The scent of her perfume seemed to fill the confined space of the truck. A sweet, homey smell, flowers of some kind. He’d never noticed it all that much before, but now it was like he couldn’t get it out of his head. A heady, very female kind of scent.
White skin…the pink tips of her breasts…
He took a slow breath, his pulse racing. “I don’t know what point you’re trying to make, sweetness,” he said, struggling to sound normal, “but taking your clothes off isn’t the way to go about it.”
“Isn’t it obvious what point I’m trying to make? I’m trying to get you to stop seeing me as a bloody child.”
“By stripping in my truck?”
“How else am I supposed to do it? You don’t listen to me, Hunter!”
With a sharp movement, he jerked the wheel and pulled the truck over to the side of the road, a weird heat burning in his veins. A heat that was part anger and part arousal. An arousal he had no idea how to deal with or want anything to do with.
“Do your zip up,” he ordered, staring out the window. “Then I’ll listen.”
A small silence.
“No,” Ellie said.
Ah, fuck, she was pushing him. Such a bad move tonight when all he’d wanted to do was get drunk and forget about the necessity of having to attend Justin’s wedding. Of having to see his family. His father, his brother, and…Elizabeth.
A sick feeling turned over in his gut, his patience slipping inexorably through his fingers. “Do it.”
“Or what?”
He turned, looked into her eyes. “Or I’ll do it for you.”
She stared back at him, unflinching. Lounging in her seat with her dyed black hair over one shoulder, black-painted mouth pouting, her jumpsuit spread open, she looked vampish and—go on, admit it—sexy. His brain didn’t want to acknowledge it, not about her, but his body had no such qualms. Christ. Now he was getting hard.
“Maybe I want you to do it for me.” She threw the words at him like a gauntlet being thrown down. “Maybe I’d like it.” No escaping the look in her eyes. The look of a woman who knew what she wanted. Him.
Hunter kept himself very still. He’d always known she’d had a crush on him as a young teenager, but as the years had gone by, he’d thought she’d put that aside. Then again, this didn’t look like a crush. There was too much hunger in her eyes. A hunger that called to an answering heat in himself. A heat he didn’t want. A heat he couldn’t stop.
Shit, no. He did not want that heat associated in any way with Ellie Fox. The kid who used to look at him like he was her own personal hero. The one bright spot in his dark, teenage years. Anyone but her.
She made a small sound, as if he’d somehow let slip his response, as if she knew, and she sat forward suddenly. The bright metal of the zip pressed against her soft, white skin, along her stomach, the curves of her breasts. Digging in. Leaving a mark.
His breath caught. “Stop,” he said hoarsely.
She blinked. “What?”
“Don’t move.”
“But…” Her eyes widened and he knew what she saw in his gaze. Oh Jesus, this was getting so messed up. “Hunter…”
He leaned forward, reached for the end of her zip. Getting her covered was imperative, hiding all that white skin away. Turning her back into Ellie, the girl he knew, not some sexual fantasy he hadn’t even known he’d wanted.
“What are you doing?” she asked uncertainly as he began to draw her zip up.
“What I told you I’d do.” Hunter kept his gaze averted, not looking at her, taking care not to touch her or brush against her as he did up her jumpsuit. Only once he’d covered her did he sit back and look into her eyes.
A strange mix of confusion, hurt and anger crossed her face. “Why did you do that?”
“Because I told you to cover yourself and you didn’t.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed. “But… But you… I thought you liked…” She stopped. “I saw it, Hunter. In your eyes.”
“Saw what?”
“You were…attracted to me.”
“No. That’s not what you saw.”
“It was. Don’t deny it.”
“You misunderstood.”
She searched his face. “I know what I saw. I’m not an idiot.”
“Stop pushing me, Ellie.”
“You think that’s pushing?” An expression he couldn’t read flared in her eyes. “No. This is pushing.” And before he could stop her, she moved her hand between his thighs, the warmth of her palm covering his fly. Pressing down on the hard ridge of his cock. Touching him.
