Selling Scarlett

chapter Thirty-Three

~ELIZABETH~

Holy crabcakes. This is not good. I'm lying here with Hunter, and there is Priscilla, leaning against the door to his room. Her eyes and mine collide, and I drag my gaze down her body. She's wearing a black pantsuit and tall red heels. Her blonde hair flows over her shoulders like she's just come from a beauty parlor.

Her red lips curve into a twisted smile, and she purrs, “Scarlett.”

I sit up and glance wide-eyed at Hunter. He's still sleeping. On his stomach. So I can see all the half-healed welts on his back. It’s all I need to get angry—at her for what she’s done him. And that she’s even here at all, ruining our moment. I have no idea why Hunter's tied up with her, but I know he shouldn't be.

I pull the sheet around me and hop down off the bed, moving with borrowed bravado. Hunter, still sleeping peacefully behind me, is my inspiration. He's got enough on his plate. He doesn't need a drop by from Priscilla. Normally my insecurity might cause me to question that—maybe he's in love with her; blah blah blah—but I know deep down he's not. I'm not even sure he likes her, and if nothing else, I know she won't be as gentle with him today as I will.

Holding the sheet tightly around myself with one hand, I use the other one to point at the door. “I have no idea what you're doing here, but it's creepy and you need to leave. He's asleep, as you can see. He isn't feeling well.”

Priscilla laughs. “His little hooker. What a spitfire you are.” She rakes her mean gaze up and down my figure. “I'd like to know what you did to lose all that weight. That night I saw you at Hunter's party you were quite the fat ass.”

Her comment bounces off me. I stalk closer to her and jerk my finger at the door. “Get out of here. I’ll tell Hunter you came by, and he can decided if he wants you back.” If she doesn't leave in just a second, I might claw her.

She laughs, a throaty, knowing sound. “I see what this is. You actually have a thing for him.”

I look down at myself. “Um, I think it's clearly mutual.”

She shakes her head and makes a tsk-ing sound. “Believe me sweetheart, you don't want to get involved with him. He's poison.”

I frown at her. This makes no sense. Hasn't she spent the last few months—or even longer—having sex with him? Good sex, from what I saw through the powder room keyhole.

Intuition tells me she's full of crap, so I roll my eyes as I wave at her again. “I know what I want, and I don't trust a word out of your mouth.”

She shrugs. “Your choice Triple X. But if you think he's yours, keep dreaming.”

It takes me a minute to realize she's not calling me X-rated; she's calling me plus-sized. I snort. “You're ridiculous, and believe me, you really need to leave before I call security.” It's a bluff—a stupid one, since I have no idea how much she knows about his house—but she takes a small step backward, the backs of her heels bumping the door.

I glance again at Hunter's sleeping form, and I know in my gut that isn't true, what she said. He's not poison. She is. “Get out of here and don't come back. You sadist.”

I march forward, and to my shock, Priscilla turns, opens the door, and steps into the hall. “I'm going,” she says in an airy tone, “but it's not because of you, Elizabeth DeVille. I'll be back when Hunter has time to enjoy his true pleasures.”

The sad thing is, I might have believed her, had a gray-haired man dressed in a butler's outfit not come striding down the hall at that second. “Ms. Heat?” He takes a few quick strides, closing the distance between the two of them, and I'm surprised by how fast he's got her by the waist.

“Hal, I—”

“Mr. West has placed you on the do-not-admit list,” he says, as he hauls her off. “I don't know how you got in through the back gate, but it's time for you to go.”

Priscilla shrieks, and I watch as he unceremoniously tosses her over his shoulders and marches toward the stairs.

As they disappear from sight, and I sink down in front of Hunter's door, shaking. What have I gotten myself into?



*



When I return to Hunter's room, he's still sleeping. I hesitate only a minute before unraveling the sheet from around my body and lying it gently over his. I slip back into my teddy and robe and go next door to call Suri.

