Survive the Hunt

by Diana Duncan

  Screw easy and comfortable.

  Coy games weren’t her style. Plus she wasn’t about to throw away a chance to spend more time with him. If Aidan got to know her better and still gave her the big brush-off, then she’d have reason to be hurt.

  If she didn’t risk the pain, she’d never have the opportunity.

  Besides, she despised being filthy. Hated the thought of contaminating her car and the resulting cleaning chore. Washing her clothes at his place would save bucks at the Laundromat, and every penny counted.

  Rationalization? BFD, nobody was keeping score. “All right. Lead on.”

  After a careful, innocuous conversation during the walk about the nice weather cooperating with the wedding, they arrived at his condominium complex. The spacious high-rise with a breathtaking river view was as different from her studio as the Plaza from the projects.

  His apartment told her a lot about her cop. Not into showy expense, he still appreciated good quality. No single director’s chair for him. A polished cherry dining table was surrounded by enough chairs to seat his entire family, whose framed pictures filled the fireplace mantel. Lots of photos of him and his brothers from childhood to the present, including shots of all the boys posing proudly in various sports gear and Boy Scout uniforms.

  Her mom had worked two, sometimes three jobs, and even if Rita could’ve afforded the time, she couldn’t afford extra activities for Zoe, which Zoe totally understood. She was fiercely glad Aidan had grown up with both family support and confidence-boosting hobbies.

  The condo’s muted sand, sapphire, and dark-green palette inspired by forested seascapes on his walls indicated a love of nature. The chocolate-brown leather furniture and plush Oriental rug revealed his sensual side. She pictured him lounging beside a crackling fire on rainy evenings. He’d wear black silk pajamas and sip wine while reading one of the dozens of books lining the glass-fronted bookcases. She just as easily pictured herself snuggling beside him, or maybe challenging him to a game of chess on the exquisitely detailed pewter Celtic set displayed on a low table in front of the window.

  “You can use the main bathroom.” Shattering her silly daydream, he pointed down a long hallway with gleaming walnut floors. “Set your clothes outside the door, and I’ll toss them in the washer while you shower. You can wear my robe hanging on the back of the door until they’re done.” His manner remained courteous and distant, as if she were a stranger he’d accidentally jostled in a crowd.

  Zoe nodded. The mirror over the mantel caught the movement, snagging her attention. A black smudge streaked her nose and right cheek. Her hair stuck out in stiff spikes, and her blouse was splotched with hell only knew what. She self-consciously smoothed her sticky hair and stared down at her stained clothing ... a grubby urchin spoiling the beauty of Aidan’s serene, classy living room.

  She didn’t belong here. Solitaire, not chess, was her game.

  Dejection dogged her footsteps as she trudged down the hall, careful not to touch anything. Putting out her soiled clothing for Aidan to wash felt awkwardly personal. Nobody else had washed her undergarments since she’d started doing her own laundry at age seven.

  She’d ridden the highs and lows of an emotional roller coaster since early this morning, and was feeling raw and vulnerable.

  Get over it.

  Zoe cast a longing glance at the huge whirlpool tub before taking a shower. She succumbed to the temptation to linger, but not for too long. Hot water was probably plentiful in a place like this, but she didn’t want to risk shorting Aidan.

  Bundled in his thick white terry robe, which smelled enticingly like its owner, she exited the bathroom. She didn’t find Aidan in the living room or kitchen.

  She glanced inside the open doorway of his bedroom. Not there, either, though what she could see of the attached master bath revealed misty evidence of his own shower. She studied the big four-poster cherry bed neatly made with navy blue linens. Classic, traditional furniture for a classic, traditional guy. Like her, he preferred extra pillows. Though she doubted he had the same reason. She never felt secure unless pillows surrounded her body. Hugging one to her chest eased her nighttime loneliness and extreme fear of the dark.

  She padded to the end of the hallway where another door stood slightly ajar. The airy, sunlit space was bare of furniture, the walls painted warm Tuscan yellow. Several rows of swords hung in brackets on the far wall. Aidan balanced in a half-crouch in the middle of the polished wood floor, facing away from her. Yeah, he’d cleaned himself up. And yowza, did he clean up nice.

