by Eden Summers
“I’ll be fine.” My response is unintentionally growled, which only increases his grin.
“I’m not looking for a gratitude blow job, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s just that the roads are slippery, and it’s harder to drive at night. Your wheel alignment might be messed up, too.”
“I don’t have much farther to go. And if I run into any problems, I have someone I can call.”
“Okay. I’ll get out of your hair, then.” He reaches out a hand to shake.
I stare for longer than necessary, my heart pounding as I release my gun and clasp his offering. “Thanks again.”
His palm engulfs mine, and he’s warm despite the rain and cool temperature. He also grips my hand gently. Not weak, but not overpowering.
Those dark eyes turn somber, and I can see sympathy staring back at me. Or maybe it’s an apology. I don’t know either way, but he stares for longer than he should, his attention stealing parts of me that I want back.
I pull my hand away and paste on a smile. “It was nice meeting you.”
“Likewise.” He inclines his head and gives me a two-finger salute. “I’ll see you around.”
He walks away, and I watch my side mirror until he’s inside his car. I wait. Then wait some more. He doesn’t make a move to leave before me. In fact, he flashes his lights, instructing me to go first.
“Damn you.” I pull onto the highway, trying to watch the road and the Good Samaritan who can’t take a hint as he follows.
I pump the brakes to make sure they’re in working order, then I press my foot down on the gas. I stop worrying about highway patrols and breaking the speed limit, and focus on ditching the guy behind me.
I reach Atomic Buzz within fifty minutes and park in the alley out back before walking inside.
Brent is behind the bar with Hunter perched on a seat in front of him.
They both look toward me at the same time, and I shiver. It’s easy to ignore Brent’s gentle smile; I’ve seen it so many times before. What I can’t tear my gaze away from is Hunter and the concern tightening his brows. His eyes narrow, taking me in, head to foot. The air in my lungs becomes heavy. My sternum throbs. I raise the collar on my coat in a vain attempt to shield myself.
Why does he have this effect on me? How does he have any affect?
I left town to gain distance from him, yet the physical miles seem to have brought me emotionally closer. My dream, and the fucked up message my subconscious tried to send, have me on the verge of weak, pathetic girliness.
“Thanks for the loan.” I continue forward, forcing my attention to Brent, and lob the keys at him. “I appreciate it.”
“No problem.” He places the keys back on the hook. “How did the old girl run?”
“Like a dream.” I lick my lower lip, trying to relieve the scorching heat of a predator’s stare. “She’s parked out the back. I even took her through the car wash so she looks all pretty.” Truth be told, I’d had to hose off all the caked mud and grass to hide the evidence of my off-road adventure.
Hunter slides off his seat, and I stiffen as he approaches. Every inch of me is aware of him—my nerves, my pulse, my intuition.
“Are you okay?” His voice is low, yet strong.
That’s what I need right now—strength, and lots of it.
What I wouldn’t give to be a person who could crumple into a pool of exhausted tears and dramatic sobs. To have the freedom to be vulnerable and allow him to gather me in his arms and whisper words of comfort.
Like in the movies.
Like in a dream.
I grind my teeth, grinding away the weakness at the same time. “Yeah. Of course.” I step back, needing distance from the eyes that narrow on my forehead. “Why wouldn’t I be?” I lick my lower lip, then curse the action. “On second thought, don’t answer that.”
I need to break this… whatever it is—attraction, distraction, complication. “I’ve gotta go.”
“You’re not staying for a drink?” Brent asks.
“No, not tonight. I’m exhausted.” I give them a lazy finger wave and turn for the door. Then I hear it—his footsteps. Hunter’s pursuit.
My heart trembles with giddy excitement, and I wish it didn’t. I wish I had some glimmer of control. But I’m completely lacking.
I reach the door, push outside, and stop as soon as I feel him approach behind me. “I can’t do this tonight, Hunter. I’m too tired.”
