Claiming Magique: 1 (23 page)

How could it be?
That
would fucking kill him.

“I may be many things,” Tim
continued, “not all of them good, but I am a realist and I can see this has
gone far beyond anything I expected.” He leaned up in his chair and spoke more
quietly than he had before. “Face it, Hunt, you had your fun with her—thanks in
large part to me letting you use my place—but that’s all it was. She’s not
going to be who you want her to be. She sure as hell won’t be good for your
career. How in the fuck could you take her to any functions in this town when
half the guys here have already booked evenings with—”

“Shut up.”
The
back of Hunt’s chair smacked into the window.
He went around his desk,
stopping in front of Tim. “Don’t say anything bad about her.
Ever.
Got it?”

David backed away.

Tim pushed to his feet. “Sorry, man.
I’m just worried about you. You’ve never been like this with any woman. I
thought it was funny at first, but now
it’s
nuts.
Especially with her.”

Hunt moved closer, crowding Tim. The
man stepped to the side, putting distance between them. Hunt followed. “And why
is it nuts with her?
Because she’s what?
A whore?”

“I didn’t say—”

“You didn’t have to.” Hunt continued
to advance as Tim retreated. “If she’s a whore, what does that make you? What
does it make any of us?”

Tim bumped into the credenza,
knocking a glass to the floor. It shattered. Hunt stepped over the shards as he
continued to advance. “We acted like pigs and she’s the one to blame? Is that
what you’re saying?”

“Hey, I’m not saying anything at—”

Hunt cut Tim off. “She has good
reason for what she’s done. What’s your excuse? You had the fucking world
handed to you. Your family thinks you walk on water. They refuse to see any
faults, and trust me, there are many.”

“Fine, okay, I’m a prick, a pig, an
SOB.” Tim lifted his hands in surrender.

“She’s who I want, got it?” Hunt
growled at them both.

“Of course,” David said quickly. “If
there’s anything we can do to help, let us know. We’ll be there for you.”

Tim made a face. “Now you’re talking
like we’re girls or something.”

“Screw you,” David said to him and
turned back to Hunt. “Anything, all right? Just let us know.”

“I’m fine,” Hunt said.

Hell, he was great, and he’d be even
better once he saw
Alexa
again, because she would
show up for their date, eager to see him.

He arrived at the restaurant twenty
minutes before schedule, unable to help himself.

George, the elderly host, checked
the clock on the wall, staring at it in confusion. “Mr. Prescott…”

“I’m early,” he said. “That’s not a
problem, is it?”

“No, not at
all.”
George gestured to the server Hunt
had given the hundred to that afternoon
Alexa
had
been here. The boy glanced expectantly at Hunt while George whispered to him.
He murmured something in return,
then
hurried away.

“Forgive us, but your
table’s
not quite ready,” George said. “Would you care to
wait in the bar?”

“Has a young lady been in here
asking for me?”

George’s white brows inched up a
bit. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“Have you been at your station the
entire time?”

“Well…yes.” He glanced past Hunt at
the patrons lining up behind him. Leaning closer, he asked, “Would you like me
to check with the servers to see if your young lady has been asking for you?”

His young
lady.
Hunt liked how that sounded.

Smiling, he said, “No. I’ll wait
outside for my table.” He headed in that direction, then thought better of it.
If
Alexa
had arrived early, could be she was in the
bar, downing some liquid courage, a drink stronger than the Black Velvets she
liked. It was even possible she was just outside the ladies’ lounge, hoping for
a repeat of the last time they’d been here.

Hunt grinned, until he recalled
Ronnie’s criticism of how he and
Alexa
behaved when
they were together. Reading each other’s body language, going at it like
oversexed teens rather than communicating as everyone else did.

Easy for
Ronnie to say.
Talking was where
Alexa
got all screwed up, staring instead of answering his
questions, afraid to surrender to her feelings for him.

“Mr. Prescott?” George said as Hunt
strode past.

He called over his shoulder, “I’ll
be in the bar or the ladies—” He stopped.

Several diners continued to watch
him.

“I’ll be in the back,” he mumbled
and headed toward the bar even though he wanted to go to the lounge to see if
Alexa
was there. Hunt walked past a series of stools, not
seeing her,
then
craned his neck to check out the
tables.

From behind, Vince asked, “Your
usual, Mr. Prescott?”

“Yeah.
Thanks.”

She wasn’t at any of the tables.
Hunt headed toward the ladies’ lounge.

“Mr. Prescott?”

What dammit? Gritting his teeth,
Hunt glanced over. Vince gestured to the bourbon he was pouring.

“I’ll get it in a minute,” Hunt
said. “Put it on my tab.”

“Yes sir.”

He shouldered his way past a group
leaving their table and found himself behind several women who were also
heading for the lounge. For one wild moment, Hunt considered tapping the
shoulder of the woman closest to him, asking her to see if
Alexa
was inside.

The curious glances of the men
nearby stopped that foolishness. Dropping his hand, Hunt continued to the men’s
room, paced a bit, then left and haunted the hallway for a few minutes. No
Alexa
. However, the other ladies came out. He headed back
to George’s station.

The older man handed menus to a
server who led his guests to their table.

Hunt checked the waiting crowd.
Still no
Alexa
.
“Is my table ready
yet?” he asked.