  Stripped to the waist and barefoot, he wore only loose black drawstring pants tied low on lean hips. Perspiration gleamed on his tanned skin and hard muscles bunched as he circled in controlled movements, sunlight dancing off the sword gripped in his right hand. Not a wimpy fencing sword, a long, lethal weapon. In slow motion, he advanced, then retreated, the blade whirling in a fast, glittering arc as he fought an invisible opponent.

  She watched, mesmerized as the fluid attack flowed from one graceful maneuver to the next.

  The man was a living, breathing weapon. All rippling muscles and coiled strength—a dangerous hunter—prey beware. His sheer power and beauty stole her breath, and she gasped.

  He spun. Spotting her, he racked the sword, then strode to the door and flung it wide. His smoky glance studied her tousled wet hair and the ample robe hugging her body before slowly roving all the way down to her neon-pink toenails ... and all the way back up again. When he finally spoke, his voice was husky. “Fast work. I didn’t expect you to finish so quickly.”

  His accelerated respiration expanded the wide, sculpted chest looming directly in her eyeline. She tried not to stare. But damn! Dark hair dusted sweat-slicked bronzed pecs in a delicious pattern that lured her gaze downward over awesomely taut abs, to his washboard stomach, where an oh-so-enticing treasure trail disappeared beneath his waistband.

  Hot, liquid yearning rushed through her core.

  Don’t lean forward and lick his luscious, glistening chest. Don’t ... Don’t ...

  “I ... um ... was afraid I’d use up the warm water.”

  Waste not, want not. And she wanted so badly she shook. Hadn’t even known the meaning of want until now.

  “There’s plenty. I grabbed a shower in the master bath. Need another now, though.”

  She raised her eyes to his. Mistake. His eyes were more dangerously compelling than his magnificent body. His attitude might be cool, but his irises blazed with sensual golden fire.

  Hunger leapt between them, a starved wolf escaping from a cage.

  His nostrils flared, then he quickly dropped his lashes, shuttering his expression. But not before she saw that the wolf had razor-sharp fangs. Aidan’s desire for her upset him.

  Why?

  She gulped, attempting to swallow her confusion. “What were you doing with the sword?”

  “A kata.” Full, tempting lips curved in a reluctant smile, and she understood how junkies felt, craving a taste of the ultimate high so badly it was painful. “Before you ask, it’s a sequence of specific movements of a martial art. Helps me get and stay grounded. Get and stay centered.”

  He stepped into the hall and closed the door, barring her from his sanctuary as firmly as he’d locked away his emotions. He might as well have shouted that he didn’t want her involved in any personal aspects of his life.

  Ouch.

  Standing so close, awareness crackled between them. His powerful aura was nearly visible. Totally palpable. Though he’d shut her out emotionally, their bodies still craved each other on the most basic, elemental level. The magnetic pull was more than desire.

  It felt like destiny.

  Scared, shocked, she lurched back a step.

  Way too intense, way too fast! How could Aidan be her fate? His world fit as uneasily on her narrow shoulders as his bulky robe. And though he wanted her—against his will—she still wasn’t sure he even liked her.

  She fought to rein in rioti
ng composure. “It’s beautiful, as intricate and graceful as a ballet.” You’re beautiful.

  “Gives me a good workout, both physical and mental.”

  “I’d like to learn.” You could teach me so many things.

  “Most community centers offer low-cost classes. Some even offer free sample courses.”

  He meant to be considerate, but the reminder stung. He’d seen how she lived and knew she couldn’t afford even a community class. Just as he’d furnished his apartment with high-class items all the way, he’d want to decorate his arm with an elegant, refined woman. She was so far out of his league she wasn’t even in the ballpark.

  Floundering in deep, unknown waters, she turned away. She was used to window-shopping and not buying. Accustomed to going without. Somehow she managed to convince herself she was satisfied by what little she had. This was no different. But for the first time in years, tears of longing burned behind her eyes.

  He cleared his throat. “I realized in the shower I don’t have my car here either. Get me your key, and I’ll have a couple guys from the station bring both our vehicles over. After I shower again and while we’re waiting for your clothes to dry and the cars to arrive, I’ll debrief you about the DiMarco situation.”

