by Snow, Nicole
“I’m sorry too.” I nuzzle the bottom of his chin with my nose. “But I've got to be honest...Sloan still makes me leery. I don’t forgive him. Not for what he hid from you, or for what he said about me.”
Hunter gazes into my eyes. For a moment, he's silent, just this quiet, tightly wound, searching beast looking inside me.
“You don’t have to forgive him. Or like him. I don’t like him myself sometimes. Not when he's a reckless fucking fool.” He kisses the side of my face. “But babe, I always like you. Even when you’re mad at me. Kind of hot, really.”
The way he brushes his beard against my skin and nips my earlobes brings a terrible heat between my legs. A heat that totally shouldn't be there right now.
Releasing his hands, I slip two fingers into his belt. “Sexy, huh?”
“Damn straight,” he growls, leveling another kiss against my throat.
Okay. It's hardly the time or place, what happens next, but there's this animal thing between us.
It hits so hard, I don't even question it. Next thing I know, I'm tugging at his belt, his hand is on mine, and our mouths are locked. Our tongues make new, vicious promises and his hands are going places.
I'm soaked, aching so bad I can't even think.
It's raw instinct that makes me undo his belt buckle. “Let me show you sexy.”
He runs his hands down my sides, a smile brightening his face in what seems like forever. “Right now?”
I nod, unbuttoning his pants and sliding down the zipper.
What starts out playful and fun turns dead serious as soon as our clothes hit the floor. For both of us.
While he’s putting on the condom, I climb on the bed, spread my legs and arch up my hips. Giving him a full opening.
I don't realize I'm trembling until he's on top of me, locking my arms and legs around him for dear life.
I need this. I need him. I need him deep, bad, and wild.
Hunter's body knows it, too. With one solid, beast-like thrust, his cock slides in, filling me to the hilt.
God, do I love that feeling, and wrap my legs around his back, pulling him in.
“You're so fucking good,” he says. “I love this pussy.”
“Then fuck me,” I tell him, arching into him, loving how his fist grabs my hair. “Do it. Fuck me hard and fast. Whatever helps you think, figure this out. Fuck me like you mean it, Hunter.”
That gets him going and then some. The bed shifts under us, the mattress rattling on its box spring.
Soon there's nothing but heat and teeth and tongue. I'm lost in the furious smack of his balls on my ass, his hand in my hair, the rough snarl in his throat as he devours every moan dripping off my tongue.
Holy hell, yes!
“More, Sugar? Think you can take it harder?” He doesn't wait for an answer before he thrusts in again, throwing more weight, more strength, than I knew was even possible.
I'm gone. It's a sex-miracle I can even answer.
“Oh, shit! Just. Like. That.”
Then I dig my fingers into his back, holding on, pleading. “Don't freaking stop. So good, so good, Hunter...I’m about to come.”
“Give it to me, woman,” he says, driving deep inside me, his tempo hitting devil speed. “Give me the first of many.”
I don’t doubt it because O number one hits full force.
My head rolls back and my nails scratch his back. Then I'm just under his bulging, fucking mass of tattoos and muscle and scary, sexy blue eyes, trying to remember my own name.
The convulsions hit my thighs first. My pussy pulls him in, deeper than ever. Divine.
But it doesn’t end there because Hunter keeps going, crashing into me as I engulf his full cock, ankles wrapped around his and toes curled so tight it hurts.
It's on, this sweet madness, this melody of him and me.
He flips me over, smothers my mouth in a long, possessive kiss, and sinks into me from behind.
I think we go so hard, we'll break the bed apart. I don’t even know, don't care, if it’s the same orgasm that just starts building again, or a new one.
It's just one long, barely broken cascade. White hot pleasure shooting through me. The resounding slap of his hand on my ass, thunder in his throat, his fist yanking my head back as he hammers into me from behind. His balls hit my clit with a delicious, steady rhythm that drives me over again.
Whatever this is, it's not even sex as I've known it.
