Hunter's Heart (4 page)

“That was the best foreplay I’ve had all week,” Hunter heard the guy say as he grabbed his crotch and bent across the space between the tables. “That’s some ass you got on you,” he said.

Hunter placed the beers on the table as if they were delicate crystal. “The lady has a two ogle limit and you’ve exceeded yours,” he said then sat, giving the guy a hard,
this
is not happening
look.

“Bro, cool it.” One of his friends said gripping his shoulder. “She’s with someone.” The guy who spoke glanced nervously in Hunter’s direction.

Bro
shrugged out of his friend’s grip. “And I bet you know how to put that fine ass to good use.”

Before he could take action, Celia, who’d been ignoring the jackass until now, turned and gave him a die-now look that a reasonable man—hell, most men—would shrink from. “You’ve had too much to drink or you’re terminally stupid,” she said in a sweet mock-southern accent. “Maybe both. Back off before something happens you won’t like.”

Bro’s hands went up in a surrender gesture. “Ohhhh. I’m scared,” he said in a girlie voice then jabbed a finger her direction. “So ya know,
bitch
, I was giving you a compliment.”

In a quick motion, Hunter leaned across the space and grasped the man’s wrist, pressing it to the table. Not hard enough to bruise, or break anything, but hard enough he couldn’t break free.

“Get your paw off me.” The guy looked at his wrist.

Hunter said nothing.

It was clear the man was a fighter. His hawkish nose had been broken more than once. Scars decorated his face and knuckles. Probably was one of those asshole, wannabe cage fighters who thought it was cool and wasn’t past throwing a sucker punch. Hunter watched his free hand.

“I said, get your hand off me. Who the fuck do you think you are?” He attempted to twist out of the hold, which only served to tighten Hunter’s grip.

“I’m a bad-assed mother fucker that takes dickwads like you apart and leaves the bloody pieces on the floor for the dogs to chew on,
Bro
.” He said it low so as not to be heard at other tables but, rough and powerful enough for fear to seep into the guy’s boozy, arrogant glare. In his peripheral vision, Hunter saw Bro’s buddies lean back in their chairs in an unconscious attempt to distance themselves from trouble. Good. They were taking him seriously.

“Apologize.” He pressed his thumb against the median nerve in dick wad’s wrist. “Now.”

“Sorry,” he whined, doing his best not to show the pain being inflicted.

“Not to me asshole.” He dug his thumb in harder and the guy jerked. “The lady.”

His eyes darted to Celia. “Sorry, ma’am. No offense meant.” Fear and pain do wonders to bring a man, or in this case what passes for a man, back to reality.

He glanced at Celia to see if the apology met with her approval. She raised and lowered a shoulder and gave him a slight nod. He gave the guy another death-ray look and released him. The trio quickly abandoned the table and headed to the bar. He turned to Celia expecting her to ask to leave. “You okay. You want to go?”

Hunter expected her to be upset. For a moment she was amused, then touched. “Thank you.” She slid her hand across the table until her fingertips met his. His massive hand had gently held hers while they danced, yet been enough to put a shit load of fear into that creep.

“Leave because of them?” she glanced to the bar where the three huddled together. “No. I’m used to that kind of crap. I eat out alone and guys like that think I’m fair game. Although the way you handled it was faster and more effect than I could have done.”

“Don’t have to worry about that anymore.” He smiled and moved his hand until his fingers lightly covered hers.

“Yes.” She glanced over at the men. “I don’t believe they’ll be coming around again.”

“Not that,” he said low and steady. “Eating alone.” His voice wrapped around her like a warm blanket.

Who talks like that?
Certainly not the half dozen men she’d been out with. And, the smoldering way he looked at her—like she was the most interesting person on the planet.
Whew.
Not to mention his lopsided smile that affected the part of her brain that regulates vital functions like breathing and heart beat. “Thank you.”

“You already said that.”

