Treasured by Thursday (Weekday Brides Series Book 7) (19 page)

Chapter Eighteen

She’d arrived at the Dallas/Fort Worth airport to a long limousine that drove her to the hotel. She’d had a stopover in the airport a time or two in the past but had never visited the city. It was greener and much flatter than she expected. Overall the city was easy on the eyes. Wide streets compared to the mainland of Florida that she’d spent time in . . . and certainly more spread out than the Los Angeles area.

Seeing as it was Texas, she half expected to see cowboys on horseback, guns mounted on their hips.

There were plenty of Stetsons, and boots . . . but not a horse to be seen . . . well, outside of the few fields they’d passed before landing.

The two-bedroom penthouse suite at the Dallas Hyatt held a second floor. A second floor in a hotel. Gabi tried not to be impressed and failed.

Hunter had yet to arrive, but he was already there.

Flowers, yellow roses, adorned the table in the center of the dining area in the suite. A card to the side had her name. She leaned against a chair as she opened the note from Hunter. “I thought the state flower of Texas was the yellow rose. I guess I didn’t pay enough attention in my geography class. Bluebonnets are a little harder to cut and place in a vase. I hope these will do.”

She leaned down to take in the fragrant blooms.

Hunter was wooing her. She felt him slipping a little deeper with every passing bud.

“They’re just flowers, Gabi. Don’t forget that.”

Still, it was more than that.

She knew it . . .

He knew it.

She went ahead and took the upstairs bedroom. Her dress didn’t have to suffer baggage claim and didn’t need to visit an iron. After unloading a couple of days worth of clothing . . . more than she needed, she moved back into the main living room and opened the massive blinds.

A vibrant city sat below, cars traversed the highways . . . people scrambled to make their deadlines.

She watched in silence.

How had she gotten here? The penthouse suite in a Dallas hotel waiting on her billionaire husband . . . a man in name only.

Well, maybe not
only
.

He’d flirted with her on the phone, albeit under the cloak of necessity.

Still, she wasn’t so far outside the mating game to not recognize when a man was trying
not
to sound interested.

The constant barrage of flowers and phone calls were the most unexpected part of Hunter’s pursuit. The fact he pursued her at all was shocking. Why bother? They were married and stuck for a little while at least.

Yes, it would be easier for both of them if they could find a comfortable wave to ride.

If someone had told her she’d be eagerly waiting his arrival and wondering how he would greet her when he did show up two weeks ago, she’d have argued. As it was, she wanted to see him. Wanted to sit back and witness his interaction with his business partners. She’d been too caught up the night they’d announced their marriage to notice much about how he spoke with his colleagues.

Would he be arrogant? Confident? Demanding?

Yes, she decided. All of the above. How else could a man his age be as successful as he was?

Perhaps his need of a wife was there to soften some of his edges . . . or at
least give the appearance to others that he had a smoother side to his personality.

If his need for a wife were that simple, she’d know about it already. No, Hunter needed her in his life for something bigger. But what?

She’d thought about the
what
for the better part of the week.

It killed her not to hire her own private investigator to find out.

He’d trusted her to tell him her secrets, and she would hold off and wait for him to reveal his.

The sound of the lock in the door disengaging with a beep caught her attention.

He wore a suit, the cut perfect on his broad shoulders.

Their gazes caught.

The bellhop moved around him. “Would you like this upstairs, Mr. Blackwell?”

His eyes still hadn’t left her. “No. Here is fine.” On autopilot, Hunter removed his wallet, fished out a bill, and handed it over.

“Anything I can do for you, Mr. Blackwell . . . anything at all.”

Hunter waved him off. “Thank you.”

The door closed behind him, leaving them alone.

Gabi noticed Hunter flex his hands a couple of times. His feet didn’t move.

“Do you have any idea what you gave that man?”

He shook his head.

She chuckled. “It’s impolite to stare, Hunter.”

He took a few steps in her direction, much like a leopard would stalk its prey.

Gabi moved so the window wasn’t at her back. Not that she was trying to escape . . . or so she told herself.

“Where is the yoga outfit?” he asked.

With a straight face, she managed, “Tucked in my suitcase.”

He growled, nose flared.

She traveled around the table, the six chairs . . . dividing herself from him as he followed.

“The flowers are lovely.”

He didn’t change his course . . . or his gaze.

Gabi pulled herself to a stop and let him advance. The hair on her arms stood on end, her mouth went dry.

“Hunter? What are you—”

He ended the space between them in two steps, his arms pulling her flush with his body, his nose in her hair.

“Thank you,” he said, making no move to do anything more than hold her.

“For what?”

“For not changing your scent.”

The loss for words was huge.

