by Sybil Bartel
Quick, precise, his hand shot out, and with a gentleness I wasn’t prepared for, his thumb stroked across my bottom lip. “You bite when you are nervous.”
My heart raced and my lip tingled. Wanting to reach for him, I forced myself to stand perfectly still. “You don’t know me enough to know when I’m nervous.” I wanted it to be the truth, but it was as if I’d known this man longer than two brief encounters and a few exchanged staring contests. His presence, his woodsy scent, he already felt more like home to me than the small apartment I worked my tail off to afford.
“Your body language does not lie.” He stroked my lip again. “The pain, when your teeth bite your lip, do you enjoy it?”
Uncomfortable heat hit my cheeks. “What are you doing?” The strangled whisper rushed past the very spot he was caressing.
“Touching you.” His thumb coasted across my jaw and his fingers landed on the pulse point on my neck. “Have you ever been with a man?”
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
I swallowed past the embarrassment and kept perfectly still. “I didn’t give you permission to touch me.”
For a split second, something crossed his features. Then his impenetrable, intense mask returned. “I do not need permission.”
Blessed righteousness overtook my traitorous hormones. “Ah, yeah, you do. This isn’t the dark ages, and you aren’t a caveman.” His upbringing may have been primitive, but he didn’t look a thing like a Neanderthal.
Faster than I could blink, his hand caught the side of my face and his fingers captured a thick lock of my hair. “I have already touched you, many times. You made no protest. Are you making one now?”
My core pulsed and a wave of heat washed over my body. For ten whole seconds, I let myself relish in the blazing sensations of his hold on me. Dominant, assured, confident, he held me like he’d held me at the gas station, and he held me like he knew how to hold a woman. But more, he held me like he knew every secret desire I’d ever had. Oh my God, I wanted him to be any other man, and I wanted this to be easy and right, not taboo and fucked-up. But I wasn’t stupid enough not to recognize that maybe a small a part of me thrilled in this because of who he was. Chastising myself and my dirty thoughts, I pushed at his hand.
He held firm. “Use words.”
The sheer dominance in his voice made my eyes flutter shut. “Oh God, I want to. I need to.” But I stopped there, leaving the decision on his shoulders.
He lowered his voice and slowly wrapped my long hair around his hand. “That was not an answer. Do you want me to stop?”
I tried to tell myself I felt nothing from his grip other than my utter lack of experience. I told myself this was nothing more than finally having a man’s hands on me.
“Open your eyes, Angel.”
The sound of his voice, the term of endearment, I wanted to weep. Honest to God, weep. “I’m afraid of you,” I whispered the truth.
No response.
I opened my eyes.
Intently staring at me, his gaze reached into my soul and twisted. “You never need to be afraid of getting close to me.”
Oh God. Why did every word out of his mouth both crush me and make me fall harder? “I need you to promise me something.” But the second I gave voice to the demand, I knew how futile and impossible a request it was.
I wanted, I needed, his promise of honor. I swore I was never going to feel abandoned by a man like I’d felt my whole life by a father I’d never met. I’d sworn off men completely. I’d said I was never going to be in a position where I could get hurt. But here I was, about to beg a man, my stepbrother, to promise me he’d never hurt me when he’d never even kissed me. I knew how fucked-up my thinking was. I did. I just couldn’t see past it, because the only thing I knew for sure? This gas station god in front of me, he could crush me.
As if reading my thoughts, he gave me rational words, but not ones of platitude. “I make no promises.”
My heart racing, my core aching, I wanted to crawl out of my own skin with want. In a few short hours, he’d turned my world upside down. But it wasn’t just a few hours. Fate knew what was coming and tried to warn me a year ago. Or mock me. I didn’t know. I only knew I was no match for this man. “Then I’m protesting.” I used his words, but I had to force them past my reluctant tongue. “I’m telling you to let go of me now.”
He held me in his gaze, and then he added another layer to his complexity. “I do not give falsehoods in the name of promises.”
Jesus. What did I even say to that? Nothing. That’s what you said, because when a man this intense was being so brutally honest, I could do nothing except respect his integrity with silence. So that’s what I did. My eyes locked on his, I simply drank him in.
For three heartbeats, he stared back. Then slow, as if not to scare me, he slid his fingers from my hair, and the heat of his palm left my neck. His voice got so quiet, it was almost inaudible. “I will walk you to your door.”
I thought of a half a dozen comebacks, all of them a variation of telling him to forget it. The danger of having him know exactly which apartment was mine was real. Not danger in that he would force his way in, but the danger in that I didn’t trust myself to close the door on him once I got there. This man wasn’t just intriguing, he was a year-long, slow-burn spiral of addiction. Heat was still licking up the side of my neck where he’d had his hand, and I had no words for what my body did at the very smell of him, let alone when he’d gripped my hair.
I wanted him inside my apartment. I wanted to stare at him all night. I wanted to ask him every inappropriate question about his childhood that I could think of. But mostly I wanted to know what he would do to me if I surrendered to him. And that was a thought that had never ever crossed my mind with any man.
I bit my lip then quickly released it, only to fold my arms protectively over my chest. “What if I don’t want you to walk me to my door?”
