How the hell did he know that? Hunter looked at his phone, but when he put it back to his ear to demand to know if his assistant had developed psychic powers, Duncan was gone.
And, yeah, Hunter hoped she said yes too.
Hunt brushed snow off his shoulders and stamped his feet as he stepped into the lobby of The Stellan, grateful for the blast of warmth. He looked toward the night doorman who’d lumbered to his feet.
“Mario, working Christmas Eve?”
“Yes, sir,” Mario replied. “It’s not a big deal, the family is only flying in later this morning.”
“Nice,” Hunt replied, wishing he could be certain of the reception from the only person—apart from the Williams clan—he considered his family.
Well, he’d soon know. In ten or so hours, he’d know whether Christmas would be his favorite holiday or if he’d be hating the holiday for the rest of his life.
“Pete will be here soon. Will you buzz me when he arrives?” Hunt asked, striding toward the elevator.
“Sure. But, Mr. Sheridan, you have a visitor.”
Hunt sent him a sharp look, convinced that Mario had been at the Christmas eggnog when no one was looking. It was Christmas Eve, he lived alone and nobody would be visiting him at this time of night—or morning—at this time of the year.
Mario grinned at him, lifted his thumb and jerked it to the side. Hunt turned slowly and saw a small figure curled up on the visitor’s couch in the lobby. Hunt’s breathing turned shallow as he recognized that pale face, that messier-than-usual hair.
Adie.
Holy hell, she was back.
Hunt couldn’t take his eyes off her. “When did she get in?”
“Shortly after you left,” Mario replied. “She asked me not to call you, said that she’d wait for you to come home. I was about to call you when I noticed that she’d fallen asleep.”
“She’s been to the UK and back,” Hunt said, trying to work out why she was in his lobby, back in his life. Did it matter? She was here.
Hope, warm and tentative, bloomed in his chest.
Mario chuckled. “So, are you going to just look at her or are you going to get her out of my lobby?”
“Out. But give me a second,” Hunt answered, whipping out his phone. He quickly contacted Duncan and told him to cancel the flight plan and his driver.
Then Hunt bent over Adie, slid his hands and arms under her and gently lifted her to his chest. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open. “Hunt? Where am I?”
Hunt dropped a kiss in her hair. “Home, sweetheart. You’re home.”
“Good,” Adie replied, before closing her eyes and falling back to sleep.
Adie opened her eyes and sat up. It was snowing again. Big fat flakes drifted past Hunt’s huge bedroom window, one or two splattering against the glass. Dark heavy clouds told her that more snow was on the way, and the trees swaying in Central Park suggested the wind was howling.
Lying back down again, Adie decided it was a perfect day to drift back to sleep. She patted the bed next to her, but Hunt wasn’t there. Maybe he’d gone to work...damn.
What was the time? Her watch was always where she left it, on the bedside table, and Adie picked it up and squinted at the face. It was past ten...
Well, huh. It had been a while since she’d slept so late. Adie peered over the side of the bed to see what she’d knocked to the floor when she picked up her watch and saw a bunch of keys,herbunch of keys. The ones that opened her flat and her offices...
She was back in New York...
Adie scampered out of bed, realizing that she was dressed in one of Hunt’s T-shirts. She glanced around the room to see her clothes piled up on the wingback chair next to his side of the bed.
Adie rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers as memories of the past thirty-six hours slapped her, hard and fast. It had been a smooth flight from London and she should’ve slept in the comfort of business class, but she’d been too hyped and far too nervous. It was only when she got to The Stellan and sat down on the couch in the lobby that she started to relax and she must’ve fallen asleep.
She presumed it was Hunt who got her upstairs, undressed her and put her to bed.