For one intense second Hunter was conscious only of the surge of heat that went through him. A heat so intense he went rigid with shock. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t even breathe.
Ellie’s eyes had gone so wide he could see the rim of gray around the outside of her green contacts. “You’re hard,” she murmured, as if she couldn’t believe it herself. “My God… Hunter—”
Instinct kicked in. An instinct that had been protecting him for sixteen years. An instinct that turned the heat of her touch into the icy grip of fear.
Without thinking, his fingers closed around her wrist and he tore her hand away from him. “Don’t touch me,” he heard himself say roughly. “Don’t ever fucking touch me!”
She went pale, looking at him as if he’d turned into some kind of monster. Which was kind of true because he never got angry with her. Never shouted at her or lost his temper. Because she’d had so much of that with her mother, he didn’t want to be the same.
But then Ellie had never touched him like that before. Oh, he’d handled hugs from her. Had held hands with her when she’d been a kid. Had been fine with a casual hand on his shoulder or his arm.
Yet this was different. This was sexual and if there was one thing he hated, it was people sexually touching him without permission.
He turned away, not bothering to apologise. Why should he? She’d touched him like she had the right. Like she owned him. Touched him when he didn’t want her to. She should be the one apologising, not him.
The silence that fell was thick and heavy, falling like a lead curtain between them.
“I…I’m sorry, Hunter.” Her voice sounded shocked but he still didn’t look at her. “I don’t know what I did but I’m sorry.”
He knew an explanation was in order. Something to make things right between them. But he didn’t know what to say because his kink about sex wasn’t anything he wanted to discuss with sweet little Ellie Fox.
A part of him wanted to tell her it was okay, that she’d done nothing wrong. Which was true, she hadn’t. He was the one with the problem. Yeah, he was screwed up about touch but that’s because he wanted to be. Because he liked it. Liz had shown him what he liked, after all.
But he didn’t even want to go there with her. So all he said was, “Let’s get you home.”
Hunter turned on the ignition. And drove.
Chapter Three
The atmosphere in the truck felt like it had been delivered straight from Antarctica.
Ellie sat in her seat, blindly watching the world outside the window, cold solidifying in her veins.
Don’t ever fucking touch me…
Her wrist ached from where he’d wrenched it away, and she knew she’d probably have bruises there the next day.
Jesus, what the hell was going on with him? She’d been ecstatic as she’d put her hand on him, feeling the hard line of his erection beneath the denim. He’d been hard. For her. And the look glittering in his black eyes… She’d been sure it was desire.
Until he’d pulled her hand away as if her touch had disgusted him.
Ellie blinked as the flashing lights of an ambulance whizzed past them then disappeared around a corner, the colours blurring in her vision as the sting of tears threatened.
He’d been so brutal, vehement in his rejection, and she hadn’t expected that of him. Not when he’d been so hard and hot beneath her hand. God, she’d thought it was a
ll on. Thought that after so many years of waiting, she’d finally get what she’d always wanted.
But no. All she’d gotten was disgust.
The truck slowed then came to a stop, and she saw they were already outside her apartment building.
“Come on. I’ll see you inside,” Hunter said casually, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t wrenched her hand away like she’d burned him.
Ellie glanced across at him. His gaze met hers, giving nothing away.
A sudden curl of anger licked up inside her. So as far as he was concerned they were going to go on as normal? No way. He’d gotten her hopes up, showed her a glimpse of what she could have then shattered those hopes in the cruelest way possible. There was no way she was going to let this slide, close up like she normally did when she got hurt. Not tonight. She was in her costume. She was powerful.
“So that’s your plan?” Ellie demanded. “You’re not going to say anything? You’re going to pretend it didn’t happen?”
The expression on his face was unreadable. “Nothing happened, sweetness. Which means there’s nothing to say.”
“Excuse me? How is ‘don’t fucking touch me’ nothing?”
