CHAPTER 1 #2
“I was here before you,” he drawled. “If anything, I’d say you were spying on me.”
“That’s not possible.” I flicked my chin in a haughty manner. “I didn’t even see you. Ergo, I couldn’t have been spying on you.”
“So if you’re not spying on me, what exactly is it that you’re doing here?”
“Contemplating my chances of committing murder and getting away with it.”
“That’s very unladylike of you.”
“Who said I’m a lady?”
“You look the part.” He tilted his head, studying me from his position where he languidly leaned against the wall with a drink in his hand. “At least from here.”
“Won’t you come closer and introduce yourself like a gentleman?” I asked coyly. “I promise, I don’t bite.”
It was a white lie. I was a biter. But only if you asked for it.
He swaggered forward with unhurried, measured steps, his gait eating the distance between us. “Who said I’m a gentleman?”
Finally, he revealed himself.
And I sucked in a quick breath.
Light blue eyes fanned by impossibly long lashes.
Straight nose with a small, faded scar at the bridge.
A five o’clock shadow peppering his jaw.
Black hair with a hint of a wave sitting just shy of shoulder-length.
Pressed black pants and a navy blue dress shirt were poured over his muscular physique, the top three buttons undone, showcasing a silver chain looped around his corded neck, and the cuffs of his sleeves rolled up just beneath his elbows, revealing an expensive watch strapped over his thick wrist. He had an air to him, a je ne sais quoi that I categorized as upper class.
But the tattoo on his left forearm that I couldn’t properly decipher in the darkness of the night hinted at a rebellious streak.
To put it plainly, he was stunning, resembling a cross between a perennial hero from my favourite paranormal romance books and a timeless knight in shining armour from age-old fairy tales, minus the proverbial sword and protective covering.
Awed, I craned my neck back to stare up at his larger-than-life figure looming above me and suddenly…my eyes flared in recognition.
I knew this man. I’d seen him many times before.
Quickly composing myself, I cleared my throat and parroted, “You look the part. At least from here, Hunter.”
His chest bowed with an inhale. “Appearances can be deceiving.”
“Is that so?” I mused.
Hunter was a business student at Vesta University—like myself—and majoring in management with a focus on law. He was also the quarterback of the football team and best friends with Josh, who I remembered introducing us at his nineteenth birthday party last summer.
Given that our best friends were dating, Hunter and I saw each other a handful of times throughout the semesters. Though we didn’t converse much beyond the occasional casual greeting.
Plus, I noticed Hunter was a bit of an introvert. He preferred to stick to every room’s perimeter where he couldn’t be seen, while the rest of his teammates partied and basked in the attention thrown their way.
“Mhm.” He gazed at me as the late summer wind sailed against him, tousling the strands of his hair. “Whose murder are you planning?”
I hedged a saucy expression his way, letting loose a mock scandalized gasp. “Why? Are you offering to play my partner in crime?”
“Would you like me to?” He smirked before taking a swig of his drink.
I jokingly side-eyed him, still smiling. “I mean, I don’t really know you like that…”
“Try me.”
“Can you dig a grave?”
“I’ve got excellent shovelling skills, courtesy of many Canadian winters.” He arched a bemused brow. “Does that count, Gabriela?”
Oh, I liked the way he uttered my name. Softly and with intention. “It’ll do. Now how much can you lift? We’re going to have to transport the dead body from location A to Z.”
“I can lift two hundred. Give or take,” he volleyed back. “Good enough for you?”
That was quite impressive. “Yeah, sounds decent enough.”
He continued our banter. “What weapon are we using to commit this crime?”
I shrugged and grabbed my drink. “A gun obviously.”
“Why is that your choice?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“Because I know how to wield one.” I sipped my spiked fruit punch. “And it’s efficient. One bullet through the brain and—bang—you’re dead. No screaming. No struggle. No hassle.”
“And where does a girl like you learn how to use a gun?”
“My dad. He’s a…ranger.” Well, he was a high-ranking member of the Irish mob, but semantics, right? “He taught me how to shoot when I was young.”
“Interesting.” Hunter’s gaze ran over me, from the tips of my crimson heels to my black cutout dress, to my red lips, to the long rhinestone earrings dangling down my neck, and to my long, middle-parted hair. “You don’t strike me as the kind of girl who plays with guns.”
I gave him a shark grin. “Appearances can be deceiving.”
He puffed out a small chuckle. “Now are we doing this or what?”
I cocked my head, staring into his soulful blue eyes that reminded me of a serene body of water surrounding a tropical island. “Not convinced yet that you’re the right candidate for the job.”
He popped an elbow on the balustrade, getting comfortable like he was here to stay until he convinced me otherwise. “What else would you like to know?”
