I took another big swallow of his drink, but I didn’t taste any of the sweetness of it.
“Hey, I’m sorry. Don’t be upset.”
I could feel him at my back, and my heart was beating up in my throat. How had this derailed so quickly? I’d thought we were heading in the right direction.
“I’m not upset.” I finished his drink in another big gulp, and then tried to wave down the bartender. Before he could see me, though, Hunt took my hand and pressed it flat against the bar. He stood close behind me, and when he breathed in, his bare chest brushed my back.
He said, “Kelsey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed. But don’t drink because you’re mad at me.”
I angled my head back at him, not bothering to turn around. “Apology accepted. And I’m drinking because I want to.”
“Just talk to me for a second.”
I’d had quite enough talking for the evening.
I raised my other hand to get the bartender’s attention, and Hunt spun me around, pressing me back into the bar.
“What the hell is your problem?”
“I just needed to talk to you for a second.”
“So you manhandle me like a caveman? Jesus!”
His lips curled into a devastating smile, and I swear if he made some crack about me calling him Jesus, I was going to smack that smile right off his face.
“I just wanted to apologize.”
“You already did that.”
“I know. But I really am sorry.”
“I don’t think you are. There’s this pattern that keeps cropping up, where you judge me when you have no right to do so. And when you’re not judging me, you’re prying into my life.”
“I’m not judging you. I promise. And the rest? That’s just the soldier in me . . . I’m too straightforward. If I want to know something, I just ask. If I want to do something, I do it.”
I rolled my eyes. That much was abundantly clear.
“Yeah, subtlety is definitely not your strong suit.”
His smile widened. “No. It definitely isn’t.”
“Well, then. If you’ll let me go, I think I’m going to go find Jenny and the others. Since I’m not allowed to order another drink and—”
I didn’t get to finish my rant as his hands cradled my jaw, and he kissed me.
8
I froze for a few seconds, in denial that this was actually happening. His lips brushed mine softly once, then twice. I exhaled and his grip on my jaw tightened. Then the softness disappeared as his mouth covered mine. He kissed me carefully, thoroughly, like a man who knew that desire hid with the devil in the details. He angled my head, explored my mouth, and I gave up control to him.
The first taste of him made my toes curl, and when he tugged me forward, bare skin colliding with bare skin, my brain took a much-needed vacation.
He kissed me feverishly, fiercely, like I was a battle he wanted to win, and with all the desperation of a man with nothing to lose.
I gripped the back of his neck and returned his kiss, faster and harder, want quickly burning into need. A low groan spilled from his mouth into mine, and his hand left my face to smooth across the curve of my ribs to the middle of my back. Fire followed his touch, and when his fingers tangled in the ties of my swimsuit, my back arched, pressing us tighter together.
He nipped my bottom lip, and I dug my fingers into his shoulders. His lips coasted down my chin to my neck. The heat of his breath touched my skin first, followed by the tip of his tongue. He pressed me back against the bar, and I was glad for the support at my back because I suddenly felt dizzy.
I pulled in a breath and even though there was no space between us, I tried to move closer. He was hard to my soft; and for a moment it felt as if my brain detached from my body, like I could see the way his hands clasped me tight and his body curled over mine, but I couldn’t feel it. The world took on that hazy quality of a dream, and a whimper escaped my lips at the thought that this might not be real.
Then his teeth grazed the sensitive skin over my pulse point, and the world snapped back into focus.
It was deliciously real.
He hummed against my neck, the movement of his mouth like a foreign language on my skin—exotic and unpredictable, and sexy as hell.
His kisses burrowed beneath my skin, sparking every nerve ending in my body. And like his kisses really were electric and short-circuited something in me, my legs grew weak, almost numb beneath me.
I took hold of his jaw, just the faintest feeling of scratches against my palm from his facial hair. Pulling his face up to mine, I met his cloudy eyes.
“I think I like your lack of subtlety.”
That familiar smirk tugged at his lips seconds before he tugged my mouth back to his. We were touching—from lips to toes—only touching. His hands gripped me tightly, but only in innocuous places. An ache bloomed low in my belly, and the neglected parts of my body were practically singing with need. I wanted him so bad, I was dizzy with it.
Really dizzy.
I began to have trouble matching his pace, unable to move my lips fast enough. I pulled back. My head was heavy, filled with sand, and I had to clutch his shoulders to keep from toppling backward.
“Wow.”
His forehead leaned against mine, and he growled. “I should have just done that from the start.”
I tried to agree, but he must have kissed away some of my brain cells. I couldn’t get the words to leave my mouth, like there was a disconnect between my body and my brain.
His fingers brushed my cheek, but I couldn’t feel it. That was odd. How much had I had to drink again?
The dizziness swarmed in my head, thick and buzzing, and the world began to move of it’s own volition in my peripheral vision.
“Don’t tell me you’re speechless, princess.”
A giggle poured from my mouth, and he looked as surprised by it as I felt. I let go of his shoulder to cover my mouth, and without that grip, I began tipping sideways.
“Whoa!” His arms wrapped around my waist, and he pulled me up against him. My head tipped forward, too heavy for my neck to hold up, and I lay my numb cheek against his chest.
