Cole (Hunting Her)

by Eden Summers

  His hair is tousled, as if he’s raked his hands through it a million times. The bags under his eyes are heavy with fatigue. And those lips, the ones that previously brought me pleasure, are one straight line of disdain.

  “Two days ago you knock at my door, demanding to facilitate my safety. Now, I’m what? Your enemy?” I move forward, slow and cautious. “I haven’t done anything wrong. I came here because I want information on a man who attacked me. A man who has become a nightmare in my life because of you.”

  His nostrils flare. His jaw clenches.

  The energy of passionate anger builds between us. I’m a slave to the flames. It’s always been this way. We burn from the heat of animosity. It fuels us.

  “We’re not enemies.” It’s imperative I remind him. If he turns on me, my life is as good as over. But that’s not what pains me. It’s not what scares me the most.

  The reality of how close we are to severing ties, after I’ve fought so long to do exactly that, is confounding. Soul shaking. I don’t want this.

  “I think our past proves I’m worthy of inside information.” I clear my throat. “I tried—”

  “Is that what you really think?” He scoffs. “That you deserve anything from me after you fucked another man?”

  I jerk back in shock. In gratification.

  This hostility can’t all be driven by jealousy. Surely not.

  But the thrill of this poisoned treat is something I wish I could sink my teeth into. To taste every morsel of his envy. To gorge on the way he covets me.

  “Easton is none of your—”

  “He’s dead,” Cole snaps.

  For a moment, I’m not sure who he’s talking about—Robert or Anthony. Both possibilities leave me shocked.

  “There’s no longer a threat toward you.” His face turns into an expressionless mask. “And now that you’ve got the information you came for, leave.”

  I blink through the mass of unfurling questions. I should do exactly as he’s asked. Leave. Never look back. But I can’t move. There’s no will to walk away—only the determination to stay.

  “If he’s dead, then what’s wrong?” I take another step and another, the exotic scent of his lingering aftershave invading the acrid bleach. “What else happened?”

  His face hardens. His upper lip curls. “Get the fuck out.” He turns his back to me, returning his attention out the window.

  Rejection slaps me cold. I’ve kissed this man with all the passion I contain. I’ve taken him inside my body and exhilarated in the resulting pleasure. I’ve craved him.

  Hungered for him.

  Pined.

  I was stupid to think I could turn those memories to ash. I was even more ignorant to assume I could simply switch off what I once felt. There’s no easy withdrawal from this.

  He’s an addiction like no other, requiring more than a twelve-step program and a lifetime of rehab.

  “Please talk to me,” I whisper. “What else happened?”

  He launches a fist at the wall. The crack of impact startles me. He swings around to storm my way.

  There’s no time to think. To retreat. He gets in my face, attempting to intimidate, but all I feel is passion. Fire. Flames.

  “We’re not doing this again.” He leans close, eye to eye. Feral. “That was your choice.”

  His breath brushes my lips, the exquisite tease a shot of ecstasy to my throbbing veins.

  “Leave.” He holds his voice in check, his gaze steady. Unshakable.

  The demand skitters over my flesh. Into my bones.

  I breathe deeper. Heavier.

  I should do as he says. Common sense squeaks in the back of my mind telling me to listen.

  But I don’t. I steady my shoulders. Hitch my chin.

  His lips curl in a snarl, part rage, part hunger. I can feel him. The vibration. The power.

  My palms sweat with the need to reach out. To touch.

  He doesn’t scare me. Never has. What I fear is this ending. What frightens me the most is being forced to walk away from here and never feel alive again.

  I’ve not been adored like I have been with this man. Even through the lies and deception, my recollections of him always come back to the emotions he inspires. The unwitting sense of belonging. The strange click of a puzzle piece finally fitting in place.

  He inches closer, so close I can feel the warmth of his lips, the heat in his eyes.

  I could kiss him. I’d barely need to move. All it would take is a slight lean. A mere hitch of my chin. And I want to. God, how I want to feel his scorching mouth unravelling me one thread at a time. To taste his aggression. To drown in his possession.

