Spy Thy Neighbor

by Shandi Boyes

  Hunter throws his head back and laughs. “No, Paige. But if I’d known I only had to compliment you on your writing skills to get into your panties, I would have done it months ago.”

  I rib him in the elbow, pretending not to love his playfulness. Once his chuckles die down, he pulls me in deeper to his chest. Just hearing the raging beat of his heart confirms the scene in my story had the impact I was looking for.

  “They have it all. Spark, intrigue, fire-heating passion. It's a good scene. You should be proud,” he says a short time later, running his hand down my back.

  I pop my head off his chest. "I can't take all the credit," I say, peering into his eyes. "I kind of stole a lot of the scenes we've created the past two weeks."

  My heart beats double time when an impish gleam brightens Hunter’s murky eyes. “Do you want to add another scene to your book?”

  He bucks his hips so I can feel that he's primed and ready to go. I bite on my lip before nodding. A girlie squeal topples from my mouth when he abruptly stands from my writing chair, taking me with him. My squeal turns into laughter when he snags the open jar of Nutella off my writing desk. I don't eat it; it's just there so I can sniff it while writing. It seems like a weird approach, but it keeps my hunger pangs at bay.

  Tiny, breathless pants ripple through my lips when he gallops down the stairs still holding me in his arms. The frigidness of the tiled counter cools my backside when he places me down before moving to the fridge. Just like the past six weeks, he moves around my kitchen with ease. The swell of my chest from his compliment on my writing increases as I watch him prepare a batch of eggs benedict. It only took me ordering it at the hotel the morning after our first interaction for him to know it's my favorite breakfast food.

  Hunter stops stirring the hollandaise sauce when I dig my finger into the jar of Nutella and scoop out a large chunk. I freeze with my Nutella-loaded finger halfway between the jar and my lips when I catch sight of his cajoling gaze. Even though he isn’t a man of many words, his eyes alone are sweet-talking enough. He doesn’t even need to speak, and I’m willing to do anything he requests. He removes the saucepan off the heat, placing it onto the wooden cutting board before prowling toward me. My pulse quickens, matching the throb awakening in my womb.

  “I was planning on serving you your breakfast before eating mine. But you’ve convinced me to revise my tactics.” His voice is smoother than the hazelnut spread dripping off my finger and onto my thigh.

  My eyes snap to the counter next to the open-flamed cooktop. My heartbeat intensifies when I discover there's only one plate sitting next to the discarded saucepan on the kitchen counter. When I return my eyes to Hunter, the logic of his statement crashes into me. Food isn’t on his breakfast menu. I am.

  He stops to stand in front of me, pushing my legs apart so he can stand as close as possible. My knees hit the hard curves of his waist when I snap them inwards, battling to lessen the insane rush of excitement surging through my pussy when he pops my Nutella covered finger into his mouth and sucks down hard. His nimble fingers make quick work of the satin tie cinching my knee-length dressing gown to my waist. A hiss of air parts his lips, fanning my inflamed cheeks when he discovers I'm completely bare under the smooth material.

  “You can never be too prepared for late night visitors,” I murmur, wanting to ensure he's aware I'm only dressed like this for him.

  Although Hunter’s late night visits are every night, he doesn’t often wake me, believing I'd be too tired for extracurricular activities. What he doesn’t realize is, I’m pretty sure I could refrain from sleeping for a year considering how much energy his contact invigorates me with. Even the simplest of gestures, like how he runs his index finger down my scrunched nose, sparks my body with renewed hope.

  My pupils widen as I inhale a sharp, quick breath when another reality smashes into me. I’m falling in love with Hunter. I tried so hard not to fall for him, but with every day that goes by, I fall harder and harder. I often joke with Hunter that I don’t like him. But I do. I like him a lot. A real lot.

  “Dance with me, Paige,” Hunter mutters into my ear, taking my stiffened stance as nervousness.

  Although my statue posture is from nerves, it isn't from his sexual contact. It's being scared to death of placing my heart on the line and leaving it vulnerable to being shattered again.

