<b>Chapter </b><b>111 </b>


    -HUNTER’S POV


    Walking behind Celine as we came down the marble staircase felt like the most natural thing in the world, even though everything about this moment waspletely foreign to me.


    I had never taken a woman on a proper date before–not like this, not with genuine intention behind it.


    The women I had been with in the past had been transactions, arrangements, brief meetings that served a purpose and nothing more.


    But watching Celine’s nervous nces back at me, the way her fingers fidgeted with the fabric of that blue dress that made her look like <b>she </b>had stepped out of a dream, I realized I wanted this to be perfect for her. She deserved perfection.


    Her beauty wasn’t the polished, manufactured kind I was used to seeing at charity gs and business functions. It was something softer, more authentic.


    The way the afternoon light caught in her chestnut hair, the natural flush in her cheeks that had nothing to do with makeup, the unconscious grace in her movements–it was all so genuinely Celine that it made my chest tight with an emotion I wasn’t ready to name.


    I could have walked beside her, should have offered my arm like a proper gentleman, but selfishly, I wanted to watch her.


    I wanted to memorize the way she moved, the soft line of her shoulders, the way she kept tucking a strand of hair behind her ear when she


    was nervous.


    When we reached the car, I moved quickly to open her door, enjoying the surprise that shed across her features.


    She wasn’t used to being treated like this, and that realization both angered and saddened me. How many men had failed to see what I saw when I looked at her?


    “Thank you,” she murmured as I helped her into the passenger seat, her voice barely above a whisper.


    I shed her what I hoped was a reassuring smile before walking around to the driver’s side.


    My hands were actually trembling slightly as I started the engine


    … When was thest time I had been nervous about anything? But something about Celine’s presence, the effect of this moment, had me feeling like a teenager on his first date.


    We had barely pulled out of the mansion’s circr driveway when my phone rang. Caroline’s name shed on the dashboard disy, and I groaned internally.


    My cousin had impable timing, always managing to call at the most unsuitable moments.


    “Hunter Reid,” I answered, putting the call on speaker since I was driving.


    “Finally! I’ve been calling you for the past hour/What’s with you not answering your phone? And don’t give me some bullshit excuse about being busy…..”


    “Caroline,” I interrupted, ncing at Celine, who was clearly trying not tough at my cousin’s characteristically blunt opening.


    “Now isn’t really a good time.”


    “Oh, is that so? And why exactly isn’t <b>it </b>a good time? Are you finally doing something other than brooding <b>in </b>that ridiculous mansion of yours?”


    13:04 Tue, <b>5 </b><b>Alig </b>


    I could practically hear the smirk in her voice.


    457<b>% </b>


    Caroline had been on my case for months about my antisocial behavior, constantly lecturing me about how I needed to “get out there” and “live a little.” The irony wasn’t lost on me.


    “Actually,” I said, deciding to just rip off the bandage, “I’m taking Celine on a date. So if you’re nning toe by the mansionter, we


    won’t be there.”


    The silence that followed was soplete I thought the call had dropped. Then Caroline’s voice came through the speaker, pitched about three octaves higher than normal.


    “I’m sorry, WHAT? Did you just say you’re taking Celine on a date?”


    <b>“</b>That’s what I said.”


    “Holy shit, Hunter! I’m so proud of you right now I could cry! It’s about damn time you stopped being aplete emotionally constipated


    asshole and….”


    “Caroline,” I warned, acutely aware of Celine listening to every word. I could see her cheeks turning pink in my peripheral vision.


    “<b>No</b>, let me finish! Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for this moment? I was starting to think you were going to die alone in


    that mansion, surrounded by nothing but your precious business contracts and……”


    “I’m hanging up now.”


    “Don’t you dare! Hunter Reid, you listen to me. You better treat that girl like the absolute queen she is. This is her first real date in years, and if you mess this up, I will personallye over there and castrate you with a rusty spoon.”


    Celine made a small choking sound, and I couldn’t tell if she was horrified or trying not tough.


    “Noted,” I said dryly. “Anything else?”


    “Yes! Take her somewhere nice. Somewhere that shows you actually put thought into this. And for the love of God, be yourself. The real you, not the ice king persona you’ve been hiding behind.”


    “Goodbye, Caroline.”


    “I love you too, cousin! Don’t fuck this up!”


    I ended the call and nced at Celine, who was now openly smiling despite her obvious embarrassment.


    “Your friends are highly protective of you,” I observed, reaching over to squeeze her hand gently. “I think I’ve gotten more threats from them


    than I have from business rivals.”


    “I’m so sorry,” she said quickly. “Caroline doesn’t have a filter when she gets excited, and ke is just…..”


    “Hey.” I squeezed her hand again, not wanting her to apologize for having people who cared about her.


    “It’s okay. It’s actually… It’s good to know you have people in your corner. People who love you enough to threaten bodily harm to anyone


    who might hurt you.”


