Billionaire With a Twist 2 (7 page)

It wasn’t my greatest parting
shot in my history of parting shots, but I’d take it. I whirled
around and headed for the guesthouse, intent on collapsing into bed
as soon as I made it through the door, dreams of sugar plums and
recriminations dancing in my head.

Only it seemed that Hunter had no plans
to let me make it to the guesthouse.

He planted himself in front of me,
blocking the path.

“I can actually go around you,
you know,” I pointed out. “You’ve got broad
shoulders, but it’s not like you can block all points in space
and time.”

“I don’t need to,” he
countered, moving to intercept me as I tried to go around him as I’d
threatened. “I just need to wear you down until you finally
give me a straight answer on why you’re acting like a bratty
teenager instead of my brilliant-minded work colleague and personal
guest.”

My fists clenched. I could feel a
tremble working its way outward from my heart, working its way into
my voice. “I don’t owe you an explanation, Hunter Knox. I
don’t owe you anything.”

“Maybe so,” he said, his
voice a dark rumble. “But I’m going to get one
regardless.”

I tried to shoulder past him, but he
threw out his strong arm and I ran right into it, that hard muscle
under his tailored tuxedo, the fabric crisp and smooth and smelling
of his cologne and of him, and oh God, he smelled so good, oh God, he
was so warm, I just wanted to taste him, I just wanted to melt into
his arms…

His arm wrapped around me, pulling me
to his chest.

My heart was beating a million times a
minute.

“Admit it,” he growled, his
voice darker than midnight, and my knees wobbled as arousal swept
through me. “Admit it, Ally: you’re jealous.”

“Of course I’m jealous!”
I exploded, ripping myself away from his grasp. My tiny fist hammered
onto his chest. “I’ve just been trying to be
professional, because goddamnit, some of us have to earn every inch
of our way to the top in this business, and I didn’t want
people to think I’d earned mine on my back! But—but you
asshole—” tears were threatening to choke my voice
now—“we shared something good, something, something
real
,
and now you’re just—goddamnit, just onto the next girl,
and it’s my goddamn sister, how
could
you—”

“So you don’t want me
dating Paige?” he asked, an emotion I couldn’t identify
flitting behind his stoic mask.

“No!”

“Okay, then.” And then he
smiled. “I won’t.”

I gaped at him. “What…?”

“I won’t,” he
repeated, more gently this time. His hand reached out, cupping my
cheek. “I didn’t want to hurt you…I never want to
hurt you…”

“You did a good job anyway,”
I whispered.

His eyes were molten pools of gold, and
I was falling into them. “You’re all that I want…”

He leaned closer.

My lips parted, my breath stolen from
me by his mere presence.

Our lips met, hesitantly at first and
then with growing passion. His arms pressed me against his hard body,
my hands clutching possessively at the small of his back, bunching
the fabric there as I claimed him with my mouth. He nibbled at my
lower lip and I moaned against him, parting my lips invitingly until
he thrust his tongue inside, tasting me, exploring me, making me
squirm against him in desire.

And then—

And then he pulled back and gave me a
gentle peck on the lips, a wistful smile on his face before he walked
away, leaving me reeling and more confused than ever.

But also a little bit…hopeful?

Until I realized: what the hell had I
just done?

And what was I going to tell Paige?

I fussed with the edge of my napkin and
tried not to feel guilty. It was tricky. I had a lot of things to
feel guilty about. Number one on that list was either making out with
Hunter after I’d sworn that I wouldn’t get in the way of
his and Paige’s budding relationship, or else it was all the
things I could vaguely remember telling Chuck last night—I just
hoped I hadn’t told him any more things that I now forgot. And
I hoped he’d been as drunk as me. With any luck, he wouldn’t
remember a thing.

Unfortunately, Paige was unlikely to
ever get drunk enough to forget that she had been dating Hunter Knox,
so I’d decided that my first stop on the damage control tour
was going to be brunch at our favorite local diner, where I’d
break the news to her as gently as I could, and hope she could find
it in her heart to forgive me.

A waiter nearly dropped my coffee cup
onto the saucer and I winced, pain lancing through my head.

It was super not helping my damage
control tour planning that I was hungover as hell. Every time I tried
to think of how I’d start the conversation, something—usually
mind-boggling pain—would distract me.

