Her smile turned rueful. “I think that’s a product of me having zero, and I meanzero, game.”
“I disagree. I think your game is that you have zero game. It’s…” He leaned forward again, until there were only a few inches separating them and he could see how her brown eyes had flecks of gold near her pupils. “Very attractive.”
Her swallow was audible. Her voice on the other hand? That had become a bare whisper. “It is?”
If she was as aware of him as he was of her—and he was beginning to think she was—thenwhyhadn’t she used his number before now? If she’d felthalfof what he’d felt when they’d kissed,howcould she have stayed away?
“Why did you wait three years to call me?” He’d dropped his own voice to a low rumble.
Something that looked like embarrassment came over her face. She confirmed it when she said, “I know you only gave me your number because you felt sorry for me. Because I was such a wreck back then. I didn’t like the thought of you pitying me.”
“I never pitied you.”
“Of course you did. I waspathetic.” She made a face and took a step back. He wanted to growl at the extra inches it put between them. “You saw how I froze when Tim came up to me at that stupid fundraiser. He insulted me, accused you of being a gigolo, and all I could do was stand there with my mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.”
Ah, yes.He straightened.That night at the Waldorf Astoria.
He’d never been much for crowds, or a suit and tie. But he’d been happy to suffer both because it’d meant he got to walk around with Grace on his arm.
They’d been at the bar when Tim had made his presence known. Hunter’s mind drifted back to replay the entire scene…
“Grace. I didn’t think you’d be here.”
Hunter stopped talking to the bartender when he heard Grace’s name. And even had her hand not clenched around his arm, he would’ve known the tall, blond dude who stood on the other side of her was her ex-husband by the way her jaw tightened.
He didn’t know what possessed him, but he dropped his hand to the small of her back and took a step closer to her. So close his hip pressed against the curve of her ass. Then he slowly, deliberately slid his hand around until he gripped her hip.
It was a subtle move of possession. But her ex didn’t miss it. Hunter watched Tim’s lips thin into a straight line and felt a little burst of satisfaction.
Grace had said Tim was a handsome man. Hunter supposed there was truth in that. But, in his opinion, Tim suffered from a rather weak chin.
And that hairline is fading fast,he thought spitefully.
“Why would you think I wouldn’t come? The whole bureau is here.” Grace’s low, sweet voice had turned raspy. “Last I checked, I’m part of the bureau.”
“I know I’m not your favorite person right now.” Tim rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and gave her a sheepish grin. Hunter thought the expression looked practiced. “But please, Grace, there’s no need for sarcasm. Let’s act like adults.”
Hunter had been poised to dislike the bastard on sight for breaking Grace’s heart. But the condescension in the man’s tone turned dislike into white-hot loathing.
The asshole was baiting her. Trying to make her look like the bad guy.
“You’ve always thought sarcasm was juvenile.” Grace shook her head.
“Oscar Wilde said it was the lowest form of wit.”
“See? That’s the thing. You leave off the backend of that quote. He said, ‘Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, but the highest form of intelligence.’”
Tim sighed. “We all know you’re the smartest person in the room, Grace. Thanks for reminding us. Again.”
“That’s not what I—”
Before she could continue, Tim interrupted, “Are you going to introduce me to your…uh…” Tim left his sentence dangling as he gave Hunter the once-over.
Hunter could only smirk. He’d lost any sense of self-consciousness in the army. Or rather, it’d been beaten out of him through rigorous training and the trial-by-fire that was active combat.
The suit he wore wasn’t a Brioni. But it’d been tailored to within an inch of its life to emphasize the breadth of his shoulders and the trimness of his waist. It was the kind of suit that didn’t make a statement because it didn’t have to. It left the statement-making to the man who wore it.
And in the name of making statements, he thrust out his hand. “Name’s Hunter Jackson. You must be the ex…um…Ted, is it?”
