2. Hunter
Chapter Two
HUNTER
I'm going straight to hell for this.
It pounds through my head as I guide my truck down the mountain road, one hand loose on the wheel, thumb tapping.
Trinity sits silently beside me, her small duffel bag in the back seat containing everything she owns in the world.
She's so damn young. Twenty years old and achingly beautiful, with those big doe eyes that have already seen too much.
My throat is dry, pulse quickening, heat pooling low in my gut being so close to her.
Her scent in the confined space of my truck is driving me crazy.
It’s something peachy and delicate that makes me want to lean closer, to breathe her in.
I keep glancing over at the rise and fall of her chest, the way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, how she keeps her body carefully pressed against the door, maximizing the space between us.
Smart girl. I'm not the safe harbor she thinks I am.
I hadn't planned to bring her into town.
I was going to intercept her at the bus station, tell her the truth about Holloway, and offer her alternatives, a place to spend the night, and maybe a ticket to somewhere else.
But then she'd stepped off that bus, this sweet, curvy girl with wary eyes and a determined chin, and a fierce protectiveness stopped the words in my throat.
She'd looked at me with such relief when she thought I was Holloway. Like she'd dodged a bullet.
I pull up in front of Heart's Delight Diner.
“They have the best waffles in three counties,” I tell Trinity as I kill the engine.
I slide out and leisurely make my way around to her door, resisting the urge to open it for her.
I'm playing the part of Holloway, after all, not Prince Charming.
But I can't help tracking her movements as she gets out, my eyes lingering on the curve of her hips, the softness of her thighs.
When she catches me looking, I don't bother hiding it. Instead, I flash her another grin.
“Like what you see?”
She flushes, eyes widening before she blinks and looks away. “I thought this was a business arrangement.”
I chuckle. “Just checking the merchandise, darlin'.” The words taste foul as I say them, but I sell it with a wink that says maybe I'm joking, maybe I'm not. Let her wonder.
Her expression shutters, and I immediately regret pushing too far. Damn it .
Callie, the weekend waitress, approaches with coffee and menus. “Well, hello handsome. Who's your friend?”
“This is Trinity. She just got into town. Thought I'd show her the famous Heart's Delight all-day breakfast.”
Callie, bless her, doesn't push. “Welcome to Ember Heart, honey. Coffee? I’ll let you folks look at the menu, I’ll be back in a minute.”
Trinity nods.
I study her. “What made you choose Ember Heart?”
She wraps her small hands around the coffee mug. “It's remote. Quiet.”
I try to focus on her words, but I'm distracted by her hands. They’re delicate but strong, with slender fingers and short, practical nails.
I imagine those hands wrapped around my cock and have to shift in my seat, clearing my throat to cover my discomfort.
Thirty-two is way too old to be getting hard-ons in diners like some hormone-driven teenager, but this girl sets me on fire.
“You running from something? Or someone?”
Her eyes flash with alarm before she shrugs. “Aren't we all running from something?”
I laugh. “Sweetheart, you have no idea… here's the thing about running, though. Eventually, you run out of road. Then what?”
Trinity gazes for a second, then looks down at the table. There's a story there that might explain why a beautiful twenty-year-old would sign up to be some ugly-ass old trucker's mail-order bride. But pushing won't get me anywhere.
Callie returns for our orders. I get my usual; a stack of waffles, side of bacon. Trinity hesitates, scanning the prices on the menu before ordering toast.
“Bring her the lumberjack special,” I tell Callie, ignoring Trinity's startled look. “Trust me, you'll want the fuel, honey. Mountain air builds an appetite.”
“I can pay for my own food,” she says, that stubborn little chin lifting again.
“Never said you couldn't. This is my treat.”
A silence falls between us, not entirely uncomfortable.
I take the opportunity to really look at her.
Dark hair falling in waves past her shoulders, still damp from the light rain at the bus station.
High cheekbones. Full pink lips that I can't stop staring at when she isn't looking.
