There was a forced lightness in his tone as he said, “I take it you think I should get a haircut.”
“Don’t you dare.” I shook my other finger at him. “You stay shaggy, Mr. Sexy Wolf.”
I never knew someone could choke on air before.
When Hunter had regained his composure—and I had stopped giggling—well, mostly stopped, I was still giggling a little bit, I find it very hard to stop giggling when I’m tipsy—he went on. “I’m surprised Martha didn’t find you a gigolo before she went off to cultivate her harem.”
“Puh-lease!” I scoffed. “They’re babies. Big hairy whiny drunk babies. Oh wow. I think I just made babies terrifying. Just…giant babies. Hairy. Wow.”
Hunter returned my hand to my own lap, his hand lingering just a second to pat my knee. “You just sleep that off there, darling,” he drawled in that smooth-as-honey accent.
My eyes were feeling kind of heavy…I leaned back into the leather seat and giggled one final time.
#
“Ally. Ally, wake up.”
I moaned fretfully, and opened my eyes. I was compensated for this Herculean labor by the sight of Hunter’s handsome face only inches from mine.
Thankfully, before I could drunkenly decide to kiss him, he pulled away. “We’re home.”
“Oh,” I said, standing. Yep, it was a good thing he had pulled away. I wasn’t disappointed. At all.
Unfortunately, the drive hadn’t been near long enough for me to have sobered up. The second I stood, the lavish grounds of the Knox plantation set themselves a-spinning, and I stumbled.
Hunter caught my arm. “Allow me.”
Heat coursed through my veins at the touch of his strong hands on my bare skin. He was holding me upright, holding me safe…his hands were so callused, and yet so gentle…
He was looking at me so earnestly with those deep dark eyes, shot through with pure gold…
“You don’t have to,” I mumbled, half-heartedly pulling away.
His grip stayed firm, and he smiled, his expression as gentle as his touch. “I do if I want to save my company.” The smile widened, mischievous. “After all, you can’t explain your brilliant strategy from beyond the grave.”
I stumbled on the gravel as if to prove his point. He chuckled under his breath, and then he swept me off my feet.
Literally.
I considered making another protest, but his chest was really comfortable, and he smelled really nice. Protests were overruled in favor of snuggling back into his warm arms and giving out a little sigh.
“Comfortable?”
“Very.”
Oh, he did smell so nice, though. Only this annoying shirt was in the way. If I could just reach over and undo those buttons…
No, no, no! Bad drunk Ally! No groping! I snatched my hand away before it could do more than awkwardly wave through the air, and tried to distract myself with snark.
“You carry all the girls you meet over the threshold?” I asked as we came to the guesthouse.
Oh no, that was a terrible choice, much too wedding-themed, much too romantic—
“Only the ones with the best research methods.” His voice was honey and bourbon and caramel, warm breath on my ear, a comforting vibration against my skin.
“Yeah, you liked it last time, didn’t you?” I teased. I nuzzled against his shirt, and lost myself in the texture. “I wish I could’ve shown you how much I liked it too. Wish I could still show you. I wish that all the time.”
I felt him start against me. This was it. This was the moment of truth. Would he respond? Would he kiss me? Would he?
He walked quickly through the door of the guesthouse and set me on my chair. He was about to go but I reached up, caressing his cheek.
His eyes closed, like a contented cat. He sighed. “Ally…”
“Want to show you so much,” I murmured. I let my hand wander down his neck, trailing my fingers above his collarbone.
He swallowed, hard.
“I still remember how your lips taste,” I said. I ran my finger over them. His tongue flicked out, tasting the skin there, and I was undone.
I leaned forward, pressing my lips against his. Oh, nothing had changed, still that tang of honey, still that softness of his lips and the rasp of his stubbled cheek, still the way he kissed me back gently at first and then greedily, as if I were water and he were lost in a desert, as if I were water and he wanted to drown.
My hands were on the buttons of his shirt, clumsy but determined to uncover his tanned skin, and his hands had found my breasts, kneading them with a sweet urgency that made me gasp into his mouth, and push against him.
I wanted nothing more than this, nothing more than him—
And then he pulled away with a groan.
I reached for him, dismayed. “Hunter—”
“Ally, I can’t,” he said softly. “You’re drunk.”
“But—” I protested.
He laid his fingers over my lips and I found I could think of no more words, only of him. I begged him with my eyes not to leave.
“Professionalism, right?” he reminded me.
I nodded glumly, trying to formulate a reasonable rebuttal, but my brain couldn’t come up with anything fast enough.
And then he left.
Well, shit.
EIGHT
A construction company had moved into my forehead.
That was the only possible explanation for all this banging and hammering.
I cracked open an eye, and rued the day I was born.
Usually I was good about drinking enough water to prevent hangovers, but after my fiasco last night, I’d wanted to drop into unconsciousness as quickly as possible. And oh, was I paying for it now.
The light from the window hit my one open eye, and I groaned. And then I groaned again, because even the sound of groaning hurt my head, and then basically I was trapped in a vicious circle of hell.