Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
H unt set the chicken in the sizzling pan. He checked the pasta that was boiling, then tipped more balsamic glaze onto the chicken.
“I never pegged you for a chef.”
He turned. Savannah was sitting at the island, where he’d planted her.
She was wearing a pretty dress made of a green, patterned fabric.
It was short enough to show off those slim legs and the V-neck gave him tantalizing glimpses of smooth skin.
She cradled a glass of wine, but had only had a few sips.
He wanted her to relax, but tension throbbed off her. He could see her chewing on the situation. He realized she probably always did. Life on the run from her stalker meant she’d always be thinking of Walkson. Always driven by one man—a murderer who was obsessed with her.
Hunt also knew she was fighting not to run. Not to head out the door and disappear.
His gut locked.
He dipped his spoon into the sauce, then held it up to her. “Open.”
She licked the spoon and moaned. Which went straight to his cock.
“I’m a single man, I like to eat, and take out every night leaves you overweight and feeling like crap. So, I learned to cook.” He smiled. “And the ladies are always impressed.”
“I’ve not seen any ladies.” She glanced away. “Not that I’ve been spying on you, or anything.”
His smile widened. He nudged her legs apart and liked the way her chest hitched. Just one small touch from him and she always responded. He stepped between them.
“I’ve been busy with work, and my sexy neighbor has been keeping me awake.”
“Because of my loud music. I know.”
“That, too.”
A dull flash of color filled her cheeks.
“I talked with Vander. We’re organizing for you to always be protected during the day. At night, you’ll stay here with me. I have a good security system. After dinner, I’ll show you how to enter the code.”
“Protected?”
“You can’t always spend the day at the station.” As much as he wanted that. “So, if I can’t be with you, you’ll have a bodyguard.”
Her eyes went wide. “Bodyguard?”
“I’m running Walkson down. The asshole will make a mistake, and I’ll nail him. Ace from Norcross is insanely good with computers and is helping.”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “Walkson is smart and cunning. He looks so…ordinary. Everybody falls for it.”
Hunt leaned closer. “Will you tell me? About his attack?”
She shook her head. “It’s in the past.”
“It’s not. He’s driving your future.”
“I don’t care about my future, as long as my family is safe.”
“Your mom and brother.”
She nodded.
He slid his hand up the side of her face. She leaned into him, but only for a second, before she pulled away.
She pasted on a fake smile. “Is dinner ready? It smells good and I’m starved.”
“I will keep you safe, Savannah.”
Endless gray eyes met his. She stroked his stubbled cheek. “And I’ll keep you safe.”
His muscles tensed. He clamped his hands on her thighs. “You aren’t leaving.”
She didn’t say a word.
A timer dinged. Cursing under his breath, Hunt headed to the stove.
“Let’s eat.” She leaped off the island to set the table. She pulled things out of his drawers. “Oh, my God, you have napkins. The real cloth kind.”
“My mom helped me furnish the place. I hate to burst your bubble, but I’ve never used those napkins.”
She rolled her eyes. “Men.”
“Savannah, about Walkson and having protection—”
“Can we drop it? For now?” Her eyes pleaded with him. “Let’s just enjoy our dinner.”
Hunt released a breath. “Yeah, okay.”
They ate and he watched her get edgier, fidgeting in her seat. After dinner, he cleared the table, then came back and gripped her shoulders. She was so tense.
“What do you need?” he asked.
She dragged in a breath. “My sketchbook.”
He got it for her, and she moved to the couch. As he cleaned the kitchen, he watched her with her charcoal, feverishly working on the paper.
He loved how absorbed she got. It was the only thing in the world for her right now. With the bombardment of information and stimulation these days, so many people had lost the ability to do that deep focus.
But as he stacked the dishwasher, he saw the quick glances she shot his way, her gaze lingering on his rolled-up sleeves.
Hunt hid his smile. Savannah Cole was going to be under him, in his bed, very soon.
He dropped down on the couch beside her, reaching for a stack of unopened mail that he’d brought up earlier.
Mmm, Savannah’s cute, bare feet with painted nails looked a lot more enticing than junk mail and bills.
Instead, he grabbed her feet and pulled them onto his lap.
“Hey,” she said.
“Relax.” He started massaging.
“Oh.” Her eyes fluttered. “Damn, that’s good.”
He worked his thumbs into the balls of her feet. She moaned.
