If Hunter had his way, the entire holiday would be canceled. But, while Christmas meant less than nothing to him, there were people out there obsessed with the holiday and who were, judging by what he’d seen last night, prepared to spend a lot of money celebrating.
Three hundred thousand for a dog collar? Wow.
Hunt leaned back in his chair and dug his fingers into his eye sockets, reluctantly admitting that dog collars and wine stoppers and bittersweet chocolate weren’t foremost on his mind.
Adie Ashby-Tate was.
Oh, he’d known who she was the moment he stepped into the ballroom of the Grantham-Forrester. He instantly recognized her from Kate’s incessant social media posts. And who else but the owner of the company would be the last to leave?
With her shaggy, short espresso-colored curls cut close to her head and her delicate features, she reminded him of a young Audrey Hepburn. Her skin was a deep shade of cream, and her eyes...
He ran his hand through his hair and blew out a long stream of air. Those eyes... Jesus, they were gorgeous. Against her luminous skin, they were the color of dark coffee beans tipped onto winter snow.
Her body, slim but curvy, had been a revelation and she’d fit him perfectly, as if she were a puzzle piece he hadn’t known he was missing.
Puzzle piece, luminous skin, the action in his pants... How old was he, thirty-five or fifteen?
Hunt rubbed his hand over his jaw. He’d been immediately attracted to her looks, but catching her at the end of her event, he’d seen the woman beneath the salesperson, a woman more down-to-earth than he’d expected for someone completely immersed in their world,hisworld.
It was a place laced with over-the-top opulence, fantastic service and unforgettable experiences. It was a world of excess and bling, instant gratification, pride and arrogance. According to his online research, her father was a British lord, her mother an American tobacco heiress and she was their only child. Adie’s mother was a former famous model, her father was once—before inheriting a fortune from his parents—a professional polo player. These days, her father didn’t seem to do much of anything, choosing to hop from superyacht to superyacht, mansion to mansion in the pursuit of pleasure, accompanied by a variety of young, busty women.
Their daughter was very much a product of that rich, aristocratic world. Adie’s dress, a shorty frothy number, had been designer, and fat diamond studs had glinted in her pretty earlobes. Her perfume was expensive and her accent was upper-class British, thoroughly classy. She was the real deal, a proper aristocrat and, although he hadn’t seen her working the room, Hunt knew she’d done it with grace and charm.
He should’ve introduced himself, that much was obvious, but if he had, he wouldn’t have gotten to kiss her, hold her slim body against his, feel her sleek curves under his shaky fingers. He’d been surprised at her offer to go upstairs—because she hadn’t seemed the type—but he’d wanted to accept her unexpected offer, because, hell, that kiss blew his socks off.
Knowing that she needed to know who she was going to bed with—a potential client, one of the most influential business people in the city, according to Kate—he’d been about to introduce himself when her damn phone rang.
He’d watched as a frisson of fear and wariness replaced lust in her eyes and he’d seen his chance slipping away.
By the time she’d finished her conversation, it was obvious she was having second thoughts about what she’d proposed. So, he’d kissed her goodbye, knowing he’d see her again in less than eighteen hours.
And that they’d soon be picking up where they’d left off.
Hunt massaged the tight knot in his right trapezius muscle, thinking that he had work to do, lots of it. But, because he was acting like an adolescent, he couldn’t stop thinking about Adie’s sweet and sensuous kiss. It had been the sexiest of his life and, had they gotten to the really good stuff, Hunt thought there would have been a good chance of them setting the hotel on fire.
It had been that hot.
He couldn’t remember when last, if ever, he’d had that same take-her-to-the-floor reaction to a woman. He’d been busy lately and hadn’t slept with anyone but Griselda for more than a year, not because he was committed to her or their arrangement—he wasn’t—but because he’d been too busy to bother.
Right now, he’d ditch everything...
EVERY.
THING.
...to take Adie Ashby-Tate to bed.
Hunt released a frustrated growl, annoyed that he couldn’t move his focus and concentration onto anything other than a gorgeous woman with big brown eyes and a pixie face.
This wasn’t who he was, wasn’t what he did. He was never distracted by women and he never allowed them to affect his productivity. Work was all that was important.
He had several companies to run, a legacy to create, goals to reach. People—women, friends, acquaintances—sucked up time when he could be working. But here he was, completely distracted.
God.
Help.
Him.