Hunter (In the Company of Snipers Book 14)

by Irish Winters

  He’s going to kill me.

  The panicky thought no more than quivered through her mind when he was breathing hard in her face, his heaving chest brushing up against her breasts, inciting a fire in her blood. The manly scent of spearmint and tobacco filled her flared nostrils. Darn, but he’d never been this mad at her before. This fierce. This hot. This—sexy.

  She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and bit down on it. He noticed. His nostrils flared. His eyes darkened to pure black obsidian. Before she could catch a decent breath or come up with one word of warning that he’d better back off, he lunged, and his overheated mouth crashed into hers. It hurt. He’d hit her teeth and lips too hard and—not hard enough.

  Desire for him flamed to life.

  Angrily, he deepened the kiss, his tongue forcing her lips apart, and his hand framing her face. She melted. Molding her body to his, she let him enter her mouth. Let him take whatever it was he thought he needed so badly that it incited a moan when he took it.

  His lips, his tongue, the hard shaft of steel at her belly, all of it—she absorbed every startling part of him into her soul with a rampant hunger she hadn’t known she possessed. The scruff on his cleft chin grated over her lips, tenderizing her skin, but along with it came a fire in her veins. She burned for him, wanted every last breath of his.

  Please, more.

  Hunter growled, his tongue demanding harsh possession of her mouth, tangling with hers, his fingernails stroking down her arms and up again, demanding she respond. And she did, arching against his hard body, riding his thigh, her fingers knotting of their own volition in his hair. She held him tight, pulling him into all she had to give and all she needed. Two could play this game.

  Raw feral need crackled from him to her. Her toes curled. She felt them inside the humongous boots on her feet, but worse, her entire body responded to his devouring mouth, his fingers raking down her back, demanding utter compliance. At last he clutched her almost bare ass. He lifted her off the ground and strapped her onto his hips, but she wanted all of him. Her body hugged those angular male hips, molding her innermost core to his bulging zipper.

  Heat filled the empty place between her ears because she’d lost the ability to think. No logical reason to push him away came to mind, not even after all the accusations he’d hurled at her. Not after the hurt she’d seen in his eyes.

  She clutched his shoulder blades. All ten nails dug in hard and fast, holding him as tightly as he gripped her. ‘Please, don’t do that,’ never entered her very focused mind. Only, ‘Yes, take me. Take me. Now.’ She knew what she wanted, and she wanted him.

  The taste of Hunter filled her mouth. The smell of him filled her nose. Meredith writhed, needing his body inside of hers. The fire was wild and the fuel was—Hunter.

  Closing her eyes, she lost what was left of her tattered heart to Hunter Christian, the only man she’d ever loved. This joining had been a long time coming, and it had happened fast. One minute they were fighting like mortal enemies, the next they were hanging onto each other for dear life, on the verge of being bound to each other for time and all eternity. The ground vibrated beneath her, and all she could think of was Hunter filling the emptiness in her body and heart. She moaned, ready to comply with whatever he demanded next. However. Wherever.

  Desire had never tasted sweeter nor felt so painful, but that wasn’t the Hunter she knew, was it? As hard as he had crashed into her, as urgently as he clutched her backside, she knew in her heart he was already leaving. Already running away. Like last time. Again and again and again. She held on tighter, intent on giving her all if it would just help him decide to stay.

  Don’t go. Hunter, please don’t go.

  But just like that, he did.

  Hunter released her, letting her slide down his thighs to the ground. The heat between them cooled and dissipated, her heart with it. She could barely draw a breath.

  Blown away by the sheer passion of the last thirty seconds, she saw stars when her feet touched earth again. Her body leaned instinctively toward his, bereft of the fire it needed to live. To love. She’d been left needy and hollow, aching for the feel of him inside of her. Every nerve burned with raw and desperate unquenched desire.

  Taking a full step back, he let go of her hands and severed the connection. He bowed his head and blew out a ragged, “Damn it to hell.”

  With his hands to his knees, he didn’t look at her, and it was just as well. She wasn’t sure what he’d see.