“I mean for the dances. I hop around my place all the time, but I’ve never danced in public.” She pulled her hand from under his.
Geesus. What had possessed her to go chatty kathy?
She waited for a snarky response.

“You’re a natural. You made me look good.”

She returned his smile. She wasn’t used to compliments or his macho-style yet gentlemanly behavior and didn’t know what to say.

Her initial interest was growing into a strong attraction. Which was worrisome. The few relationships—if you could call them that—she’d had with men she’d been attracted to hadn’t ended well. It was okay until they rumpled the sheets a couple times. Then they disappeared. She was sure the reason they moved on was she was lousy in bed.

A visual of Hunter looming over her, his beard brushing her neck and shoulder gave her a gigantic shiver. Right then she decided to put her lust engine in neutral. Just go slow and hold off getting naked as long as possible. She was not going to chase this incredible,
honest
man away. That honesty part was important. Her life had overflowed with lies and half-truths and she didn’t want any more. “Can we dance again?”

“Sure.” He stood and in moments, she was in his arms again, so content she could purr.

A couple of dances and as many beers later it was time to end the evening. Her resolve to go slow was dissolving each time she made contact with the solid plane of his body. “I have work tomorrow,” she said. “We should call it a night.”
Before I can’t.

“Whatever the lady wants.”

Hunter paid their bill, and on the way to her car he did something unexpected. He held her hand.

She used the fob to unlock the door but she wasn’t ready to leave him and stood blocking the door to keep him from opening it. “Thank you,” she said. He took a step closer. “It was fun.”

He leaned in to kiss her and she moved back, bumping against the car.

He stepped back, looking confused. “Sorry. Too soon.”

“Not ready.”
That was a huge lie. She was way ready and he knew it. If there was a lip lock now, it wasn’t unreasonable to think in seconds she’d be begging him to take her into the back seat of that big truck of his. Then she’d be all over him, trying to eat him alive like the sex-starved female she was.

And if her past experience was an indicator, he’d leave her in the dust next to her car and she’d never see him again.

No. Resolve was back. She was waiting as long as possible for any up-close and personal time.

“Understood,” he said, clearly not understanding at all but willing to humor her.

“I had a really good time.”
Gawd.
She sounded like a complete idiot.

“Good. So did I. How about another nice time Saturday?”

And could she have a
double gawd
? Her heart did a wild dance against her ribs. “Yes.”
Shit
, she answered too fast. “Here again?”

“No. An Italian place. Johnny’s. I’ll pick you up.”

She dug in her purse and came out with a card and pen. “Here’s my address.”

“Don’t need it. I’m going to follow you. Make sure you get home okay.”

“Not necessary.” She wrote out her address then held out the card.

He took it, slipping it into a pocket without taking his gaze from her.

“I’m ready now.”

He nodded and stretched out an arm to open her door. “That isn’t what I meant.”

A huge smile split his beard, climbed his face, reached his hazel eyes and crinkled the corners. He hesitated less than a second before the arm that had been ready to open her door circled her waist. A puff of warm breath preceded the soft pressure of his lips on hers and his surprisingly soft beard brushing her cheeks. It wasn’t a sloppy open-mouth, bottom-feeder kiss. He didn’t squeeze the life out of her or rub his package against her. In fact they were barely touching. It was hands down the best kiss ever. Good enough to give her rubber legs. She put a hand on his chest for support.

His lips moved to her ear. “You know I’m going to follow you home no matter what you say.” She nodded. That didn’t worry her. What did worry her was, just like she feared, with one kiss her lust engine was revving and her panties were wet. If he asked, she’d take them off.
Fuck.

“Look at what we have here.” The voice jolted her back from sex land. She leaned to look around Hunter. It was booze-o the clown from the bar, and his buddies.

Hunter opened the door using his body to block her from them. “Get in. Lock the door and leave.”

She got in and locked the door but she had no intention of leaving him with three men. She buzzed the window down an inch so she could hear, then dug the cell out of her purse. She keyed in 911 but didn’t hit send—deciding if Hunter wanted that, he’d ask.

