Baby Be Mine (Spinsters & Casanovas Series Book 1) (20 page)

Where was she? Where did she go? He needed
to find her. And find her fast, because he wasn’t sure if he could
sleep with another woman again, what with the memory his mysterious
goddess had imparted on him.

Ahh, damn shit. Why did she have to leave
so fast?
Just when his morning wood was up too.

* * *

“Who are you after, Mr. Silverton?” the
Korean waiter asked Hunter, who came stalking into their club at
exactly seven a.m. in the morning, sporting a hairstyle that
resembled a sparrow’s nest, with his dusty-corn tresses spiking in
all directions.

“One of your waiters, a kiwi boy to be
precise, about yea high.” Hunter got straight to the point,
indicating the height with his hand up to his shoulder. The
so-called waiter he was after was in fact Max. “Did you see him?
Last night.”

“I don’t think we have anyone that short
working here.” The waiter shook his head, replying blandly, then
felt a little afraid at the sudden flare that appeared in Hunter’s
eyes. Okay, that was definitely the wrong answer.

“Look, I just need to find him so he can
help me look for a certain woman, the one who—” Hunter stopped
short. Should he tell this waiter about his circumstances last
night? Surely he didn’t need to elaborate all that much, but he was
at his wits end here. He really needed to find his mysterious woman
fast. The morning wood he sported earlier was only appeased thanks
to her faceless memory and a long shower. How pathetic could he
get? It was that blonde. But try as he might, he just couldn’t
picture her in his goddess’s place.

“Oh, are you talking about that blonde from
last night?” the waiter asked, suddenly remembering the woman who
had asked him to hand the note to Mr. Silverton, the man standing
right in front of him now. In fact, she had come in again bright
and early at exactly 6:30 a.m.

“Yes, yes, that was the one.” Hunter
nodded.

“Oh, she came in here this morning and gave
me a note for you.” The waiter went to the back office, muttering,
“I’ll just grab it for you. She looked really pissed by the way. I
tell you, Mr.…”

Hunter ignored the waiter’s comment and just
tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for him to extract the note
from his office.

Grabbing the paper and thanking the waiter,
Hunter rushed outside and dialed her number.

“Hey,” Hunter said soothingly, using his
best flirty tone.

“Who’s this?” came an angry voice.

Hunter frowned. That didn’t sound like his
mysterious woman from last night.

“Your mysterious guy…” Hunter sapped all his
energy on perfecting his voice so he could seduce her and hoped she
would run straight to a taxi with her lingerie on, straight into
his arms so they could commence round three. “From last night. We
had the best sex. Remember?” he added. “Listen, I was thinking we
could—”

“You bastard!”

Hunter was struck speechless when his
mysterious goddess interrupted his speech.

“I waited for you last night,” she shouted
through the phone, causing his eardrum to ring. “All night, in
fact. All by myself. You didn’t even turn up. You playboy. Don’t
ever call this number again.” Then the line went dead.

Hunter stared at the phone blankly, confused
about the turn of events.

He scratched his head. If his mysterious
woman was waiting for him last night and he didn’t turn up,
then—

Just who the hell did I sleep with last
night?

* * *

Anton had wanted her. Despite his being a
bit drunk last night, she was certain he had clearly confessed as
much. But just to succumb to his advances because he’d confessed
and called her his
mysterious goddess
? She just couldn’t
believe she could be this lewd and naïve.

She remembered her heart beating a thousand
beats per minute when he kissed and hugged her. It felt so
wonderful and so beautiful that she was lost in an endless world of
pleasure and magic, and when she woke again, the next thing she
knew, she had already walked out of the hotel and was now wandering
around the streets aimlessly like she’d lost her mind.

Why did she behave like this? Why didn’t she
wait until morning to confront him about what they’d done? She
could discuss it, explain to him her problem. Then maybe they could
form a real relationship.

