No matter how much I yearned to.
* * *
I wiped the mirror after my shower, toweling my hair briskly. It had been a productive afternoon. The house was tidy, I’d made some meals, done a little work, and even managed to sit on my deck and paint my toenails. I wiggled them, the bright purple shining in the light. Drying off, I headed to my room, slipping into a pair of comfy sweats and a big sweatshirt that once belonged to my dad. It had been washed so often, it was thin and soft, the logo barely visible on the front. It hung off my shoulder and the hem was misshapen, but I loved it. It was still warm and cuddly.
I padded into the kitchen, glancing at the time. It was only eight, which left me lots of time to relax for the night. After making a small pot of decaf coffee, I carried a cup to my favorite chair. The table was empty, and I realized I had left my book at Hunter’s. For a moment, I stood, recalling how his mouth felt on my neck when he woke me, his need evident after reading the spicy part of the book.
Laying my hand on my neck, I remembered his whispered words, his low groans of satisfaction, and his incredible skill when he touched me. Simply thinking about it made me ache with want for him. With a low groan of dissatisfaction, I reached for my Kindle, grateful I always kept it charged and bought both the physical copy and e-book. I could keep reading, and I would ask Hunter for my book back the next time I saw him.
I pushed down the feeling of sadness when I realized I wasn’t sure there’d be a next time, although I hoped there would be. Despite what I said to my brothers or Nan, I did want to see him again. I liked spending time with him.
I liked it too much.
Sitting down, I found the place I’d stopped before. I had been so tired, I couldn’t recall what Hunter had read—I’d enjoyed listening to the timbre of his voice, but I couldn’t recall the words, so I began over again. Oddly, I found it hard to concentrate on the book. I was distracted and stared into space. Thinking about Hunter. About the day we spent together. I was so lost in my thoughts, I startled when I heard a heavy knock on the back door.
I sat up, my heart rate kicking into high gear. No one used the back door. My family always came to the front. There could be only one person on my back step. I stood and heard the telltale signs of Cash’s excited pacing and saw the outline of Hunter’s broad shoulders filling the window.
I flung open the door, and our eyes locked. His gaze was turbulent, the silvery blue a maelstrom of color. He gripped the doorframe, his knuckles white. He had my book fisted in one hand.
“You left this. I thought you might want it,” he rasped, taking in the sweatshirt hanging off my shoulder.
I could only nod in silence, words freezing in my throat. There was something different about him tonight. Tension rolled off him like a wave. He was overwrought, almost angry.
Was he angry at me?
“Tell me that shirt once belonged to a member of your family,” he growled.
“My dad,” I managed to whisper.
He lunged, his hand cupping the back of my neck as he dragged me to his chest. “Thank God.”
Then his mouth was on mine, and suddenly, everything was right in my world.
Chapter 12
Hunter
It started in the early afternoon. A slight hum under my skin. Annoying but easily ignored. As I worked, pulling rotting deck boards off the front, at times I stopped, idly wondering if somehow there was an unseen electrical current under my feet I kept stepping on. But I found nothing.
I continued working, trying to disregard the slightly anxious feeling that seemed to seep into my chest. I blasted the boom box, choosing classic 80’s rock to drown out the staccato sensations, but even after getting all the boards off and grabbing a beer, the feelings lingered. Grew, in fact.
It was as if I were longing for something. I wasn’t hungry or thirsty. Cash was right by my feet. Music was playing, the sun still shining, yet the feeling gripped me harder. I had never felt anything like it.
I went inside, Cash following me, and headed to the bathroom, deciding a hot shower would clear away the odd sensation. I washed and rinsed, the warmth feeling good on my shoulders. I rubbed my hair dry, trimmed my beard, and headed to the bedroom with a towel draped around my waist.
As I stepped into the room, the sensation increased as I inhaled. All I could smell was Ava. Light, sensual and feminine, her scent saturated the room. I hadn’t noticed it until now. The closer I got to the bed, the stronger it became. I lifted a pillow to my face and inhaled. Every moment of the last couple of days hit me. Her smile. Her laughter. How she felt underneath me. How she tasted on my tongue. The silken warmth of her mouth. The feel of her soft skin under my fingers. The way she teased me. The serious look on her face when she informed me that, yes, she did order a dinner for four for herself to eat because it had her favorites and why deny herself?