Page 26

“Yeah, okay.” He unbuckles himself and stands up. His hand touches my shoulder and squeezes lightly. “I don’t want to be a distraction.”
Well, you are!I mentally scream.A gigantic, overwhelming distraction that’s playing havoc with my fragile heart.
Finally, he leaves, closing the door behind him, and I slump back in my seat.Thank God.
“This was a mistake,” I whisper, my mind wandering back to last night.
After leaving the meeting, I went to Brighton’s house. I’m glad she offered because, for a brief moment, I thought Knox was going to offer up his guest bedroom. And that had a huge red X all over it, with a loud siren and blinking warning lights.
Brighton’s place suits her perfectly. It’s very feminine and smells like a garden thanks to the number and variety of plants and candles everywhere. There are a lot of windows, and I imagine it’s probably awash with natural light during the day. It’s also decorated beautifully with delicate trinket trays, fresh flowers everywhere and coffee table books about makeup and fashion.
Even though it was late, we ended up hanging out in her kitchen, munching on snacks and chatting, for almost two hours. She’s very engaging, and I found out her parents are French, which explains her faint accent. Even though I’m more of atomboy who doesn’t have a clue about fashion and she should be walking red carpets in couture, we really clicked.
Of course, I tried to learn more about Knox without appearing too obvious. But Brighton is damn smart, and I don’t think I was fooling anyone.
“He likes you,” she’d said, green eyes twinkling. “It’s obvious.”
I can’t lie. Her words sent a little thrill through me.
“I have a feeling that man hasn’t met a woman he didn’t like,” I replied dryly.
But she shook her head. “Most women are a part of the job for him. Like most men are a part of it for me. We may appear like we’re completely engaged, but we never let them get too close. It’s a skill.”
She’d let out a musical laugh and I wished I could be more carefree like her. But that’s not the way I’m built. I overanalyze and sweat every single detail.
“Seriously, though,” Brighton continued, eyeing me closely, “he watches you like he wants to devour you.”
Devour me?A wave of satisfaction licked through me, as well as a shiver, and I wasn’t sure how to respond.
“He never pays attention to anyone for very long, and he’s used to women falling all over him. Maybe he senses you’re a challenge.”
“Or, maybe he’s bored and wants a new plaything,” I suggested, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
“Knox isn’t like that, Hunter. Under all the polish, swagger and pretty boy smiles, he’s a damn good guy. If you’re smart, you’ll give him a chance.”
“I don’t mean to sound rude, but if he’s so great, why haven’t you or Addie snagged him up yet?” I couldn’t wrap my head around how this crew of attractive people could only be just friends.
“Quite a few reasons. First, we work together, and Addie and I are too smart to get tangled up in that potential mess. Second, I prefer older men. Give me a silver fox any day of the week.”
“Really?”
She leaned closer. “Older men make the best lovers. They know how to make you scream.”
I flushed, deciding to take her word for it since I’d never slept with anyone older than my thirty-two years. Truthfully, as much as I thought Shane and I had a future together, he’d never made me scream. Not even close. He’d been all about himself in the bedroom. Always finished before me, and then seemed annoyed when I didn’t immediately orgasm after him. I learned to fake it to keep the peace.
Crossing my arms, lost in my thoughts, I gaze out at the clear, blue skies ahead. We should be arriving at Málaga-Costa del Sol Airport in Spain right on schedule. From there, it’s a thirty to forty-minute drive to Marbella, where Torres’ mansion perches on a cliff overlooking the Mediterranean Sea.
After landing, we split up into two SUVs and drive to a safehouse provided by someone referred to only as “The Man.” They’ve mentioned him a couple times, and I want to ask a million questions, but file them away for later.
Marbella is even more beautiful than I imagined. When we arrive at the safehouse, and I use the word lightly, I try not to gape. It’s beyond enormous and so luxurious. Definitely the biggest, most amazing villa I’ve ever visited. Tucked away on the side of a cliff behind decorative, wrought-iron gates, it boasts ten bedrooms, cobblestone walkways and a view of the sea. It seems like everything is covered in jasmine and I inhale the sweet scent deeply, unable to imagine Alejandro Torres’ place being much nicer.
“Marbella is well-known for its extremely wealthy, often famous occupants and visitors. Or, infamous, as the case may be,” Knox tells me. “Bin Laden himself used to bring his family here.”
“Princes, sheiks and movie stars are the norm,” Addie adds, wheeling her suitcase over the uneven cobblestone courtyard. “Why doesn’t everyone find a bedroom and get situated? Let’s freshen up and meet in an hour.”
“Sounds good,” Ryder says. “I need a nap.”
“Didn’t you just sleep almost the entire way here?” Linc asks.