  “Don’t destroy me, Hunter,” I murmur, quoting the words he said to me weeks ago.

  “Never.” His breath fans my earlobe before he tugs it with his teeth.

  I melt into his embrace, purring even louder than I did when he was nuzzling against me in my writing cave. The way my body reacts to Hunter is truly terrifying. My nipples bud painfully; my pussy aches for him, and my entire body pulls taut, dying to be consumed by him. I always knew he'd rocket my core to the next galaxy; I just had no clue it would be this profound. He hasn't just rocketed my core; he's demolished it, destroying it for any man who may come after him.

  Hunter’s lips pay dedicated attention to my neck as his fingers travel up the grooves of my ribcage. A husky moan spills from my lips when his fingers continue on their journey, stopping at the swell of my breasts to fondle and tweak my nipples. I thrust out my chest, loving the way his big manly hands swamp my less-than-stellar anatomy. Even though Hunter’s previous companions were big-breasted ladies, he has never once shown any lack of appreciation for my smaller assets. For that, I like him even more.

  Keeping the devotion of his lips on my neckline, Hunter curls his arms around my waist and lifts me from the counter. A broad grin stretches across my face when he murmurs, “Grab the Nutella,” into my ear.

  Once I have the jar of Nutella secured in my hand, he moves through the cabin, his steps slow and lazy as he seals his lips over my mouth. My stomach grumbles when his citrus-flavored mouth combined with the Nutella he sucked off my finger hits my taste buds. It's the perfect combination, ensuring my newly-desired chocolate requests will always be Terry’s Milk Chocolate Orange Balls.

  I'm lying in the crook of Hunter's arm, sexually satiated and gorged. After he feasted on my body for breakfast, he made an extra-large helping of eggs benedict for us to share in my bed. Even feeling like a sticky mess from the smears of Nutella still covering my body, I’m content and happy. Who wouldn’t be after two mind-altering orgasms?

  I lift my head from Hunter's chest and peer into his eyes. He's staring at the popcorn ceiling of the cabin, deep in thought. Even with the warmth of his hand running down the curve of my back, a chill runs through my body, bristling every fine hair. Feeling the small quiver racking my body, his eyes drop to me. His gaze is clouded more than normal, and his demeanor is slightly swaying toward Grumpy Hunter.

  “Rough week?” I keep my question wide open so he can answer any way he chooses.

  “It’s like one shit storm after another.”

  I prop my elbow next to his naked torso and peer into his eyes. With a cheeky smirk on my face, I say, "I've heard the telemarketing industry is pretty cutthroat."

  My tease has the effect I was aiming for when a hearty chuckle rumbles out of Hunter’s stern lips. His laughter is so boisterous, it vibrates all the way through my body, warming both my heart and my pussy.

  When his laughter eventually dies down, he says, “That it is; that it is.”

  “Then why do you do it?” My tone is low, wanting to ensure he knows I'm not pushing him to reveal guarded secrets. I just genuinely want to understand why he stays in an industry that exhausts him so much. “With your skills in app development and all your other computer knowledge, your career possibilities are endless.”

  Just from his assets, I'm fairly sure he doesn't work for Isaac for a monetary value. So it has to be something much greater that keeps him working there.

  “I’ve considered leaving,” Hunter replies, surprising me that he's opening up. “Mainly after I screwed up last month.”

  I nod but remain quiet.

  “But after taking some ti
me out and talking to my mom, I realized I don’t work for Isaac for the money. I work for him cause I like him.”

  "Enough that it's worth all this heartache?" I run my thumb over the heavy groove in the middle of his forehead.

  His eyes drift between mine before he curtly nods. I smile, appreciating his honesty. I can’t say I don’t understand what he's saying. My job is not nearly as important as Hunter’s, but I sacrifice a lot to do it. I often cancel on family engagements when my characters are talking, or wake up in the middle of the night to jot down notes, so I can relate.

  He adjusts his position, scooting lower in the bed, so we become face to face. A waft of air parts his lips when his movements cause the sheet wrapped around my waist to fall, exposing a small portion of my side boob to his avid gaze.

