Page 68 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Hunter

I burst through the doorway of the waiting room, and the first person I see is her.

She’s standing in the circle of women, with her gorgeous dark hair flowing down her back.

She’s wearing a dress this time—a dark blue number that clings to the dip of her waist and stretches across the lushness of her behind before it outlines her strong thighs and comes to below the back of her knees.

She’s also wearing stockings— netted stockings, with a seam running up the back before it disappears under her dress.

The blood instantly drains to my groin. The fuck?

Oh, and I almost forgot, she’s wearing four-inch heels which make her legs appear even longer, accentuate the muscular lines of her calves, and push out that spectacular butt of hers so I can’t take my gaze off of it.

I am here to lend support for the delivery of my friends’ wives’ children.

Instead, I seem to have sprouted a boner that most assuredly tents the crotch of my pants.

I stalk inside and she turns toward me. Those amber eyes of hers gleam.

For a second, something like happiness flashes across her face.

Her gaze widens. Her lips part. She takes a step toward me, then stops herself.

I cross the floor until I come to a stop in front of her.

Even with those fuck-me heels, she only comes up to my shoulders.

She’s not short, by any means, but she’s also not a tall woman.

She’s five feet, seven inches, at the most. The perfect height for me to lift her up and coax her to wrap her legs about my waist as I bury myself inside her hot softness…

As if she’s reading my mind, she tilts up her chin.

Those amber eyes turn molten gold. Sparks of silver flash in them.

But her breathing is erratic, and her chest rises and falls.

Her orange blossom and vanilla scent teases my nostrils, and my heart thuds against my rib cage. I raise a hand to touch her cheek when—

"Hunter, you’re here!" Arpad draws abreast and slaps me on my back. "Where’s Declan?"

"I messaged him. He’s on his way."

"Don’t you have a campaign to run?" Zara scoffs. The earlier delight I glimpsed on her face is replaced by that haughty aloofness I now recognize as her mask.

"I have two months to go before I file my nomination," I say mildly.

"Well, don’t you have to do whatever it is rich pricks like you do in the run up to the nomination?" She flips her hair over her shoulder.

"Does it bother you that I’m here?"

She seems taken aback, then laughs. "Of course, not."

"You sure?" I scan her features. "Because you seem to be rattled to see me."

"That’s your ego speaking. Not everything in this world revolves around you."

"Except that—"

Arpad clears his throat. "Umm, guys, maybe you want to take this outside?"

"No need," I say at the same time as Zara. I narrow my gaze on her, and she scowls back at me.

"We’re done here." She turns to leave, when I shoot out my arm and circle my fingers about her wrist. Pinpricks of heat shoot out from the point of contact. She must have the same reaction for she stiffens.

"Actually, I think we do need to speak."

She scowls at me over her shoulder, and I drop her hand at once.

"We have nothing to say to each other," she snaps.

"On the contrary. I think we need to discuss our last meeting."

"Our last meeting?" She scowls.

"Unless you prefer to talk about it here?" I glance about the assembled group of people, all of whom are now watching our interaction.

She follows my line of sight, and her lips tighten. She scowls at her friends, but it doesn’t seem to have any impact. Amelie smiles sweetly at her. Lena leans an arm on Amelie’s shoulder and grins. Karina has a wicked smile on her face.

"I don’t think it’s right to leave. What if the babies come while we’re away?"

"I’ll text you if I hear anything," Amelie says brightly.

"Hmm." She blows out a breath and turns to me. "Fine, let’s go, but I’ll choose the space."

"This is where you want to speak?" I glance around the bustling cafeteria located on the ground floor of the hospital.

Many tables are occupied by doctors in scrubs; others by nurses in uniform.

Still other tables have people in street clothes.

Either staff, or people who have come to visit patients. The buzz of voices fills the air.

"You have a problem?" she retorts.

"I know what you’re trying to do."

"Oh, so now you’re trying to read my mind?"

"You think it’s safer to have this conversation in a public setting. That’s why you brought me here, didn’t you?"

"I brought you here because I heard the coffee here is good."

I shoot her a disbelieving look. "At a hospital cafeteria?"

"Don’t mock it until you try it." She walks over to the buffet counter and places a salad on her tray. I pick up my own tray, then select a plate of pasta. By the time we reach the payments counter, I’ve added some fruit and a slab of chocolate cake.

"That all you’re having?" I glance at her tray which still has only the salad on it, in addition to two cups of coffee.

She gives me a withering look. "You have a problem with it?" She reaches for her handbag, but I lean over and tap my card on the machine on the counter.

"I can pay for my own food," she says in a hard voice.

"Too late." I smile at the cashier, who smiles back at me.

“You look familiar.” She scans my features.

"It happens sometimes. I have the kind of face that people seem to think they’ve seen before."

She continues to stare at me as I watch the machine process the charge, then her face lights up. "Oh, I know who you are: Hunter Whittington." Her smile widens. "You were so good on Newsnight last night on the BBC.”

"Thank you.”