“Your full legal name, for starters, would be great so I can draft a contract.”
“Ah, planning ahead. Smart girl,” he crooned. “My full legal name is Hunter Saint Warren. Yours?”
I was a simple woman. Praise me—especially for my brain—and I melted like a burning candle. “Gabriela Regina Bellafiore,” I said. “Also—Saint? You’re not beating the gentleman allegation, I’m afraid.”
“I’m not?” he replied amusedly, leaning closer.
I liked how he smelled, his cologne a black ice and fresh leather mix. “Well, your middle name and the fact that you were quick to offer your execution services to a damsel in distress like myself says otherwise.”
His eyes raked over me in a scorching manner. “You’re far from a damsel in distress, sweetheart.”
Butterflies fluttered in my stomach, causing the blood in my veins to rush faster and the beat of my heart to pound quicker than ever. Warmth suffused my face and I was grateful for the dark night. Otherwise, he’d see the blush smattering my cheeks.
How was it that I’d met this man numerous times, but tonight was the first time we were having an actual conversation?
Hunter and I followed each other on social media, and I’d already stalked his account in the past, so I knew the basics about him: he was single, kept a low profile, and was hot as hell. Now I was tacking on sweet and playful to his description as well.
“You’re right.” I smirked. “I’m not really a damsel in distress. I could probably execute the kill on my own and bury the body in the woods without blinking twice.”
Hunter laughed good-naturedly. My smirk transformed to a grin at the sound of it.
Unbeknownst to Hunter, I wasn’t kidding. That was the funny part. I really was my papà’s daughter.
Once his laughter faded into the distance, silence trickled in. We stared at each other, a light tension and understanding—the start of a camaraderie—passing between us. It felt tangible, like it could be gripped in my hand.
Hunter peered down at me, eyes softening. “All jokes aside, what’s bothering you?”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
“You looked upset before I came along.”
I swallowed thickly, surprised he was tentative enough to pick up on something like that. “It’s not really a big deal.”
“If you feel comfortable telling me, I’d like to know.” He shrugged. “No pressure, of course.”
Chewing my bottom lip, I stared into the moonlit sky, gathering my thoughts. Should I tell him?
I usually kept my business to myself unless I was relaying it to my best friends. But maybe it was the needy side of me that wanted to confide in another because I found myself blurting, “I saw my ex kissing the girl he left me for and I…felt a certain way.”
Hunter’s body jerked back, his eyes widening. “Who?”
Not sure why my words incited such a reaction from him. “Um, Tom. He plays on the football team too.”
After Tom, I swore to never date or sleep with jocks ever again. I didn’t have the best track record with them and I didn’t see that changing anytime soon.
A muscle in Hunter’s cheek ticked with how hard he clenched his jaw. “Tom Prescott? You were dating that slimy motherfucker?”
Embarrassed about my poor taste in men, I tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Well, I wouldn’t call it dating. We had a casual arrangement. It ended two days ago. He texted me that he found better and next thing I know, he’s cozying up with my peer.”
“He’s an asshole.” Hunter cursed. “I’m sorry, Gabriela. You didn’t deserve that.”
“It is what it is.” Though I appreciated his words. “And you can call me Gabby. That’s what all my friends do.”
An unnamed emotion passed over his face and when he spoke, his voice was a hint gravelly. “Gabby it is.”
Our gazes intertwined, the moment charged with an electrifying energy that lit up all my nerve endings. There was barely any distance between us.
Now I was all too aware of the heat emanating from his robust body, the height of him towering over me, the masculine fingers slightly callused from years of playing football sitting close to my own on the balustrade, and the blue in his eyes darkening as it swept over my features as though committing me to memory.
A gust of wind lifted the ends of my hair, causing them to fan against his bare forearm in an intimate caress. I glanced away, unable to maintain eye contact any longer. “I guess I should probably head back inside. I’ll see you around, Hunter?”
I really hoped I did. I enjoyed his company. Next time we went out with our group of friends, I’d make an effort to seek him out.
Hunter didn’t reply.
Instead, he stared at me with furrowed brows, like he was pondering something.
When his lips parted and no sound emerged, I took that as my cue to leave. “Bye—”
“Gabby.” His hand shot out swiftly to wrap around my wrist, halting me. “Do you want to get back at him?”
“What?”
“Tom.” He tightened his hold. “Do you want to get back at him?”
I chuckled. “I don’t actually have murderous tendencies, Hunter. I was joking.”
“I know.” A small smile flashed over his lips. “But that’s not what I had in mind.”
“Oh.” I frowned. “What do you propose?”
Never in a million years would I have expected him to utter the next words.
“Kiss me,” he rasped. “Use me to make him jealous. Show him what he was stupid enough to let go of.”