“Hi.” I smile, feeling oddly content after my little run-in with Priscilla.

“Hi! Lizzy, how is everything? I want to hear about it all. I'm sorry I haven't been a good friend this last little while. Has he put the moves on you?”

“Sort of.” I blush. “But I want to hear about Cross first.”

She says Cross is awake, but he's quiet and moody. I smile, because that sounds about right.

“I'm sure he'd love to talk to you, but there's a social worker in there with him now. Do you want to call back later?”

I agree to do that, and after a few more minutes of filling her in on the days' events, I hang up and go back into the room with Hunter. I slip into the bed and snuggle up to him. Within seconds, his eyes are open and he's blinking at me.

He reaches out and thumps my nose as a gentle smile spreads over his lips. “How are you?”

“Good. How are you?”

He sits up, revealing his amazing chest, and I worry I may combust. I think he notices, because he smirks and runs his finger up my throat, the way you might stroke a cat. It makes me shiver, and I find myself giggling like a teenager.

As he slides off the bed, totally, gloriously nude, and begins to look for his clothes, he peeks over his shoulder. “I'm sorry about earlier. Damned embarrassing.” It takes me a second to realize he's talking about the mess he made of his room—not about Priscilla.

"It's okay. Don't be embarrassed."

He grabs some boxer-briefs off the floor, and it takes everything I have not to watch his perfect package as he steps into them. Holy moly.

"I've thrown things around since I was a kid. It's how I used to deal with anger I guess."

I nod, toying with the silky sheets. "You lost your mom. It makes sense that you would have had anger issues."

He gives me a charming little sideways smile. "You're wise for your age."

I arch a brow. "My mom has been hard in other ways."

"I can believe that." I watch in bliss as he throws a few handfuls of clothes into one of the drawers, his chest rippling. As he steps toward my side of the bed, I know I must be flushed. I watch as he swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I know we haven't had the main event yet. I just wanted you to know that it's not because I don't want to."

Holy cow. My blush gets blushier. “Thank you,” I say awkwardly. “That's nice to know.”

He leans against the bed and pulls me up against his chest. “If I'd known what I was missing out on, I'd have looked you up while you up a while ago. Actually,” he adds, smiling a little, “I sort of did.”

“You did?”

He nods. “One day I just got curious about little Libby DeVille, and I looked you up in the campus registry. Kind of a pervy thing to do when you're in your mid-20s.”

I laugh. “You liar. You're thirty.”

“Indeed, but I wasn't then.”

Holy crap. Hunter looked me up when I was an undergrad? The belly bats turn into butterflies, and they soar around my stomach.

He squeezes my shoulder as he steps away, grabbing another handful of clothes and hauling them over to his dresser, and I work hard at not overheating as I watch his taut ass. Ah, and those long, muscled legs.

His back still makes me a little sad. The welts make me feel a little sick. I open my mouth to tell him about Priscilla. At that moment, though, he stuffs the clothes into his drawer and comes back over to me. He leans against the bed, and I notice how radiant his face looks; that's how focused he is on me. I have to struggle not to grin, because it feels so good.

“I'm sorry that you saw me act the fool, but I'm glad you're here. It's been...a break. A nice break, Libby DeVille.” He twirls the end of a strand of my hair, the way he likes to do sometimes.

I wink. “Maybe you need to take breaks more often.”

His fingers tunnel into my hair, and he brings his mouth down over mine. I'm lost in the warmth and softness of his lips and tongue, the nibbling teases of his teeth. He climbs into bed, resting his delicious weight on top of me, and he's hard and I'm wet and I'm grabbing that gold hair and staring into those cat eyes. When I pull away to gasp for air between our kisses, I really think this might be it. Maybe I'm finally going to lose my V-card.

I go for his boxer-briefs, but his hand clamps over mine. His gaze on mine is hard, which I don't understand. His chest is pumping, and I can feel how hard he is against my knee.

“Libby—no.”

