Beauty and the Billionaire (Billionaire Boys Club #2)(23)

He ignored her teasing, pushing in her chair as she sat. “I see you received your rose today.”

“I did. What’s this one called?” She touched a hand to the flower behind her ear.

“Gypsy Carnival.”

“I love it.”

“Do you?” He stilled, as if hardly daring to breathe.

Gretchen nodded. “Well, it’s not quite my favorite so far. I liked the first one the best. The blue one.”

“Blue Girl. I remember.” He looked so very serious, so intense.

“I liked it best, though they’re all incredibly lovely. Your taste is impeccable.”

Another grunt of acknowledgement.

Tonight’s dinner was more sandwiches. After her first complaint, they’d had sandwiches every night. It wasn’t thrilling food, but at least she could eat it. She just went to dinner for the company, anyhow. If she wanted decent food, she cooked it herself when she was bored, and then dined on leftovers. She never touched Eldon’s cooking. Hunter might have thought Eldon was sufficient at cooking but she thought he was terrible. Why a billionaire didn’t hire a cook, she didn’t understand.

Hunter was an enigma, and she was growing increasingly fascinated by him. She’d never met anyone quite as remote as him.

To her surprise, he picked up her hand and examined her red fingertip. “You hurt yourself.”

“It’s nothing.” She studied his fingers on her skin, and she noticed the scars were on the back of his hand, too. He seemed to be missing a finger as well, which she had never noticed before now. Had he lost it in the accident?

“You should be careful.” His gaze moved over her face and, to Gretchen’s surprise, he was leaning so low that she could scent his aftershave. A hot rush of pleasure coursed through her. Odd that she would be attracted to this man. She knew nothing about him because he never shared anything of himself at their companionable dinners.

But was it because he refused to? Or because he didn’t know how?

Greatly daring, Gretchen pulled her hand from his and regarded him. His face was carefully angled away from her once more. “May I ask you something personal?”

“I suppose.” His tone had gone flat, wary.

“How did your . . . injuries happen?”

He jerked to his feet, and Gretchen knew she’d made a mistake.

“I’m sorry I asked. I just . . .”

Her words trailed off as he headed for the door. Well, shit. She must have touched on the one thing that could break through that icy veneer. She’d wanted him to show a reaction, after all. She’d gotten one.

He paused at the doorway, as if struggling with something internally. Then, he turned and gave her a look so cold that she shivered. “You want to know about my scars? Why I’m as ugly as I am?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“My secret is not a secret. Ask anyone and they’ll tell you. You can find it in all the newspapers, too. When I was ten, I was kidnapped from boarding school and held for ransom. The fools thought that because my father was incredibly wealthy, that he’d pay anything for his only heir.” His laugh was cold, bitter, his expression bleak. “They did not know my father well. My father didn’t give two shits about me. He didn’t care about leaving a legacy. He just wanted to see how much money he could acquire before he died. I was simply an inconvenience. When he’d heard I’d been kidnapped, the first thing he wanted to know was how much they wanted. And when he heard the price, he refused to pay it.”

Her lips parted in shock.

“They kept me on a boat for a week. As the days passed, I knew my father wasn’t sending anyone for me, so I planned my escape. I thought it’d be easy to jump overboard and swim to shore. So I did, except when I went over the side, I hit the propeller. It destroyed my face and my arm and tore up my chest.” He held up his hand. “I almost lost all these fingers, but instead I only lost one. I nearly died.”

Holy shit. Her jaw dropped.

“I suppose I should be considered lucky. The propeller was moving at a very low speed and it only destroyed half of me.” The cynicism in his voice made her ache. “The kidnappers panicked as soon as they saw the blood in the water and tried to get away. A nearby fisherman saw me go overboard and swam out to save me. He is why I lived.” Hunter turned away. “Now you know. Never ask me again.”

And he shut the door.

Their tentative friendship had just taken one massive, ugly step backward. Gretchen sighed and tossed the limp sandwich back onto the plate, her appetite gone.

***

Anger and despair raged inside of Hunter. He tore down the halls of Buchanan Manor, knocking over priceless vases and statues as he passed them. He needed something—anything—to quell this helpless rage he was feeling.

She’d asked about his face. Wanted to know why he was so hideous. She couldn’t see past the scars despite her pretty words.

And it made him furious, even as it made him feel black with despair.

Why was he nothing to her but a ravaged face? Why was she just like everyone else? Why could she not ignore them and focus on the man underneath?

He slammed a hand into a delicate Chinese ginger jar, pleased when it launched off the end table and smacked into the wall. Good. Now it was as shattered as he felt inside.

How could he possibly explain to another person the event that had destroyed his life? Waking up in the arms of strangers as a young boy? The horror and fear he’d felt as they’d held a gun to his head and transported him to the boat? The emptiness he’d felt when days had passed and no ransom was forthcoming? Could they possibly have known that his father couldn’t have cared less that he had a son? That he couldn’t be bothered to deal with the child who had killed his beloved wife in childbirth? The grim determination he’d felt when he’d realized he’d have to save himself, and launched over the side of the boat . . . only to meet a fate worse than death when he hit the propeller?