He faced the men, his body blocking her view. “Back off,” he said in a calm rumble.

She slid the seat back as far as it would go in time to see booze-o advance.

“Or?” the idiot sneered.

“You’re out of your league.” Hunter sounded even calmer.

“Three against one? Don’t think so.” Booze-o grabbed his crotch and took another step.

“You guys military?” Hunter asked. His hands formed fists then opened and closed again as if he was flexing stiff fingers.

“What if we are? You gonna report—?”

Hunter lunged. His body still blocked her view and she squirmed in the seat to see what was happening. There was a sound like a fender bender. Only it wasn’t metal against metal and shattering glass. It was flesh against flesh and shattering bone. Booze-o hit the ground with a solid thump. Little clouds of dust rose around the motionless lump.

“Nope,” Hunter said, looking down at the still form, “just wanted to make sure you had medical to put your jaw back together.” He straightened and his hands balled into fists again. “You two yahoos want to get in on this, or are we finished?”

“Finished,” one said as they backed up.

She was straining to see around Hunter when he turned and rapped her window. “Don’t look,” he said, leaning. “Leave. I’ll be right behind.” She did nothing, only stared. “I won’t come inside. When you get in, text me you’re okay.” He was in complete control, not the least bit disturbed or even breathing heavy. He’d gone from hot, sexy dude kissing her, to Navy SEAL taking out a bad guy, then back to hot, sexy dude again, in seconds. No problem.

Well, she’d wanted to know what a special operations man was like.

She’d just found out.

Chapter 3

Duplicity

Hunter kept his word. He followed her home, made sure she was in okay and drove away.

Friday, she made the trip into DC to sit in on the interview of a Marine Corps General accused of accepting favors and sexual misconduct. Or, as she heard one of her bosses say, he’d been taking orders from his privates. For her it was a watch and learn. People with way more experience and expertise were conducting the session.

Good thing it wasn’t her gig. She couldn’t concentrate. Her mind kept going back to the night before. To Hunter. She absentmindedly rubbed her lips, remembering the tingling his kiss produced. How easily he’d put that man in his place when he was rude to her and how easily he’d put him in the dirt. She crossed and uncrossed her legs.

The senator’s aide sitting next to her leaned and whispered, “Not easy to watch a powerful man like that crash and burn.”

She gave him a look. What the…?

Oh
, he interpreted her fidgeting as being uncomfortable with the proceedings. She smiled politely.

“Yes.” In reality, she had no sympathy for the man. He’d fucked up and he certainly wasn’t going to suffer. He’d be allowed to retire with full benefits. In a year, he’d be on a speaker’s circuit getting fifty grand a pop to tell his “story.” Or, on one of those useless cable news networks commenting as an expert who had no freaking idea what was going on. These hearings were nothing but show.

She’d seen enough to know he was answering truthfully to the big questions. No surprise there. He couldn’t refute the cold hard facts. He’d hedged on several soft questions. Giving, in her opinion, less than truthful answers. If she were the lead, she’d hammer him there. But, she wasn’t and no one really cared. For the rest of the day she concentrated on keeping her feet on the floor and her mind off Hunter.

Originally, she’d planned to stay in DC for the weekend. Do a museum and gallery, try some new-to-her restaurants. Hunter’s dinner invitation changed those plans. Tonight, after the evening crush of traffic, she was driving back.

Navigating through heavy traffic was not her thing. She didn’t enjoy driving in the city and routinely left her car at an outlying Metro stop. In DC, the Metro was faster, easier and eliminated the parking problem.
If
you could find a place to park in the city, you needed a gold bar to pay the fees.

During lunch, she’d done a net search of the restaurant Hunter mentioned and saw it was in the Historic Hilton Village area. A neighborhood with stately old homes, restaurants and a variety of quaint shops she wanted to explore. Interesting.