  “My eyes are up here, buddy,” I jest, pulling the sheet up to cover my chest.

  Although I'd love nothing more than to spend a few more precious hours with Hunter between the sheets, I don’t want anything to interrupt the conversation we are currently holding. Even knowing him for months, there's so much about him I still haven’t unearthed. I don’t even know what month he was born, let alone why he hates tea and coffee.

  I run my fingers past his slanted brow, over the scruffiness of his dark beard before stopping at the tattoo on the side of his neck. “What does this say?” I run my fingers over the word traicion integrated into his tattoo. “It’s not English, is it?”

  Hunter's throat works hard to swallow as he shakes his head. "It's Spanish," he informs me, his tone back to a sternness I haven't experienced in weeks. “It says ‘betrayal.’”

  My nose scrunches. “Why would you have that tattooed on you?” I blurt out, shock evident in my voice.

  When the heat in the room turns stifling, I lift my eyes to Hunter. His eyes are boring into mine, like he's silently daring for me to continue with my interrogation. His gaze is so furious, it has my pulse quickening and my pussy throbbing.

  Wearily smiling, I scoot down the bed and burrow my head into his bare chest, not game enough this early in our… friendship… to confront a grumpy Hunter. I’m not generally a confrontational person as it is, but sparring against a man like Hunter when he's tired and withdrawn seems like a stupid move to make.

  “I’m not saying I don’t like your tattoo; I'm just trying to understand why you’d mark your skin with such a hurtful word,” I mumble into his chest a short time later. “Betrayal is a terrible thing. No one should ever have to experience it.” I most certainly wish I never did.

  Hunter exhales a deep breath of air, rustling my already tousled hair. After a few moments of silence, he slips out of bed. My heart thrashes against my chest when he commences throwing his legs into his jeans he discarded on the floor earlier. Tears prick my eyes, beyond panicked by his reaction. But in my distressed state, I've lost the ability to articulate speech. If I'd known he was going to have such an adverse response to my little interrogation, I wouldn't have done it. I just want to get to know him more. To know him better than anyone else.

  “Hunter, I’m sorr—”

  “Shut up, Paige,” he interrupts.

  My mouth gapes, not just shell-shocked at his bluntness, but surprised when he lifts me out of bed and dresses me in the satin dressing gown I was wearing earlier. His movements are quick and efficient, having the tie knotted around my waist within a matter of seconds.

  I will not cry; I will not cry, I silently chant to myself.

  “This is my house; you can’t kick me out,” I mutter, my voice quickly converting from devastation to anger.

  My chin quivers against Hunter’s hand when he cups the edge of my jaw and lifts my down-cast head to his. “Don’t.” His tone is a cross between stern and apologetic.

  Enclosing his hand around mine and yanking on my arm, he leaves the main bedroom of the cabin, and I follow. My panic simmers when we pace toward the stairs that lead to my writing cave instead of the back patio doors. My heart pounds against my ribs with every step we climb, as does my curiosity.

  When we enter the space — that now seems two sizes too small from the awkwardness plaguing the air between us — Hunter sits in my writing chair and pulls me into his lap. Wrapping his hands around mine as he did weeks ago at the hotel, he fires up the Internet Explorer program on my laptop. His pulse is surging through his body so rapidly, I can feel it pulverizing my hands. The heavy pants of his breath blast my neck when he commences typing a long string of code into the search bar using my index fingers. I know from experience Hunter can type faster than this, but by going slow, I can memorize every keystroke he makes.

  Once the entire search engine bar is filled with code, he releases my hands. He grips my waist to swivel me around so I'm facing him.

  “I don’t like talking about my past.” He stops talking and coughs to clear his throat. “I don’t like talking about my life in general.”

  I nod. “Okay,” I faintly murmur.

  “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to know me, Paige. I want you to know me.”

  A small grin curls on my lips, glad he realized I'm not trying to interrogate him. I just want to know him.