I frown. Did I do something wrong?

"It's not you,” he pants. “You're perfect. It's just...I don't want your first time to be like this. With me like this." He looks down at himself, and when he looks back up, he leans his head against my neck and speaks his warm words on my collar bone: "You could do better."

His words shock me. I sit up a little, jarring him, and then I lie back down and cradle his shoulder. Hunter thinks I could do better than him? "Better how?"

“Better place, better circumstances...better guy."

"What's wrong with this guy?"

He swallows. " You deserve someone who's got his shit together."

"You seem pretty together."

He chuckles, but it's a dry, humorless sound. "That’s just because you don’t know me.” He runs a gentle finger down from my throat, between my breasts. "You deserve the whole package, Libby."

"I'm not sure anyone has that." I haven't called to check on mom since I left California—because I just don't care. I'm still angry enough to spit nails at my dad. The more I think about seeing Dr. Bernard again, the more afraid I feel. "No one's perfect, Hunter. You need to give yourself a break?"

He swallows, and his eyes look so clear, like the river. "Don't try to get close to me. It's not a good idea.”

“I don't care if it's a good idea. I don't think I can stay away from you. Now that I know you better...”

He shakes his head. “You're wrong.” He pushes himself up and lithely shifts his body off the bed. “You don't know me. And what you do know should not make you want to learn anything more. You need to trust me, Libby. Stay in your own world, and leave me in mine. We can have a little fun together, but that's it.”

I'm surprised and humiliated when my eyes well with tears. “That's all you want from me?” I can't believe this. That he's giving me no chance to go beyond just sex. And after what I told Dr. Bernard. Since I've been here, and we've spent some time together, I'd actually started thinking…I don’t know. That we click. That there is something here worth exploring.

He rubs his face roughly, like he's frustrated, or his shadow is itching. “It doesn't matter what I want. I've got...a lot going on, and I don't want to get your hopes up falsely. If you're crazy enough to have those kinds of hopes,” he adds, pulling his mouth into an ominous frown. “Maybe you're not.”

I push myself off the bed. “All I said was 'You don't give yourself a break much'. It's not like I got down on one knee.”

He just looks at me, his jaw locked. For the longest time, I think I'm being stonewalled. Then his mouth softens, and he sighs. “Then maybe it's me,” he says, very, very softly. “Maybe it's me who's wanting more. Like I said, you're beautiful and sweet. I'm sure you're not surprised.”

He grabs my arm, gentle even as he steers me to the door that joins our rooms. I drag my feet, mostly because I'm shocked—and thrilled—and totally confused. Hunter wants more! But he doesn't want to let himself have it?

I frown up at him, but he's shaking his head again. “Libby, I'm so sorry that this didn't work. I guess I didn't think it through. You need to go. Tonight or tomorrow—as soon as you can get away. Tap your red slippers and go home to Napa."

My chest aches, and I'm shocked to find I can't speak over the lump in my throat. I swallow hard and try my best to look dignified, instead of like a beggar. "Hunter...I don't understand."

He shrugs. "This is how it's got to be."

He opens the door that joins our rooms, but I don't move. He puts his hand on the small of my back. “C'mon, Libby…I don't have room for wherever this might be headed, so why not end it while we're both ahead?”

“We're not,” I whisper.

He tugs me through the door to my room and sweeps his palm over my hair, giving me a look of what can only be longing before he holds up his hand in a goodbye pose. “Take care of yourself, Libby.”

I can't even form an answer as he steps back through the door.



*



~HUNTER~



I woke up sometime after Priscilla arrived. At first I thought it was a nightmare. Then I heard Libby, telling her to go away. I'm so ashamed that I just lay there, eyes closed, listening to that bitch talk shit about me—and listening to Libby, my avenging angel. I soaked it up. It soothed something inside me. Made me feel like I'm alive instead of dying.

That's what it's been like with Priscilla. Like suffocation. A slow snuffing out of everything I want and everything I need.

