Oh, aye, it had changed all right.
In the worst fucking way possible.
Ardnoch Castle was a rambling, castellated mansion, six stories tall and about two hundred years old, situated on thousands of acres of estate. When Aria Howard had reached out to my management to ask if I was interested in membership, my publicist Annette was on at me to buy it. I thought it was a bunchof pretentious, overpriced nonsense. But they said it would be good for my image, and I liked the idea that the club was in my homeland. I hadn’t expected to fall in love with the place. I hadn’t anticipated that because of its security, I’d need it as a haven to run to.
The low winter sun hovered over the horizon, making the windows of the castle glint in welcome.
Wakefield, the butler, appeared out of the large main entrance before the Range Rover had even pulled to a stop on the gravel. The weirdest part of the transition from impoverished nobody to famous actor was the way people wanted to do everything for me. It chafed a bit. Wakefield opened my door as soon as the car stopped.
“Welcome back to Ardnoch, Mr. Hunter,” he said with warm professionalism.
No hint of accusation or judgment in his voice.
“Thank you, Wakefield,” I replied, even though I didn’t want to speak to anyone.
“Any luggage, sir?”
No. As soon as my team told me what the papers would publish this morning, I jumped on a plane to Scotland. I’d been in LA, getting ready to fly back to London to start shootingBirdwatcher, the spy movie that was going to change my life. With a director as infamously brilliant as Blake Forster at the helm, it was set to rival James Bond.
A knot twisted in my gut.
Annette told me to flee to Ardnoch to ride out the coming storm while my agent, Harry, warned me this might wreak havoc with the film and its schedule. That’s all I needed. To be the reason the studio lost money on delays because the tabloids were fucking savage animals who didn’t give a shit what they put anyone through.
“My luggage is arriving separately,” I told Wakefield. “I don’t know how long I’m going to be staying at the moment.”
“Very good, sir. Let me show you to Ms. Howard’s office.”
I groaned inwardly. “Can’t you just show me to my room?” It was like being taken to the head teacher’s office. A tantalizingly sexy head teacher. But I wasn’t in the mood for Aria Howard’s disdain today.
“Ms. Howard would like to speak to you, sir,” Wakefield said carefully.
Oh, aye, right. I had a feeling I knew what she wanted to say, and honestly, I wasn’t sure my frayed bloody nerves could take it.
Usually, I got a kind of perverse satisfaction out of her aloof and caustic reaction to me. It had been like that between us from the moment we met, and I had no clue why. Today, however, I just wanted to hide in my fucking room and have no bugger bother me.
Reluctantly, I followed the butler to Aria’s office.
She spoke with Wakefield before I entered the room and I knew I was in a bad way because her husky voice did nothing to me. Her voice normally made my cock twitch. I didn’t think the woman realized she had the bedroom voice to beat all bedroom voices.
The butler withdrew as I stepped inside, and he closed the door behind us. Aria stood, drawing my attention. I didn’t want to look at her, but I couldn’t stop myself.
Women had fallen at my feet my whole life. Aye, that sounded horrifically arrogant, didn’t it? But it was the truth. I’d never had to work hard to get a woman in my bed. In fact, since becoming famous, I’d even found them in it without invitation. Problem was, I couldn’t do casual sex. It wasn’t something I talked about a lot because my mates would probably look at me like I was off my nut, but casual sex left me feeling empty. Ienjoyed being in a relationship. Enjoyed feeling needed. I was in a long-term relationship with Cara Rochdale the first time I’d met Aria, so the fact that another woman made my blood hot beyond bearing incited some major fucking guilt.
But after what Cara did to me only fourteen hours ago, I no longer felt guilty about my attraction to the estate manager. I didn’t know what it was about Aria Howard that excited me. Aye, she was beautiful, but I’d dated beautiful women before, Cara among them. I think it was the dichotomy of Aria’s overtly sexual, physical appearance to her cool, efficient manner.
My gut twisted as our eyes met and held.
Aria had striking eyes. Mossy green and so light and clear against her olive complexion and almost black hair. Everything about her made a man want to sink into her. Plump lips, spectacularly large tits, and full hips. She was tall, almost my height in heels, and her length stretched her voluptuous curves, but thankfully not enough. Her waist drew in, giving her that perfect, exaggerated hourglass. I’d overheard an actor gossiping with another on the estate a few months back and Aria had come up in conversation. She’d called Aria fat. Jealous cow. Aria was perfect.
Unfortunately, she hated me even before today.
I waited for her disgust to twist that knot in my gut even tighter.
She rounded her desk to face me, and I insolently drew my eyes down her body and back up again, provoking her. Her lips pursed for a second, and she crossed her arms over her chest. I wondered if she knew her body language gave her away. She was always crossing her arms over her chest in my presence. Guarding herself. Defensive. I had no idea what I’d done to this woman, but I didn’t have my usual energy to figure it out.
“Room key?” I held out my hand.
Her eyes flared at my abruptness. “I put you in the Bruce Suite.”