Hell . His cock was half hard around her anyway. It didn’t need much more encouragement.
She tried to keep sketching.
“What are you working on?” he asked.
“Whatever catches my interest.”
He grabbed the sketchbook.
“Morgan! Give it back.”
He held it without looking at it. “Can I see?”
She hesitated, then nodded.
Hunt flicked it open and heat shot straight to his gut. Unruly emotion filled him.
She’d been sketching him . In various poses.
Him, standing in the middle of a crowd, in a suit with his holster on. He looked very in charge.
Him, barefoot and shirt untucked, at the stove cooking.
Him, sprawled in a chair, a faint smile on his face.
The final one was his hands running over a woman’s naked body. Shit . Desire hit hard. She hadn’t sketched all of the woman, but the slim lines matched Savannah.
She fidgeted. “I’m an artist and you’re a good subject. It doesn’t mean anything.”
He looked up. “We both know that isn’t true.”
“Hunt, we can’t do this. It’s a very bad idea.” She set the sketchbook on the coffee table.
“You mean you’re scared.”
“Yes, damn you. For about a hundred different reasons.”
When she moved to shift her feet, he grabbed her calves and dragged her across the couch toward him.
“Hunter—”
“I love it when you say my name like that. Breathy, needy.”
Something flared in her eyes. “I do not sound breathy or needy.”
Then she shocked the hell out of him by straddling him.
Damn . He really liked that. He clamped his hands on her hips.
“I bet I can make you sound breathy and needy,” she said.
In about ten seconds. “You’re welcome to try.”
She pressed her tongue to her teeth and moved her hips, and accidentally knocked his mail off the couch.
A note fluttered to the floor, written in red ink.
You can’t have her.
She’s mine.
You’re dead.
Every muscle in Hunt’s body tensed.
Savannah turned frozen like ice. “No.” She shook her head. “ No, no, no .”
* * *
All Savannah could hear was her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
Hunt slid off the couch and snatched up the note carefully, by one corner.
She couldn’t see it now, but the words were seared into her brain.
Walkson liked to write in blood.
Her vision swam. Hunt strode to the kitchen and put the note in a plastic Ziploc bag. She wasn’t going to have a panic attack, dammit.
She sucked in a breath and rose.
“I’ll have it processed,” he said. “We might get a print.”
She shook her head. “There won’t be any. There weren’t any on the old ones he sent me.”
Hunt’s green gaze was piercing. “He’s not going to get to you.”
She was more worried about Walkson getting to Hunt.
Hunt opened a cupboard. “I’ll call it in, and I’ll take the note to forensics in the morning.” He pulled out a bottle. He splashed amber fluid into two glasses.
He brought one over to her.
“What’s this?” She took the glass.
“God’s gift to mankind.” He sniffed the liquor. “Blanton Gold. Bourbon.”
Her nose wrinkled. “I don’t like bourbon.” But she knocked hers back. She needed it.
Heat filled her cheeks as the alcohol hit her system. Hunt sipped his.
He seemed so calm.
“He’s targeting you,” she snapped.
Hunt sipped again. “Savannah, I’m a cop. I carry a gun. I’m former Delta Force. I’m no easy target. Walkson has made a big mistake this time.”
She bit her lip. She had to leave. She’d known it all along. “He’ll attack you when you least expect it. It’s how he got me.”
“Tell me.”
She shook her head. The image of Hunt—big, gorgeous, dependable Hunt—lifeless and bloody, made her stomach revolt. She set her glass down on the coffee table with a click.
“Don’t let him get in your head, Savannah.”
“He’s been there for years. Haunting me. He threatened my mom and brother. He killed a woman who looked like me. All because of me .”
Hunt touched her leg. “It’s not your fault. Walkson is to blame.”
“How can you be so calm?” Her pulse skittered like crazy. “He’s dangerous.”
“I know. And I’m not calm.”
There was a snap in his voice that jerked her head up. She saw the blazing fire in his eyes.
“Hunter—”
“I hate seeing you terrified. I hate knowing you feel you have to flee, that this asshole has control over your entire life.”
With catlike speed, Hunt slammed his glass down on the coffee table so hard it cracked the glass. “You’ve had to hide your art, stay away from your family.” He cupped her cheek. “Deny yourself the life you want to live.”
Her pulse was still pounding, but different emotions rushed through her now.
