Treasured by Thursday (Weekday Brides Series Book 7) (9 page)

“Mr. Blackwell.” The doorman moved to the car. “I was about to call your office.”

“No need, Benny. I assume you’ve met.” Hunter looked between Gabi and the doorman to the office.

“Not really. I ran in,” Gabi told him.

Hunter moved closer to the woman at his side and smiled. “Well then, Benny, this is Gabriella Blackwell, my wife.”

Surprise took over the irritated look on Benny’s face.

“Feel free to have the valet take care of the car in the future.”

Benny nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Hunter walked Gabi around to the driver’s side and opened the door.

When she attempted to move around him, he blocked her path. “Try not to jump,” he whispered.

“Excuse me?”

Using the hand lingering on her back, he pulled her close and lowered his lips to hers.

Shock registered in her eyes. She couldn’t back away, the car was there to stop her, but she didn’t push.

He kept his hold loose, didn’t want to scare her.

Her full lips were soft, the scent of her skin and the exotic floral aroma of her hair were something he’d think about long after she left.

“Relax, Gabi.”

Hunter felt her effort. Watched as her dark lashes fluttered closed.

He placed a hand to the side of her face and tilted her head back. Her lips parted enough for a brief, intoxicating taste.

The tight rein of control Hunter always had on his emotions, his desires, started to unwind. He pulled away, almost as abruptly as he’d begun their kiss.

Their eyes locked.

Gabi sucked in her bottom lip.

Hunter ran his thumb over her chin, coaxing her lips apart. “I’ll call.”

Her throat constricted with a swallow, and she slid out of his arms and into the car.

Hunter moved to the curb and watched her pull away.

“Was it awful?” Meg asked over the phone.

Gabi called her the minute she pulled into the parking lot of the real estate agent’s office.

“I’m just happy Hunter doesn’t understand Italian. Val threatened bodily harm with a half a dozen weapons.”

“He’ll calm down. He’s worried.”

“I know. But for my sake, make him go home. The last thing I need is him hovering over me.”

“I’ve already booked his flight. He’ll be back here tomorrow.”

“Good. Thank you.”

Gabi lowered the visor and looked in the mirror. The smudge of her lipstick reminded her of Hunter’s unexpected kiss.

“Can I ask you something?” Meg asked.

“Of course.”

“Why now . . . why Hunter Blackwell?”

“I told you . . . the offer was—”

“Too good to pass up, I know. But there have been many clients that have come along that had reputations ten times better than Blackwell’s.”

Gabi ran a finger under her lip and paused. “Alonzo had a better public reputation than Blackwell. At least with Hunter I know he’s in this for his own personal gain. He’s using me with my full knowledge. There’s nothing clandestine or silent about the man, and for some strange reason that comforts me.” As the words left her lips, Gabi realized how true they were. For better or worse, she knew where she stood with Hunter.

He was using her, and she in turn would walk away a rich, and more importantly, free, woman.

“It’s not going to take long for word to spread. From what I’ve learned about Blackwell, he’s one of the most eligible bachelors in this decade. There’s going to be a lot of ticked-off women out there.”

“He’s not eligible anymore.”

“It won’t stop the gold diggers from calling. Watch your back.”

Gabi hadn’t really thought about the women in Hunter’s life. Not for a minute did she believe that he’d taken himself off the marital block to simply end the pursuit of unwanted women. “I will.”

“I should go. Your mother has been in the kitchen cooking since you called this morning. At this rate, I’ll be gaining ten pounds before the end of the week. What is up with her feeding her emotions?”

“It’s an Italian thing.”

“Great. It’s going to be a fat thing. Once you’re settled in your new wifely role, you better invite your mom to visit.”

“I don’t know about—”

“Do you want her chucking pasta at your new husband in front of his employees? Because she’s already made threats.”

The image of Hunter covered in marinara sauce made her grin.

“Give us a couple of weeks.”

“I’m booking flights.”

Gabi grumbled and said her good-byes.

Two weeks to set up house and learn to be civil enough in a room with Hunter to convince her mother the man she’d married wasn’t going to hurt her.

Next to his morning coffee, Andrew set a tabloid on top of the
New York Times
. The caption said it all.
Billionaire Playboy Off the Market.

One grainy photo was of him walking into the complex that housed his current LA residence; the other was of Gabi on the phone standing outside of the real estate office. The only solidifying factor to the magazine was the blown-up image of Gabi’s left hand. Too bad someone didn’t manage a money shot of their kiss. He’d like to see the expression on her face through a lens.
Bewildered . . . just as he’d been by his own reaction. He’d risked bodily
injury touching her, and yet she hadn’t pushed him into oncoming
traffic,
nor had she connected her knee with more sensitive parts of his anatomy. He wouldn’t say that she kissed him back, but there was something there. Something very unexpected by the both of them.

The click of a tongue brought Hunter’s attention around the room.

Andrew held a pot of coffee and waited for Hunter to sit back so he could pour.

