When I glanced back over my shoulder, North’s eyes were on my ass.
Indignation filled me and I cleared my throat, even as I wondered if he was looking at my ass because he liked it or because its largeness surprised him.
He didn’t appear even a tiny bit sheepish about being caught as he strolled over to the door. “Thank you for the short and not very sweet welcome.” North halted inches from me, and I fought the urge to step back. He searched my face like I was a puzzle he couldn’t figure out. “I do feel as though I might have offended you somehow, and that bothers me more than I like.”
He sounded sincere.
That was the thing about actors.
They were very good at pretending.
“Of course you haven’t offended me, Mr. Hunter. We’ve never met until today. It’s just a busy morning here at Ardnoch.” I noted Max, one of our valets, waiting outside. “Max here will show you to your suite. I took the liberty of procuring the Bruce Suite for your stay. It has a wonderful view of the North Sea. If, when you return to Ardnoch, you would like us to reserve a particular room or lodge, please give us plenty of notice and we’ll do our best to accommodate.” Even as I spoke, I fought the invisible pull to lean closer to him, to breathe deeply of his sandalwood and citrus cologne.
A coolness entered his expression at my crisp formality. “Very good, Ms. Howard.” He strode out of my office without looking back, and I quickly shut the door.
Resting my forehead on the wood, I exhaled shakily.
What the hell was that?
Whatever it was, my alarm bells were ringing. The last time I was attracted to an actor, he ripped my fragile self-esteem to shreds.
And this actor was one of my members.
I needed to stay as far away from North Hunter as possible.
One
NORTH
December
The driveway led through woodlands for what felt like forever before the trees disappeared to reveal grass for miles around a mammoth building in the distance. Flags were situated throughout the rolling plains of the estate—the golf course. Only a few months ago I stood on that grass with my mate Theo Cavendish, pretending like we knew what the hell we were doing.
Carefree. Confident. Celebratory. Assured my life was about to change in the best way.
Oh, aye, it had changed all right.
In the worst fucking way possible.
Ardnoch Castle was a rambling, castellated mansion, six stories tall and about two hundred years old, situated on thousands of acres of estate. When Aria Howard had reached out to my management to ask if I was interested in membership, my publicist Annette was on at me to buy it. I thought it was a bunch of pretentious, overpriced nonsense. But they said it would be good for my image, and I liked the idea that the club was in my homeland. I hadn’t expected to fall in love with the place. I hadn’t anticipated that because of its security, I’d need it as a haven to run to.
The low winter sun hovered over the horizon, making the windows of the castle glint in welcome.
Wakefield, the butler, appeared out of the large main entrance before the Range Rover had even pulled to a stop on the gravel. The weirdest part of the transition from impoverished nobody to famous actor was the way people wanted to do everything for me. It chafed a bit. Wakefield opened my door as soon as the car stopped.
“Welcome back to Ardnoch, Mr. Hunter,” he said with warm professionalism.
No hint of accusation or judgment in his voice.
“Thank you, Wakefield,” I replied, even though I didn’t want to speak to anyone.
“Any luggage, sir?”
No. As soon as my team told me what the papers would publish this morning, I jumped on a plane to Scotland. I’d been in LA, getting ready to fly back to London to start shooting Birdwatcher, the spy movie that was going to change my life. With a director as infamously brilliant as Blake Forster at the helm, it was set to rival James Bond.
A knot twisted in my gut.
Annette told me to flee to Ardnoch to ride out the coming storm while my agent, Harry, warned me this might wreak havoc with the film and its schedule. That’s all I needed. To be the reason the studio lost money on delays because the tabloids were fucking savage animals who didn’t give a shit what they put anyone through.
“My luggage is arriving separately,” I told Wakefield. “I don’t know how long I’m going to be staying at the moment.”
“Very good, sir. Let me show you to Ms. Howard’s office.”
I groaned inwardly. “Can’t you just show me to my room?” It was like being taken to the head teacher’s office. A tantalizingly sexy head teacher. But I wasn’t in the mood for Aria Howard’s disdain today.
“Ms. Howard would like to speak to you, sir,” Wakefield said carefully.
Oh, aye, right. I had a feeling I knew what she wanted to say, and honestly, I wasn’t sure my frayed bloody nerves could take it.
Usually, I got a kind of perverse satisfaction out of her aloof and caustic reaction to me. It had been like that between us from the moment we met, and I had no clue why. Today, however, I just wanted to hide in my fucking room and have no bugger bother me.
Reluctantly, I followed the butler to Aria’s office.
She spoke with Wakefield before I entered the room and I knew I was in a bad way because her husky voice did nothing to me. Her voice normally made my cock twitch. I didn’t think the woman realized she had the bedroom voice to beat all bedroom voices.
The butler withdrew as I stepped inside, and he closed the door behind us. Aria stood, drawing my attention. I didn’t want to look at her, but I couldn’t stop myself.
Women had fallen at my feet my whole life. Aye, that sounded horrifically arrogant, didn’t it? But it was the truth. I’d never had to work hard to get a woman in my bed. In fact, since becoming famous, I’d even found them in it without invitation. Problem was, I couldn’t do casual sex. It wasn’t something I talked about a lot because my mates would probably look at me like I was off my nut, but casual sex left me feeling empty. I enjoyed being in a relationship. Enjoyed feeling needed. I was in a long-term relationship with Cara Rochdale the first time I’d met Aria, so the fact that another woman made my blood hot beyond bearing incited some major fucking guilt.
But after what Cara did to me only fourteen hours ago, I no longer felt guilty about my attraction to the estate manager. I didn’t know what it was about Aria Howard that excited me. Aye, she was beautiful, but I’d dated beautiful women before, Cara among them. I think it was the dichotomy of Aria’s overtly sexual, physical appearance to her cool, efficient manner.
My gut twisted as our eyes met and held.
Aria had striking eyes. Mossy green and so light and clear against her olive complexion and almost black hair. Everything about her made a man want to sink into her. Plump lips, spectacularly large tits, and full hips. She was tall, almost my height in heels, and her length stretched her voluptuous curves, but thankfully not enough. Her waist drew in, giving her that perfect, exaggerated hourglass. I’d overheard an actor gossiping with another on the estate a few months back and Aria had come up in conversation. She’d called Aria fat. Jealous cow. Aria was perfect.
Unfortunately, she hated me even before today.
I waited for her disgust to twist that knot in my gut even tighter.