  I turn my head instead, denying us both.

  His chuckle is a whisper over my cheek. A subtle dose of spite.

  I stand rigid, close to breaking point, my insides screaming at me to take, take, take.

  He gets closer, his nose nudging my jaw, awakening a flood of tingling goose bumps. The slight connection holds the force of an explosion. It’s blinding. Shattering.

  Air thickens in my lungs as he nuzzles higher, his mouth moving to my ear.

  I stop breathing, waiting for erotic words to soothe my yearning. Waiting for him to say something that will signal my surrender. And it’s right there. My submission is his for the taking.

  “My little fox,” he murmurs, deep and low.

  I whimper.

  “After everything we’ve been through, there’s only one thing I want to say to you.” His admission trickles down my neck, awakening every nerve ending. “Get the fuck out of my house,” he growls, “And never come back.”

  I pull away, embarrassment rendering me speechless.

  He truly wants me to leave.

  Right… Okay… Fine…

  I step back, raising my hands in surrender. “I’m leaving.”

  “Now,” he sneers.

  “Jesus Christ.” I’m already retreating, goddamnit. I’m just too gobsmacked at how the tables have turned to move faster than a snail’s pace.

  I used to be in his shoes. I was the one who despised him. At least, that was the role I played.

  I backtrack farther, slowly, prepared to pause as soon as he asks me to stop.

  But he doesn’t.

  I reach the threshold without a word. Then I turn and trek to the staircase, then to the lower level.

  The silence thickens.

  There’s so much dense, suffocating silence beneath the pummeling drum of my heart as I drag hospital-grade bleach into my lungs.

  Where did Cole kill Robert?

  In the kitchen? The hall?

  Curiosity takes over my self-pity, and instead of slinking my ass to the front of the house, I stride in the opposite direction, along a vacant hall until I enter an open living area.

  Glass doors run along one side of the room, giving sight to the manicured yard and Hunter who stands on the grass, his back to me as he talks on his cell.

  “Hello?” a grated female voice asks from somewhere unknown. There’s a groan, a shift of movement, then Sarah pokes her head up from a sofa, her frown instantaneously spreading across her bruised face. Her features are more swollen than they were last night, her fierce beauty almost unrecognizable.

  “Are you meant to be in here?” She holds my gaze, the questioning expression slowly transforming into a wince before she slumps back out of view. “Don’t answer that. I don’t give a shit.”

  “I’m glad you’re here.” I shoot a cursory glance at Hunter, making sure he hasn’t caught sight of me, then continue into the room. “I’ve been worried about you.”

  “Sure you have.”

  I pass a recliner and an elegant glass coffee table to sit on the far armrest of the sofa opposite hers.

  It’s hard not to stare when her blue eyes are startlingly bright against the backdrop of skin mottled in purples and browns.

  “I was concerned.” I hold her gaze as she repositions her hands under her head. “Did you see a doctor?”
>
  “I didn’t need to. I only had a minor fight with an airbag.”

  That crash packed far more than an airbag’s punch. So much more that I feel sorry for her inability to face it. Nobody should ever have to act this tough after what she endured.

  “I don’t need your pity,” she mutters. “You don’t know me.”

  “You’re right. I don’t.” I break our gaze to search the room, looking for clues to explain the necessity for an oil spill of bleach. But even in here, where the smell is far more potent, I don’t see any hint of murder or bloodshed. There’s only an abundance of gleaming stainless steel in the kitchen, and immaculate white tiles on the floor. “Can I ask about Penny? Have you found her? Is she okay?”

  “She’s free from Robert, if that’s what you want to know.”

  Relief eases through my tired muscles. “Unharmed?”

  She shrugs. “Not so much. But nothing major either.”

  I nod, genuinely thankful and also hopeful at the prospect of milking this conversation for all it’s worth. “And what about Robert? What happened to him?”