The machine spits out the receipt which she hands over to me. I turn to leave, but she pulls a strip of blank paper from the register, grabs a pen, rounds the counter, and thrusts them at me. "Please, can I have an autograph? It’s for my son."

"Your son knows who I am?" I frown.

"No, but you’re famous, aren’t you?"

Next to me, Zara snorts. A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. I place my tray on the counter and take the pen and paper napkin from the woman.

"I’ll grab us a seat." Zara turns and walks away. I can’t take my gaze off of the sway of her hips.

"Are you two dating?" the woman asks.

"Can I pay for my food please?" An irate voice pipes up behind me.

"So sorry for holding you up." I quickly dash off my signature and hand the paper and pen back to the woman.

"Excuse me." The woman opens her mouth to speak, but I grab my tray, then spin around on my heels and head toward where Zara is seated. I slide into the seat opposite her, facing away from the crowd, and once again, glance at my full tray and the lone salad bowl on hers.

"You sure you don’t want to share some of my food?"

She slides a cup of coffee in my direction. "Very sure."

I glance at the coffee then back at her. "Really?"

She inclines her head. "Don’t you trust me?"

I hold her gaze. "I do." I reach for the coffee and, without breaking my gaze from hers, take a sip. An intense aroma fills my mouth, followed by a sweet flavor tinged with just the right edge of bitterness, all coated with richness that makes me groan.

I blink. "Whoa!"

"Told you."

I place my cup back on the table. "Question is, do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you trust me, Zara?"

She lowers her gaze, then stabs her fork into the salad and spears some leaves. "Not on your bloody life."

I blink, then bark out a laugh. "Jesus, woman, can you be any more perfect?"

She shoots me a glance laced with disbelief. "Umm, did you hear what I just said?"

"Did you hear what I said?" I smirk.

"Do you always have to answer my question with a question?"

"Do you always have to pretend you don’t enjoy our verbal sparring?"

Her lips twitch, then she schools her features into an expression of haughty indifference.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" She lifts the leaves to her mouth and closes her lips around the tines of the fork. I watch in fascination as she licks some of the dressing off her lips. The sight of her pink tongue sends a shiver of lust down my spine. My pants grow tighter at the crotch. Fuck, this is so not the time. I really should tear my gaze off of her mouth, instead of imagining how much I’d like those lips wrapped about my cock. A-n-d my balls tighten. If my dick grows any thicker, I’m risking an embarrassing accident the likes of which haven’t happened since I was sixteen.

"Hunter?" Her lips form my name and warmth pulses through my veins.

"Once more," I order.

"Excuse me?"

"Call me by my name again," I murmur.

"Are you serious?" The edge in her voice cuts through my thoughts. I raise my gaze to find her glowering at me.

"Very. I haven’t been able to forget what happened between us, Zara."

She scoffs. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

"You mean to say you haven’t thought about what would have happened if we hadn’t been interrupted by JJ that day at the club?"

She holds my gaze for a second, then glances away. "What happened that day was a mistake."

"Look at me and say that."

She swallows, inhales, then turns to hold my gaze. "It was a mistake."

I look between her eyes, but the mask she wears for the world is back in place. She’s almost as good at hiding her feelings as I am. She’s just as much of a professional who can play the media. We’re so evenly matched, I couldn’t have found a woman more in tune with my needs than her.

"Zara—" I reach over and place my hand over hers. "You don’t mean it."

Once again, a zing of electricity shoots out from the point of contact.

My throat closes. A weightless feeling flutters in my chest. And all I’m doing is holding hands with her in a crowded cafeteria.

The noise fades away. The rest of the people disappear.

It’s as if we are cocooned in a world of our own where all that exists is her and I.

And this…jolting awareness that joins us.

She must feel the same sensations, for color suffuses her cheeks. "You haven’t called me once in the two months since that day," she says in a low voice.

"Two months and fifteen hours, to be precise," I murmur.

Her gaze widens. "How did you..." Her voice trails off. She scans my features and her lips firm. "Why didn’t you call me, Hunter? Once again, we meet, and then I don’t see you for two friggin’ months. It’s as if you’re committed to only running into me after long intervals of time."

"I was traveling. Also, if I recall correctly, you’re the one who told me to stay away from you."

"I know what I said, and that’s beside the point. You didn’t even message me."

"You could have called or messaged, too," I point out.

"Why would I do that?" She begins to pull back her hand, but I grip her wrist and hold on. "Don’t do that, Zara. Don’t shut down on me."

"This won’t work, Hunter. We both have too much to lose."

"I, more than you."

She firms her lips. "Oh, you’re going there, are you? Because you’re the man in this relationship—"

"The man who’s standing for elections to be the leader of this country."

"And I’ve built my career as a crisis manager. Someone who can be relied on to defuse tricky media situations for my clients. Imagine if it got out that I was involved with you."

"We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"Easy for you to say that. You’re not the one whose competence will be questioned."

"Because you’re dating me?"

"Who said anything about dating?" She tugs on her hand again, and this time, I release her.

"I’m saying it. Now. I want to try and see how it would go if we were to formally date."