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.”