  Her lips stretch into a wide grin. “Do you really think I’m going to answer that? Come on, Special Agent. Surely you don’t think that low of me.”

  “I don’t think low of you at all. I know you’re a strong woman. A smart one, too. I would’ve thought—”

  The slide of a glass door cuts off my words. The accompanying slam makes me flinch.

  “What the fuck are you doing in here?” Hunter approaches like a wall of muscle and testosterone that clearly needs to be put on a leash. “Does Cole know where you are?”

  I slowly rise from the armrest. “Does it matter? You’ve got nothing to hide, right?”

  He clenches his fists, his teeth gnashing. “Get the fuck out.”

  “Calm down.” Sarah pushes to a seated position. “We were only chatting.”

  “Like hell. This bitch likes to play the field. First, she’s the enemy, then she’s an ally. And now what? You’re trying to straddle both?” He quirks a condemning brow. “Fuck that. You can move your smug ass out of here or I’ll do it for you.”

  “I’m smug?” I slap a hand to my chest. “Let’s get one thing clear: I never willingly crossed sides. That option was forced on me when I was fucking drugged and flown out of the country. I didn’t ask to be a part of this.”

  “Like hell you didn’t. You turned Decker into a snitch—”

  “Decker was always a snitch,” I correct. “I just gave him a megaphone to spill the secrets he’d discovered. That’s why you hate me, right? Because I easily turned someone you thought you could trust? Because I outplayed you?”

  His eyes flare. His fingers flex then clench tighter. “Keep talking, pig. Keep pushing. See where it gets you.”

  “Don’t threaten me. You might hide behind a macho name and a despicable reputation, but I can pull a trigger just as easily as you can. The only difference is that I rid the earth of people like you, not inspire more.”

  “Stop it.” Sarah raises her voice. “Both of you. You’re as bad as each other.”

  “I’m nothing like him.” I hold Hunter’s glare, not intimidated by his animosity. Yes, he’s a murderer, but he’s not indiscriminate. He doesn’t kill for fun. He won’t touch me.

  “Maybe I’ve been looking at this the wrong way,” he drawls. “I think I’m finally coming to understand your obsession with this family, and it has nothing to do with justice.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “Please enlighten me.”

  “You want to be one of us.” He grins, his deceivingly handsome face turning sick and twisted. “But you’re too much of a chicken shit to take the leap.”

  “Enough,” Cole demands.

  My focus snaps across the room as he stalks toward us, his suit jacket discarded, his hair even more disheveled.

  “Sarah, are you capable of leaving the room?” His attention doesn’t stray from mine, the potency sending a shiver through me. “Apparently, Ms. Fox and I need to have another discussion on why our time together is over.”

  8

  Anissa

  Sarah rises from the sofa, the hint of a grimace squinting her eyes as she finds her feet and heads toward Hunter. “Come on.” She grabs the crook of his arm, tugging him into submission.

  I watch them leave, my gaze remaining on the hall once Cole and I are alone.

  “Why are you still here?” he asks without animosity.

  I deny the real reasons. Even to myself. I can’t face the shallow truth when everything else should be far more important than my cravings. “I was checking on Sarah.”

  “You were snooping. You couldn’t help yourself. You’re back to scavenging for dirt on me.”

  I snap my gaze to his. “I don’t have to scavenge. You sprinkle evidence of your crimes everywhere you go.”

  He huffs out a half-hearted laugh, but humor evades his features. “Why are you still here, Anissa?”

  Because I can’t stay away.

  Because I need to understand you. And I need you to understand me.

  I cross my arms over my chest. “I want to know what’s going on. What happened to Robert? What’s the story with the bleach? Why are you so…” I look him up and down, cringing at the potent failure ebbing from him. “…different?”

  “Gaining any sort of leverage against me won’t help take me down. Not unless you’re willing to go to hell right along with me. I was smart enough to keep receipts of your crimes in Greece.”