Like it was with Rita.

I don't understand how Libby is so different. After I peeked into the hallway and I realized Priscilla was being dealt with, I feigned sleep until Libby came back and got in bed with me. I stayed completely still while she wrapped an arm gently around the lower part of my back and nuzzled her face into the crook between my shoulder and my neck. Why did it feel so good? I've been touched before, but it never felt like that. What's so different about her?

I sit for a long time in front of the door I sent her through. I shut my eyes and try to feel her in the room behind me, packing up her things. There is a part of me—a raging, senseless part—that wants to burst the door open, rip her clothes off and f*ck her until she can't walk anymore. She’ll be stuck in my bed, the smell of vanilla and cinnamon surrounding me forever.

However, the part of me that actually cares about her wins the day. I wasn't lying when I told her she deserved the whole package. She is selfless, kind, beautiful, smart, good, and in so many other ways out of my league.

I don't know why she seems to care for me, even just a little, but I shut my eyes and try to drown in the peaceful feeling that I get whenever she's around. It's more than the lust I used to feel whenever I bumped into her. It's like the amplification of that feeling I had the very first night I saw her, with the broken Porsche. Peaceful. Pleasant. Beautiful. Good.

As I listen to the room around me, I think that I can hear her voice. She sounds upset, and it kills me that I’m the reason why.

My back is sore from pressing on the door, so I rock forward, leaning over my knees with my head propped in my hands.

"I f*cked up... I f*cked it all up... I f*cked up..."

Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can hear myself sobbing and my dad yelling and I see all that blood.

I inhale deeply.

Libby. Think of Libby.

I've got her face pinned to the forefront of my mind like a motherf*cking screensaver when the phone rings. Not my cell phone, but my land line. Shit.



*



~ELIZABETH~



I don't want to leave, but I'm not sure what else to do. Hunter doesn't want me here, and I can't force him to, regardless of how much I want to stay. I want to walk back through the door, and I would, but this is the second time he's said I should leave, and Priscilla was just here. He has a whole life outside me, and if he means what he says about not wanting to take things any further with me, I don't see the point of trying to force myself on him.

I'm packing my bags, feeling numb and desolate, when Suri calls.

"Lizzy—hi.” She pauses for a second. “How are things?"

“They're good. I'm headed home.”

“Really? Wow. So I guess things must have progressed?”

“Kind of,” I hedge. I don't even try to go into it, because I can tell by her voice that something's wrong. My stomach's tied in knots, because I'm worried that it's Cross.

“Is something going on? You sound weird,” I say.

She sighs. “Girl, you always know, don't you?”

“I'm your bestie. That's my job. So spit it out.”

“It's Cross. He's saying...what happened that night wasn't an accident. That someone did it. He's upset, like he pulled out all his IVs and cursed at Nanette, and then he told me to leave because he needs some time to think." Her voice breaks on the word 'leave' and I know something is going on with the two of them.

“Wow.” I clutch the phone a little tighter. Cross has had some serious issues with his father, but I don't think he has any real enemies. Does he? I lean against the bedpost, feeling sick—over this, over Hunter. Over everything. “Is he doing better now? I mean, when you left was he...”

“I didn't leave. I'm outside, in a waiting area. I think they sedated him. He was really upset.” She drags in a teary breath and I can hear a sniffle, followed by the rustle I'm sure must be a tissue. "I'm sorry to burden you with this while you're at Hunter's, but I didn't know who else to call. He said that when he left to go...after the fight the two of you had, there was this guy messing with his bike. Like, touching it and stuff. The guy told him he liked the bike, and when Cross tried to go, he tried to get him to go back in and have another drink. It doesn't sound like much, but Cross says when he got onto the road he had trouble steering. He said the steering had been messed up, and the breaks were messed up too, but not completely. So he didn't flip like he might have, he just lost control of the steering...because of how much he had to drink.”

