The realization made me feel triumphed.
I knew it because I knew her.
“I want to leave,” Sailor enunciated.
“Not until you admit you’re jealous.” Why the fuck did I even care? Ego? Blood sport?
Both, probably.
She threw her head back, her laugh rusty. “Even though I’m not?”
“Yeah. Pacify my petty ass. Tell me what I want to hear so we can get it over with.”
“No.”
“Coward.”
She raised her palm to slap me, swinging her hand, but I caught her by the wrist, pressing a teasing kiss to her palm, then licking it base to index finger. I covered half her finger with my mouth, licking and sucking it with a smile. Our eyes were glued together, as if in a trance. I could see her heart pounding through her shirt, and I wanted to squeeze it in my fist and tell her she’d already lost that game between us.
I’d had the pleasure of pleasuring many women in my life. But never had I seen a girl react to me the way Sailor Brennan did while her clothes were still on.
When I was done giving her finger a blowjob, I stepped aside.
“Fine. Run. You have three seconds.”
“Before?” she drawled, her hand still in the air. She’d forgotten to lower it to the side of her body. The zing in her eyes told me she wanted another round of mind-chess.
Enter Player 2.
“I hunt you down and fuck you hard. Not deal-related. Call it hare coursing.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s the point, baby. You’re excused. Unless you don’t want to be. In which case, you run, I chase. Get out if you’re not game. Three.”
Her eyes darted from my face to the door. I studied her every move. We both knew this shit between us—the electricity that had nothing to do with what was going on in the building—was here to stay.
“Two. Leave.”
She took four quick steps to the door, during which my soul swiftly left my body, bailing on my ass and running with her. Then Sailor skidded to a stop, not going past the threshold. She raked her fingers through her hair, producing what I guessed was the mating sound of two deranged emus.
“Shit,” she choked, her feet glued to the bathroom tiles. “What am I doing?”
Me, in a second.
“One.”
She fell to her knees, her back to me, her head slacking forward in defeat. It was like watching National Geographic as a kid, when I’d asked Nanny Number Six why the cameramen and film crew didn’t help the innocent, unassuming zebra when the tigress caught it, dangling it by its neck like a heavy piece of jewelry.
Because this is nature. Only the strong survive.
I almost took mercy on her then.
Almost.
Then I remembered my own goddamn family had an eat-your-young mentality—and the other part Nanny Number Six had mentioned: the tigress’ side. It was hungry, depraved, and wanted to stay just as alive as the zebra.
Hunters needed to eat to survive.
His fingers curled around my topknot from behind, tugging it with an expertise that frightened me until it became a ponytail.
He pulled my head back, extending my neck. I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut.
I believed Hunter hadn’t touched Emily.
But she also served as a reminder of all the girls he would touch in the future. Our six months were going to be up before I knew it, and with them, his undivided attention. He would have other conquests to make, all of them in lands he’d yet to discover, with horizons he wanted to bask in. I was just a small island he was temporarily stuck on. Of course he wanted to sample its fruit.
Worst still, Hunter knew his effect on me, knew I would never rat him out. As much as I loathed how he attracted me, I also felt weirdly protective of him, especially where his father and brother were concerned.
I was going to keep Emily out of my weekly email to Gerald Fitzpatrick, cover up Hunter’s misstep, and pretend it never happened. Since the cameras were solely outside the apartment, and Emily reportedly came in and took off down the stairway, that shouldn’t be a problem.
“Open your eyes,” Hunter ordered sternly. His voice had a way of nestling between my legs, giving the organ between them a pulse.
My eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze. He was a lonely prince—untouchable, yet in need of a hug. Brilliant, yet deeply misunderstood. Sitting on a throne of broken expectations and disappointment.
I wondered if he’d ever know he was smart and brave and goodhearted.
I wondered if I’d be the foolish girl to let him in on that secret.
I realized he was right. I was the archer, but he was the true hunter.
“Admit it,” he croaked, his face descending to mine from over my shoulder, his lips drawing closer, inch by inch, the heat of him tangible, blazing a straight path through my reservations, mortification, and logic. “This is happening. It is happening, and you’re frightened. It’s happening, and I’m not a part of your carefully laid-out plan. You don’t know if you have the endurance, or the guts to see this through when it’s time to say goodbye.”