He lifted a shoulder. “An overreaction.”
“That’s one hell of an overreaction, Hunter!”
His gaze flickered away from her then back again. “You’re Vin’s little sister and all of a sudden you’re reaching for my cock? What kind of reaction did you expect?”
“I thought you wanted me.”
This time his gaze didn’t even flinch. “Where did you get that idea?”
“For God’s sake, you were hard! I felt it.”
“You had your tits out, Ellie. They were virtually in my face. And I’m a guy, okay? It’s got nothing whatsoever to do with you personally.”
Oh. Oh great. Freaking fantastic.
Ellie turned around and shoved open the door, wanting out suddenly. Wanting to get away from him and the flat, detached look in his eyes. The look that told her that her fears were right. That he’d never want anything from her.
Hunter said nothing, but she knew he was following her because she heard the truck door close. The beep as he locked it. She wanted to turn and tell him to piss off, that she didn’t need or want him around, but she was too angry to speak.
Upstairs, she opened the apartment door, kicking aside boxes of stuff she’d packed in preparation for leaving for Tokyo.
“You can go now,” she said, slamming her keys down onto the table beside the door. “I’m home. Safe.”
He ignored her, walking past her and down the hallway to her kitchen. “You need something in your stomach. Otherwise you’re going to feel like shit tomorrow.”
She stared after his tall figure as he disappeared into the kitchen. What the hell? First, he rejected her as violently as possible, then pretended nothing had happened. And now he was going to look after her?
No. Fucking. Way.
Ellie stormed down the hallway.
In her little kitchen, Hunter had gotten out a glass from one of her boxes and was in the process of pouring her some milk.
“No,” she said fiercely, slapping her hands down on the other side of the breakfast bar. “I told you to go. I did not tell you to go into my kitchen and start pouring me milk!”
Hunter pushed the glass over the bench to her. “Drink it, sweetness.”
“I’m not a child, Hunter! Drink it yourself.”
“Don’t be difficult.”
“And don’t you act like my touch is going to infect you with some kind of horrible disease!”
For a moment a weird tension crackled between them. Then he said, “It’s never going to happen between us, Ellie. Do you understand? Never.”
It hurt. Hurt like a bastard. “Why not?” she demanded, uncaring now about what she let slip. It wasn’t like the whole situation could get any more painful. “Is it because I’m Vin’s little sister? Because you used to babysit me?”
He thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “That’s part of it.”
“What’s the other part then?”
His gaze didn’t waver. “I don’t want you. I never have.”
Shit. Wrong again. It could get more painful.
Don’t cry, dammit. Don’t be so pathetic.
“Why?” she couldn’t stop herself from asking. “Am I not pretty enough for you? Not sexy enough? Is that it?”
“No, Christ Ellie, no. It’s not any of those things. I don’t…feel that way about you, all right?”
“And I can’t change your mind?”
Something moved in his eyes but it was gone before she could tell what it was. “No. I’m sorry, you can’t.”
Ellie swallowed. “Okay, fine.” She struggled to keep her voice level as years of forbidden fantasies came crashing down around her ears. “I got it. Loud and clear.”
“I’m not saying this to hurt you.”
“Well, you have.” Oh she’d love to pretend she didn’t care, but the fact was that she did. Very much. And there was no reason for him not to know that.
His expression betrayed nothing. “You’ll get over it.”
No, she wouldn’t. She’d spent ten years wanting him, two of those with another guy in an attempt to move on. That hadn’t worked and she suspected nothing else would.
Ellie pushed herself away from the bench, the alcohol curdling in her stomach, making her feel vaguely nauseated. In the same way as all the curdled emotion with Hunter was making her tired. No, not tired, exhausted. Goddamn bone weary.
“I need to go to bed now, Hunter,” she said flatly. “Thanks for the chat. It’s been…edifying.”
For a moment he looked as if he might argue the point but all he said was, “You okay by yourself?”
“Of course I’m okay by myself.”
