“She must have hidden it from us,” the other girl said, though she didn’t seem as catty or mean as Gwen.
Gwen pressed her lips together in an unflattering, I-just-sucked-on-a-lemon kind of pucker. “Well, if I would have seen it, my scissors would have accidentally cut it to pieces.”
“She really does look beautiful,” the other younger girl said, her voice almost wistful. “It’s like she had a fairy godmother who gave her a complete head-to-toe makeover. And from what I can see of those crystal-like shoes she’s wearing, they’re absolutely beautiful.”
Gwen rolled her eyes. “For God’s sake, Claire, stop mooning over her outfit. We look far more beautiful in these custom-made dresses from Paris. Whatever that frock is that she’s wearing, it can’t even come close to competing with our designer gowns.”
Hunter wanted to beg to differ and set the girl named Gwen straight . . . that the woman she was disparaging was ten times more alluring than she ever could be. And it had nothing to do with the gowns they were wearing, but the elegant poise of the blonde compared to Gwen’s obnoxious disposition.
“Ahhh,” the older woman finally said, a triumphant smile curving her lips. “See, what did I tell you? Security is telling her to leave.”
“Thank God,” Gwen said, shaking out the voluminous skirt of her ball gown.
Hunter shifted his gaze again to the blonde just outside the charity event. The crestfallen look he saw on her face was so genuine and real it made his chest tighten with a startling, protective kind of emotion.
“Exactly,” the elder woman said, her voice laced with satisfaction. “We don’t need any other competition here tonight when you and Claire need to be the center of attention to find a wealthy man.”
“Oh, my God, did you see Hunter Wilder?” the girl named Claire said, pressing a hand to her heart. “That man is so hot and I call dibs on him.”
Gwen laughed sardonically. “What makes you think you’d catch the eye of a sophisticated, wealthy, good-looking man like that?”
Were these women for real? Hunter shook his head at the girls’ squabbling, over him, no less—as if he’d even be interested in either of them, and he was so done with their cattiness. They had no idea he was standing right beside the pillar in their peripheral vision, but in a moment of spontaneity, he decided to make his presence known and stop the blonde beauty before she could leave. Clearly, she’d been invited and had been deliberately left off the RSVP card, and Hunter was suddenly in the mood to deliver a bit of poetic justice to the trio of females, who were almost gleeful that security had turned away the woman in the lavender gown.
He moved forward, deliberately cutting in between the three women. “Excuse me, ladies,” he said politely, catching the widening of Claire’s and Gwen’s eyes, along with their startled expressions, as they realized who he was.
He strode out the double doors and down to where security was set up for the evening, knowing without a doubt that the three women back in the ballroom were watching to see what transpired. Despite all the reasons Hunter knew he shouldn’t get involved in this less-than-ideal situation, he was undeniably intrigued by the blonde. He also desperately needed a distraction for the evening considering what was transpiring with Theodore, and she clearly could use a date for the evening.
Halfway to reaching Michael, the blonde woman turned around to go, her embarrassment at being shunned almost tangible, and Hunter didn’t hesitate to stop her.
“Wait,” he called out, his voice firm and direct—the kind of tone that commanded attention, and it definitely worked to seize hers.
Complying with his request, she tensed and pivoted back around, her pink, glossy lips parting ever so slightly as he finished his approach and addressed security.
“Michael, is there an issue here?” he asked, glancing back at the woman, who was even more striking up close, with her pale, creamy skin, lovely features, and those big blue eyes that were regarding him cautiously, as if she expected him to berate her for attempting to get into the ball.
“There is no issue, Mr. Wilder,” his trusted security guy replied.
The woman standing only a few feet away from Hunter shifted uneasily on her feet, a look of uncertainty on her face. “Then what is the problem?” he demanded to know. “Why didn’t you let her through?”
“She provided an invitation and her identification, but her name wasn’t on the RSVP list, so I had to turn her away, which has always been standard protocol for these yearly events, sir.”
Michael confirmed what Hunter had overheard in the ballroom . . . that this woman was left off the RSVP card.
Deliberately so.
“I’m very sorry, Mr. Wilder,” she said, her soft, slightly husky voice and the mention of his name drawing his gaze back to her. She licked her bottom lip nervously. “There was a mistake with the invitation and the RSVP card. I don’t want to cause any trouble for anyone. I’m leaving.”
Crazily enough, the thought of never seeing her again sent a shocking sense of panic rippling through Hunter. “No,” he said, and didn’t question the adamant tone of his voice. “You’re staying.”
She inhaled a soft breath, and her eyes rounded in stunned surprise—so unassuming and ingenuous compared to the cunning, deceitful trio back in the ballroom. Her actions, expressions, and hints of vulnerability told him she was kinder and far more soft-hearted.
“But sir—” Michael began, equally shocked by the request.
Hunter waved a hand in the air, cutting off his security guy. “She’s staying, Michael. As my guest,” he said, in a tone that brooked no argument.
Stepping toward her, Hunter stopped less than a foot away and found himself so utterly and completely beguiled by her. Realizing how brusque he’d been up to this point, he allowed a charming, more sensual smile to lift the corners of his mouth. That kind of indulgent smile for him was rare these days, but there was something about this woman that made him want to put her at ease with him.
“I’m Hunter Wilder,” he said, introducing himself. “And you are?”