    She looked at me with those warm brown eyes, and I saw something shift in her face. Something softer, more trusting.


    “So,” I said, bringing her hand to my lips to press a gentle kiss to her knuckles, enjoying the way her breath hitched at the contact.


    “What would you like to do first?”


    13:05 Tue, 5 Aug 10


    4957%


    The Metropolitan Museum of Art wasn’t somewhere I would ever have thought to take a woman on a date. <fn71fc> ?????? ???? find?novel</fn71fc>


    In my little experience, dates were about expensive restaurants, exclusive clubs, maybe the opera if I was feeling particrly traditional.


    But something about Celine made me want to share different experiences with her, to see the world through her eyes.


    I was right to trust my instincts.


    Watching Celine walk through those galleries was like watching someonee alive.


    The shy, nervous woman from the car disappeared, reced by someone animated and passionate, her eyes bright with genuine wonder as she moved from painting to painting.


    I found myself trailing behind her, not really looking at the art but studying her instead.


    The way she tilted her head when something caught her attention, the unconscious way she bit her lower lip when she was concentrating, the soft gasps of appreciation when she encountered something particrly beautiful…..it was all infinitely more captivating than any masterpiece on the walls.


    “Hunter, look at this one,” she said, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward andscape painting.


    The contact sent electricity shooting up my arm, and I had to resist the urge to pull her closer. “The way the light hits the water….it’s like you can feel the warmth of the sun.”


    She was right.


    But I was more interested in the warmth radiating from her, the way her enthusiasm was infectious, making me see beauty in things I had never paid attention to before.


    When we reached a particrly stunning impressionist piece….something with swirling colors and ethereal light…she stoppedpletely, just staring at it with such intensity that I found myself leaning closer, close enough that I could smell her shampoo, something light and floral that made me want to bury my face in her hair.


    “Do you like it?” I murmured near her ear, my voiceing out rougher than I had intended. “I could buy it for you.”


    She flinched slightly at my closeness but didn’t pull away, which I took as a good sign.


    “No,” she said softly, still staring at the painting. “I don’t need to own it. It’s just… It’s beautiful enough that I want to remember it exactly like this.”


    Her response shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did.


    Most women in my experience would have jumped at the offer, would have seen dor signs and opportunity. But Celine just wanted to appreciate the beauty for what it was, nothing more.


    I was falling harder by the minute.


    Our second stop was a couple’s painting ss I had found online, something I would never in a million years have considered doing before.


    But the thought of watching Celine create something, of sharing that part of herself with me, had made the decision easy.


    I should have known i would be terrible at it.


    While Celine’s canvas blossomed with delicate flowers and soft brushstrokes that somehow captured light and shadow with effortless grace,


    201


    my attempt looked like something Caesar might have created during one of his more destructive art sessions.


    “It’s abstract,” I said defensively when Celine nced over at my disaster of a painting.


    She bit her lip, clearly trying not tough. “It’s… very expressive.”


    “That’s one way to put it.”


    But then the guy sitting next to Celine….some pretentious artist type with paint–stained fingers and an unnecessarily intense stare….leaned


    over to examine her work.


    “This is incredible,” he said, his voice filled with the kind of appreciation that made my jaw clench.


    “You have real talent. Have you ever considered showing your work? I know a gallery downtown that would be interested in someone with your skill level.”


    Celine blushed prettily, ducking her head in that modest way that made me want to grab her chin and force her to ept thepliment.


    “Oh, I’m not… I mean, it’s just a hobby.”


    “A hobby?” The guy looked genuinely shocked. “This is professional–level work. Here, let me give you my card….”


    “She’s fine,” I said, my voiceing out sharper than I had intended.


    Both Celine and the guy looked at me in surprise, and I realized I was gripping my paintbrush so tightly it was in danger of snapping.


    Jealousy.


    That’s what this was….raw, possessive jealousy that I had never experienced before and didn’t know how to handle.


    The thought of this stranger trying to insert himself into Celine’s world, trying to offer her things I should be offering her, made me want to do something caveman–like andpletely inappropriate.


    The guy held up his hands in surrender, clearly recognizing the threat in my posture. “Sorry, man. Didn’t realize she was taken.”


    Taken. The word shouldn’t have sent such a thrill through me/but it did. Celine was taken. She was mine, even if we hadn’t put abel on


    whatever this was between us.


    “Hunter,” Celine said softly, her hand touching my arm. “It’s okay. He was just being nice.“,


    But I could see the awareness in her eyes, the recognition of what my reaction meant.


    She wasn’t upset by my possessiveness….if anything, there was something almost pleased in her face, like she enjoyed seeing this side of <ol><li>me. </li></ol>


    We finished the ss in rtive quiet, but I could feel the tension building between us, something electric,and charged that made every


    idental touch feel marked.


    This was dangerous territory.


    I was falling for Celine Brown, and there was no safety to catch me when I inevitably hit the ground.