But she knew she couldn’t. The truth was she
was afraid when morning came, all the magic would disappear and the
spell would be broken. She didn’t want that. She wanted to cherish
that memory forever. And as a bonus, she also had Anton’s sperm,
even though it would seem she had stolen it. Then again, he had
stolen her innocence, so that made them even.

So here she was, still in her own reverie,
wandering around Central Queenstown with many tourists milling
around her, going in and out of the many cafes and breakfast bars
at the early hour of seven a.m.

The sun was starting to crawl slowly from
behind the majestic mountains in the east, sparkling mountain peaks
like white crystals.

She checked her phone. She’d been walking
for two hours now. Spying a park bench, she decided to rest for a
bit. Her gaze turned toward the direction of Silverton Hotel. She
didn’t want to go to her suite yet. She didn’t want to see Max yet.
She could deal with him later. For now, she just wanted to relish
in those memories a little longer, because she knew if she returned
to the hotel, reality would hit when she saw the real Anton, all
somber.

How would he react when he saw her next?
Would he remember last night? Did he text her only because he
wanted to sleep with her? So many questions, not enough answers.
What should she do if she saw him again? How should she react? But
to tell the truth, she felt a bit in love with the Anton of last
night, more than the daytime Anton. He felt so very different, so
close and so intimate, unlike the cool and collected man who only
meant business.

Well, there was nothing to do now anyway.
Best just let nature take its course. Not long to go now before she
fell pregnant… she hoped.

The smell of freshly baked bread and brewed
coffee filled the air, reaching her olfactory senses and sending a
signal to her stomach, which gave out an embarrassing growl just to
let her know it was past time to break her fast. Having nothing
else to do, she stepped into one of the cafés and ordered her
breakfast. Nothing like pancakes and a fresh pot of aromatic green
tea to start the day and face reality.

When the food arrived, her mouth salivated
on its own accord. She took a bite of the yummy-looking pancake
dripping with strawberries and honey, topped with banana on the
side. It was amazingly delicious. The honey on her tongue was so
sweet it reminded her of the kiss last night before Anton… before
Anton… Clarice couldn’t finish her thought as her cheeks grew hot,
blooming red as the strawberry on her plate. She guessed the
feeling of them being together would be forever ingrained in her
mind.

Clarice stored this thought at the back of
her mind, and she promised she would revisit it and tell her baby
that she or he was a product of their love, even if Anton was under
the influence of alcohol.

Yes, she would do that she thought as she
continued to chew her breakfast slowly, when a sight not three
tables away almost caused her to choke on her meal, breaking into
her thoughts.

Clarice blinked and then she blinked again.
No, it must be an apparition,
she thought. The person
sitting three tables away from her, all consumed in chomping away
on his steak, face masked with anger like someone had stolen his
beloved Ferrari, looked just like that Casanova from back in
Auckland.

No, this was Queenstown. Surely she wouldn’t
be running into him again. So she rubbed her eyes twice to fend
away the illusion. But no matter how many times she rubbed them,
Hunter’s image was still sitting there eating his steak.

Yikes, it really was him. What was that
Casanova doing here anyway? Horrible, this was horrible. Why of all
places must she run into him here? Why did heaven decide for her to
see him now?

Hiding behind the oversized menu so Hunter
couldn’t spot her from this distance, Clarice ate her meal like she
vying for the Guinness World Record of who could eat the fastest.
Almost choking a few times because her mind was no longer on her
food and too consumed in looking at Hunter to make sure he wasn’t
looking her way, she poured some piping hot green tea into her mug
and automatically chucked the whole contents of the cup down her
throat, and dear heaven, she almost screamed in pain when the
scalding hot liquid scorched her throat.

Serves me right for eating like this,
Clarice thought, but she had to make her escape ASAP. She knew if
he saw her, he would ruin her day again, like all the previous
times they’d met. Today, though, she didn’t want to see him. She
wanted to be alone, to replay the scene of last night, so escape
she must.

