The Hunter (Orion the Hunter) (12 page)

“Probably not but in the absence of any other ideas, I think we should seriously consider it.”

“Miss Prince, are you trying to lead me astray?” he said, using my words from earlier.

I laughed.  “Would you let me if I did try?”
No! No flirting .. No freaking him out!

He closed his eyes and I thought that I had blown it.  He shook his head slowly.  “After today, I wouldn’t like to second guess what I would or wouldn’t let you do.  I am breaking rules at every turn where you are concerned.”

Oh!  That was unexpected!  What rules?

“And what rules would they be?” I decided to push my luck seeing as he hadn’t yet freaked out.

He shrugged.  “Where do I begin?”

“At the beginning?  Not that you have to give me your life story or anything!”

His face clouded over suddenly. 
What did I say?

“I will settle for the beginning of our acquaintance,” he said and his features resumed their impassive expression. 

Why do I get the feeling that it’s a mask that you regularly wear?

“God Issy, when you appeared out of the elevator and collided with me, my world turned upside down.  You are the most beautiful woman that I have ever seen and the way that you were dressed … it ought to be illegal.”  He raked his hand through his hair.  “And then your reaction to me.  I couldn’t figure out whether you found me attractive or whether you were petrified of me.”

“Both,” I said simply.

He raised his eyebrows and considered my response for a second.  “When I left you, I assumed that my life would continue as it always had.  I like continuity in my life.  I like routine.  I like control.  I never expected for a second that a chance encounter with a beautiful woman would change that.  How wrong I was.”

“What do you mean?” I hung on his every word. 
Have I affected him in the same way that he has affected me?

“I dreamt of you that night,” he whispered, looking as though he was admitting carrying out a major felony.

“Really?  I think I dreamt of you too.”

“You think?”

“Well, when I woke, I could picture your face as clearly as if you were stood right in front of me.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise.  “If I am honest, I did more than picture your face in my dream,” he drained his glass, avoiding my eye.  Then he stood and walked over to the far side of his office.

Oooooh, did you now?  What did you do?  Oh god, what did you do?

He returned with a fresh bottle of wine in one hand and a bottle of cognac in the other.  He held them up.

“If we are doing the whole confessional thing, then I think that a brandy might be in order,” I said, knowing that drinking spirits on an empty stomach really was a bad idea but wanting to continue this interesting conversation.

He wandered back over to the concealed drinks cabinet and I watched him go. 
That is one sexy ass!  And he moves with such athletic grace … Ooooh he can perform athletic movements with me any day! 

He returned with two crystal tumblers containing large measures of cognac and again we clinked glasses as he sat down.

“Where were we?” he said, taking a sip.

“You were about to tell me more about your dream,” I quipped.

He laughed.  A rich, deep sound that was infectious.  “Oh really!  I think that you were about to make a confession too.”

I pulled a face and took a sip of my drink. 
Oh, that’s better.
  “I have a question.  How did you disappear so quickly?  I locked my office door and you had vanished.”

“I have a private elevator not far from your office,” he grinned.  “Did you think I was a magician?”

“No, a phantom.” 
Shit! Shit! Shit!
I grimaced in mortification.

“A phantom!” He guffawed in delight.

I couldn’t help but laugh with him.  “Okay, it isn’t that funny.  Look at it from my perspective.  I called in to drop some designs off at my office, thinking that the building was empty.  I crashed into you but as I was about to apologize, I saw the look on your face … you looked so angry that I couldn‘t speak.  I felt a connection to you but I had no idea who you were.  You are dark and handsome, you were dressed in black and then you vanished without a trace.” 

Then, I felt your presence in the elevator the next morning when I was returning to my office.  I couldn‘t see you but I felt the same pull that I had experienced the day before when we first met.  Then I stepped out of the car and turned to look, as the doors were closing and I thought I saw you but I couldn‘t be sure.  I thought I was losing my mind.  Thinking of you as a phantom, helped to restore my sanity.  So yeah, you were my phantom!”

His shoulders were still shaking as he tried to suppress his mirth.

“Hey, I am sorry,” he managed eventually.  “In my defense, I thought that the building was deserted.  You ran into me.  I had no idea who you were.  You are dark and drop dead gorgeous, you were dressed all in black - does that make you a phantom?”

“I didn’t disappear,” I smirked.

“No, you didn’t.  You stayed with me - in my head, all evening then all night.  I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“I had no idea.  You didn’t give that impression; you looked so angry.”

“I was initially.  I like having the building to myself at weekends and I didn’t welcome the interruption.  Then, as I recovered, you seemed to respond in a way that is typical of most women that I have encountered and I was disappointed.”

“Respond in what way?” I asked, genuinely confused.

“I don’t wish to sound conceited - far from it, but women have an annoying habit of behaving like imbeciles around me.  They usually either lose the power of speech or they attempt to seduce me.  Either way, I hate it.”

