The only way she could tell she’d annoyed him was by the quirk in his jaw muscle.
Finally he pulled out his wallet and handed her his license.
“Here,” she said, giving him Willa’s arm as she scooted behind the receptionist’s desk and scanned his ID into the computer. Vincent Hunter Smith, six foot two, black eyes, black hair, thirty-three years-old.
He was handsome, but scary.
“Ma’am?” he said. “We need to get a move on now.”
“Alexandria. That’s my name. Or you can call me Mrs. Wright-Foster.”
“We don’t have much time, Alexandria. We need to go now.”
Somehow she hadn’t thought he’d go for Mrs. even though he was older than her by ten years. “I’m coming,” she said.
She returned his ID and he returned Willa, who’d lowered her sadness to a moan.
They boarded the elevator, and Willa stood behind them. “I don’t think I’m going to find another job. I’m going to lose my apartment.”
“Shh,” Alex told her. “Willa, you’ll work for me now as my personal assistant. Now be quiet. We have to think.”
“About what?” Willa asked.
Alex stood next to Hunter who watched the numbers above their heads intently.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “But I think we should be having important thoughts.”
He stuck his finger in his ear and shook rapidly.
They exited and got into his waiting SUV.
Maybe he’d gone swimming yesterday and the water wasn’t all out.
“You should try earplugs when you go swimming.”
His mirrored glasses turned toward her. “Buckle up. Where do you live?” he asked.
“Decatur, near the square.”
“I know where that is.”
“Good. The sooner we find out this was a mistake, the sooner I can go back to being Mrs. Marc Foster.”
He glanced at her. “What if that doesn’t happen?”
“I don’t know who I’ll be without him.”
Chapter 2
LAX teemed with people, but Hunter only had eyes for one person.
His gaze was fixed on Alexandria who walked in a purposeful circle, BlackBerry in hand. They’d arrived at the departure gate fifteen minutes earlier, but the plane to Del Rosa hadn’t arrived yet.
He wanted to check in with Chris, but didn’t want to be overheard by the surprisingly stoic young woman. He’d expected a lot of questions during the flight from Atlanta. But after they’d gotten settled in first class—she’d won that argument as soon as they’d arrived at the airport—she’d fallen asleep almost immediately, her eyes covered by a black silk mask, a custom-made contoured pillow protecting her neck, her personal blanket tucked around her shoulders.
To be honest he’d been disappointed. He’d expected questions, and he’d prepared answers. But that was the problem. He hadn’t had the opportunity to console the woman he’d been able to ascertain from his hurried investigation was a bit on the flighty, spoiled, entitled side.
As soon as they’d boarded the flight to California, she’d gotten comfortable, not wanting to eat or even drink anything except mineral water. Then she’d reclined her seat, tucked her hand under her chin, her neck against her pillow, and had fallen asleep.
Her beauty was flawless like that of a black porcelain doll, natural big black curls cascading over her shoulder nearly to her breasts. His mind began to play tricks on him as the plane streaked through the sky.
In his mind he’d taken her to Spain and Egypt, Russia and Europe. At first thought it had been an act, her falling asleep so perfectly. But then ten minutes rolled into a half hour, and then an hour, and then he realized he was the only one in their section not watching the movie or asleep. He’d been staring at her off and on for two hours.
Hunter stretched his back, relieved. To be off the plane and out of Atlanta felt good, but now Alexandria was attracting attention.
“I’ll make sure our connection is on time,” he said to give himself the benefit of distance.
“Where exactly are you going?” she asked, her eyes rich and vibrant, like the flavor cinnamon.
He looked at the desk and attendant five feet away. “Right there.”
Maybe she was confused, he thought, giving her the benefit of the doubt. She’d just found out her husband was dead.
“I’m going to try Marc’s phone again.”
“If you wait a couple minutes, I’ll find a place where you can make your call in private.”
“I don’t want to wait. I want to talk to him now.”
“I understand that, Alexandria. Just give me a minute—”
“Hunter, I’m not a child. You don’t have to babysit me.”
What would happen if this was the time that she finally realized he was dead and she fell apart? Then he’d have an hysterical woman on his hands. What if Chris had been wrong and Marc answered the phone? Then he’d have an hysterical woman on his hands.
What was he thinking?
Marc was dead!
Alexandria was sucking him into her land of make-believe where there were toy dogs, sobbing assistants and lunatic family members, not to mention the queen bee herself, Alexandria. The Clampets had nothing on the Wrights.
Hunter moved forward in the line. If he didn’t stick to the facts, he’d be as batty as they were. Marc was dead, he was escorting her to California, and in a few days, he’d be going back to Atlanta to resume running his security firm and playing his saxophone.
He’d finally gotten an offer to play at a small restaurant. The idea of taking his hobby to the public was the coolest feeling. Like he was some hotshot sax player.
He’d been waiting for that day for a long time. The movement in his arm was nearly a hundred percent after being paralyzed three years ago. Now his life was his own and he was ready to live it on his own terms.
Hunter checked the perimeter, being patient. He’d be back in Atlanta soon, and all this craziness would be behind him.
Chris had been right. Alexandria wasn’t pretty. She was gorgeous, and that was causing a problem.
Passengers who’d been relaxing with their legs outstretched snatched them back as if she were Moses and they were the Red Sea. She threaded her way through them and stopped at the window. Once more she banged the phone against her palm, put it to her ear, then dialed again.
The irrational feeling of wanting to abandon his place in line seized him and Hunter understood the instinctual emotion. He’d worked in security for nearly ten years. He’d protected families of presidents, dignitaries and kings, and now that he was in the private sector, sitting in his office issuing instructions got boring. He was being overprotective.
“How soon will the flight to Del Rosa be boarding?”
“The plane just arrived,” the attendant Brittney answered with a smile that hinted at recent injections. “We should be boarding in about fifteen minutes.”
Brittney was a cute blonde, but not his type. He needed a woman on the East Coast, older than him, and someone with career demands so high she didn’t really need him.
“Your