Instead of moving away, Andrew stood over him. “Any pressing news your valet needs to know?”

Hunter sipped his coffee and smiled over his cup.

“Yes, actually. We’re going to be moving soon.”

Andrew lifted an eyebrow and waited.

“To a house.”

“Is that right?”

“Hmm . . .” he took another sip and placed the tabloid aside. “I need you to change a name on the registry.”

“What name would that be?”

“Gabriella Blackwell.”

“Long-lost family member?” Andrew asked, knowing full well there were no such entities out there.

“New family member. The tabloids have it right, Andrew. I married Miss Masini last week.”

Andrew blinked and uttered, “In the old movies, the butlers and maids knew everything that happened in a household, yet here I stand in the dark.”

Hunter picked up his coffee and folded the paper under his arm. “You’re going to like her. Sassy with a hot temper.” The image of her fighting with her brother brought a smile to his lips. “And beautiful.”

“Beauty doesn’t go far with an old man.”

Hunter tapped the edge of the paper on Andrew’s shoulder. “Good thing I’m not old.”

Andrew’s eyes followed him as he exited the room.

Fish in a bowl, cells under a microscope . . . and Hunter as a married man had many things in common.

He ignored most of the looks and peered past the distant cameras as he walked into his LA office.

Tiffany was the only one brave enough to say anything. “The phone hasn’t stopped ringing since I walked in. Should I call a news conference?”

“On Thursday.”

Tiffany pulled another message from her pile. “Travis O’Riley asked that you call him.”

“OK.”

Tiffany handed him a message from her pile. “A Mrs. Masini called, said if you knew what was best for you . . . and I’m quoting here . . . ‘You best call your mother-in-law at your earliest convenience.
’
”

There was no doubt about it; Tiffany was getting a kick out of delivering
that
message.

“Anything else?”

“One more thing . . . there’s a Blake Harrison sitting in your office waiting for you.”

Hunter’s gaze moved to the closed office doors and he handed the messages back to Tiffany. “Hold my calls.”

“And if your wife calls?”

He lifted a finger in the air. “Except hers.”

Instead of a snarky remark or a look to match, Tiffany delivered something much more menacing . . . approval.

Without words, Tiffany returned to her desk, and Hunter moved into his office.

“Your Grace.”

Blake Harrison wore a perfectly fitted suit, half a smile, and sleep deprivation under his eyes.

“I’ll break you of that title one of these days.”

“You can try, but I happen to like boasting my acquaintance with a duke.”

They shook hands and Hunter circled his desk. “Coffee?”

“Your secretary already took care of that.”

Instead of pretending this was a scheduled meeting, Hunter took his seat. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“I’m here for Sam. She’s preoccupied or she’d be here herself.”

The memory of Gabi saying something about Sam’s ill sister swam in his head. “How is your sister-in-law?”

“Not well. Which is why I’m here.”

Hunter sat back and waited. Blake wasn’t one to circle a bush, and thankfully, that hadn’t changed. “What can I help you with?”

Blake unbuttoned his jacket and sat in the chair opposite Hunter. “I’m going to paraphrase Sam’s words . . . but let me see if I can make this clear.
I’ve taught Gabriella better. Go find out what the hell that man did to get her to marry him.
”
Blake’s voice raised an octave when he repeated his wife’s words.

He should have seen the question coming. Instead of revealing the truth, Hunter told his old friend something they both knew as truth. “Everyone has a price.”

Blake frowned as he sucked in a tired breath. “Not Gabi. She’s been through too much to have a price. Everyone who knows her knows that.”

For the first time since he’d crawled into the back of the limousine . . . the moment he started the blackmailing of his wife, a knot of uncertainty took a solid hold in his stomach.

“I made her an offer, Blake. She took it.”

Hunter knew, without a doubt, Blake didn’t buy his explanation.

“You know, Hunter . . . I’m a few years older than you. You’ve managed to amass a fortune in less time than I, but with age . . . and perhaps a handful of years with a good woman, I’d like to offer you some free advice.”

Hunter couldn’t remember a time when another man had approached him in such a manner. He kept silent and listened.

“Karma,” he began. “She’s one rightful bitch. If you wiggled your way into marriage with Gabi in less than honorable terms, that shit’s going to bite you in the ass. Not only does Gabi have a strong and powerful pool of friends, there’s no possible way anyone who knows her is going to let her go through hell a second time.”

Hunter felt an unfamiliar roll of cold sweat down his back.

“You have no idea, do you?” Blake asked.

“I know she’s a widow.”

Blake offered a sad smile. “Oh, Hunter . . .” He stood and stuck out his hand.

The handshake was out of place, but Hunter accepted it anyway.

“Next time you merge with a new acquisition . . . do your homework.”

That sweat was starting to cool his skin.

Blake pushed away from the chair and turned to leave. “Do yourself a favor,” he said. “Ask your
wife
who put the bullets in her late husband.”