“That isn’t fair.  And yes, I admit that you have affected me in that way but I have never, ever responded to a man like that in my life.  I can’t explain it.  And I was scared of you, or at least the way you affected me.  And, at the risk of me also seeming conceited, I seem to elicit a predictable response from most men that I meet, and that affords me some routine and control.  I saw some evidence of that type of response from you but you also responded to me with anger - I can’t be sure but think I have glimpsed fear in your eyes sometimes too.”

I saw his eyes widen in surprise and then he pursed his lips as if he were contemplating my words.  He ran his forefinger along his jaw and finally nodded. 

“
Yes, you probably have,” he muttered, looking uncomfortable.

“I have explained my responses to you.  Can you try to explain yours to me?”

He sat back, resting his head on the back of the sofa and closed his eyes.  He was silent for a moment and I thought he was shutting down, that I wouldn’t get the answers that I so badly needed.

“I felt angry at the situation - not at you.  I was furious that my body responded to you.  I was frustrated that I couldn’t get you out of my head.  I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t concentrate.  I found my mind wandering in meetings.  Rather than concentrating on making fully informed decisions, sometimes involving millions of dollars, I would think of you.  I would wonder what you were doing.  Who you might be with?  What it would be like to be with you.”

Oh my god.  Keep talking.  Keep saying things like that!

“When I saw you, balanced on the sofa in Norman & Wilde’s reception, I realized just how much I wanted you but that I couldn’t have you.  Then you fell into my arms and it was almost more than I could stand.  And when you slid your hand up my chest to my face, I tried so hard not to respond to you but I also didn’t want to embarrass you or hurt your feelings.  When I felt my control lapsing, I had to get out of there.”

“Why?” I croaked. 
What was so terrible about responding to my advances?  Why didn’t you want me?

“It was bad enough to have just thoughts of you disrupting my days and nights - the prospect of you doing it in the flesh …  I don’t allow myself to be distracted.  I like my world to be orderly, everything within my control.  I work 7 days a week. 12- 15 hours a day minimum.  I don‘t have time to socialize.  I don‘t have the time or the inclination for relationships of any kind.”

So he is a self confessed workaholic.  Ah, with those looks and that body, there had to be a fatal flaw in there somewhere.  Nobody is perfect.

“Oh,” I said, weakly.  “Is that what you meant when you said that you weren’t like other people?”

“Partly, yes.” 

He has a private elevator.  He is reclusive.  He doesn’t have relationships or socialize.  He doesn’t like the way that women respond to him.   Oooooh!  He has a male receptionist and a male assistant - I’ll bet that all his staff are male.  They all wear grey too.  Bloody hell.  He really is one hell of a control freak.

“Are all of your staff male?” I asked suddenly, needing to know. 

He looked at me warily.  “The staff that I come into regular contact with just happen to be male, yes.”

“Just happen to be male?” I sneered, finally breaking his hold on my hand.  “Don’t insult my intelligence.  You don’t want to be dealing with females coming on to you, interrupting your routines, so you employ men.  Admit it.”

“Employment law forbids me from hiring people based on gender.  I can’t do that.”

“Hmm, okay Mr Hunter.  If you say so.”  I could feel animosity and tension building between us.  Part of me wanted to turn a deaf ear to his comments and to rekindle the relaxed atmosphere but part of me was outraged.

“I have built this company up from nothing and I haven’t finished yet.  I am not quite ready to lose focus - not just yet.  I have made so many sacrifices.  I do what needs to be done to accomplish my aim.”

“What is your aim?”
What could be worth living a life devoid of any change in routine, any excitement  … any sex!  He hasn’t actually said that he doesn’t have sex.  But he hates the way that women respond to him.  Ah, perhaps he pays for it.  Perhaps he blindfolds them! 

I hadn’t noticed that he’d moved away to collect the decanter of cognac.  He returned and poured himself another.  I refused a top up; I suddenly felt like keeping a clear head and I’d had too much to drink already.

Before I could challenge him for not answering my question, he spoke again.  “So Miss Prince, I find myself back to my original question.  Where do we go from here?”  He looked me straight in the eye.  “How do I get my orderly life back?  How do I get you out of my head?”

I don’t have any answers.  This was a first for me too. 
But I suddenly felt anger building inside me.
He doesn’t care about how you’re affected by him.  He blames you for disturbing his concentration.  For spoiling his day.  Like it is all your fault.  What about how he affects you?  Whose fault is that?

I made a point of looking at my watch, with the intention of inventing a prior engagement so that I could make my excuses and leave.  I was genuinely surprised to note that it was almost four o’clock. 
Crap! I am going to be late.
I was meeting Angel at 4:30.  We had hair appointments in preparation for watching Chad and the band tonight at a new venue - a bigger club in Brooklyn.

“I don’t have any answers for you, Mr Hunter.  I can only suggest that we keep our distance from each other and then it won’t be a problem for either of us.”

I felt some satisfaction when I noted his jaw dropping in surprise and that gave me the impetus I needed to get up from the sofa and make my escape.

“I apologize but I am running late for another appointment that I cannot miss,” I announced.  “I must go.  Goodbye Lucas.”