“Relax.” He settles into me, his legs brushing the back of my thighs, his arm wrapping around my waist to place a gentle hand on my stomach. “I’m not looking for sex.”
I don’t move. I can’t. I’m starved for his touch, my appetite too demanding to ignore.
“Are you hurt?” he murmurs.
I frown in confusion. “Why would I be hurt that you don’t want to have sex with me? I just told you I’m too tired to deal with you tonight.”
His breathy laughter sweeps over my neck, and he walks around to face me. His hand raises, slow and sure, his fingers pushing the hair from my forehead. “I’m talking about this.” A gentle touch glides around the tender bump in pure, heart-melting torture. “But if you want to keep talking about sex…”
“No.” I nudge him out of the way and walk to the curb to check for traffic. “I’m completely exhausted.”
“Too exhausted for sex?” he asks. “I guess we skipped the whole dating thing and slid straight into being a married couple.”
I can’t hold back a smile. “Don’t be a dick.”
“Then don’t be a pussy.”
My humor fades. He’s right. I need to toughen up. “Good night, Hunter.”
I walk across the road and hitch my handbag higher on my shoulder.
The crunch of his steps follows. “I’m worried about you.”
It’s not the words that slay me. It’s the tone. The pure concern. Ten years have passed since anyone has uttered words like that to me. Ten long, painful years.
“I bumped my head.” I reach my building and face him. “It’s no big deal.”
He nods and his focus lowers, the seductive trail moving over my cheek, my jaw, to my neck. His brows snap tight, and his jaw ticks. “Fuck.”
“What?” I place a hand on my neck, to the place where the seatbelt had burned me. “Is it bad?”
“It’s bad enough.” He nudges my wrist away and scrutinizes the area. “What happened?”
“Nothing. Just let it go.”
I continue to the building entrance and enter the pin code. The lock releases, and he pulls the door wide.
“Let me go,” I clarify.
“I will. Once I check you over and make sure you’re really okay.”
I stand there, caught between two options, one sensible, one indulgent. “It’s my neck and my head. That’s all.”
He nods. “Good. That means it won’t take long.”
He lathers me with his concern, pulling at the thinnest fibers of my control. He’s figured me out and determined how much I crave him. He knows he’s my weakness.
“You’ve got five minutes.”
He smirks, and the sight should have me retracting my offer. It should…but it doesn’t. He follows me into the elevator, down the third-floor hall, and into my apartment.
Oh, shit.
The box of my life secrets is still open with the pages scattered across the floor, over my coffee table, and along the sofa, like a mass of dirty laundry. I shoot a glance at Hunter and he’s staring, taking it all in with those scanning eyes.
“Sorry about the mess.” I dump my handbag on the floor and take slow, measured steps, forcing myself not to rush forward. “Help yourself to the coffee machine, or get whatever you want from the fridge.”
“I’m good.” He follows, stopping at my sofa to peer down at the skeletons now outside of my closet. “Do you need a hand?” He leans over and picks up a piece of paper.
“No.” I lunge and snatch the newspaper article away. “It’s confidential.”
> He infuriates me with a dubious raise of his brow.
I lose all pretense of calm and scramble, shifting the pages into piles to cover them from view. “I do research work for a university professor. He doesn’t like when we discuss projects with outsiders.”
“Outsiders?”
Shit. I sound like an idiot. “Yeah.” I shrug. “He studies criminal psychology but already has enough issues of his own, ya know?”
He nods and focuses on the piles I’ve created, his neck slightly craned to peek at the information. “Seems interesting enough.”
“Not really.” I grab the last of my secrets from the floor and stack them on top of those on the sofa, then those on the coffee table. I shuffle until they’re in a neat pile and then place them back in the box.
“There.” I dust my hands and will my pulse to settle. “All done.”
He continues to nod, lazy and contemplative.
“Now, where were we?” I wiggle the coat from my shoulders and drape it over the sofa. “You wanted me to prove I was fine, right?” I spread my arms wide, then tap my nose with each forefinger and do a twirl. “See? I’m perfect.”