It’s intense. Insane. Mind-blowing.
No. Mind blowing is the last climax that hits as Hunter peaks, roaring my name. “Fuck, Sugar. Spice. Take it real sweet, I'm coming!”
His cock swells inside me, ballooning, and I squeeze every twitching muscle I can to drive him mad. Sealing him tight inside me as he unloads fire, and I ride wave after wave of endless bliss.
Later, I can’t even lift a finger, and don’t try.
He comes back out of the bathroom and lifts me up, tugs down the covers, and then lays them over me before crawling into bed beside me.
“I’m tired,” I mumble as he wraps his arms around me. “God, that was good.”
“Sleep, Sugar. That's what sounds good right now. Sweet dreams,” he whispers in my ear. “I love you, Wendy. Love you like I never thought I could.”
I should be shocked just to hear it, especially after all this. But I'm so drained, I just smile, bathed in his warmth, and whisper back softly, “Love you, too. So much.”
So much. That phrase haunts me into the deepest, darkest, softest dreams of my life.
* * *
His side of the bed is empty.
I know it before I've even opened my eyes, yet wanting to be sure, I flop an arm behind me, feeling the empty mattress. I force one eye open and glance at the clock.
Eight? I must've really been tired. It was also really late when we crashed.
I push back the covers and climb off the bed, making my way into the bathroom. A quick shower washes away any lingering sleepiness. I put on some of the new clothes I’d bought yesterday: bra, underwear, socks, jeans, and a t-shirt. Then I pick up the room and straighten the covers before heading downstairs, the scent of freshly brewed coffee calling like a siren.
I hear voices in the kitchen and can’t stop a sense of dread rising up in me.
Not him again. Not Sloan.
But the second voice sounds again, and I perk up. It’s not Sloan. This man's voice is deeper, and every other word out of his mouth isn't a crude joke.
I don’t know who it is, but it’s not Mr. Creepo.
Hunter stands up from the breakfast bar stool, smiling as I enter the room. “Morning, Sugar.”
“Good morning,” I answer, smiling in return.
I do a double take when I see who's next to him, wondering if Hunter has another twin he didn't tell me about. Not identical, but the likeness is there.
He's tall. Huge. All dark hair and Poseidon blue eyes, a shade different from Hunter's. A five o'clock shadow on his chiseled jaw.
“Babe, I'd like you to meet my friend, Landon Strauss. He flew in this morning from San Francisco to help me with the security system.”
“Pleasure,” the man says, taking my hand firmly. “Hunt and I go way back.”
“Afghanistan?”
“I was in Iraq,” Landon answers. “Same shit, different circus. I was in the Army, not the Marines, like him. But Uncle Sam has a funny way of introducing guys on leave when they're bored out of their skulls on their transfers.”
“Wait. Landon? Oh my God.” It hits me and I can barely stand. “You're...you're the one married to –”
“The Kenna Strauss,” he finishes for me, chuckling. “Yeah, I get that a lot. I'll have my wife send you an autographed copy of her latest, no worries.”
I'm losing my crap in a fangirl swoon. Completely and utterly. I love her books so much. They're guilty pleasures for any woman, all big, tattooed alpha heroes and insta-love.
The irony isn't lost on me as I look at Hunter and blush. Go
figure.
“That reminds me,” Landon says, pulling out his phone.
Hunter rubs my shoulder while we watch him flash a quick picture of Jingles, lazily lounging by the window. Then he turns, smiling wider than ever.
There's no man anywhere better than Hunter, I swear. But if I totally wasn't already smitten with him, and Landon wasn't wearing a ring, it'd be hard not to crush head over heels for his friend.
“Sorry. Promised Kenna I'd send a quick pic of Velvet and Mews' brother. He's a good looking boy. Bet he's a handful, too.”
Hunter smiles, shaking his head. “You have no idea.”