  “Son-of-a-bitch.” He cursed the dirt between his feet, huffing great heaving breaths.

  Meredith leaned into the tree behind her, weak-kneed and content to let it hold her upright. At least the experience had moved him as much as her. She latched her fingers to the bark of the mighty trunk; afraid she’d fall if she let go. There would be no apology for what she’d just done, no explanation, and no need for either. Just heaving breaths. Just lingering embers that, with the least provocation, could flame back to life if he cared to so much as breathe on her. If he cared at all.

  Nothing—nothing—in life had prepared her for this insatiable hunger for Hunter Christian. Why were they only now discovering this about each other now? Why not—then? Why not before she’d thrown their one sweet chance away? Everything might have turned out so differently, if only—if only—what?

  She knew the answers. So did he. If she hadn’t gotten pregnant. If she hadn’t erred when she’d decided the baby’s father deserved a chance to prove himself a better man. If she hadn’t kept the secret from all her friends as long as she had. If only she’d admitted the truth—that she wasn’t the good girl everyone thought she was. If Hunter hadn’t run off to war without giving her a chance to explain.

  Too many foolish decisions stood between them. Her head reeled, filled with doubt and awe and wondering. “We need to talk,” she whispered hoarsely, surprised she could speak at all. He needed to know the entire truth, not just what he thought he knew.

  “No. We don’t.” Without another word, he straightened and turned away. Hunter lifted the litter, and, his head low and his shoulders tight, he marched into the jungle, no doubt expecting her to follow like the arrogant man he was. The only difference was that this time, she couldn’t. With one soul-rending kiss, this angry man had just claimed her and deserted her at the same time.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Son-of-a-bitch!

  Hunter spat. He couldn’t contain his disgust with himself. For the first time in forever, he’d done the unthinkable. He’d fulfilled a dream and shattered it at the same time, like some hot-blooded prick out of high school who finally gets the girl of his dreams, and why? For what? Meredith obviously had no clue what she’d meant to him or she wouldn’t have stood there and taken one for the team.

  And yet they’d cared for each other once, hadn’t they? Hell, he didn’t know what was real anymore. She had him so mixed up he couldn’t focus when she was around. And that damned underwear! Why couldn’t the woman ever do what she was told?

  Of all things, Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s love poem for the ages came back to him. “How do I love thee?” Let me count the fuckin’ ways! Dressed. Half-dressed. Naked. Upside right. Upside down. Any and every other damned way in between. That’s how!

  Add to that angst of the stupid college jerk he used to be, the one who’d thought she could actually fall for a geek who’d loved English Lit as much as she did. He was the dumbest dumbass on the planet. A smoke right damned now would help, but did he have one? Shit, no.

  Every stalking step away from her became an exclamation point to his internal rationalization. She was the one who’d broken it off. She was the one who’d run to Fast Welch the first chance she’d got. She was the one who’d never looked back—not like Hunter had given her much of a choice. The Christmas night he saw her ride off with Welch was also the night he turned his pitiful excuse of a life around. He’d gone home with one purpose only—to change. And change he had.

  By midnight, all his lost
saints had been boxed in cardboard and on the curb for Goodwill, never to be seen in his hands again. Nothing had been sacred that night. Not Homer’s Iliad. Not Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath, or Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls? Out they’d all gone, out of his life in one angry fit of never turning back.

  With the slate wiped clean, the next morning he’d said goodbye to his folks and marched down to the local USMC recruiting office. His dreams had been destroyed. Why not erase his past life along with them?

  Stupidest thing he’d ever done. But he’d learned every other lesson the hard way. Why not that one?

  Not one for much upper-body strength the day he’d joined the Corps, he’d learned. By the end of boot camp, he could pump fifty just because some loud-mouthed SOB of a drill sergeant told him he could and would. Not one for endurance, Hunter had learned quickly about perseverance and packing more than one hundred pounds of gear. Not only that, he could do it in the dead of summer in full uniform while dragging another soldier who’d passed out from the heat.