Again, he gives me a lethargic nod, and this time a smirk is added to the mix, as if he’s agreeing that I’m perfect. “How did it happen?” He approaches with predatory steps. “Was it your boyfriend?”
I swallow, my mouth tingling. I want to lie. I want to lie so damn bad and tell him this fake boyfriend hurt me. He hurt me because of you.
Would Hunter care? Would he vow to protect me?
I suck in a deep breath and stand tall. I’m not going to succumb. Not again. “I had a slight car accident. I ran off the road.”
He stops in front of me, almost toe to toe.
“I adore Brent, but his car is a piece of shit. The seatbelt didn’t lock fast enough, and I hit my head on the steering wheel.”
He remains calm. Always in control. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” His gaze scans me, across my hairline, along my jaw, down to the small V of my thin cotton sweater.
“I’m not hurt at all.”
He grips my sweater and begins to lift.
“Hunter.” I place my hands on top of his. “I’m not doing this now.” No matter how adamantly my body voices a protest.
He meets my gaze, those hazel eyes strong and true. “I know.”
He continues to lift my sweater, taking it over my head and dropping it to the floor. He captures my stare as he unbuttons my blouse from the top. I hold my breath as his knuckles brush the inside curve of my covered breasts, and I can’t fight the need to swallow.
He glances down, and his jaw tenses.
I’m caught in a daze, transfixed by the way his hair falls gently over his forehead, as a lone finger streaks a line from my shoulder to my cleavage.
“You’re hurt worse than you thought.” That finger continues strumming my desire with its delicate caress. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Hmm?” I glance down to the light pink line marking my chest. An extended war wound left from the seatbelt. “It’s nothing. It doesn’t even hurt.”
My attraction is much more painful.
He ignores me, those fingers trailing farther along my buttons, this time leaving them in place. He reaches the hem and lifts, exposing my stomach.
I notice everything he does, the soft blinks, the slight narrowing of his stare. Every inch of me is in tune with every inch of him, the gentle rise of his chest, the bite of teeth into his lower lip.
He’s beautiful. Harsh, yet stunning.
The pad of his thumb swipes my abdomen, the touch trailing above the waistband of my jeans in exquisite lethargy.
It’s so light.
Too light.
Barely enough.
“There’s the slightest mark here. You’ll probably bruise tomorrow.”
I don’t care. Right now, I wouldn’t mind if the morning brought the end of the world, as long as he didn’t stop touching me.
“Is there anywhere else I need to check?” he asks.
Mmmhmm. There sure is, doctor.
“No.” I clear my throat. “Is there anywhere on you that I need to check?”
His light chuckle is like melted chocolate and scented candles—the absolute perfect prelude to sex.
His eyes darken, growing devilish. “Maybe.” He slides his hands over my ass, gently pulling me closer to grind into me.
I withhold a whimper, caging it inside my throbbing chest.
All I can think about is sex. Lots and lots of sex. Tangled sheets. Sweaty skin. Glistening muscles. Moaning. Screaming.
Oh, God, I could come already.
“You distract me,” I admit.
“From what?”
I blink to awareness, realizing my stupidity. I’ve fought to keep him away from my secrets, only to stumble with the simple grind of his dick.
I’m slipping.
“Nothing.” I shake my head.
He growls, his fingers digging into my ass. “I should’ve known better than to assume you’d ever share any insight into your life. You won’t even tell me your fucking name.”
He doesn’t stem the aggression in his tone. I see it. I feel it, too. The threat should scare me. Instead, I crave it. I want more. “You know my name.”
“Yeah.” He scoffs. “It’s Emma. Steph for short.”
He retreats a step, and his withdrawal leaves me chilled. Icy. I want to reach out, to grasp, and tug, and pull. Instead, I hold my ground as he begins to pace.
“When are you going to tell me something real?” His question is a plea that hits the weaker parts of my resolve. “I want to hear the fucking truth for once.”