His gaze dropped to my arms then came right back to my eyes. He studied me for a moment. “An animal in fear retreats. It does not contemplate its hunter.”
“So, you’re hunting me?” That shouldn’t have thrilled me.
“I am standing right in front of you.”
“Meaning?” I stupidly asked.
His deep voice took on an edge. “If you were prey, you’d already be caught.”
Oh God, I could listen to the sound of his voice forever. Nodding, but not knowing why, I inhaled the night air and got a lungful of forest and soap and dominating musk. “I’m going in now.” I turned and forced my unsteady legs to move. With zero grace, I walked to my apartment, acutely listening for his footsteps, but I didn’t hear any.
Leaves rustled, cicadas chirped, air whispered past my ears. If he was following me, he was like the wind. I didn’t hear a single sound that wasn’t familiar. Night fell around me with the blanket of southern Florida humidity, but none of it stood out. I didn’t hear the footsteps of his heavy boots. I didn’t hear his breathing. But I felt him. God, I felt him.
Every movement of my body was a testament to those incredible blue eyes I could feel on me, like I felt every beat of my own heart. My back stood straighter, my neck stretched as I listened for any sound of his presence, and my hips swayed with each step, reminding me of every extra pound I carried.
Part of me felt ashamed.
But the other part felt alive, incredibly, beautifully alive, for the first time in my life.
If this was how Phoebe felt from the attention of a man, then every second since she’d hit puberty and discovered the opposite sex made sense.
I was drunk on the thought of his eyes on me. Drunk and nervous. My stomach fluttered, making every breath feel as if it were fueling the fire low in my belly. And that feeling, that fire? It made me want to do stupid, stupid things.
My keys already in my hand, I stopped in front of my door, but I didn’t look behind me. “I know you’re there.”
Heat crawled up my back a second before his hand covered mine. G
entle, but firm, he took my keys, fit the right one in the lock on the first try, then pushed my door open.
He didn’t say a word.
His breath on my shoulder, his chest so close to my back, I knew if I leaned back an inch, I would be against him. And God, I wanted to be against him. But he scared me. Despite what he’d said, I was terrified to get close to him.
Not knowing what else to say, wanting to say too much, I simply stepped forward.
“You did not answer my question.”
His voice crawled up my spine, and the hair on my neck stood on end. “You didn’t ask me anything.” But he had. Earlier.
He asked again. “Have you been taken by another man?”
Heat on my face, heat between my legs, heat everywhere, I slowly turned to face him and asked the stupidest of all questions. “Why?”
His eyes, full of experiences I would never understand, stared at me. “Because I am going to take you.”
I didn’t have time to respond. He turned and was gone, disappearing into the night exactly how he’d shown up—silently.
SINGULAR FOCUS.
That was what made a man a hunter.
Every sense was attuned to the prey. You smelled it, you felt it, you heard it, you breathed it. Then you tasted it. Victory had many flavors.
Obsession had one.
Angel.
I’d read stories of men going mad. I’d lived my whole life witnessing it. Growing up on River Ranch with River Stephens as my father, mentor, trustee and confidant, I’d learned two things. Trust no one and believe what your senses tell you.
River Stephens was a madman. After I’d ended his life and told every brother and sister in the compound that they were free, not one had chosen to stay.
Now I was alone.
Until last night.
When a brunette opened a door I did not think would ever open.
I had work to do. I had compound land to sell, assets to transfer, and bank accounts to close. Saying nothing unless spoken to had inadvertently served me well. River Stephens had mistaken my silence for loyalty and had made me his sole heir. I needed to tie up loose ends, but I was forsaking responsibility in the name of an angel.
An angel who had woken before sunrise and showered and moved to the kitchen of her small apartment. As I sat in my truck watching her, I wondered how alike I was to a dead madman, but I did not have time to contemplate the thought. Her lights went out, and I moved.
I was out of the truck and next to her vehicle as the first rays of the sun broke the horizon. Unaware of her surroundings, she kept her head down as she locked her door and made her way across the parking lot. The soft sway of her hips spoke to my needs like the intelligence in her eyes drew my curiosity.
I waited until she put her key in the car door. “You should never dismiss your surroundings.”
Frightened, she jumped. “What the…?” She turned as her hand went to her chest. “Oh my God, Callan. Have you been here all night?”
“No.” I cast my gaze to the hand between her breasts and waited.
Her buds hardened and her fingers curled into a fist, clutching her shirt. “What are you doing here?” The curiosity in her tone from last night returned, and none of her words were said in anger.
Unlike every female I grew up with, she wore fitted clothes that showed every curve made to taunt a man. “Where are you going?” I had not decided if I liked denim on a woman.
She dropped her hand to her side. “Work?”
The single word was spoken as a question, and I heard the distinctive tone in her voice I’d only ever encountered outside the compound.
Pity.
I kept my expression blank. “Do you think I am ignorant?”
Her eyebrows drew together. “Um, no. Not at all.”
“Then do not presume I am unaware of how society works.”
