Read Treasured by Thursday (Weekday Brides Series Book 7) for Free Online

bastard. One that always won . . . eventually.
    “How much time do I have to decide?” she asked.
    “The fundraiser will go on for several hours.”
    “You can’t be serious.” She was outraged, once again.
    He relented, slightly. “I expect contracts on my desk in the morning.”
    “Impossible.” She shook her head.
    “Nothing is impossible.”
    The car started to slow, announcing their arrival.
    “Blackmail is such an ugly practice.”
    The limo stopped and she reached for the door.
    He moved forward, caught her ice-cold hand. “So is prison.”
    Their eyes locked, both of their jaws set in tight control.
    Charles opened the door and extended a hand.
    Hunter quickly followed her, ignored her flinch when he placed a hand to the small of her back to escort her inside. To her credit, she didn’t take a swing. Though from the way she held her purse, she certainly wanted to.
    The cameras flashed as they walked the red carpet. A bottleneck of celebrities blocked their quick entrance, and Gabriella was forced to turn to the cameras.
    He leaned forward, was awarded the floral scent of her skin. “Smile, darling,” he whispered.
    She turned toward him, and he was grateful that looks couldn’t actually kill. She mumbled something in a language he didn’t understand and painted on a debutante smile. The expression didn’t meet her eyes, but she twisted to the flash of cameras and sucked in a deep breath.
    Why Hunter was so mindful of her every move baffled him. This was an acquisition . . . nothing more, nothing less. Yet he was pleased to see more color in her face.
    Hunter kept close to her side so there was no question as to whom she was with. The sooner he established contact with his personal life and the public, the better. He heard his name in the flash of media and purposely pushed closer to Gabriella. “Keep moving,” he suggested.
    “And where would you suggest I run?” Her words were pure venom, her smile coy for the camera.
    God, she was stunning. Her long, sleek hair was pulled up, with trails running down her neck. Her strong jaw with clenched teeth told him she would bite if he moved too close. Olive skin spoke of her Italian heritage; her guarded, expressive eyes hid so much from those around them. Yet he knew the daggers she tossed, felt them hit their mark every time she glanced his way.
    The line moved, and he gifted his hand with the small of her back.
    This time, her flinch was barely palpable. He reminded himself to keep his hand on the fabric of her dress as much as he could . . . all evening.
    His eyes traveled to the sway of her firm hips. The thick material of her gown kept him from seeing what she wore underneath.
    Attraction in this game would be lethal, not to mention useless. The woman hated him, and rightly so.
    He was a bastard.
    The worst kind.
    Yet he plowed forward, his goal in mind.
    The line released its hold on them, and they spilled into the hall of the famous restaurant. Hunter gave their names to the attendant and kept hold of his charge.
    “I’m not here with you,” she hissed through the crush of people.
    He grinned. “You are now.”

    Escaping Hunter Blackwell was akin to running from rain during a hurricane. It didn’t matter where she went, what she said . . . he was always there.
    She accepted sparkling water and lime, sipped the beverage, and allowed Mr. Blackwell to introduce her for over an hour before she couldn’t stomach any more.
    She excused herself to the ladies’ room, knew he was close behind, but detoured when she rounded the corner through a staff door. After pleading with an attractive young waiter, he helped her back into the main dining hall through another door, and she slid out of the venue.
    Before long she was tucked back inside the limousine on her way back home.
    The moment she arrived at her doorstep, she set her alarms, shut off all the downstairs lights, and retreated to her office.
    Hunter Blackwell’s cell phone information