“Come on. Let's get a look at that system. Don't know how long I can stay before some crisis at Enguard starts blowing up my phone and I have to jet right back. Skylar, Gabe, Riker, James next, probably...it's been a crazy year.”
Hunter and I both share a weird smile. We don't know the names, but they're the kind that just say there's a thousand wild stories behind them all.
“You're with us, Wendy. Doesn't hurt to have a second set of eyes,” Hunter tells me.
I nod and take the cup of coffee he passes before following them down a flight of stairs next to the laundry room door. I’m either still half asleep, or I simply don’t have enough interest in electronics to understand what this Landon guy is talking about.
It's more than Greek to me. Something to do with a chip, sensors, and time increments.
The main switch is in a corner of the basement that's finished, but not furnished, except for a room that Hunter escorts us to. There’s a work table, chairs, and shelves full of old computers and techie stuff.
Landon sets his laptop on the table and then walks over to the back wall. It’s covered with monitors, wires, and blinking lights on cables.
“That’s your security system?” I ask Hunter. “The thing that dings every time we open a door?”
“The very same. I’ve checked it every time after finding Jingles outside, but can’t find anything, so I called Landon to have a look under the hood.”
“There’s a card in here that collects data,” Landon says, opening a miniature steel door on what looks like a computer tower. “It’s encrypted, but I have a program on my laptop that can read it.”
Hunter pulls out a chair and gestures for me to sit down. I do, growing a bit more interested.
He sits too, and so does Landon, who puts the card in a slot on his laptop. A few punches on the keyboard later brings up a black screen full of glowing white numbers. The ENGUARD SECURITY logo shows and fades a second later, turning into a labyrinth of code.
“Here. A master list of every day and time one of the doors on your house was opened,” Landon says. “Let’s start with last night.”
Hunter steps forward, using a finger to scroll through the last numbers listed. “That's when Wendy and I got home last night. Shit. There’s a gap...when we were gone...about three hours?”
“Did you leave and come right back?” Landon asks, scratching his chin. “Around...four forty-seven?”
Hunter looks at me.
I shake my head. “No. We left around four thirty sharp, I think, and didn’t come back for anything.”
Landon uses the tip of his finger to scroll across the screen. “See these numbers? That tells us what door was opened. This code's tied to your garage door. Says it was opened and closed at four forty-one, and then again at four forty-seven and then...yet again at four fifty-seven.”
Hunter stares at the screen. “Fuck. Barely minutes after we left last night...someone was here. Came right through the garage, was in the house, before leaving again.”
“Bingo. That’s what the system recorded,” Landon says. He points to another column. “And during that ten minutes, the front door was opened and closed once.”
Hunter shakes his head. “What the fuck?”
An eerie chill sweeps up my spine. “They put Jingles outside. Whoever was here, they put him outside deliberately. Threw him outside.”
I don't know that for sure. But the horrible image fills my head, a dark figure throwing the poor cat out.
“What about the other days? When we found him out there?” Hunter looks at me. “Do you remember those dates?”
“Let's see...” I rattled them off.
The first time wasn't long after Rochelle’s wedding.
The next time wasn't far behind that.
We review the times, pinpointing exact days.
Both times, someone came within minutes of Hunter leaving.
And both times, the garage was opened for someone to get in and leave, and while they were in the house, the front door was opened.
“Don’t you have cameras?” I ask.
“Right,” Hunter replies. “They're linked to my phone, state of the art, and always working, but just for the back door and front. Not the garage door. They're pointed away from the house. They catch whenever the doors are open from the inside.”
“Sure wish I had more info, Hunter,” Landon says. “But at least we know it’s the overhead garage door. We can reset the code on your opener right now, and until they figure out we’ve done that, it’ll put a stop to this. Unless...”
Landon looks away. Hunter sizes him up, a darkness in his eyes. “Unless what, Landon?”
“It's someone you know. Someone on the inside. Someone very sophisticated.”
My stomach tenses.