Hunt leaned in, his fingers brushing her cheek. “I’m going to stop him. Whatever it takes.”
The fear raced back in. “Hunter…”
He rose and pulled her up. He moved to the window, and wrapped his arms around her.
“I’m going to stop him.” Hunt tugged her so her back was pressed snugly to his front. He was so strong. Warmth poured off him. “You never have to be afraid again.” He nuzzled her neck. “I hope he’s out there, watching, seeing that I have you, and that I’m not letting you go.”
Oh, God . Hunt’s mouth traveled to the side of her neck. He nipped.
She arched into him blindly, staring out onto the empty street.
Hunt pulled her away from the window and back to the couch. He dropped down and pulled her onto his lap so that she straddled him again.
“You’re so beautiful, Savannah. So is your art. I want you to be able to share your talent with the world.”
Her chest locked. “Don’t you dare make me cry.”
He smiled darkly. “Maybe I can make you feel something else, instead.” His mouth took hers.
She shouldn’t do this. Shouldn’t let this man get closer.
But as soon as his mouth touched hers, she didn’t care. On a moan, she opened her mouth, slipping her tongue between his lips.
He groaned and grabbed the back of her head. His kiss turned harder, more ferocious.
Vicious arousal washed away every single thought from Savannah’s mind. Hunt pulled her closer, one hand sliding into her hair, tugging hard.
She ground against him, feeling the steel-hard bulge under her. His cock pressed against the juncture of her thighs and her clit throbbed. Her panties were saturated.
Savannah put everything into the kiss. She licked, nipped, her tongue dueling with his. She rocked on his lap as he plundered her mouth. His raw hunger throbbed off him.
God, she loved messing up this oh-so-steady detective. This could become addictive.
His hand cupped one of her breasts. She made a sound, pressing into his palm. She wasn’t over endowed, but she knew her breasts weren’t bad. He thumbed her nipple through her dress and her bra until it pebbled.
Then he bunched up the bottom of the dress and slid his hand under the fabric.
She froze.
His palm pressed to her belly, and she felt his gaze lock on her.
She couldn’t look at him.
His fingers moved, tracing the ridges of scars on her belly. Every muscle in her body strung tight.
“He did this.” Hunt’s voice held a gritty edge.
She nodded.
“Eyes, Savannah. Now.”
She looked up.
There was no horror, revulsion, or worse, fascination.
“These are signs you survived, baby, that’s all.”
“I… I don’t want to take my dress off.”
“That’s okay. I can make you come with it on.”
What? His hand shifted, bunching up in her dress. The air caught in her lungs.
“Hunter—”
“Shh.” He kissed her again.
Soon, she was so lost in the kiss, that she lost track of everything. Then she felt his big hand under the dress, between her legs.
As his fingers brushed her panties, she jumped.
He pushed the damp fabric aside and his fingers stroked her. He made a hungry sound. “So soft.”
As he stroked her, her hips moved, her small cries escaping her lips.
He found her clit and rubbed it.
Savannah gripped his shoulders. “Oh, God.”
He slid two fingers inside her.
She’d sculpted them, so she knew they were big. She enjoyed the stretch, panting at the pleasure. His thumb moved back to her clit.
“Ride my hand, baby. I want to watch you come.”
She couldn’t have stopped if she’d wanted to. She moved her hips, working herself on his fingers, sensation jolting through her.
“Hot, tight, slippery.” He bit her bottom lip. “I can’t wait to watch you take my cock, Savannah.”
She cried out. A shock of pleasure rocketed through her, and she picked up speed, moving her hips wildly.
Her orgasm was building, and she felt like she was on the edge of the cliff, ready to fall. He kept up the pace, his fingers plunging into her, his thumb rubbing her clit.
“ Hunter .” He pushed deeper and Savannah came.
As the climax crashed over her—strong and potent—her body clamped down on his fingers.
She heard her cries and her vision wavered.
Then Hunt pulled his fingers free and tipped them sideways on the couch. He pulled her tight against his chest and held her.
“What about you?” she whispered, trying to get her breathing under control.
“Later. Right now, I’m right where I want to be.”
He kissed her and she shivered, still floating in bliss.
“And I’ve got you right where I want you.”
She clung to him, but even feeling so good, resting in his arms, her fear wasn’t far away.
This didn’t change anything. She had to protect him.
She had to leave.