  Yeah, go with his plan. Stick to business. Sort out all the crazy emotional stuff later ... when she was alone. With great difficulty, she readjusted her focus. Perhaps if she shared select pieces of information about the DiMarco case, he’d return the favor. “All right.”

  He strode toward the bedroom. “I won’t be long. Make yourself at home. Help yourself to a snack, a drink, or whatever you’d like.”

  “Thanks.” How would he react if she bluntly told him what she’d really like to help herself to?

  Horrible idea. He needed centering after reliving his father’s grisly murder. He didn’t need her to throw herself at him. Besides, Officer Large-And-In-Charge probably liked to be the one who made the moves with women.

  Zoe sighed. She had too little experience to dance this complicated tango. What the hell was she supposed to do?

  Bewildered and frustrated, she headed for the kitchen.

  She had her head stuck in the fridge perusing the many delectable choices when a brisk knock sounded at the front door. She glanced hesitantly down the hallway and heard the shower. Aidan couldn’t answer. Should she?

  The knock sounded again, more insistent. Probably his buddies arriving for the car keys.

  “Okay,” she muttered. “I’m coming.” She hurried to the door and flung it open. And came face to face with Aidan’s mother.

  Maureen O’Rourke had slung a plastic-bagged tux over one shoulder of her crisp, dark-green pantsuit. A much older woman wearing a jaunty yellow feathered hat and a black-and-magenta polka-dot dress stood beside her, bearing a covered stainless steel pot between two red polka-dot potholders.

  Maureen’s striking, intelligent emerald eyes were a duplicate of Liam’s, and the same shade as her pantsuit. Her surprised glance traveled the path her son’s had earlier, from Zoe’s damp, rumpled hair to her pink toenails. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Maureen O’Rourke, Aidan’s mom.”

  “Um, hi, I recognize you from Aidan’s pictures on his mantel.” And from news reports. “I’m Zoe Zagretti.”

  “Hello, Zoe.” Maureen indicated the woman beside her. “This is Letty Jacobson, our longtime neighbor and dear friend. She’s an honorary grandma to my clan, and has a compulsion to feed everyone all the time.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Letty’s lively blue eyes twinkled merrily. “I would shake your hand, but they’re full with a hot dish for Aidan. Though I now suspect it’s redundant.”

  Maureen pressed her lips together. Stifling a smile, or abject disapproval? Zoe couldn’t tell, and her stomach pitched. When Maureen spoke, her voice was carefully neutral. “Is Aidan home?”

  “He’s in the shower.” Maureen’s perfectly groomed brows raised just a fraction, and a blush inched up Zoe’s neck. Oops. Aidan’s mom could only jump to the conclusion that Zoe was the “friend” Aidan had been helping, and they’d spent a lusty afternoon frolicking in bed. Followed by round two in the shower. Zoe wished. “Uh, I’m only here so he can debrief me.”

  Letty chuckled. “Happy to see our boy did the job with his usual single-minded efficiency.”

  Zoe choked. Was it too much to hope the glossy walnut floor beneath her feet would open up and swallow her?

  She snatched in a bracing breath. “Let’s start over. Aidan and I aren’t dating or anything. We had a minor mishap at the city landfill, and being a gentleman, he offered to let me clean up at his place.”

  Maureen murmured a noncommittal, “Ah.”

  Belatedly, Zoe realized she was blocking the doorway and moved aside. “Come in, please.”

  * * *

  Standing under the jetting spray, Aidan rigorously scrubbed his chest. He never brought women to his home. He always went to theirs—so he could leave when he wanted. And he never spent the night. Waking up with a woman was too uncomfortable. Too vulnerable. Way too intimate.

  Yet, he’d brought Zoe here. Worse, he wanted to keep her here.

  He worked up more suds. If only he could wash away his ferocious attraction to the sexy little gypsy traipsing around his apartment, wearing nothing but his robe.

  And god damn, that mental image tightened every muscle and made his persistent boner painfully harder. Zoe shouldn’t have bothered to save him any hot water. He was taking a badly needed cold shower.

  Again.