  Like any good jarhead, Hunter kept moving. There was no way to plan a decent offensive strategy with thoughts of Meredith muddling up his brain. And damn. Teague had gotten a lot heavier as the night grew shorter. Daylight would soon hit the eastern horizon, but damned if Hunter knew which way was east after a night of running.

  It didn’t help that the litter was loaded with the ammo and gear from the three enemy assassins, either. Hunter doubted he could strike back in the middle of the night, and there was no way they could make the river before morning. Sleep was a luxury he couldn’t afford, but Meredith would need it. Soon.

  Damn. Hunter had never been so undecided. He had to get his act together or none of them would survive this night. At least she’d chosen to pick up those supplies and stick close. She was afraid. He read it easily in her body language. Gone was the cocky girl who used to throw her pom-poms in every jock’s face who looked her way.

  Now, if he could only shake the taste of her mouth off his lips.

  Focus, Hunter. Stop looking at her.

  Easier said than done.

  If you always do what you’ve always done, you will always get what you always got.

  Meredith’s mantra hadn’t failed since she’d relied on it for impetus to get out of her failed marriage. She depended on it now. Whoever came up with that saying was darned smart. There was more to life than putting up with abuse and neglect day after day. She’d proved it to herself before. She could do it again.

  Meredith followed Hunter’s broad back, dragging the supply container, sure he knew she was there although he hadn’t made direct eye contact. No. That would be civil communication, and heaven knew he wasn’t that kind of gentleman anymore. But he used to be. She’d seen a glimmer of that guy she used to love when he’d come rushing to her rescue earlier. Only now?

  What had she been thinking? That he cared? Get over it, girlfriend. Mean Girl was back with a vengeance. It was just one kiss—not like he’d swept her off her feet or anything truly earth shattering. And it sure wasn’t like she couldn’t live without a man in her life, another thing she’d proved to herself the hard way. Men were the bane of her existence. Well, she’d show them. Him. Hunter.

  What did he think she was, anyway? Kiss her like a lover one minute and push her away the next like she was some disposable tramp? Like she was easy? Desperate?

  Her tongue rolled over her bottom lip at the thought of him and the heat in that kiss, that incredible kiss. Whoa. He had kind of swept her off her feet now that she thought about it, and slamming her into that tree was a darned hot move straight out of Fifty Shades. He’d turned her on before she knew what he was doing. That kiss told a story all its own. Did he have a clue how handsome he was when he was angry, yet how gentle he’d been? How carefully he’d held her in his arms?

  Her eyes drifted over that square set of shoulders up ahead and the dark line of sweat down his back. Clueless or not, the man had a nicely muscled backside. Heck, he was nothing but muscle from the back of his neck to his calves, and no matter what, he just kept going, dragging Teague over roots, through brush and grass, over dirt and jungle paths. The man was a machine—with two of the softest, sexiest lips she’d ever tasted. Kind of sweet. Sweaty. Prickly. But oh, so warm and tender, a hint of smoke and mint and—Hunter.

  Oh, for heaven’s sake, it was just a kiss and a quick grope—only it no longer felt like just a quick anything. Her backside still burned where his fingertips had gripped like he was hanging onto her for dear life, like he could shred the thin layer of silk between him and her without any effort. Like he didn’t want to let go.

  The thought sent a shiver racing across her shoulders. She smoothed one hand over her rump. Every muscle inside her clenched with the need for him, wept for the closeness, the rub and roughness of his all-male and very delectable body. His hands. His lips.

  No way! I don’t want Hunter, her inner Mean Girl screamed. He’s the one who lost control. Not me. Well, okay, so maybe me for just a second there, but... no way!

  Meredith watched him march ahead of her, every step sure, every rippling muscle employed to save Teague’s life. Her chin stung from the harsh but oh-so welcomed assault. Bruised and swollen lips testified to the depth of his feelings. And hers.

  No! No! No! It wasn’t me. He lost control. I only reacted. I only kissed him back because I had no choice. I only... only—really want him to do that again.

