Hunter shook his head, his expression changing into a mask of smooth forehead and barely-there smile. To anyone else, he would have looked relaxed. But his eyes darkened from their melt-me milk chocolate to despair-dark espresso. “Please, Evie.”
Evie’s breath caught. Hunter James didn’t beg. Or apologize. A man like him didn’t even have the word mistake in his vocabulary. A part of her crumbled inside and she stepped back, closing the door quietly behind him after he followed her into the house.
He went straight to the fridge and uncapped a beer, but instead of downing it, he placed his drink on the island and turned to face her. They were alone in her kitchen, no more than a few feet separating them. His arms crossed over his chest, the black T-shirt stretched tight over his bulging biceps. Veins popped on his forearms. Her mouth watered.
The quiet sounds of the kitchen—the hum of the refrigerator and water pinging from the leaky faucet—faded.
Hunter leaned back on the island. He was calm now. Lethally calm.
The skin across the back of her neck pulled tight and she rubbed at the tension there, needing to do something besides stand there under the concentrated light of his gaze.
But the need in his eyes and the pain in his soul pulled her toward him. She walked slowly across the room, not stopping until her toes touched his boots. “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”
His gaze focused on her lips for a mind-numbing moment before meeting her eyes. No matter how much he tried to hide it, Evie saw his pain. There was an unease in him that hadn’t been there earlier.
She almost stepped forward and put her arms around him. Almost. Instead, she wrapped her arms about her own waist.
“We were sent on a mission. It was all going fine.” He tapped a finger on his thigh, fast and strangely off beat. “We breached the compound looking for our target. But it was too easy. Of course, by then it was too late.”
Evie’s chest constricted. All this time she had pictured him jumping out of helicopters, doing the Rambo thing. He was as invincible in her dreams as he had been in real life. But Rambo didn’t get taken down. Ever.
“I led my team to the building intel wanted us to check out. We might as well have followed the yellow-brick road. They were smart. They waited until we were in the center of the compound. We had no way out. We found our intel officer. He’d been dead for a while. Tortured.”
Evie’s hand flew to her mouth. The way Hunter said that… He could have been talking about fishing for all the emotion in his voice.
“I’m sorry.” What else could she say?
“The gunfire started when we evacuated the building. I went first so I could distract the terrorists and my men could get out.” Hunter’s voice was still low and monotone, like he was giving a report on his truck transmission. Not life and death combat.
“Your leg?”
Hunter kept going, looking somewhere over her head. “After I got hit, it slowed the whole group down, but somehow we managed to get out. We made it.” He picked up his beer and took a drink, seemingly on autopilot.
Evie leaned forward and laid her hand on his arm. “I’m so glad you’re safe. That the rest of you got out okay.” She didn’t know what she would have done if he’d been killed. Would she have even known?
The thought brought her up short.
His harsh laugh scraped across her nerves. “That’s just it. The rest of us didn’t make it out safe.”
Her veins froze. Who? Who didn’t make it?
“I saw Ranger. He’s okay.”
“Yeah, me and Ranger are fine.” His lips twisted, but the expression on his face didn’t even resemble a smile.
Who else? Evie wracked her mind. The problem was, the James brothers’ role in the military was about as clear to her as black glass. She never got specifics, no one did. “Hunter.” Her nails dug into his arm and she wanted to shake him until the words came out.
He turned back to her, his careful mask gone. In its place was a despair so dark it stole her breath. If she hadn’t been holding on to him, she would have doubled over. Someone had died. Someone she knew. Oh God.
“Shane didn’t make it. He stayed behind to cover our escape, because I was too weak from my injury to do it myself.”
Evie’s lungs twisted, leaving no room for air. “Amy… Does she know?” The words ripped up her throat and brought tears to her eyes.
Hunter scrubbed a hand down his face. “She knew he was missing in action. She kept quiet. But now, tonight, the condolences officer showed up at the bar tonight looking for me. He wanted to take me to her house, but I knew it would be better for Ranger to tell her the news.”