  What the screaming shit was happening to him? All his past interactions with women had been easygoing and casual. Zero drama, zero conflict, no snapping and growling like a grizzly with an aching ... dick. In fact, ladies normally complimented him on his sense of humor. He’d never lost his temper. Never been unable to control raging desire.

  He’d certainly never dropped to his knees and spilled his guts, barely staunching the urge to cry in their arms.

  He shuddered in self-loathing. Christ.

  He grabbed the shampoo and lathered his hair. No, Zoe hadn’t used subterfuge to make him confide about Pop. She had a way of listening not merely with her ears, but with her heart. With deep compassion. Her genuine interest combined with tender empathy made her ominously easy to talk to.

  Around Zoe, his imagination taunted him with erotic, heart-shaking scenarios he wouldn’t normally think. He did ridiculous, irrational things he wouldn’t normally do. He blurted out stupid, angry words he didn’t mean.

  With a soft smile, a mere glance, she pulled the trigger on his most frightening, primitive emotions. Emotions he’d battled all his life to keep the safety on. She made him want things he’d never thought he could have, feel things he’d never thought he could feel. She made him laugh. Made him yearn.

  Worst of all ... she made him hope.

  Zoe Zagretti scared the deep-fried fuck out of him.

  She was a dangerous, confusing woman. And he wanted to throw her down on his bed and bury himself in her tight, wet heat until she cried out in his arms with completion. He burned with temptation. Hurt with need.

  Heaven help me.

  He stuck his head under the freezing water, welcoming the sting. He didn’t know what to do, where to turn for answers. Hell, he didn’t even know which way was up any more.

  He hadn’t been this disoriented and afraid since Pop died.

  He slammed off the water and reached for a towel. Best not to leave the persistent journalist alone in his apartment too long.

  Anyway, he was probably getting all torqued out of shape over nothing. After what he was about to do, she’d probably never speak to him again. If he was lucky.

  No. He clenched his jaw. He wouldn’t entrust her future, or his, to chance. Before they parted ways—for good this time—he’d damn well ensure she hated him.

  Logic had failed. Coaxing had failed. Flat-out demanding had failed. Taking what he wanted using ruthless dominance was a last re
sort, but she’d left him no choice. No matter how objectionable. In this case, the end definitely justified the means.

  A man had to do what a man had to do.

  Protect her and himself.

  Toweling his hair, he paused. Were those female voices? Ringing feminine laughter? He cocked his head, listening intently. Recognition dawned, and he blanched. Holy balls!

  Zoe was on the loose in his kitchen with his mother. And Letty. He bolted for the door, then froze. He was naked. He and his family were close, but not that close.

  Panic roared through him as he yanked on clean jeans, not bothering with boxers. Who knew what kind of damage Zagretti could wreak, had already wreaked? At this very moment, she might be deftly eliciting information—prying every family secret—from both women. He had to get out there.

  Now.

  He needed to send his mother and Letty packing. Then he had to get his ass to the church ... after he delivered a kill shot to this terrifying link between him and Zagretti.

  And maybe, finally regain his peace of mind.

  * * *

  Three hours later, Zoe slammed her car door and stomped up the sidewalk toward St. Matthew’s church as fast as her red beaded gown and matching three-inch heeled sandals would allow.

  Stupid. She was a flaming idiot.

  After his mother and Letty left, Aidan had flashed his charming smile and strutted his magnificent bod, and Zoe swallowed the bait ... hook, line and sinker. Over Letty’s hearty tortilla soup, plus a beautiful tossed salad and Baileys Irish Cream chocolate milkshakes he’d prepared with his own hands, he’d dazzled her with solicitous conversation and intense concern for her wellbeing.

  And she’d fallen for it. He’d completely breached her defenses. In the end, she’d handed herself over on a freaking silver platter.

  Her of all people, the woman who possessed infallible bullshit radar. Only after she’d gone home and the sensual cloud dissipated had she realized how badly he’d betrayed her.

  Oh, he’d debriefed her all right.

  He’d taken every damned thing he wanted.

  She didn’t even begin to play in his league. She didn’t belong here, either. But a horde of rabid badgers couldn’t keep her away.