I lift my chin, battling his emotional onslaught.
Don’t falter. Don’t break.
“Who are you running from?”
I shake my head. “I’m not running from anyone.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s true.” I keep my hands at my sides, even though I want to reach out and reconnect. “I’m searching for someone. I’ve been searching for almost ten years.”
His brows pull tight. He’s assessing me, attempting to sift through the truth and lies. “Who?”
“An old friend. A boyfriend.”
He releases a derisive laugh. “Another one?”
“No. Not another one.” I inch back to rest my hip against the sofa when all I want to do is move toward him. Into him. “I lied about Seattle.”
“Yeah?” He narrows his gaze. “Why?”
More stupid. So much stupid.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
I look away. I can’t do this. For normal people, this might be simple, giving answers to menial questions. For me, it’s slicing open a vein and letting my soul rush out.
He advances, eating up my vision to cage me against the furniture. “Why?” he growls against my ear.
“Because I can’t want this. You shouldn’t be here.”
“I don’t want to be here either, Emma.” He leans in, brushing his lips against my neck. “Steph…” He does it again, the next kiss lower. “Princess…” And lower, devouring the sensitive spot where my shoulder meets my neck. “I have a million things I need to do right now, and the only one I plan on doing is you.”
He keeps his mouth in place, and each second is a dose of pleasured pain. A temptation and a punishment.
“Do you love him?” he murmurs.
My heart drops at his raw emotion. “Who?”
“This boyfriend you’re chasing.”
I clutch his shirt, twisting the fabric. Even the concept of loving Jacob makes me nauseated. “No. We have unfinished business. That’s all.”
“Then how can I help you find him?”
The nausea vanishes, the bile and hatred being replaced with the warmest gratitude. Then disappointment. “You can’t. The only connection I had to him is now dead.”
There’s another pause, this one filled with tension. “The senator’s son?”
I don’t answer. He’s seen enough of my dirty laundry for one night. “Can we talk about something else?”
He nods, scraping his teeth over my shoulder. Tickling. Teasing.
I breathe him in, letting the lingering scent of fading aftershave sink into my lungs. “On second thought, let’s not talk at all.”
13
Her
The next morning arrives with me having to claw my way out of the deepest depths of sleep. I sit up, the sheet falling from my chest to expose my nudity as sunlight bathes my room.
“Hey.” Hunter clears his throat from beside me, his eyes closed. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Bad dream, that’s all.”
A nightmare.
I’d been at Dan’s funeral, witnessing the pain I’d inflicted on innocent people as they stood sobbing around his grave.
I’d apologized, over and over, but nobody could hear me. The crying grew, building to a cacophony that pounded in my ears, until mourners began walking away. One by one, the crowd had dispersed, leaving a lone man to stand before the open hole in the ground.
Jacob.
“We’re both the same now.” He’d smirked at me. Fucking smirked.
I can’t get the image out of my head. It’s there, stalking me from every corner of my mind.
“Oh, shit,” I whisper. It’s a sign.
“What’s wrong?” Hunter mutters.
“Nothing.” I slide from the bed and tug my nightshirt from under my pillow. “Go back to sleep.”
He groans and turns onto his stomach, planting his face into the mattress.
I pull the shirt over my head and stare vacantly across the apartment.
Jacob could be at the funeral. And yeah, maybe I am clutching at disintegrating straws here, but it is a possibility. One that makes my heart pound and my hands sweaty.
Could it be that easy? Could my actions toward Dan have led to what I’ve been searching for?
Maybe that’s why he died. Dan had to so I could find Jacob. Instead of chasing him for the rest of my life, the asshole will come to me.
Fate and destiny have collided. It all makes sense now.
I could go to the church. No. The enclosed space will be tricky. I’ll go to the cemetery instead and watch as the cars roll in. If I find my mark, I’ll place a tracker on his vehicle and let the retribution begin.