Skin that's naturally olive-toned but currently too pale, like she hasn't been eating or sleeping well.
Her pretty blue dress is clean but worn, the fabric faded from too many washes.
“You know what I think?” I say, leaning forward, forearms resting on the table.
The sleeves of my henley are pushed up, revealing the ink that crawls up to my shoulders and down to my wrists.
“I think you're way too pretty and way too smart to be marrying a stranger in a town you've never been to unless you're desperate. And desperate people make easy targets.”
Those big eyes meet mine. “Is that what I am to you? A target?”
I hold her gaze, suddenly serious. “No.”
She looks down at the table.“Good. You mentioned a house?”
Right. Holloway's house. The house she thinks she's going to live in as his bride.
“A cabin. It's up on the mountain. Private.”
“You live alone?” The question is casual, but I can see the calculation behind it. She's trying to figure out what she's walking into.
“Just me and the dog.”
Her eyebrows rise. “You have a dog?”
“Risky. My brother Axel found him injured a few months back. We all take turns looking after him. He's a good judge of character.” I need to shut the hell up and stop talking about my family if I want to maintain this facade.
Our food arrives, saving me from more questions I'll have to lie about. Trinity's eyes widen at the plate set before her. Eggs, bacon, hash browns, biscuits, gravy; enough food for two people. Her stomach growls again, and despite her earlier protest, she digs in immediately.
She's hungry, and it’s the kind of hungry that comes from missing meals. But she eats carefully, with good manners, cutting her bacon into neat bites.
“Good?” I ask, though the answer is obvious from how quickly her plate is emptying.
She nods, covering her mouth politely. “Thank you, Mike.”
As we eat, I catch her studying me when she thinks I'm not looking. Taking in the club patches on my jacket, the tattoos visible at my wrists, the scars. Comparing the reality of me with whatever image of Mike Holloway she'd formed from their messages.
Fucking Holloway. My jaw clenches as Viper's warning about the guy replays in my head; rumors about why his last girlfriend left town suddenly with a broken arm. Viper said he talked about "training" his mail-order bride at the Rusty Nail.
No way in hell am I letting Trinity walk into that.
But what I'm doing isn't much better. Even if my intentions are good, I’m still lying to her.
I pay the bill while she uses the restroom. Back in the truck, Trinity’s a little more relaxed, the food having done its work. As we drive out of town, she watches the mountains, her expression softening.
“It's beautiful here,” she says quietly.
“Best view is from my bedroom window,” I tell her with a suggestive smirk, enjoying the way her cheeks flush.
I'm playing a dangerous game. But I can't seem to stop myself from pushing her buttons, testing her limits.
Maybe it's because I need to know what kind of woman walks willingly into an arrangement with a stranger.
Or maybe it's because the line between my act and my genuine attraction to her is getting blurrier by the second.
The road winds higher, pine trees crowding close on either side. I take the turn onto my property, gunning the engine to power up the steep incline, the truck bouncing along the dirt road that leads to my cabin.
Not that she'll be staying here long. Once I tell her the truth, she'll probably want to leave immediately.
And I'll help her, give her money for a ticket anywhere she wants to go.
Somewhere far from Holloway, and whatever she's running from.
But the thought of not having her around makes my stomach twist.
My cabin comes into view. My brothers and I built it a few summers back. It’s small and cozy, not that I spend too much time here.
Trinity turns to me. “This is yours?”
“Home sweet home. Nothing fancy, but it suits me.”
I sling one boot-clad foot out of the truck, taking my time as I slide out. Let her come to me. I pretend to be checking something on my phone, watching from the corner of my eye as she hesitantly climbs out of the passenger side, taking in the cabin with wary appreciation.
Before I can say anything else, a blur of motion comes bounding down the steps. Risky, barks his welcome. He’s a big-ass dog and Trinity freezes, her hand on the door of the truck.
“Risky’s friendly. He usually stays more at my brother Axel’s cabin, but I'm watching him for the week while they're renovating their place. He thinks everyone who visits is here especially to see him.”