I can’t help but think about the cyber theft he mentioned last night, spies and hackers, the overwhelming complexity. I’ve never considered how bad having wealth might be, either. What's happening here makes me want to think twice about ever buying another lotto ticket.
“Fuck.” Hunter stands. “I’ll get the garage door opener.”
Knowing I can’t help with that, I stand too. “Do you two want some breakfast?”
Hunter looks at Landon, who's intense expression lightens.
“Well...can't say I've ever turned down a good meal, and I'm not about to start now.” Landon gives me a smile. Now, I know where the amazing Kenna Strauss gets her ideas.
“All right!” I say. “Let me whip something up.”
Hunter and I leave the room.
“Thanks, man,” he says as we start up the stairs. “Don't know why I didn't bring you in sooner. Lots of crazy shit.”
“Say no more. I've had my share of that,” Landon says, his voice almost a whisper.
“I like him,” I tell Hunter once we're upstairs again. “Too bad all your military buddies aren’t more like Landon.”
At first, he's smiling, but then it evaporates.
He knows I’m referring to Sloan. It doesn't stop him from kissing me anyway.
16
Fake, Fake, and Fake (Hunter)
“It’s going to be a white Christmas, all right,” Wendy says, looking out the Yukon's passenger window. “This snow's already piling up.”
It’s dark, early morning, and I can feel the SUV tires fighting to grip the road. A quick turnaround after spending most of yesterday with Landon, fetching Ben, then making sure my old buddy got back to the airport on time.
“All the more reason for us not to go get your car,” I tell her. “At least, not till they get these roads cleared.”
Her little car would never have enough weight to get the best traction on these roads. Not before the plows come out, which won’t be until after it lets up by the looks of it.
“I won’t argue this time.” She grins at me, all sweet lips and wavy blonde hair hanging over her shoulders. “I’ve never liked driving in the snow.”
Goddamn. Somehow, the missing sunrise on a dark winter morning doesn't seem half bad.
“Got any deliveries you need to make today?” I ask. That old van of hers would be even worse than her Chevy.
“Nope.” She glances between our seats at Ben in the back. “It’s Christmas cookies all day for us. Just like an assembly line. I hope you're rested, young man.”
“Sure am!” he says, giving the back
of Wendy's seat a fist bump.
I smile. Not even getting up at the crack of dawn has waned his desire to work his entire Christmas break. Except for Thursday, Christmas Day. The bakery will be closed then, and it’s only Monday, so we’ll just see how he’s doing after a few days of work plays out.
“Oh, good. Mom and Dad made it in!” Wendy notices their car as I drive past the bakery. “The roads in their development really suck when it’s snowing. They’re so narrow, and people park on both sides of them. Sometimes they're stuck trying to get out of their own neighborhood for hours.”
I take the corner at the end of the block and then pull into the alley behind the bakery. After parking as close to the back door as I can, I walk them inside, and stay long enough to have a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll.
“I’ll pick you two up at four,” I tell Wendy at the back door.
“We’ll be ready.” She lifts her face.
I smile and plant a quick kiss on her lips when Ben can't see. “See you then.”
“Drive safe,” she says as I leave. “Good luck out there.”
Today, I might need the luck, too.
The roads aren’t any better, and it’s slow going all the way to Landmark's office.
I haven’t been on-site for almost two months now. Decided last night I might as well have a look around before meeting with Sloan. He’s not going to like what I have to say, about coming out of retirement, but it’s my company, and it’s time I take control again.
Ben’s old enough, and Wendy’s right. Parents around the world work and juggle raising kids all the time. Why can't I do it too, especially now that he's older?
It’s early, and Christmas week, so I don’t expect many people to be there. None yet, probably.
The main office doesn’t open until eight. The fact that the lobby lights are on doesn't surprise me, but the lights down one hall do.
Sloan’s office is on the third floor. So is mine. The vacant one I've kept, even while being partially retired.
I walk down the lit hall, looking for signs of more lights behind frosted glass doors. I open the one that’s lit up.