  His eyes flick to the monitor of my laptop before returning them to me. “If you hit enter, every detail of my life will be displayed on your laptop.” His grip on my hips tightens, sending a ping of pain through my body. “Every detail, Paige. The good and the bad.”

  He tries to hide away the flare of emotion tainting his face, but he isn’t quick enough for me to miss it. Just from the concern clouding his eyes, I know he's worried I’ll discover something about him I don’t like.

  I hold his gaze for several minutes, waiting for his panic to pass before asking, "Is this similar to the search you typically conducted on your… dates?”

  Hunter curtly nods.

  “Will you run this search on me the instant I hit the enter button?”

  He shakes his head. “No. Because unlike me, you don’t have any issues communicating.”

  Even in the tenseness of our conversation, a small giggle rumbles up my chest.

  The strain hampering his face eases when I lean over and press the delete button on the laptop, holding it down until every digit and letter of the code is removed.

  “I don’t want to find out about you from anyone but you.” I shift my eyes from my laptop to him.

  “That could end up being a very long time, Paige.” His tone exposes the truth of his statement.

  I shrug my shoulders. “I guess that just means you’ll have to keep me around a little longer than you were originally planning.”

  He looks at me with a trace of a smile peeking out from behind his beard as he says, “And Paige finally clicks on.”

  Chapter Twenty

  One week later…

  A chilly winter wind sifts through my hair as Hunter and I walk side by side down the bustling sidewalks of Hopeton. For Christmas Eve the streets aren't as jam-packed as they normally are, but there is still a notable amount of people mingling in the space.

  I lean in closer to Hunter's side, wanting to use his heat to warm my body while also happy to have him standing beside me. If I thought the first two weeks of our relationship was a crazy rollercoaster ride, it's has been nothing like the past week. Hunter’s work meant I didn’t see hide nor hair of him the five days following our exchange in my writing cave. But this time, he didn’t need to explain the extenuating circumstances of his absence.

  The media handled every aspect of it. Isaac’s partner, Isabelle, the asset Hunter was assigned to protect, was kidnapped. If that wasn’t already daunting enough, it was by a well-known and much-feared mob boss.

  I remained glued to the TV the entire day of Izzy’s kidnapping, searching every station giving a play-by-play rundown of the events that transpired that afternoon, seeking any type of sign Hunter was a part of the operation that killed Col Petretti and arrested two of his assailants. The news of Isabelle’s kidnapping wasn’t
just contained to the local news channels; it went right across the country, even reaching Pepper.

  “I told you he was mafia,” Pepper screamed down the phone when Isaac’s face was plastered across the screen carrying an unconscious Izzy out of an abandoned warehouse in Harbortown.

  My heart was maimed that day when I saw the look of devastation on Isaac's face when he placed Izzy onto a medical responder’s stretcher. I've only ever seen that look once before in my life. It was when my father said his final goodbye to my mother before she slipped into her final sleep a little over three years ago after a two-year battle with ALS.

  My mother was a beautiful woman; a true gift from God. I miss her every single day. For the past three months, I've been following through with the pledge I made to her in her final days. I'm living my life how I want to live it.

  My brisk strides down the cracked concrete path slow when we pass a small bookshop. It won’t matter how many copies of The Weekend Romance I purchase, I won't stop looking until I find the exact one I'm searching for. Sensing my slowed pace, Hunter stops and peers down at me. His eyes drift between the bookstore and me. When he smiles and jerks his head toward the glass entrance of the bookstore, a broad smile etches onto my face.

  “Are you sure we have enough time?” I ask, not wanting to be late to the Christmas party we are heading to.

  Hunter places his hand on the curve of my back and guides me to the single door of the bookshop. “We have plenty of time.” He opens the door for me to enter.

  The smell of vanilla and almonds smacks into me when we enter the store. My eyes shoot in all directions, absorbing the lines of bookshelves that fill the small space. A lady with black hair in ringlets greets us with a broad smile.

  “We are twenty minutes from closing. Are you looking for anything in particular?” she questions, pacing closer to us.

  Hunter shakes his head at the exact moment I say, “The Weekend Romance by Rachel Maloney.”