  The fact remained. This time he’d lost control of that tough guy persona that he seemed determined to shove in her face every chance he got, but deep down inside where it counted, he might just want her as much as she wanted him.

  I do not. No, no way.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Casting his gaze upwards, Hunter studied the trees with the best branches for climbing. Since striking back at the enemy was out of the question for the moment, he opted to hunker down and camp until dawn. Up high in the branches seemed the best place for Meredith, though. Out of sight and out of mind.

  Stopping at the base of a wide tree with long branches, sprawling roots, and a good cover of leaves, he eased Teague to the ground. “Rest easy, buddy. We’re making camp.”

  Instantly, Meredith released the supplies and was at Teague’s side. “I meant to tell you before. He talked to me when you were gone earlier tonight.”

  That was unexpected news, although it wasn’t like Hunter had given her much time to share anything before but her—lips. He activated one of the larger flashlights, again leveling it where it would only offer muted light. His eyes drifted to her mouth. He’d left her lips swollen. Red. Lush. His all male mind drifted to other parts of her anatomy that he’d like to leave just as swollen and—

  “Did you hear what I said?” Her hand clamped his forearm. “Teague woke up and he talked to me when you were gone.”

  The tip of her tongue moistened her bottom lip and—damn it! Focus! “So, what’d he say?”

  “I’m not sure if he was delirious or not, but he kept trying to warn me. Something about there’s one, there’s two, Eric knows something, and there’s three.”

  “Three what?”

  She shrugged. “That’s the thing. I don’t really know what he was talking about, but it was the way he said it, like it was urgent, maybe top secret.”

  Hunter concentrated on her eyes to keep his mind off her mouth. That didn’t help. Even in the dark he could see the honest concern glistening there.

  “I ran into two other guards,” he admitted, needing to tell her that story before he lost track of it.

  She grimaced. “Are they dead, too?”

  She might as well have slapped him in the face. That spoiled the after effects of the kiss once and for all. He rolled his right shoulder and changed the subject. “It’s too late to get to the river tonight. You’re going up into the tree.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  He bit his tongue. If she were a female soldier, she’d shut up and do what she was told, but no.
He’d gotten stuck with a rich little cheerleader who thought the entire world lived to kiss her privileged ass. “You go up. No discussion. You’ll be safer topside, and that—”

  “But I’d rather—”

  “And THAT way...” He dared her to argue one more time. “I’ll have one less person to worry about down here on the ground. You can take a pistol up with you and cover both of us. No one will be expecting you up there.”

  “I’m not going up there if you aren’t.” She pursed her lips and turned, tending to Teague, her fingers to his brow as if Hunter had suddenly disappeared.

  “Listen here, Meredith,” he spat her name, his need for nicotine getting the best of him. “There’s only room for one boss in this outfit, and you’re not it!” he shouted, pointing to the limbs overhead. “Get your ass—”

  “No! I’m not going up any tree!” She jumped to her feet too, nearly stumbling because of her big boots. “You listen here, Hunter Christian. You think you can intimidate me because you’re bigger and badder and you bellow louder? You think I’m scared just because you give me the evil eye all the time? Well, I’m not, so save that bullyboy routine of yours for the next wimpy guy you run into, because it’s not working on me. You’re not a bully!”

  Hunter could honestly not think of one thing to say, so he glared. Most guys thought he was nothing but an ass. What the hell had happened to this pushy little girl? One minute she was batting her eyes and sexy as all get out, but the next she damned near sounded like his drill sergeant. What was a guy supposed to do?

  She kept coming at him. Her finger stabbed his chest opposite where the knife had left its mark. Unprepared for her touch, he winced. “And another thing, Bucko. Stop with the gung-ho, Rambo stuff. I am not one of your guys. I’m a woman, and you will treat me accordingly. I’m going to make mistakes. Deal with it. So what if I lost my weapon? It happens.”

  Bucko? Did she seriously just call me Bucko? He shook his head at the rest of her profoundly incorrect statement. “No, Meredith, it doesn’t happen. A Marine never—”