“Oh no. I need to be with her.” Evie had her purse in hand and was at the door before she even realized her feet had moved. She dug and fumbled through her bottomless purse, but it was impossible to see through the tears. Her chest heaved as a sob escaped, and she covered her eyes.
Hunter’s arms surrounded her and she turned into him, needing his strength.
“I’m so sorry, Hunter.”
He squeezed her tighter, his masculine scent filling her senses.
“As soon as we regrouped we tried to go back for him, but it was too late. He was gone.” A shudder wracked his body and Evie wrapped her arms around his waist. Hunter buried his face in her hair, his hot breath caressing her ear. A shiver worked down her spine.
“Our commander was notified that Shane was dead two days ago. He had to verify. The DNA matched.” Hunter’s voice was quiet with anguish. He didn’t cry, but quiet tears slipped down her cheeks.
“It’s my fault. It should have been me.”
His words hit her hard. Evie pulled back and grasped his face between her hands. “You were shot. Injured. There was no way it was your fault.”
Hunter’s hands surrounded hers, trying to pull them away, but she held on tight and forced him to look at her, to see the truth in her gaze. “You said it yourself. You were ambushed. You’re not responsible.”
His gaze turned hot. “I will always be responsible for Shane’s death.”
12
Pity and Pain. Not what Hunter wanted to see in Evie’s gaze. Not when anger heated his veins and self-loathing filled his soul. Right now, he needed to forget all of that.
He needed Evie.
He focused on her soft lips. Small currents of lust shot from the points where her fingers touched his skin. He harnessed his desire, using it to drive away his dark thoughts.
When his lips touched hers, his unrest settled for a moment. He pressed harder, seeking more, and her lips parted for him.
He cupped her ass, palming those perfect cheeks, and nestled between her thighs. He forced her head back and caught her answering whimper in his mouth, swallowing it whole.
She fit against him perfectly. Sleek and smooth. Hot and curvy. Made for his hands alone.
Her fingers dug into his short hair, her nails scraping his scalp. He deepened the kiss, turned and pinned her against the refrigerator, and explored her with leisure.
She tasted so damn good. Too good. A mix of honey and sugar and spice. And damn if it wasn’t the perfect distraction.
Hunter tilted his hips forward, pushing himself against her core, needing to get closer. Evie moaned, and the vibration of the soft sound massaged his insides. She bit down on his lower lip, tugging and licking. The sharp bite of pain followed by her soothing touch did all sorts of things to his restraint.
Hunter shoved his thoughts of failure away and locked them down tight. There wasn’t room in his head for anything but the woman in his arms.
Hunter threaded his fingers through hers and lifted their hands overhead. Her satin skin caressed him. Her nipples hardened against his chest.
“God, I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you,” Hunter whispered, grinding his cock against her harder, the thin strips of her nightgown the only thing separating them. He completely surrounded her, enclosed her in his body, his arms, his strength.
“You taste
so fucking good.” He growled against her lips and then buried his face against her chest. Too good. He should be slipping in questions, pumping her for information. Tracking down that missing weapons shipment he knew was meant for Al Seriq.
“Hunter.” Evie pushed against his shoulders.
Her scent blocked his thoughts. She smelled so sweet. He wanted to eat her alive.
“This is too fast, I can’t…”
“Yes, you can. You need this as much as I do.” His words were harsh with desire. Hunter lifted Evie and sucked her nipple through her nightgown, wringing a gasp from her. Her legs clamped around his waist and she bucked against him. “That’s it, baby. Let go.” He tugged harder, longing to rip her nightgown off and get to the bare skin beneath. Her nails dug into his wrists, tiny pinpricks of pain and pleasure.
She was a goddamn drug and he was addicted.
“Hunter… We can’t… We have to stop,” she gasped out, her hips rolling in direct contradiction to her words.