I crouch to greet the mutt, scratching behind his ears. What Risky lacks in pedigree, he makes up for in personality.
“Hey, boy. We've got special company. Best behavior,” I say, more for Trinity's benefit than the dog's.
Trinity emerges from the truck. Risky immediately abandons me, trotting over to investigate this exciting new person. He stops a respectful distance away, tail wagging hopefully.
“He won't jump, honey. He knows better.”
She extends a hand slowly, letting Risky sniff her. Whatever he smells must meet with approval, because his tail goes into overdrive. He edges closer, looking up at her with soulful eyes.
“He wants you to scratch behind his ears. It's his weakness.”
Trinity obliges, and Risky practically melts, leaning against her legs with a contented groan. A genuine smile spreads across her face, maybe the first real one I've seen from her. It transforms her from pretty to breathtaking, and I feel it like a physical blow to the chest.
“He's sweet,” she says, her voice softer than before.
“Don't let his good looks fool you. He's a manipulative mastermind when it comes to treats,” I say, but my tone has gentled. For a moment, I'm not playing a role or trying to figure her out.
I shake it off, grabbing her bag from the back seat. “Come on. Let's get you settled.”
I lead the way up the porch steps, taking them two at a time. The cabin door isn't locked. There’s no need for that out here, not when everyone in the county knows whose property this is and what happens to trespassers who cross the Ridge Renegades.
Inside, the main room opens up with high ceilings, a stone fireplace dominating one wall. It's comfortable with a leather sofa, heavy wooden coffee table, my bookshelves filled with well-read paperbacks.
“Make yourself at home. Bathroom's down the hall. Kitchen's stocked if you're hungry later.” I move to a cabinet near the fireplace, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. “Drink?”
Trinity stands just inside the door, taking it all in. I try to see the place through her eyes. As Holloway's new wife.
Jesus. What the hell am I doing?
“It's nice,” she says finally. “Bigger than I expected.”
I pour myself two fingers of whiskey, lifting an eyebrow in question as I hold up the second glass.
She hesitates, then nods. I pour her a smaller measure and cross the room, invading her space a little as I hand it to her.
Our fingers brush, and that electric current zings up my arm and straight down to my dick.
“There's a guest room upstairs. Private bathroom too. I thought you might want to get settled, take a shower if you need one. Take a nap if you like.”
The relief on her face is clear. She'd been preparing herself for something, and my offer of separate spaces has eased that fear, at least for now.
“Thank you. A nap and a shower sounds amazing.”
I throw back my whiskey in one swallow, enjoying the burn. “Come on. I'll show you.”
When I come back downstairs, Risky is watching me with what feels like judgment in his brown eyes.
“I know, I know, Risky. I'm going to tell her. Just... not yet.”
Risky huffs, clearly unimpressed with my reasoning. It’s quiet upstairs and I build a fire as the sun starts to set.
The sound of the shower running filters down from upstairs. The mental image hits me like a truck; Trinity naked under the spray, soapy water cascading over her soft tits. I grip the edge of the counter, taking a deep breath. Fuck, I'm acting like a horny teenager instead of a grown man.
But there's something about her that calls to something primal in me, something that wants to protect and possess all at once. Upstairs, the water shuts off. Time's running out. I need to come clean.
A phone rings, the sound jarring in the quiet cabin. It's not mine. The ringtone is coming from Trinity's bag by the stairs. Trinity appears at the top of the stairs, wrapped in a towel, her hair wet and dripping.
My mouth goes dry. The towel barely covers her, revealing smooth legs and the curve of her shoulders. I forget how to breathe, my cock straining at my zipper.
She hurries down, clutching the towel with one hand. The phone keeps ringing as she digs through her bag with the other hand, finally extracting a cheap flip phone. She glances at the screen and her face turns pale.
“It's Mike Holloway,” she whispers, turning the screen toward me.
The name glows accusingly from the caller ID, and my time is officially up.