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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 stu
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 ru
I shake my head. “I’m not ru
“Bullshit.”
“It’s true.” I keep my hands at my sides, even though I want to reach out and reco
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 co
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.”