.

“I couldn’t tell you the last time I sat in the sand.”

“Hard to sand sit when you’re playing millionaire.”

He laughed.

“Sorry, billionaire.” It was hard to wrap her head around his net worth. Money had never been a primary need in her life . . . but then again, she’d always had it. She’d read his portfolio . . . knew he’d made the majority of his worth on his own.

“One more zero.”

“Two more. I crunched the numbers myself.”

Hunter rolled onto his side, caught the side of his face in a sandy hand, and stared with amusement on his lips. “What numbers were those?”

“We can start with the Carlton takeover. The most profitable project to date.” The soft grin on his face slid. “Sam suggested I dig a little deeper into that one. Seems there was much more to Blackwell Enterprises’ merger with Carlton Ammunitions than what sat on the surface.”

His eyes drifted to the sand, where she noticed him drawing circles with his nearly dry fingers.

“I was fresh out of college when we merged with Carlton.”

“Merged and then imploded.”

“I didn’t implode.”

No, he halted sales of ammunition to many retail chains, and then manufactured and sold, nearly exclusively, to the government. Carlton held the majority of stock in the company to domestic sales. Only the government needed ammo. And the company took contracts from the US of A, and domestic sales hit an all-time millennium bottom. Within two years, Blackwell bought out Carlton completely.

“Carlton knew the risk. He didn’t wager using his brain.”

“If not his brain . . . what?” She honestly wanted to know. From the outside, it appeared Hunter knew the government contracts were coming and pounced on Carlton when sales were low.

“He never wagered on the people losing their desire to own weapons. By the time the people made a run for ammo . . . there wasn’t anything available for them to buy.”

“Because of your contracts with the government.” It made sense now.

“Blackwell isn’t the only ammunition manufacturer.”

His defensive tone made her pause. “No. I suppose you’re not.”

He frowned, kept drawing circles. Some took the shape of bullets.

“Do you sell to offshore buyers?”

He shrugged. “I’m not in daily contact with Blackwell/Carlton Ammunitions.”

Translation . . . yes.

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

He set his hand in the sand and caught her gaze. “Does your brother offer a vacation destination exclusively to Americans? Italians?”

Her jaw dropped, and she promptly closed it.

“It’s business, Gabi. Toyota sells to America, McDonalds sells in India.”

“We’re not talking cars and burgers. We’re talking bullets.”

“If the country is an ally, what’s the problem?”

Alonzo popped into her head. As much as she’d love to forget the man, she couldn’t. “An ally today can be an enemy tomorrow.”

He paused, waited for her to look his way. “I don’t know the future of our world affairs any more than you do.”

That was fair . . . she supposed. “You still managed the merger right as the political winds shifted.”

“I read the papers. Carlton didn’t. Sue me.”

“You rolled your millions like dice on a craps table. Pulled out of real estate months before the crash. You took less than a five percent hit with the stock market crash.”

He smiled. “Four point—”

“Six two . . . I know.” Down to the penny, she thought. “You were up two point eight in eleven months. While everyone else was trying to keep their companies from capsizing, you thrived.” She’d be impressed if she didn’t wonder how. The numbers were there. What she couldn’t find was all the backing behind them. Many folders were simple headings of names of countries and companies in languages she didn’t know.

Her mind shifted, thinking in numbers. “You have offshore accounts.” It wasn’t a question.

“I have a branch in London.”

“Not London.” She waved in his direction, her head ticking. “Of course. That would make sense.” Money converted from more than two currencies lost weight by the time it met the US. Yeah, the government wanted its share. But how much could Blackwell hide before Uncle Sam caught on?

Too bad Gabi hadn’t followed this train of thought before meeting with Hunter the first time. Then again, what did it matter? He still had something on her.

She’d be better off working on her own offshore accounts. The ones she knew very little about instead of the ones Hunter had.

“What makes sense?” he asked.

She settled her eyes on him . . . daring him to call her on what she was about to say.

“Your numbers don’t mesh, Hunter. I know it, you know it.”

His hand stopped playing in the sand. His eyes didn’t leave hers. “My accounts are legit.”

Gabi pointed to her chest. “We all have one thing we’re good at, Hunter. Numbers are my thing. Yours aren’t right. Yeah, you’re worth more than most people can count. But there are discrepancies.” Discrepancies that would feed villages.

“My company has many legs. I wouldn’t doubt there are a few thousand—”

She laughed. Couldn’t help the burst of noise from her throat. “Don’t insult me.”

His relaxed pose on the beach shifted to a sitting position, arms resting on his knees. “How are numbers your thing?”

The question struck her as odd.

“They just are.” That and languages. Well, not many languages, but she was working on expanding her foreign tongue.

“How is it I don’t know this about you?”

“There are many things you don’t know about me,” she told him.

His eyes moved down her body, making her realize she wore next to nothing. He derailed her thoughts with only a look.

Gabi closed her eyes and tried to keep her hands at her sides and not cover her bare midsection.

“My numbers don’t balance and this is why Alliance rejected me?”

“Alliance has many levels one must pass. Everyone has financial secrets. That isn’t a complete deterrent.”

“It’s one. You believe my financial balance isn’t zero.”

“It’s way far from zero. But again. Whose isn’t?”

Hunter glared now. “What else?”

“There are foreign meetings . . . men from questionable backgrounds.”

He nodded, as if her words meant nothing.

“And then there is the jerk factor.”

A lift to his lip was slow in coming. “The jerk factor?”

“Arrogant. Egotistical. Jerk . . . I think Meg would classify you as an asshole.”

“Meg?”

“She may not live in California, but she still works with and for Alliance.”

Hunter grinned as if she’d just complimented him. “I’m an arrogant asshole whose billion-dollar company has divisions where the numbers don’t balance.”

When he said it like that, it sounded trite. “You blackmailed me,” she reminded him.

He glanced around the empty beach. He lowered his voice. “I suppose there are things we both regret from our past.”

She wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“Yet here we are. Married, both of us uneasy about the other.”

“I don’t believe you’ll kill me in my sleep,” he told her.

She grinned.

“You don’t wear orange . . . remember?” he asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Orange
is
the new black.”