“You don’t want me to stop, baby.” She needed to stop thinking and just feel. He couldn’t form a thought except to get inside her and never leave. Fuck the mission.
“No, Hunter. Stop.” She used force this time, pounding his shoulders, the impact breaking through the haze of lust.
His brain moved at the pace of a slug, barely able to process her command, but he forced himself to drop his head and take a deep breath and regain control. Of course, nothing less than a subzero shower could control his raging hard on.
“Shit, I’m sorry, Evie. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that. I just…” He grabbed her waist and put her on the floor, the small gap between them feeling like the Grand Canyon after how close they’d been moments ago.
Evie leaned back and held a hand to her lips. “I understand. We’re both hurting.”
Hunter nodded, trying to focus on something other than the raging need inside him. “It’s been raining a shit-ton since I’ve been back.” Jesus Christ, he might as well be talking to the grocery store clerk.
Evie burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. Just, you know. The weather?”
“Would you rather me talk about how bad I want to fuck you right now?”
Her laughter cut off abruptly and she shook her head.
He smiled. “Do you have a better idea?”
Evie swallowed and looked around the room. “Ummm…”
His body tightened, ready to dive in for more if she changed her mind, but a ball of black fur sailed from out of nowhere and landed on his head. “What the hell?” Claws locked into his neck, sending little trickles of blood dripping down his shoulders.
“Rooster! No!” Evie lunged forward and pulled the furry missile from his head. Sharp claws held on tight, scraping his skin.
“What is that?” Hunter’s voice boomed through the room and the cat hissed and leaped from Evie’s arms, claws outstretched. Hunter ducked sideways, swiping an arm to protect himself, and stepped into a bowl of water on the floor.
The cat ran back to its mistress, smart enough to recognize danger. Evie cuddled the scrawny creature in her arms, soothing it with soft words and slow strokes.
“That is a he. And his name is Rooster.” The feline had patches of orange and white mixed in with the black. A few bald spots. Its tail looked like it had been through a meat grater. But the mangy cat’s most notable feature was its black eye patch.
Evie eased around the breakfast bar, like she knew Hunter was five seconds from making cat stew. Good idea.
“The eye patch?”
Rooster eyed him with one freakishly yellow orb and hissed.
“He was almost dead when I found him. I finally got him eating and healthy. Now he’s my little bodyguard. And he doesn’t really like men. I’m guessing whoever blinded and skinned him was male.”
Rooster hissed again.
“I can see that.” Hunter kept a close watch on the mangy cat.
“You’re bleeding.” Evie put Rooster out the back door. She walked back to Hunter and dabbed his neck with a finger. The answering sting came soon enough. “He can be a bit territorial.”
“Like Genghis Khan can be a bit aggressive.” Shit. Cock blocked by a cat. Ranger would never let him live it down.
“You should clean that up. I’ve got some alcohol and bandages upstairs.”
Evie led the way. Her full nightgown did little to conceal the sexy sway of her hips and the memory of how her ass felt in his hands almost hurt.
She walked through the second door down the hall into a bedroom with the most God-awful wallpaper he’d ever seen. Pink. Purple. Blue. Flowers and stems. Ivory background. “Jesus.” He’d stepped into his great-grandmother’s bedroom.
“I’m renting. I wouldn’t feel right about making any big changes to Mrs. Buela’s house.”
“Mrs. Buela moved? Nursing home?”
Evie dropped her head for a moment and wrapped a hand around one of the posts of the four-poster bed before answering, “No. She died in her sleep. Pastor Don said she went real peaceful.”
His head swam. Bombs, he could do. Missing body parts, he could do. Shit, he’d sewn his sergeant’s half-blown arm back on. But dead old ladies’ bedrooms? Hell no.
“Are you okay?” Evie gave him a strange look.
Hunter took a step back, edging toward the door. “Did she die in here?”
Evie’s smile was sinful and she seemed to revel in his alarm. “No, in the recliner downstairs. She was watching her favorite TV show.”
