Sex, Not Love Page 5

  “No, I’m not. Sam said you were running errands with her today.”

  “I am. Sam lives south, not north.”

  “Ah. I see your confusion. You think you’re spending the day running errands with Samantha.”

  “That was the plan…”

  “I agreed to do most of Sam’s errands, not just pick you up. So you’re spending the day running her errands with me.”

  “Why would you agree to that?”

  “Because you can’t run away from me when I have you captive in my truck.”

  ***

  “God, these smell so incredible.” We were at our second stop on Sam’s errand list—Bold Blossoms, a flower store where we were to pick up eighteen lilac-filled centerpieces. The woman behind the counter went to box them up while I roamed the store, sniffing various arrangements and plants.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a sweet pea.” I cupped my hand around the delicate purple flower. “Here, smell.”

  Hunter leaned in and took a deep inhale. “That does smell good.”

  “Doesn’t it? They remind me of my grandmother. When I was about ten, my mother took us to Italy to visit her. Nonna had them growing wild all over her property. She had a fence around her little house, and they were wrapped around it so heavily that you could barely see the white pickets. Sauce on Sundays and the smell of sweet peas—that’ll always be my Nonna Valentina. She died when I was a teenager. My mom kept up the sauce on Sunday tradition, but it’s too cold to grow sweet peas outdoors in Howard Beach where she lives.”

  “You have a big Italian family?”

  “Four girls. We get together every Sunday night for dinner at my mom’s. Two of my sisters have kids, two girls each. There’s not a lot of testosterone.”

  The florist came out from the back. “We’re just finishing packing them all. I’ll ring you up, and you can drive around to the back. We’ll load them into your car.”

  “Sounds good,” Hunter said. He motioned to the sweet pea plant. “We’ll take that, too.”

  “I hope that’s not for me. I can’t bring that on a plane.”

  “It’s not. It’s for my place. I don’t have any flowers.” He winked and leaned in so the florist couldn’t hear. “Plus, I figured you might like to smell it if after you wake up.”

  I had to give him credit; he was at least consistent, even after almost a year.

  Hunter loaded the boxed centerpieces and his new plant into the back of his pickup and secured the cap back down.

  “What’s next on our list?” I asked as I buckled into the passenger seat.

  “My place.”

  “Your place? I don’t think so. We have errands to do.”

  “This is an errand. Sam asked me to build a wishing well for the shower. I painted it this morning. It needed to dry before I loaded it into my truck.”

  Hunter read my face, which called silent bullshit.

  “No, really,” he said.

  “So this isn’t an attempt to get me in your bed.”

  “It wasn’t. But now that I get to impress you with my house, I can’t be responsible for your actions if you try to take advantage of me.”

  “You’re nuts.”

  “Maybe so, sweet pea. But you haven’t seen my house yet.”

  ***

  Hunter’s house was incredible. It was also nothing like I’d expected. Surrounded by trees in the middle of a large piece of land sat a rustic-style cabin that blended industrial materials and natural wood and rock. The large stone exterior with towering picture windows looked more like an HGTV dream home than what I would have expected from Hunter Delucia.

  I exited the truck, still taking in the house. “Is this really yours? It’s amazing.”

  “Designed and built it myself. Took me six years.”

  “Wow. This is nothing like I expected.”

  “What did you expect?” He walked to the back of the pickup, lowered the gate, and slipped out his new plant.

  “I don’t know. Something more in-your-face, I guess—not so natural and beautiful.” The sound of water running caught my attention. “You have an actual babbling brook. And trees. Loads of trees.”

  “Took me twice as long to build because I used small equipment to reduce the number of trees that had to be taken down. I want to look at nature when I have my windows open. Tried to build something that showcased the land, rather than overpowering it.”

  “Well, you definitely succeeded. I feel like I’m in a cabin in the middle of a forest, not ten minutes off the highway.”

  “I’m glad you approve. Come on, let me show you inside. This is just the beginning of the tour.” He unlocked the door and put his hand on the small of my back to guide me in. “I think you’ll like the room the tour ends with the best—my bedroom.”

  I rolled my eyes, hiding my amusement.

  The inside was just as beautiful as the outside. It was simple, understated, and surprisingly eco-friendly. A large stainless kitchen was separated from the living room by a granite-top island. Two sets of French doors led to an enormous deck off the back of the house, where a stone fireplace was being built.

  Hunter pointed outside. “The fireplace might take me another six years at the rate I’m going.”

  “I can’t believe you built all of this. It’s sort of ironic that you build commercial property and have taken out parks to build malls, yet live in an environmentally friendly home.”

  “Building is my job. I love it, don’t get me wrong. But that doesn’t mean I want to live in one of the megamalls I build. Do you live in a big building in New York City?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does it mean you like pollution because you live in a tall building that contributes to a reduction of fresh air and sunlight?”

  “No. I guess you’re right.”

  “I’m always right.”

  “I liked you better when you were giving me a tour and letting your handiwork impress me instead of your mouth.”

  Hunter chuckled. “Well, then let’s continue. I can think of plenty of ways my hands will impress you in the next room. Although I’m pretty sure you’d like my mouth in there even better.”