Her shoulders dropped and her hand went up in a stop motion. “Okay, listen. You show up at the crack of dawn, you hide in the shadows and then you ask where I’m going first thing in the morning, like you have no idea that people work to pay the bills. Forgive me for being… presumptuous.”
Her honesty defused my irritation, and I gave her a truth. “I’ve only known one other female who was honest.”
She bit her bottom lip, then her finger popped up. “Okay, one, that was a loaded statement. One day I would love to decipher it, but two”—she held a second finger up—“and more important, you have to know that saying female isn’t going to win you any popularity contests.”
I had no desire to be popular, only to be in her favor. “Noted.”
She blew out a breath. “Good. So…” She lifted an eyebrow. “Who was she?”
“My charge.”
“Your what?”
I did not use her language on purpose. “A woman I tended to.” She did not need to know I tended to Decima for years.
“Right, okay then.” Even in the half light, I saw the color heat her cheeks. “I need to get to work. Nice, ah, seeing you again.” She opened her car door with a brisk, uncoordinated movement.
“You are jealous.” The realization should not have been a boost to my ego, but an affront to my honor.
“Oh.” She laughed nervously. “I’m not anything.”
She was many things, not the least of which was intriguing. “You are hungry. I will take you to breakfast. This was why I asked where you were going. I did not know what time you watched the child.”
She paused, one leg in the car. Then she got all the way in and looked up at me. “I’m out of time. I need to get to work.”
“You did not eat.”
She stared at me a moment. “How do you know that?”
She was not in her kitchen long enough. “Instinct.”
“Mm-hm. And what else does your instinct tell you?” Her hand went up again. “Wait. You know what? Forget it. Forget I asked.”
The tilt of her head, the exasperation in her tone, the way she put up no pretense, it should not have made me want to smile. “What time are you due at work?”
She sighed. “Five minutes ago.”
“Retrieve the boy. We will all go to eat.”
She stared straight ahead for a moment then looked back up at me. “You know what I am?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “Crazy. That’s the only reason I can possibly think of for still being here, contemplating your offer.”
The corner of my mouth twitched. “You are not contemplating anything. You will go.” I named a diner close by. “How far away is your work?” I did not say nanny. Words that ended in y did not feel right on the tongue.
“Fifteen minutes.”
“See you in forty-five.” I shut her door and walked toward my truck.
Same as last night, her vehicle’s engine did not catch at first turn. Then with a lag that should be fixed, it turned over. “Callan,” she called to me after her vehicle sputtered, “I didn’t say I was going.”
She would. “Forty-five minutes,” I repeated. Not waiting for her to change her mind, I got in my truck and went to an auto parts store to get her a new starter.
Thirty minutes later, I was in a diner I’d been to once before. It was only the third time I’d eaten in a restaurant. The first time was what people outside the compound referred to as fast food. The parking lot had been full, and I had been curious. The food was inedible. My second meal out had been this diner. The food was more tolerable.
An older waitress who had waited on me before brought coffee. “Hey, handsome, nice to see you again.” She didn’t ask if I wanted the coffee, she simply poured it. “Double breakfast, right?”
“I am waiting to order.”
Her wrinkled face lit up with a smile. “I knew you were too handsome to be single. She pretty?” Her laugh was deep like a man’s. “I guess I’m about to find out.” She patted my shoulder. “You just let me know when you’re ready. I’ll bring menus.” She moved to the next customer.
Thirty minutes and two cups of
coffee later, I fluctuated between concern and anger.
The older waitress set the coffeepot on the table and sat down across from me. She sighed and rubbed her knee as her shrewd eyes met mine. “You want my advice, sugar?”
“About?” I glanced out the window.
“Ain’t no woman worth being stood up for. Not for a man like you.”
I looked back at her. She was two generations older than me. Elders on the compound were respected. “I did not say I was meeting a woman.”
She smirked. “You didn’t have to.” She pointed at me. “I know that look. Even seen it directed at me back in the day.”
I finished the last of my coffee. “What kind of man do you think I am?” I was fortunate. My identity had been kept out of the news when the media got wind of River Stephens’s death. The FBI had kept silent, the local police had deferred to the FBI and all the media knew was speculation. But without names or identities of any of the compound members going public, no one was identified in the news.
The waitress refilled my coffee cup. “You really want me to answer that?”
“I asked.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You ain’t looked once at any woman in here, neither time you been here, but you watch everything. And I do mean everything. You don’t waste words, you’re built like you’re ready to fight your way outta hell and…” She paused, making sure I was paying attention. “You’re polite.”
I took a sip of hot coffee that was better than what I made for myself, but I did not say anything.
“See?” She pointed at me again. “That’s it, right there. You’re listening, you’re watching, you’re waiting. You’re a fighter, MMA or some shit like that, or a soldier, or hell, maybe just a really good hunter, but you’re looking for something, someone.” She stood with effort. “That’s how I knew you were waiting for a woman. Ain’t no one to fight, kill or hunt in here, so yep.” She smiled like she was proud of herself. “A woman.” She narrowed her eyes again. “But she’s not worth it. I been working this gig for thirty years, and trust me when I tell you I know people. You’re a good one. She ain’t.”