“Kelsey?”
I tried to open my eyes and look at him again, but my eyelids were so heavy. I felt like I was on some atrocious carnival ride, one spin or flip away from coming apart at the hinges.
Was his saliva alcoholic? I didn’t understand how I could be feeling this way after one and a half drinks. That’s all I’d had, right? He’d finished the last of mine, and then I’d had his.
“My cheeks,” I mumbled.
His hands settled low on my back, hot and possessive. “What about them, princess?”
I tried to shake my head, but all I managed was to turn my head, my lips grazing the center of his chest. He sucked in a breath, and his grip tightened.
I leaned my forehead against him and whimpered a little. I could feel my insides pushing and pulling, reminiscent of the way I’d felt the other night when I’d been sick. But that didn’t make any sense.
He cradled my jaw, and lifted my head back. Our eyes met, and his went from interested to confused in seconds flat.
“Kelsey? What were you saying about your cheeks?”
“Can’t feel.”
“You can’t feel your cheeks?”
I couldn’t feel anything.
“Shit.”
He tilted my head back farther, searching my eyes. The neon lights overhead flashed, blinding me. Black splashed across my vision, and I pulled away, stumbling. He caught me, holding me so tight against him that there was barely any weight on my feet.
He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He looked at me with dark, glassy eyes and a hanging jaw. He reminded me of a broken doll. I reached out and touched his lips, and his mouth closed. He looked less broken now, but his eyes were still clouded.
“Kelsey, you didn’t have anything to drink earlier, did you?”
I opened my mouth to say
no, but my tongue felt too big for my mouth. So, I shook my head instead.
“Damn it. My drink.”
He lifted me up and sat me on the nearest barstool, and then he turned and called the bartender.
“This drink,” Hunt said. “Did you see anyone mess with it? Anyone touch it besides me or her?”
I didn’t hear if the bartender replied. My body just felt so heavy.
God, I was exhausted. When did I sleep last?
I didn’t even realize I was falling until Hunt’s arms closed around my middle, and he righted me. His face appeared before mine, our foreheads pressed together. He said something, but the sound was delayed, a couple seconds behind the movement of his mouth, and I couldn’t make sense of it. Hunt said my name, then again a few more times. I laughed because the more he said it, the less familiar it sounded.
“I’m taking you home,” he said.
I sighed. That sounded perfect.
I placed another kiss on his sternum, and then lay my head against him. I felt his heavy exhale above me. I wanted to keep kissing him, until there was no breath left in his lungs . . . or mine. But I was so tired. I touched his chest, directly over where his heart should be, and the calloused skin of his fingertips touched my bare waist in a grip that was strong and possessive and maddening.
“I’m sorry,” he said, low in my ear. “This is my fault. I should have been watching.”
Everything was spinning, while my cheek lifted up and down with his heavy breaths. I was on a carousel, moving in too many directions at once.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, wanting to reassure him. My fingers were numb, and all I got was pinpricks of feeling when I tried to move them.
Then his arms swept beneath my legs, and he held me against his warm chest, and I sighed in relief.
“I’ve got you, princess. You’re safe. If you can hear me, no one’s going to take advantage of you. I promise.”
I managed to mumble, “Bummer.”
He released a heavy breath. “You’re something else.”
I really hoped he didn’t start talking about me being a piece of work again. His arms were so warm, and I’d never felt so comfortable.
We started moving, and Hunt asked me questions in a low, rumbling voice.
My head felt thick and clouded and my body outside my control. It took all my focus to string together words to answer him, but somehow, despite all of that, I was always aware of Hunt’s hands and his breath and his heart beating firmly underneath my cheek.
When I opened my eyes again, the world was a kaleidoscope of lights and colors and gray, gray eyes. Just when I thought I knew where I was and what was happening, everything would rearrange into something new and confusing.
Hunt’s eyes, though, they were constant. And they were dark and deep and so very unreadable. My head was in his lap, and the world was careening, circling and sprinting around me where I couldn’t follow and keep up. Everything tilted, and Hunt’s hand laid flat against my stomach to steady me.
I felt sick, but somehow that cleared my head a little, made it easier to think.
“What’s happening?” I mumbled.
“We’re in a cab. I can’t be certain, but . . .” His jaw clenched, and a storm brewed in his gaze. “I’m pretty sure someone slipped something in that drink while it was sitting at the bar.”
That’s what this was? Suddenly the warmth and the heaviness didn’t feel comforting and safe. It felt suffocating. I could feel my heart trying to beat faster in my chest, but the heaviness was there, too.
“Fuck,” I groaned.
“I tell you that you’ve been roofied and that’s all you have to say.”
“You tell me I’ve been roofied and expect me to say more?” I couldn’t say more. I wouldn’t. I didn’t even want to think about it.
His expression said he was pissed, but the hand on my waist and the other stroking through my damp hair told a different story.
There was a softness to him after all, and I was glad for it, glad that I wasn’t alone for this. Because if he was right . . .
Don’t think about it. Nothing happened. You’re safe.
I laid a hand over his on my stomach, and tried to just feel and breathe. There was no use in thinking about what could have happened. Just as there was no use in thinking about the past.