“Ally!”

I looked up, trying to grin at Paige in
an ‘I don’t feel like a dentist’s drill is going
through my skull’ sort of way.

“Hey, Paige.”

She looked great, rested and content
and glowing with new love in a pair of comfy jeans and a soft pink
cardigan. Guilt turned over in my stomach, more painful than the
hangover.

What I was about to say would probably
wipe that happy smile right off her face.

Before I could even get started,
though, the waiter swooped over, probably drawn by the glow of
Paige’s contentment. “And what can I get you two ladies?”

“Stack of pancakes with
strawberry syrup and whipped cream, a side of bacon extra well done,
and a mint chocolate chip milkshake, please,” Paige said with a
chipper grin, which only increased my trepidation. Paige only risked
our mother’s wrath with a calorie-loaded meal like that when
she was feeling on top of the world.

“Just more water and some dry
toast, thanks,” I muttered, digging through my purse and
wishing desperately that a bottle of ibuprofen would appear in the
bottom. No dice. Of course not.

“Is something wrong?” Paige
asked. “Did you lose your phone, or—?”

“Nope,” I grumbled, setting
my purse back on the seat. “I’m fine.”

After the waiter was gone, there was an
awkward silence that was probably less than five seconds, but that my
guilt managed to stretch into eons.

“Ally, honestly, what’s
bothering you?” Paige’s voice was concerned now. “Usually
when we’re here, I can’t get you to stop raving about the
waffles.”

“The waffles are still
rave-worthy,” I said.

“Or else you’d be ranting
about work,” Paige went on with a fond smile. “All the
injustices and slights you’re fighting uphill against, but how
it’ll all be worth it someday.”

“Didn’t realize I was such
a predictable conversationalist,” I said awkwardly.

“No, no, I like hearing you talk
about work!” Paige said quickly. “I’ve always
admired how hard you fight—is that it? Did something really bad
happen at your job?”

“No, no,” I said before she
could get too worried about me and twist the guilt-knife in my gut
any further. “Nothing bad. Something kind of good, actually.
For me.”

Paige’s forehead creased
slightly. “What’s the problem, then?”

“Good…for me,” I
repeated. “Maybe not so good for you. Um…Hunter. Well.
He kissed me. I kissed him. We kissed. I’m so sorry—”

Paige laughed.

My head snapped up, indignation
fighting for space alongside the guilt and rapidly winning. “I’m
serious, Paige. It’s the truth! I wouldn’t lie about—”

“Of course you wouldn’t!”
Paige said, taking my hand and squeezing it. “Oh, I’m not
laughing at you at all, Ally—well, not for that. Just for
thinking you could hide something from your big sister. I could tell
you liked him. We weren’t really dating.”

I gaped, unable to contemplate a
reality in which people cheerfully decided not to date Hunter Knox.
“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Paige assured
me. “To tell the truth, I only went along with the whole thing
to keep Mom happy and off my back for awhile. I was never interested
in Hunter; he’s not even remotely my type.”

I snorted in shocked disbelief. “How
is that man not anyone’s type?”

“Well…” Paige smiled
a secretive, happy little smile. “…you remember Sergei?”

“Vaguely?” I remembered
some Russian guy from Paige’s college art courses: tall,
skinny, androgynous; deep soulful brown eyes but couldn’t grow
a beard if his life depended on it, and a build that reminded me of
nothing so much as a collection of coat hangers strung together
tenuously. “Well, different strokes for different folks, I
guess.”

“Oh, stroking has been happening,
all right,” Paige said in a low voice with a wicked grin that
seemed imported from an alternate universe, not native to the face of
my famously dependable and well-behaved older sister.

“Uh, what?” I said, an
answering grin beginning to steal across my face.

Paige lowered her voice. “Can I
tell you a secret?”

“Of course!”

That wicked grin widened, and she let
out a little giggle. “I’ve been seeing him again! Under
the Mom-radar, of course. He’s painting me,” she sighed.

My mouth fell open wide enough to catch
every last fly in the universe. “No way!”

Paige nodded, the cat that got the
cream. “Yep. Hunter was actually helping out.”

“Seriously?” I asked again.