Without further ado, she got up from her
chair and paid for her meal, then briskly walked away from the
café, heading back toward Silverton Hotel. She didn’t breathe a
sigh of relief until she was in the elevator, coming face to face
with a painting of red roses.

Examining the painting with the intricate
petals and vines winding around each other, Clarice felt a sudden
desire well up inside her, which in turn made her cheeks burn.
Remembering last night, she shyly turned away from the painting,
thinking about Anton and herself, bodies entwined together like
those rose vines. Eager to get another sneak peek, she turned back
to the painting, then was suddenly reminded of Elise and Whitney.
Clarice mentally noted to herself that she must pay a visit to both
the girls when she returned to Auckland, to inform them of her
adventure through Max’s scheme.

Behind her, Clarice heard the elevator ding,
indicating the door was closing. Suddenly, a yawn overcame her.
With her eyes closed and her body slouched against the wall, she
suddenly realized she was tired. Luckily, she still had today to
spend in the hotel before flying back home tomorrow.

She wondered what Max was up to last night,
but her thoughts were cut short when the elevator door dinged open
again.

Clarice opened her eyes again and
straightened herself, not wanting anyone to see her in such a
state. It wouldn’t be right for a gum specialist to act like a
child, closing her eyes and slouching around like she could sleep
anywhere.

Once she got her posture together, she
waited patiently for the other occupant to appear, but when he did
appear, she realized heaven was never going to be on her side when
it came to that Casanova.

CHAPTER 17

“You.” Clarice squeaked, then clamped her
mouth shut before she started cursing Hunter, who in fact was the
occupant she had waited for. But before Hunter could turn his face
to look at her, she pretended to dig into her large bag, hiding her
face.

Oh dear, why all of a sudden must she have
an itch in her throat? Trying to hold it in, she couldn’t help
releasing a massive cough, which alerted Hunter to her
presence.

Hunter was a bit taken aback when he turned
to see a petite woman holding a bag near her face, huddled in the
corner of the elevator like a scared mouse. And here he thought he
was all alone when he entered. He supposed he was too depressed
over losing his mysterious goddess that he didn’t give a thorough
look at his surroundings. He couldn’t get a good look at her face,
but man, was her body definitely his type. Kind of reminded him of
the avocado.

Clarice cut her eyes a bit so she could take
a sneak peek at Hunter when she was sure his attention was
elsewhere. She lowered the bag a little more to get a better
view.

He looks horrible,
she thought,
absolutely horrible.
In fact, even worse off than when she’d
first seen him at the café. That hair was even more messed up than
before. And his clothes… What was he doing last night, all wrinkled
up like that? Then a scenario of the Casanova’s activity of last
night swam into her head.

He must have bedded a woman, and by the
looks of things, she must have kicked him out. Otherwise, that
Casanova would never appear in anything other than pressed and
branded clothing.
Serves him right.

At that very moment, as Hunter was about to
push the eleventh floor button, he turned to face Clarice, who
almost jumped in fright, automatically smacking her bag right in
her face just so Hunter couldn’t see her, resulting in a loud
thwacking sound.

The price of keeping one’s identity
anonymous was very painful indeed.
Dear heaven, that hurt like
hell.

Damn you, Casanova. It’s all your fault.

“Hey,” Hunter asked somberly, eyeing the
woman who was acting strangely. “Which floor?”

Crap, he wants me to answer him?
In
order to keep her identity safe, she decided to use her best
impression of an old lady’s voice.

“Eleventh floor,” she said seductively.

Shit, that sounded like his mysterious
goddess. Hunter’s eyes immediately jerked toward the woman who
still held that bag blocking her face.

“Say that again?” Hunter asked, which came
out more like a demand, piqued at the woman’s voice.
Could it be
her?

Heaven help her! Was she so affected by last
night that her voice was still laced with that seductive passion?
She had to use her hoarse voice if she wanted to fool Hunter into
believing she was an old woman.
Muster up that croaky voice,
Clarice. Muster up that voice now.

“Eleventh,” she said seductively again.

Oh deary me, it came out wrong again.