“Let me guess—The Shining?” The wallpaper. It was the wallpaper. Any minute two little girls wearing white dresses were going to come walking out of the closet.
Evie choked off a laugh. “Wheel of Fortune.”
He paused, almost in the hall. “You got a guest bathroom?”
“Only if you like purple better.”
She was laughing at him. Damn if he was going to let a girl make fun of him. Even if it was for the mission.
“Okay. Let’s do this.” Hunter sucked in a breath and headed into the bathroom, only to be brought up short by Pepto Bismol-pink walls. He caught sight of Evie behind him in the mirror, her hand hovering over her mouth again.
“Did she ever have a husband?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“I can tell.”
“Lots of women like pink.”
Hunter turned to face Evie. “Pink? I’m going to be lucky if I don’t come out of here smelling like roses.”
Evie chuckled and reached past him into a closet. She handed him a pink washcloth and a bottle of alcohol. He rolled his eyes.
“Holler if you need anything else. The bandages are right in the cabinet.” She shut the door behind her.
Hunter turned and caught his reflection in the frilly vanity mirror. The grin on his face looked goofy and out of place, but it was his first real smile in who knew how long.
13
Evie stepped out on the back porch, thankful she’d thought to repair the ripped screen last week. If anyone doubted the ferocity of Mercy’s insect life, her house would serve as ample proof. Or at least it would have if the doubters had swung by a week ago. She’d walked outside into a storm of mosquitos, beetles, and flies, her bug zapper shooting sparks in a futile attempt to keep the critters under control.
To get the situation under control, Evie had dropped a bomb, literally. She’d bought the repellant at the hardware store, set the timer, and run. All that was left after the explosion was three dustpans of dead insects and a layer of zapper-fried moths.
Cheri and Amy had come over to help clean up.
Now Evie would be going to Amy’s house. But not for spring cleaning. Dammit.
Why Amy? Hadn’t she been through enough?
And Hunter held himself responsible.
This night was going down in her book of records as one of the shittiest in her life.
She rolled her head side to side, forcing
the small muscles down her spine to relax. She was wound up tight—still agitated by Marcus’s dark promises. And Hunter’s reappearance in her life wasn’t helping.
Except for that nagging, you’re-gonna-regret-it-later part of her brain that was doing a dance. No, it was doing the bump-and-grind.
Her body stirred with urges she hadn’t felt in so long she almost didn’t recognize them for what they were. Images of his dark head lowered to her chest floated through her vision, and her nipples tightened, eager for his mouth.
No. She had to stay in control. Keep it together. He couldn’t walk in here and expect her to just jump into bed with him like he’d never left. Like nothing had changed. Everything had changed.
Evie’s stomach grumbled, sending her back into the house to check the cheese dip she’d put on the stove and grab a whiskey. Tonight called for something a little stronger than beer.
She thought she heard something in the kitchen, but it was already a second too late. A hand wrapped around her throat and Sherriff Brown walked her backward onto the porch, leaving her kitchen door wide open. Evie screamed, but she couldn’t get enough air to make a real sound.
He pushed her against the wall, her feet dangling off the floor. The smell of tequila assaulted her nose.
“My women know to have something better than cheese dip waiting.” Brown leaned in and pressed a wet kiss to her cheek. Her stomach rolled and she would have gagged if she’d been able to suck in enough air. “Marcus let you get away with too much. If you were mine, I’d teach you how to be a real woman.”
Evie choked, stars floating in her vision. Her heart started beating triple-time.
“Like right now. Silent. Your eyes begging. That’s a perfect woman.” Brown’s voice rolled with enough menace to make Ted Bundy cringe.
His lips trailed across her cheek and his teeth bit down on her lower lip until she whimpered. Evie kicked him as hard as she could, but her attempts were futile and frail. Her vision blurred, the overhead light seemed to flicker. The porch started fading.
Redemption River Page 10