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“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 thi
“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 sca
“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?”