"Elizabeth. You have issues with trust."
“What?”
“There’s money available for counseling—”
His comment takes me off guard and makes me furious. "Oh yeah?" I demand, cutting him off. "You think so? Maybe Linzie could see me. Do herbalists take insurance? I know they’re great advice givers, so maybe I could fly out—"
I'm still going—verbal vomit, that's what Cross would call it—when the dial tone dings.
My mouth stays open and my eyes fill up with tears. "I need counseling?" I slam the phone down with all my might, feeling the impact in my fingertips as I whirl around to face the empty kitchen.
At least, it was supposed to be empty. I was supposed to curl into a ball and sob, because when I get this mad, it's the only thing I can do to discharge my anger. Instead, I find myself staring at Hunter West.
Chapter Six
~HUNTER~
Her face is blotchy, like she's been stung by a bunch of bees. I can tell she might cry because her sea blue eyes are glowing brilliantly, and she's got them wide open, the way girls do when they don't want tears to spill and smear up their mascara.
Her wavy, dark brown hair is messy, hanging just above her shoulders, and I want to run my fingers through it.
Shit.
I shouldn't even be here.
I saw the gate open and I threw on my superhero cape. Then I saw the unfamiliar car with the San Francisco plates and found the door unlocked. I know nobody's living here. I keep an eye on the place, because I want to buy it soon; its acreage backs against my bird-hunting lodge, which is where I was heading when I made this detour.
Batman or not, I've screwed up. I shouldn’t be in Libby DeVille's childhood home, standing in this massive, outdated kitchen with her, just like I shouldn't have crept close enough to hear her talk to her father.
I tell myself that I should turn and go—after all, Priscilla's waiting for me—but my feet have other plans. I take a small step closer, my eyes never leaving hers, even as she looks me over, Lakers cap to boots.
"Asshole father?" In the tomb-like silence of the house, I'm surprised at how deep my voice is.
I can see her shoulders rise and fall; she's trying to control herself. Judging by the bit I heard, it makes sense that she would be worked up. If his reputation is anything to go on, Benjamin DeVille didn't do much for his wife or daughter when he was with them, and does even less now that he’s left town.
Libby quickly smooths the pained look from her face and crosses her arms. "How much did you hear?" she asks me with a wary wince.
"Enough to know you're probably not the one in need of therapy."
She squeezes her eyes shut, running a hand through that silky hair. "Wow, well that's embarrassing."
If only she could be a fly on the wall at the family home in NOLA back when I lived there with Dad, Rita, and my half-sister, Amber. This wouldn't even register on our drama-meter. I want to tell her that, but I've got no clue how. Besides, the best way to keep a secret—that Rita is not my real mother, for instance—is to avoid mentioning anything to anyone that even comes close to the truth.
Libby chews her succulent lower lip, and it's my turn to stare her down. I’ve only seen her once, from a distance, since the night of the party, and I’m surprised by how much weight she’s lost. I wonder if it’s intentional, or if she’s stressed, and I’m surprised to find I actually kind of give a damn.
She plays with the ends of her hair, and I let my gaze linger, from her low-cut royal blue sweater down her loose jeans to her suede shoes—some kind of moccasins. She looks cute. Casual. I feel a pleasant tingle, just from being near her.
Finally her eyes flick up to mine, like she's waiting for me to say something. So I do. "What do you need money for?"
Her mouth draws up like she's sucking on a lemon. I like this face on her. The you-should-be-ashamed-of-yourself face; it's kind of sexy mistress. To top it off, she arches her eyebrows primly. "That's not really your business, Hunter West."
Maybe not, but I have a pretty fair idea. "Is it the Carlson boy? The governor’s son?"
Her eyes flash, dark blue now. "The son the governor cut off and sent to a shitty state hospital because he's a dickhead who deserves to be ridden out of California on a rail?" Her cheeks flush. "You probably shouldn't ask me about that right now." I watch her delicate eyebrows meet as her sea blue eyes narrow to slits. "What are you even doing here?"
Her eyes wander the expanse of my chest and I know she's taking in the size of me. I saw the Mace on her key chain in the parlor, and I wonder if she's thinking about running in there for it.
I nod toward the back of the house, relaxing my shoulders so maybe I look a little friendlier. "I saw the gate open and wanted to check in on things. I own the property behind you."
Her furrowed brows crease more deeply. "The old retreat?"
I nod. "Bought it off the Anglican church a few years back. Turned it into a quail hunt." She still looks wary, so I give her a little more. "Just being neighborly."
Her face is blank, and I can't tell what she's thinking. I wonder the odds of her having heard about my connection to Sarabelle's disappearance, and decide they're nil.
Next I think about that night on my bed: her head pressed into my pillow, her hair spread out around her face. The memory of it makes me hard, but then I remember how it ended, with Libby seeing me with Priscilla. Impotent rage washes over me, but I'm still hard as a damn diamond. I shift my weight; that makes it worse.
Libby's eyes are on mine, thankfully. "Well I'm okay," she tells me, tucking some hair behind her ear. A tiny pearl gleams from her earlobe, and I have the odd thought that I could buy her something so much bigger.
"I appreciate you stopping in to check on things, and I'm sorry you got an earful of my business." She waves at the kitchen doorway. “You're free to go.”
I don’t want to go. It’s that same strange draw I always feel toward this girl. For half a second, I want to put my arms around her and stroke that silky-looking hair and find out what she smells like. I can still remember how she tastes, but that night, I had Priscilla's noxious perfume in my nose.
I rub the bridge of it now, like maybe that'll make the memory go away.
"Really, I'm good here." She's got her hands on her hips, and I notice she's closer to the parlor door than she was when I looked away. For a fraction of a second, I allow myself to play out a fantasy. Libby runs and I bolt after her, capturing her upper arms and whirling her to face me. I plant my mouth over hers and press her gorgeous body against mine.