  Of course, the next room on the tour was Hunter’s bedroom.

  “Wow.”

  My jaw dropped when he turned on the lights. Just like the other rooms in the house, the space was large and open. A king-size platform bed had been elevated to claim the best view of the forest-like yard from two walls. That view included a birdhouse with a blue jay currently perched on top. I stepped to the windows to peer outside. It wasn’t until I looked closer that I noticed more than one birdhouse. In fact, there were a lot of them.

  “Are you a bird watcher?”

  “No. My mother was. I always wanted a big Macaw parrot, though. Every year from the time I was able to swing a hammer, I made her a birdhouse for her birthday. She’d put seed in it and watch the birds outside, and I secretly hoped she’d take the hint and get us a bird for inside.” Hunter stood next to me at the window and pointed to a birdhouse hanging from a tree branch off to the right. “That was the first one I made. I was seven. If you look inside, my mother put some plastic birds in there. For the longest time, I thought she did it to attract real birds. But after a few years, she stopped doing it. One year I finally asked her why, and she told me it was because I’d finally learned how to make a good birdhouse. Apparently the plastic birds had nothing to do with attracting other birds. The way I’d built the first couple of houses, I had nails sticking up inside, and she was afraid they were going to impale the birds.”

  I laughed. “That’s funny. It’s sweet that she didn’t want to tell you. How many are out there?”

  “Ten. I made one each year from seven to seventeen. That’s the only thing she ever asked for.”

  “Did you stop making them when you went to college?”

  “No. She passed away when I was seventeen.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

&nbs
p; “Thank you.” He looked around outside. “She would have liked this place. If I put a little birdseed on a few of them, it turns into an aviary out there.”

  I looked over at Hunter, who was still staring out the window. He looked younger in the natural light. “There’s more to you than meets the eye.”

  He turned his attention back to me. “That’s what I tried to tell you the first night we met. There’s a lot more for you to see. And we happen to be in the perfect place for me to show you.”

  His words were teasing, but when he reached out, grabbed my hip, and took a step closer, there was nothing funny about the things my body felt.

  Over the last nine months, I’d dated a few different men. None of them had lit my fuse like Hunter could with one simple touch. In fact, the difference was so apparent that I’d talked myself into believing my memory had exaggerated what the man did to me. Apparently, the only thing exaggerated was my denial.

  “Kiss me.” His voice dipped low, and he reached up to brush his fingers over my lips. “I’ve had fucking dreams about this mouth.”

  “That’s not a good idea.” I didn’t sound convincing, even to myself.

  “It’s a very good idea.” He leaned his head down slowly.

  “We have errands to do.”

  “They can wait. One kiss.”

  I wasn’t sure I could control myself after one kiss with this man. He moved slowly, as if giving me a chance to stop him, which is what I planned to do. Only my body was at total odds with my brain, and while they were busy fighting it out in a massive tug of war, Hunter’s lips sealed over mine.

  I’d forgotten how soft his lips were. They directly contradicted the firmness of his touch when he wrapped his arms around me and closed the gap between us. Even though I’d forced myself to forget the way his touch felt, my body had not forgotten how to react. Instinctively, my legs lifted and wrapped around his waist. Hunter walked us back away from the windows, and before I could register where we were going, plush bedding was at my back.

  “Hunter,” I feebly attempted to protest.

  “Just a kiss,” he growled. “For now.”

  It had been years since I’d had a real make-out session. Our bodies were tangled, his hard pressed against my soft. I groped his hair, his back, anything I could get my hands on to bring him closer. Every nerve ending in my body ached for more as I kissed him with more passion than I could remember having with anyone.

  I’d been kissed hundreds of times, yet it was as exciting as that first make-out session when I was a teenager—maybe even more so, because no teenage boy’s body felt like Hunter Delucia’s hard one did pressed against me.

  I vaguely felt vibration up against my hip, but my entire body was buzzing, so it didn’t register as a cell phone until it stopped and then started again a second time. “Your—”

  “Don’t care,” Hunter hissed.

  The desperate edge to his voice made the corner of my lips curl even as they remained glued to his. But ten seconds later, my phone started to ring. I wasn’t even sure where I’d dropped the damn thing. Ignoring it worked the first time, though the second time mine sounded, it became impossible.

  I extricated myself from beneath Hunter and found my phone on the floor near the window where we’d started kissing. It stopped ringing again before I could swipe to answer. When the missed call registered, Samantha’s name popped up.

  “It was Sam.”

  Hunter dug his phone out of his pocket and checked his call history. “Same,” he grumbled. “Probably wants to add six more things to my to-do list.”

  I took a second to smooth what Hunter’s hands had done to my hair and then hit Call Back.

  “Where are you?” Samantha sounded panicked.

  “Relax. We already picked up the flowers, and we’re at Hunter’s place getting the wishing well he made. We’ll get everything you need done.”

  “No! There isn’t going to be a shower. Anna’s in labor. Forget the errands. We’re going to have a baby instead.”

  “Oh my God! But she’s still got six weeks left.” I covered the phone and yelled to Hunter. “Anna’s in labor!”