“Excuse me for a moment,” George
said to the next patrons in line. He spoke into his microphone headset,
listened,
then
smiled at Hunt. “Yes, it is.” A snap of
George’s fingers brought another server over. “Please see Mr. Prescott to his
usual table.”

“A young lady will be joining me.”

“Of course.”
George grabbed another menu and handed them to the server.
“Both of you enjoy,” he said.

The weather was even more miraculous
than it had been the last time—upper seventies, sunny with a mild breeze that
wiggled the tails of the linen tablecloths and the canvas umbrellas. A good
sign Hunt knew. A spring day filled with hope and promise.

He settled in his chair and glanced
at the table where
Alexa
and Wallace had sat. Today,
an elderly couple was there, looking content with their silence. There wasn’t a
need for endless conversation. They understood and were comfortable with each
other.

Before he’d met
Alexa
,
Hunt wouldn’t have noticed the pair. If he had, he would have thought they
looked dull as death, leading equally boring lives. Going to bed together,
waking up, making it through another day only to repeat the process endlessly,
their lives fossilized.

The thought of doing that with
Alexa
was exciting enough to make Hunt’s pulse race.

He wondered what she’d be wearing
today.
That same gold blouse from the last time, along with
her narrow brown skirt?
He really liked how demure she’d looked in it
given that she was naked beneath. Surely, she wouldn’t wear panties or a thong
today, though he hoped for stockings and a garter belt.

His cock stirred at the thought. He
draped his napkin over his lap, hiding his arousal from the server who arrived
with his forgotten bourbon.

“Thanks.” Hunt took a healthy sip,
trying to relax and focus on something other than
Alexa
or the time.

It was ten minutes before their scheduled
date.

Instrumental R&B played. The
diners’ voices rose and fell, punctuated with occasional laughter. Silverware
clacked against china plates. Tires hissed over the asphalt. Horns blared.

Hunt continued to listen for the tap
of
Alexa’s
heels, her approach. He inhaled deeply,
wanting to smell her rose and jasmine fragrance, not what the other women were
wearing.

The ladies behind his table must
have bathed in their perfumes. The sweet scents were so
cloying,
it overpowered the succulent odor of grilled steaks. If he hadn’t been waiting
for
Alexa
at his usual spot—the place she’d be
looking for him—he would have asked for another table.

Three minutes to show time.

He downed his drink, appreciating
its heat in his throat and belly, desperate to calm down. His legs felt funny
again, as they had in his office. He hoped to god that he’d be able to get to
his feet when she arrived. Would she push to her toes to kiss his cheek or
would she offer her hand for him to shake? A deceptively formal greeting given what
they’d already shared.

What they’d continue to do from here
on out.

To prove it, he’d greet
Alexa
with a hug to show her exactly how he felt. During
lunch, he’d hold her hand and make his case for their next date—tonight. They’d
go grocery shopping, just as he’d said. Normal, stupid, boring stuff to take
the danger out of their love, convincing her she could relax.

Hunt cleared his throat, trying to
calm his racing heart.

His server approached.
“Another, Mr. Prescott?”
He took the empty glass.

Hunt nodded. He moved his chair when
the woman behind him bumped into it.

“Oh—sorry,” she said.

He gave her a smile in response and
noticed the elderly couple was leaving hand-in-hand.
Good for you.
He
grinned at their devotion after all these years.

Neither of them noticed him.

The bus staff cleared the table,
dressing it in a new linen cloth and place settings.

“Enjoy,” the server said, delivering
Hunt’s bourbon.

“Wait.” He turned to the boy. “What
time do you have?”

The kid checked his watch and told
him.

Hunt had the same time. Five minutes
past the scheduled start of his and
Alexa’s
date. He
glanced at the street, the heavy traffic. The stoplights seemed to go red every
few seconds, clogging the flow even more. Wallace must have got caught in the
jam, unless
Alexa
was driving herself.

Maybe she’d had car trouble. Christ,
could she have been in an accident?

Oh shit, not that. Hunt listened for
the wail of sirens. Someone close to his table
laughed,
a shrill, irritating sound. He pulled out his cell phone, checking the local
news. Crazy, he knew. Unless an accident involved a fifty-car pileup, no one
would report on it.

He checked the time again. Four more
minutes had passed. She was almost ten minutes late. She hadn’t left him a
text, nor had she called.

I’ll try,
she’d said.

She hadn’t promised. She hadn’t
committed.

No, dammit, no. She was going to
show up.

“Hey,” Hunt said to the busboy.
“Leave that alone.”

The kid snatched his hands back from
the silverware. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were expecting someone.”

Wasn’t the menu lying there obvious?
“Just leave it.”

“Yes sir.”

The woman behind Hunt’s chair
smacked his again as she and her group left. This time, she didn’t apologize.
His server approached. “Would you care for another drink, Mr. Prescott?”

Hunt squeezed his empty glass. “No.”

“Perhaps you’d like to order an
appetizer while you wait for your guest?”

She was now fifteen minutes late.
Hunt stared at the unopened menu on
Alexa’s
side. He
recalled Tim’s warning.

She’s not going to be who you want
her to be…she won’t show.

Thirty minutes passed, then forty,
fifty.

Hunt recalled their night in the
tent and the first evening he’d seen her. The way she’d laughed at his stupid
joke. How she’d clung to him when they’d been alone in the bath.

“She’s not your ordinary call girl,”
Jack
Kilhan
had said.

She chose whom she wanted to be
with. She never did one on one. If she refused a man, that was the end of it.