He held her, rested his head close to hers.

As greetings went . . . this one didn’t suck.

She broke the silence a few moments later. “I see you didn’t throw yourself off a high rise.”

His shoulders folded in with laughter. “Such a messy ending.”

“Bad for the image?”

“Hmmm . . .”

He took her head in his hands, and for a brief moment, she thought he’d kiss her.

He didn’t.

“I missed you more than I should,” he confessed.

“You called every day.”

“Wasn’t enough.”

His thumb traced her lower lip before he released a long-suffering breath and moved away.

The slow, simmering onset of sexual frustration started to burn. It shouldn’t, she cautioned herself. Hunter was showing restraint, and she should follow his lead.

No matter how difficult that proved.

Gabi loosened a strand of hair from the messy bun on top of her head and added a little curl.

She went with a little heavier makeup, stuck with a scarlet red lipstick . . . something she was thankful she could pull off.

The knit dress had a turtleneck collar and half sleeves. It hugged her curves, stopping a couple of inches above her knee. The garter belt and fishnet stockings were a last-minute decision. Probably a foolish one that wouldn’t be seen by anyone but her.

As she fastened the last clasp and ran her hand over the edges, she admitted, if only to herself, that she hoped Hunter would discover the sexy addition to her outfit. As much as she loved frustrating the man, she could live on the sexual waves penetrating their every conversation. Pushing him, making him forget his own name, was a power she’d never had with a man before.

She liked it.

A lot!

With one last glance in the mirror, she turned off the light and made her way out of the suite.

Hunter turned away from the picture windows as if in slow motion. Instead of a tie, he wore a slim-fitting knit shirt that sat high on his neck. Over that, he wore a jet black jacket. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear they had coordinated their outfits. His slacks matched the jacket, his shoes the perfect shade of black to blend. The man really knew how to dress. Casual, confident . . . the billionaire he was.

She took her time walking down the stairs, felt his eyes following her.

Speechless. Gabi liked this side of Hunter much better than the conniving bastard who’d all but forced her signature on their marriage certificate.

“I half expected you to wear red.”

She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and let him approach.

“I considered it.”

He offered a ghost of a smile as he rounded the furniture separating them. He picked up a box sitting on a side table and held it out.

“What is this?”

“Open it,” he told her, that ghost smile still lingering.

His fingers brushed hers as she took the obvious jewelry box from his hands.

The hair on her arms prickled and her fingers trembled as she lifted the lid. Sitting on crushed black velvet was a pair of drop ruby earrings. The pear-shaped stones were the size of her little fingernail, a long length of tiny white diamonds set in what looked like white gold made them sparkle in the limited light.

“Oh, my . . . Hunter . . .”

“A splash of power.”

She met his gaze and felt the edges of her heart crack.

“You shouldn’t have,” she told him. And before he could reply, she said, “But I’m happy you did.”

“Wear them for me?”

She grinned. “I think they’ll look better on me than in the box.”

A mirror sat above the foyer table. She removed the simple gold loop earrings she’d put on and replaced them with the gems.

Their weight was a testimony to the carat of the stones. When she attached the second one she gave her head a tiny shake. They found the light and sparkled.

Hunter slid up from behind her and caught her reflection in the mirror. He brushed one of the earrings with the backs of his fingers.

She stood perfectly still and watched the wonder of emotions pass over his face. “You’re beautiful, Gabriella.”

The tilt of her head wasn’t voluntary.

A hint of his frame brushed hers from behind and sparked.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

The request to be set free sat on her lips unspoken. The truth was, she hadn’t felt this alive since . . . since ever. Being set free now would mean an absence of the emotions inside her. Moving from day to day had been her life since she left Florida.

Perhaps it was time to start living again.

She lifted a hand to the side of his face. “Thank you.”

They stood staring at each other through the mirror.

“We should go,” he said without moving. “Before I blow off the Adams account and destroy every self-made pact I made about you.”

“Self-made pact?” she asked with a giggle.

His lips came dangerously close to her neck before pulling away with a growl.

He grasped her hand and pulled her toward the door. “We’re leaving . . . now.”

The upscale restaurant sat in the heart of Dallas and was frequented by celebrities, the rich . . . and the up-and-coming entrepreneurs who wanted to make an impression. Money in Dallas was a lot like it was on the West Coast. The people in this town didn’t care if you just made your millions or if Daddy left them to you. If anything, a self-made man held a hair more clout.

Hunter led Gabi to the bar to await their dinner companions. Heads turned their way as more than one man took notice of his wife. During the drive to the restaurant, he’d kept his distance from her in the back of the limousine. He now made sure some part of their bodies were touching. It was his way of making sure any man watching understood she was with him.