  “The doctor said the baby is big enough, and since her water broke, they aren’t trying to stop it. She’s already four centimeters dilated.”

  “What hospital?”

  “Cedars-Sinai.”

  “We’ll be right there.”

  Chapter 8

  Natalia

  “What? Is the baby here? Did I miss it?”

  I woke to a gentle tap after dozing off for a few minutes in the waiting room. Six of us had been here since two this afternoon, and it was now almost two in the morning—and that was California time. For me, it was five a.m.—exactly twenty-four hours after I’d gotten up the day before. The thought that only one day had passed since I’d gotten up for my flight just didn’t seem possible.

  Hunter spoke low to avoid waking Anna’s two sisters sitting across from us. “I’m going to go find a coffee machine for Derek’s mom. You were leaning on my shoulder sleeping, and I didn’t want your head to fall when I got up.”

  “Oh. Okay. Thanks.” I rubbed at the back of my stiff neck. Looking over at Hunter, I cringed, finding a wet spot where my face had been. I scrunched up my nose. “I think I drooled on you a little. Sorry.”

  “You were also snoring. Want a cup of coffee or you gonna go back to working on the puddle on my shirt when I get back?”

  I stretched my arms over my head. “I’ll take the walk with you. I’m stiff from the way I must’ve been leaning on you.”

  “Yeah. I’m stiff from you leaning on me, too. Had a perfect view right down your shirt. Red bra, by the way, nice. Sexy.”

  “You’re even a perv at two in the morning.”

  “You bring out the best in me, sweet pea.”

  The two of us wandered the halls of the hospital until we found a coffee machine that actually worked. When we returned with Margaret’s coffee, Derek was in the waiting room giving everyone an update. “She’s at seven. Been stuck there for a few hours. Doctor’s said it’s probably still going to be a while before the baby’s here.”

  “You can’t rush perfection,” I said.

  Derek looked as if he’d spent the last twelve hours in labor. He raked his hand through his hair. “My feet are killing me. Although if I said that to Anna with what she’s going through, she might literally kill me.”

  Margaret laughed. “I’d keep your foot pain to yourself.”

  Derek turned his attention to Hunter. “By the way, she’s also pissed at you.”

  “Me?” Hunter said. “What the heck did I do?”

  “Remember when we first told you Anna was pregnant?”

  “I think so?”

  “What did you say?”

  Hunter’s response was a guess. “Congratulations?”

  “Nope. You said maybe we’d have the kid six weeks early to share a birthday with his favorite uncle.”

  Hunter smiled. “I guess I did say that.”

  “Yeah, well…my wife thinks the baby would have been born a few hours ago, but it stalled to share a birthday with you.”

  “So it’s my fault she’s still in labor?”

  Derek smiled. “It’s better than it being my fault, which it was until she came up with that crazy theory.”

  “I’ll take one for the team. No problem.”

  With a promise that the next time he appeared he’d be announcing the birth of his child, Derek headed back through the double doors of the labor and delivery unit.

  Since we had some time to kill, Hunter and I decided to go outside and do a lap around the hospital to get some fresh air. It was dark, but Los Angeles still lit the night.

  “So, I guess happy birthday is in order?”

  “Thank you.”

  “How old are you, again?”

  “Thirty.”

  I turned to walk backwards. “Wow. That’s a big birthday. Do you have any plans?”

&
nbsp; “I was supposed to have a drink with Derek while you ladies threw Anna her baby shower. Then we were assigned to load my truck with gifts and deliver them to Derek and Anna’s place. My plan was to try to convince their houseguest to pick up the kiss where we left off at the wedding last year.”

  I laughed. “Looks like you’re ahead of yourself. We did that this afternoon.”

  “Have dinner with me tonight?”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  Hunter pouted. “You’d leave me all alone on my thirtieth birthday?”

  “Something tells me you don’t have to be alone if you don’t want to be. I bet you could snap your finger and get a date. In fact, why don’t you have a girlfriend, Mr. Delucia? What’s wrong with you?”

  “Why does something have to be wrong with me because I don’t have a girlfriend? I’m guessing you don’t have a boyfriend, since you kissed me this afternoon. Does that make something wrong with you?”

  “Ummm…. First off, you kissed me. I didn’t kiss you. Second, I don’t have a boyfriend, or that kiss wouldn’t have happened, no matter who started it. And third, yes, there’s something wrong with me.”

  Hunter stopped in his tracks. It might’ve been dark, but I could see legitimate concern on his face. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “I’m divorced at twenty-eight. My ex-husband is in federal prison. I have full custody of a fifteen year old who isn’t mine and doesn’t particularly care for me. I just borrowed twenty grand I’ll never be able to pay back from my mother to cover an overpriced high school so said fifteen year old will hate me less. Should I go on?”

  “Do you abuse pets?”

  “Pets? Of course not.”

  “Do you kick people when they’re down?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever committed a robbery, arson, murder, or assault?”

  “Never.”

  “Then there isn’t anything wrong with you that can’t be fixed.”

  “What if I don’t want to be fixed?”

  “Then that’s good. Because I don’t want to fix you.”

  “You don’t?”