Beauty and the Billionaire (Billionaire Boys Club #2)(13)

Much like the enthusiasm she was feeling staring at his broad shoulders and washboard abs, Gretchen thought to herself. There was something not quite right about the way one side of his body looked, as if the skin had too much shadow on it, but she was too far away to see what it was. A trick of the light, perhaps? A light dusting of chest hair covered his pectorals.

The towel fell, and she caught a glimpse of dark hair atop his head and strong, handsome features . . . and then the towel revealed his entire face.

Scarred. Broken. His mouth was pulled down on one side.

She gasped, unable to help herself. He’d been so perfectly sculpted that the sight of the ruin on his face had completely thrown her for a loop.

The man froze and turned toward her, as if seeing her for the first time. Recognition flitted across his face, and then he was wrapping the towel around his waist. “Get the f**k out of here,” he roared. One hand went in front of his face, shielding it from her gaze.

“Sorry,” Gretchen said in a high-pitched voice, taking a few cautious steps backward. “I didn’t mean to spy. I just—”

“Get out of here! Go! You’re not allowed down this hall!”

“I’m so sorry! I—”

“GO!”

Gretchen turned and ran. She didn’t stop running until she made it back to the east wing and slammed her bedroom door shut behind her. She leaned against it, breathing hard.

Holy shit.

She’d just seen the owner nak*d. Really nak*d. Hell, she’d practically ogled his nak*dness and taken his measurements. And it had been some damn fine nak*dness. The only thing that wasn’t perfect was his face. It was terribly scarred, but the more she thought about it, the more she was intrigued by it.

Not that she’d get a chance to find out the story behind it. Mr. Buchanan was seriously pissed that she’d seen him. She’d never seen anyone so mad. Gretchen winced, biting a fingernail.

Was she going to be fired from this job before she’d even started it? Just because she’d been bored and curious? Shit.

***

Damn it all. That had not been how he’d wanted to meet Gretchen.

Hunter had planned it all carefully in his mind. He’d leave her some friendly notes, letting her know that he had an interest in the project he’d cultivated for her. He’d meet her in a well-shadowed room and let her have the impression that his face was not that bad. After a few chance meetings, he’d reveal to her his face and give her a chance to consider it in stronger light. Not daylight. Daylight was too harsh and unforgiving. Then, maybe when she was comfortable with his . . . disfigurements, they could move past it and be friends.

He’d not intended for her to see him. Naked. Fully exposed in more ways than one. His hands twitched, needing his pruning shears. Time in the greenhouse working on his roses always calmed him. Perhaps a few hours of tending to them would give him a chance to calm down and digest how things had already gone horribly wrong.

Hunter stared at the empty walls of his bedroom. No mirrors adorned the walls. He didn’t want to see his reflection staring back at him. Not in this personal space. His hand touched his newly shaved chin, and he thought for a moment, trying to see his face through her eyes. All he could see was one normal side of his face, and the other hideously distorted and scarred. The finger he was missing. The lacerated white lines that remained on his arm and chest.

Hunter dressed quickly and strode out of his room. Try as he might, he couldn’t get out of his mind the horrified little gasp she’d given at the sight of him. She’d seen everything. His scars had been laid open.

And she’d been revolted.

Chapter 4

Gretchen nervously deleted and undeleted the last paragraph of chapter thirteen, chewing on her lip. Any moment now, that tall jerk was going to show up and ask them to politely leave. Or hey, since it was Eldon, it probably wouldn’t be so politely.

And then what would Gretchen tell her agent? Tell Audrey? I sort of got a look at the owner’s junk when I went exploring, and he’s not a fan of being ogled. That would go over well. God, how could she have messed this up so quickly? She hadn’t even been here a full day yet. She glanced over at Audrey, but her sister was curled up on the bed, flipping through a magazine and glancing occasionally at her phone.

Next to her computer, Igor flicked his wiry little tail and whacked her on the wrist with it. She idly reached over and rubbed her fingers on his soft head. She had zero interest in working on more of sexist Astronaut Bill and his twerpy ladylove. She wanted to go look around. She wanted to take a good look at those letters she’d been sent here to transcribe and somehow turn into a book.

More than that, she wanted to find that nak*d man she’d spied on and apologize for gawking at him.

Maybe she could introduce herself. He had to be Buchanan. She could have asked Audrey about him, but then Audrey would be giving her suspicious looks and wanting to know just why Gretchen was so curious about the man. Gretchen didn’t want to field questions about him. He was a dirty little secret she was intrigued by, and didn’t want Audrey to ruin it for her with her disapproval. So she said nothing.

She thought of the curious way his face had been twisted on one side. She wondered what would have caused such—

At the knock on the door, she jumped.

Audrey sat up, swinging her legs off the side of the bed and tossing aside her magazine. “Don’t move,” she told Gretchen. “I’ll get it.”