“True story. That guy’s a
total romantic; I explained about Sergei, and he came right out and
offered to invite me on dates and then drop me off at Serge’s
apartment. He’d drive off to the library to do research and
come back a couple hours later.”

My heart squeezed tight in my chest.
Damn, but I had fallen into bed with a nice guy that night at the
hotel.

“It was pretty obvious he was
hung up on someone too,” Paige went on. “Then I saw you
two together, and—well. I can put a puzzle together when it’s
that easy.”

I was so relieved I couldn’t
believe it; all the tension that had lived in my shoulders and back
for so long had fled, and I felt like without it I might collapse.
“Oh my God, Paige, I’m so happy I can’t even—and
I’m so happy for you!”

“And Sergei’s been helping
me get back into the art scene,” Paige confided. “In
fact, some people want me to do a show at Blackbird, you know that
little gallery downtown?”

“Do I know it? The place you’ve
been pining to do a show at since you were seventeen? Of course I
do!” I was so proud and happy I could burst. I wanted to grab
her hands and swing her around in a circle. “Oh man, you are a
superhero.” Then a thought occurred to me. “So wait, all
that party planning and socialite stuff—”

“Oh, I’ve been having to do
all that too,” Paige said. “You know Mom would’ve
smelled a rat if I’d let any of it slide. And of course I’ll
keep helping out with the Knox stuff even after I tell Mom; it’s
the least I can do for you. Plus, I really love it. I do.”

“See previous statement about
superheroics, times a billion,” I said.

“Thanks, Ally. I don’t
always feel that way.” Paige’s lower lip wobbled
slightly; her eyes took on the slightest sheen of unshed tears. “I’ve
been under her heel so long, sometimes I forget that it’s
actually my life. I let her take over. You were so smart to move out
when you did, get yourself out from under her thumb. I’ve been
thinking about doing the same. So I can start doing things my way.”

I restrained myself from leaping up and
doing a victory dance; I didn’t want to scare her off. Instead
I asked, “Are you moving in with Sergei?”

Paige shook her head regretfully. “No.
It’s tempting—Lord, is it tempting—but I have to
stand on my own two feet first.” She looked determined, and
then she sighed. “It’s hard work, though. I’ve been
looking at apartment listings, trying to work out a budget I can live
on with my salary, but everything is so overwhelming.”

“I’ll help you!” I
volunteered.

Paige’s face lit, then fell
again. “But you’re so busy. I couldn’t impose.”

I took her hand and squeezed it. “Hey,
anything for my big sister. Especially anything for a big sister like
you.”

And then tears really did well up in
Paige’s eyes, and she stood, pulling me toward her to envelop
me in a great big bear hug that warmed me to my bones.

So that was one source of guilt
resolved.

How much trouble could the next one
cause?

(Ever hear the phrase ‘famous
last words’?)

“How’s my favorite ad
person?” Hunter asked, strolling onto set.

“Uh, I’m the only ad person
you even remotely consider human,” I told him, trying to ignore
how delectable he looked in a loose white linen shirt that set off
his tan, and jeans that hugged his ass in all the right ways. “And
I’m great! I mean, I’m being eaten alive by this schedule
and judging by their hungry looks, possibly eventually also by the
actors, but I’m great—”

“Excuse me!” Our director
bustled up, a feisty woman with horn-rimmed glasses, short spiky blue
hair, and the drive of Napoleon. “We still need footage of the
distillery, and if we don’t leave now, we’ll lose the
light, and of course the lighting people will do their best to fill
it in, but artificial is never the same as—”

“Right, right,” I said.
“Well, if you’re all ready, I’ll lead you there…”

“One minute!” She bustled
off again, shouting for cameramen and personal assistants and
lighting directors and sound guys.

Hunter touched my arm. “May I tag
along?”

I raised my eyebrow in mock outrage.
“On your own plantation? How dare you suggest such a thing!”

He laughed and linked his arm with
mine, strolling along with me as the director corralled her minions
and began to follow us to the distillery. On the way there I talked
almost entirely to the director—scenes we should shoot, shots
we should cut, lighting, color, camera angles—and yet I never
lost track of the sensation of Hunter’s strong arm through
mine, Hunter’s strong presence at my side. The heat coming off
his skin, the heat coming through his eyes.