Slowly he came round the bench, pausing beside her, and her whole body went tight with the need to press against him. To touch him as she’d touched him back in his truck, the hard warmth of him beneath her hand. But she didn’t look up at him. Refused to acknowledge he was there.
“Let me see your wrist.”
She stared hard at the glass of milk in front of her. “Why?”
“I was rough when I pushed you away. I probably hurt you.”
“No you didn’t,” she lied.
Hunter muttered something under his breath, and before she could move, long, warm fingers circled her wrist, pulling it toward him. Ellie froze, every nerve ending alive as he pushed up the sleeve of her jumpsuit, examining the pale skin of her arm. She almost shivered as he ran his fingertips carefully over the delicate bones of her wrist, testing gently.
Bastard. How could he do this to her? How could he tell her he’d never want her the way she wanted him, then touch her, knowing how she felt? Touch her so carefully. So gently.
Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.
Ellie jerked her wrist from his fingers, no matter that it hurt. Then she looked up into his dark, handsome face. “Don’t fucking touch me,” she said, enunciating each word. Taking pleasure in them.
Deep in his eyes, something flared, glittering, and a second passed where it felt as if anything could happen. Anything at all.
But then he shrugged. Stepped back. And the moment passed. “I’ll see you around, sweetness.”
A minute later she was left in the silence of the kitchen with only a glass of milk, a sore wrist and an ache in her heart that didn’t ever seem to go away.
“You’ve had the invitation three weeks, Hunter, and you still haven’t RSVP’d. Can I assume you’ll be attending?” Philip Chase’s voice was, as ever, smooth, civilised and polite. Sounding every inch the respected corporate lawyer he was. The lawyer in his wood-paneled office, shelves full of bound law reports, sitting in his massive office chair, adjusting the waistcoat of his three-piece suit. His silk tie would be knotted exactly so, his handmade Italian leather shoes shiny. Image was important to Hunter’s father, part of the edifice of
respectability he cultivated. The façade of wealth and privilege he used to hide so many things. It made Hunter sick.
“I don’t know,” he replied, keeping his tone casual, leaning against the dusty bonnet of his truck, the metal hot against his sweat-slick bare skin, tool belt heavy around his hips. “I have a fuckload of work to do.”
His father didn’t rise to the bad language bait. But then he never did. Philip Chase was made of Teflon—everything slid right off him. “That is not a good enough excuse. You’re expected.” A hint of disapproval tinged his tone.
Hunter shifted against the side of the truck, staring sightlessly out over the busy construction site and the house Fox Chase was currently building. Anger twisted inside him, the same formless anger he always felt whenever he spoke to his father. Whenever he had to deal with anything that involved his family. An anger that had no target because he wasn’t supposed to be feeling it in the first place. With a conscious effort, he swallowed it down. “I’ll take a look at my schedule,” he said after a moment.
“Well, I appreciate that, Hunter,” Philip replied with careful emphasis. “Justin will be most disappointed if you don’t come. And so will I. It’s a happy family event and I’d like you to be there.”
Of course his father wanted him to be there. Philip liked to present a united front because that’s what he liked the world to see, regardless of how screwed up the family behind the front actually was.
“Well,” Hunter said smoothly, edging the words with a touch of sarcasm, “we wouldn’t want to disappoint fucking Justin, now would we?”
There was a small, offended silence.
“Don’t say things like that,” his father said tersely. “You’re not a sulky teenager anymore.”
In his father’s study, the door closed, his heart beating hard and fast. Sick with fear at what he’d said. And Philip’s imperious face, taut with anger.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t want to hear such filthy nonsense from you.”
“It’s true, Dad! Why would I lie about something like that?”
“No, not another word. Get out and take your lying tongue with you.”
Hunter closed his eyes, forcing the memory away. No, the memories had no power over him. Not now. “Yeah. Whatever. I’ll be there, okay?”
Taking Him (Lies We Tell) Page 3