  Rage chokes me. Shoves the air from my lungs. “You bastard.” I glower, hating even more how the smallest spark of appreciation flickers in his tired eyes. “I’m not attempting to take you anywhere. I just want answers. I want to know if I’m safe. I want specifics on Robert.”

  “You’re safe. I’ve always made sure of that.”

  His conviction deflates me. Slightly.

  “What?” He quirks a brow. “Did you expect me to forget what happened between us? Did you think I’d feed you to the wolves after I vowed to give you everything?”

  I don’t respond. The reminder of his softly spoken promises in heated moments renders me speechless.

  “I can give you all the answers you want, Nis. Every single one. But the information will drag you back into my world. You won’t be strong enough to resist.”

  “I can resist you just fine.” Liar.

  “I’m not talking about resisting me.” He clenches his jaw, as if hating the strength of my rejection. “You’ll want to get involved because you’re always inclined to help. Even at your own detriment.”

  I scrutinize him, sensing another trap. “You’re baiting me.”

  “You’re the one who wants answers.” His lips curve in subdued satisfaction. “If that’s changed, you know where the door is.”

  Self-preservation is a niggling presence on my shoulder, whispering for me to take the opportunity to run. Flee. Never look back.

  “Go.” He jerks his head toward the front of the house. “Get out of here.”

  I should.

  God, how I know I should. Yet my feet won’t move. My legs won’t function.

  “Tell me,” I demand. “I won’t get dragged in.”

  “Have it your way.” He steps forward, bridging necessary distance between us.

  I tense, my shoulders straight, limbs taut.

  He continues into my personal space, predatory in his approach. I hum, my body vibrating like a tuning fork.

  “What are you doing?” I raise a hand in warning.

  “You expect me to divulge incriminating information without determining if you’re wearing a wire?”

  Shit.

  I should’ve guessed.

  We’re back to playing games. The power struggle has returned. The tit for tat.

  I clench my teeth, biting back a snappy retort, and force myself to focus. To win. He’s disheveled for a reason, and I’m not leaving here until I find out why.

  “You’re not going to argue
?” he taunts, the words not packing quite as much punch when his expression remains defeated. “I thought you’d voice a loud protest at the prospect of my hands all over you.”

  “I know how paranoid you are. You want me to prove I’m not here officially? Then fine.” I yank off my jacket, throw it to the recliner, then raise my arms at my sides. “Have at it.”

  Victory dances in those dark blue eyes. Subtle but strong. “You surprise me, little fox.”

  “I doubt that’s true.”

  He steps closer, one leg between mine, our thighs grazing, his feet brushing my shoes. “I’m going to touch you now.”

  I roll my eyes, determined to ignore the rampant beat of my pulse as I focus on keeping my breathing steady.

  His palms slide over my hips, making me flinch at the strength in his possession. I’m thrust into the past. Back to a time when I willingly surrendered. When I took him into my body and prayed the bliss would never end.

  He ascends, feeling my waist, the outside curve of my throbbing breasts, my arms.

  I tingle. Inside and out. Nerves and skin and bone.

  With a touch, he undoes me. Enslaves me. The look of ownership he gives only increases my struggle.

  “Are you done?” I clear my throat. “I’m not wearing a wire.”

  He leans in, his mouth to my ear. “Not even close.” He sweeps his hands back along the path he’s laid, then lower, over my ass, along my thighs.

  I hold my breath as he kneels before me, the sight of submission clenching my stomach.

  It’s just another game. Another tactic to place me in a false sense of security, made even worse when he glances up at me with hunger.

  I look away. “How long is this going to take?”

  His palms slide down the outside of my leg, around my ankles, to my inner calves. I close my eyes. Swallow. Breathe. I hate that my body wants him. That I want him.

  He creeps higher, over my knee, along the inside of my thigh.

  Each inch of skin blazes. Yearns.

  He approaches my crotch and I have to hold my breath to suppress a moan. But he stops an inch from my pussy, his palms splayed on my upper thighs, his thumbs close to my heat.

  He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.