"Old enough?" I glide one small step to the left, just far enough that my ear is out of his reach. Keeping my composure when I can literally smell the scent of his skin and almost taste his lips is an impossible feat. I need distance and maybe another glass of the champagne I was drinking earlier.
"I don't need to spell it out for you, do I?" he asks, amusement skirting the question.
He's so confident it's maddening. He was much more attractive hours ago when he was just a man with a gorgeous face. My best friend, Alexa, and I had spent virtually the entire evening drooling over him from afar trading fantasies about what we'd do with him. "You don't and yes, I'm old enough." I pull a faint smile across my lips. "I'm old enough to realize that you're trying in some roundabout way to get me to sleep with you."
He stands in silence, his eyes running from my face, down the black shift dress I'm wearing to my bare feet. I'm suddenly aware that I'm still sporting the same red, white and blue toe nail polish that I have been since the fourth of July, a week ago. I try in vain to curl the toes of my left foot under the right but it's not working.
I'm startled when he abruptly jerks his head back in rolling laughter. His eyes squint as the enjoyment slides over his face. I feel a blush rush through me and I take a deep breath to try and curb it.
"You're lovely, Sadie." The way he says my name is different. He pulls it across his tongue so that it lingers there just a touch longer than it should. "I was talking about a woman I saw at the benefit dinner. I was hoping you could tell me who she was and give me her number."
"B...but you said I was old enough," I stutter. "So I thought you meant."
"Old enough to understand discretion," he whispers as he places his index finger over his lips.
I stare at it mortified that I'd made such a ridiculous assumption. What was I thinking? How could I have thought he wanted me? Look at him. The man can scoop up any woman he wants with a flash of that smile. Men like that want nothing to do with girls like me.
"She was tall, blonde and she was wearing a stunning red dress." His words bite through me given the fact that I'm barely over five feet tall, brunette and my fashion choices are limited to whatever will fully cover the large scar that transverses my chest.
"I'm not sure," I say softly now wishing that I would have asked Maria to stay. She would have been able to handle this conversation much better than me. My mother's maid had been a part of our family since before I was born and she knew everyone's business. She'd know exactly who Hunter was talking about and he'd be out the door by now.
"You couldn't have missed her." A grin pops back up on his face. "She was the center of attention."
The moment he says those words I'm immediately aware of the woman he's talking about. "That's Petra. Petra Monroe." Petra stole the audience in any room she walked in to. She was captivating and I wasn't surprised that she'd be the one he was fixated on.
"Have you got a number for her?" he asks the question so easily.
I'm more than slightly tempted to bring up the woman he arrived and left with but I don't know her name. Besides, what he does and who he chooses to do it with is none of my business. Although I have to admit I'm envious of a
ny woman who gets to do anything beyond talking with him. "I don't," I lie. "I'm sure her husband has it. You can ask him. He's Eric Monroe."
"The senator?" he asks bluntly.
"One in the same." I brush past him with the hope that he'll follow my lead. I reach to open the heavy oak door of my parent's townhouse. "If that was all, it's getting late."
He glances at the silver wristwatch he's wearing. "The night is still young."
I know it must be nearing three by now. "I have an early morning and I'd like to get to bed." I motion with my arm towards the street where a car is idling. "Your ride awaits."
"What are you going to be doing so early on a Saturday?" He's standing in front of me now. His presence is imposing. It's not just his height, which is near six feet. It's the raw charisma that is oozing from him. I wonder briefly what it would feel like to just reach out and kiss him.
I sigh heavily. "I have to be at work in a few hours."
The corner of his brow cocks upwards. "You have a job?" he spits the question out. He clearly isn't trying to mask the surprise in it.
"Yes and I'm very tired." I gently start to close the door but it resists once it hits his shoulder.
"You're a Harvard student, aren't you? And your parents obviously aren't pinching pennies." The way he casually gestures around us irks me.
"What does that mean?" I'm annoyed and I hope he can pick up the subtle clue I'm trying to hit him over the head with.
"You don't have to work, do you?" It's obvious by the way he stresses the word 'have' that he thinks I'm a trust fund baby. I am but that's not his business and besides he can't be that much older than I am and that Rolex on his wrist suggests that his daddy is probably paying his way.
I wrinkle my brow as I search for the right words to politely tell him to fuck off. My mother left me in charge of her charity dinner and if I piss off someone who might have written her a nice big check I'll never hear the end of it. "It's late and my work isn't really your concern." I know that sounds snappy but I'm too tired to care what he thinks.
"Where do you work?" He stands his ground and I feel a slight chill course through me as the cool night air creeps through the open door.
"At Star Bistro." I cringe when the words leap from my lips. Why am I telling him this? "I really need to get to sleep."