“Holy shitballs. Did he know this guy?”

“Cross said he looked like someone he used to know. I asked if it was an enemy or something, and he acted kind of weird. I don't know if we can trust him, though, Liz. He thinks you two had a fight because he was jealous over you messing around with Hunter.”

“He was,” I whisper.

Suri huffs her breath out, and I can feel her censure. Her irritation that I kept it from her. “I guess I don't know anything.” The next second, I'm left there standing with the dead line in my hand, and no way home. How nice.

A phone rings, and for a moment I think it’s Suri. It’s actually the landline on the table in the corner. It rings once, twice, three times before I reluctantly lift the earpiece.

"Hello," I hear Hunter say. His voice is extra low and slightly raspy, and if I'm not mistaken, I can hear the echo of it through the door that joins our rooms.

Almost immediately, there is another voice.

"Hunter." It sends a shiver down my spine, because I know that voice from TV. Hunter's father. Shit. "Are you alone?" Conrad West's voice has always been a little creepy: a cross between Darth Vader and a used car salesperson.

"I'm at my house and yeah, I'm by myself. What can I do for you, Sir?" Hunter sounds weary. Under that I hear a ring of irritation.

"It's been a long time since I've heard from you," Conrad says.

"Yep."

"You feel no obligation to keep in touch with your father? Your sister says she never hears from you either.”

"What do you want, Dad?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know." His voice tightens. "You wanted to wish me a good day?"

"You know damn well why I called!” Conrad snaps. “You're in water hot enough to boil a crayfish. Is there anything you care to tell me?"

"I don't care to tell you shit. That's why I never call."

I can practically feel Conrad's anger through the phone line. My palm around the phone starts sweating as Hunter’s dad growls, "You don't want to talk? Then allow me. You are being investigated for the murder of a woman named Sara Meyer. Does that ring a bell?" Conrad's voice has gotten more Southern; he's practically drawling. "Sometime between the night you engaged her services and the next morning, she disappeared. Right out of your bed. She was found dead last night in a ditch in Arizona, with your cuff link in her cold, dead fingers.”

“I didn’t—”

“That is immaterial, Hunter. You can't be investigated. Do you understand how badly you've f*cked up?"

I wait for Hunter to come up cursing like he normally does, and I'm surprised when the line is eerie quiet.

"Okay, then let me spell it out” Rita is dead because of you. She died before her time because of you. Because you couldn't learn to quit pushing that woman's buttons.” I don’t understand what exactly Conrad is saying, but I’m shocked. “Do you want to see your hands in cuffs, Hunter? Are you intentionally trying to ruin your life, because you're doing exceedingly well?” Hunter says nothing, and his dad continues. “You tend to do that. Ruin things. Well let me tell you, this sort of scandal is below our family.

"You know, for years after you moved to Vegas I had patience with you. I, too, had some oats to sew, but unlike you, I moved forward."

Hunter's voice warbles on the line, then comes through loud and strong; condemning. "You fell in love with a hooker. And she died. That's how you ‘moved forward.’ Because my mother died. Rita weaseled her way back into your life and you took her, and you pretended she was my mom, too. This scandal's not below our family. This scandal is our family."

"No it’s not the only scandal comes from you!” Conrad snaps in a rush of anger.

"I'm not the one who hit a little f*cking kid!"

There’s a pause, and then Mr. West’s voice lowers, soft and deadly. "Neither am I, but sometimes I wish I had. Clean this mess up, Hunter. Pay off the cops. Do whatever you need to do to bury this. But let me warn you, you may have to go farther than I did for you. Priscilla Heat is close enough to Carlson to suck his fat, red cock, and she is covering for him. From what I’ve been able to gather, this somehow goes back to one of Carlson’s mistresses. This is hearsay now and I'm working to find evidence, but I am not going public with it. It will hurt my career. You need to find someone who can. Check your e-mail. Check it daily. Check it hourly. Right this course or so help me. Goodbye."