I must have fallen asleep again because next thing I knew Hunt was pulling me out of the cab and up into his arms. I had that strange out-of-body sensation again. I watched the way he cradled me—careful and strong, almost as though it was happening to someone else. He didn’t even break a sweat as he carried me into the lobby of a hotel.
He didn’t stop at the desk, so I guessed that this was where he was staying. My stomach clenched.
In the elevator, I blinked up at him, and in my dazed state I saw one thing clearly. It was the way he looked at me, like he already knew me inside out, like he knew something even I didn’t—that was what made me desperate to pull him closer and so eager to push him away. I didn’t know if he looked at everyone that way or just me.
“You scare me,” I said.
His brow furrowed, and his mouth opened, but no words came out. He took a breath and then very slowly said, “You have nothing to be scared of. I won’t . . . I wouldn’t. I’ll help you get to bed, and then I’ll leave, get another room.”
He thought I didn’t trust him . . . that he might do something.
“Not that. I don’t think that.”
“Then why do I scare you?”
“Because I don’t want you to see.”
There was a small part of me that knew I should shut my mouth, that I was saying things I shouldn’t, but that part of me felt like it was on the other side of a cement wall. It was too far away and too hard to understand.
“See what?”
He shouldered open a door and I answered simply, “Me.”
9
He was silent as he led me across the dark room and lowered me into a chair. He lay my purse and clothing at my feet. I’d checked those things. He must have picked them up, but I couldn’t remember when. He knelt in front of me and perched one hand on the chair beside my thigh.
“Why wouldn’t you want me to see you, Kelsey?”
My head was clear enough to order my mouth to stay shut on that one. I was not about to bare my soul to him. I’d lived my whole life as the confident girl, the girl not afraid to be bold or brash or independent. But that was a part I played, just like any other. Thick skin and a mask were necessities of my childhood. But when you grow up wearing a mask, you never really learn the face beneath it. I could guess at the me that hid underneath, though. It was the opposite of my illusion: ugly and afraid and not worth the cost of my manicure. If I lost my mask, if I let it drop, I’d have nothing.
“Kelsey, look at me.”
My lids were heavy, and my vision blurry, but I made myself focus on him.
“You are beautiful, that’s all I see.”
I tried to smile, but I couldn’t. Not when I knew how thin a shield that beauty was . . . how weak.
He watched me for a few seconds, and fatigue folded over me like a wave. My head started to droop, and it took all of my strength to keep my neck straight.
He cleared his throat once, twice, three times. Or maybe it was just once, and time or my mind had splintered. He said, “I, um, we should get you out of your wet swimsuit.”
I yawned and said, “Okay.” I tried to stand, but my legs collapsed beneath me. He caught my arms, and my chest slid against his. The world came quickly back into focus, and my breath caught.
Hunt cleared his throat again, and looked away. My swimsuit consisted of straps of fabric that wrapped around my chest, the small of my waist, and then tied onto my bikini bottoms. I reached for one of the knots tying my suit together at my hip, but my fingers felt useless, like all my bones had disappeared. Even when I managed to grip the fabric, I wasn’t strong enough to do anything with it.
My m
uscles tingled with fatigue, and I felt dizzy.
“I can’t.”
The strength of gravity seemed to double, and I just couldn’t stay upright anymore. Hunt was holding my arms, but the rest of my body began to slump.
“It’s okay. I’ll help. It’s okay.”
He lowered me into the chair, but then took a few steps back. He blew out a harsh breath and ran his hands across his head and down his face.
He mumbled, “What the fuck am I doing?”
He flexed his fists and rolled his neck, and I was too tired to do anything but watch the way his body moved, broad shoulders sloping toward muscled arms.
He said okay a few more times to himself, grabbed something from a suitcase, and then returned to me.
He knelt again and said, “Here, slip this on.”
I tried to raise my arms to help him slip the dark gray shirt on, but my arms remained stubbornly at my sides. He pulled it over my head, and it smelled like him. I closed my eyes to breathe in the scent. He picked up one of my hands, and I managed to grip his fingers. He smiled reassuringly, and then maneuvered my arm through the sleeve. He did the same with my other arm, and his hand accidentally brushed my chest. I let out a small noise, almost a mewl. His grip tightened around my hand, and he closed his eyes for a few seconds. After a labored pause, he apologized and finished moving my arm into place.
Carefully, he set my hand down by my side, and then walked to the other side of the room. With his back to me, he hooked his hands around his neck, and stood still and silent.
Tension bled from his flexed arms to his rigid back. I wanted to stand up, cross the room, and trace the lines of his body. I wanted to press myself against his back.
But I couldn’t.
“Okay. Next step,” he said, focusing on me like I was a problem to solve, a task to be completed.
He crossed the room and reached a hand around my back and another under my knees to lift me. With me in his arms, he bent and dragged back the covers from the bed. He laid me against the cool, clean sheets, and I shivered. He turned on my bedside lamp, and knelt beside me. I inclined my head to the side and met his dark gaze. The dull yellow light cast shadows over the angles of his face, accentuating his strong jaw and straight nose.