Hunter & Prey

by Kira Barker

  “What are your plans for the next few days?” Darren asked after the waiter had removed the last dishes, leaving us with a bottle of water and the heavy red wine we’d enjoyed with the last course.

  “Nothing. Absolutely nothing,” I hedged, then laughed. “Although I doubt I’ll manage to actually do nothing at all. Today was bad enough. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t called.”

  “Glad I could save you from boredom,” he teased. “So no plans at all? No stack of books to read, movies to watch, friends to visit?”

  “I haven’t exactly lived like an it-girl over the last one and a half decades,” I explained. “I had time aplenty to read and watch movies.”

  “And friends?”

  That made me a little uncomfortable, but honestly, I didn’t see Darren as the kind of guy who spent every free moment socializing. I would have noticed if that was the case by now.

  “A few that I might call, but nothing pressing. None of them know how I’ve been earning my livelihood, so no reason to unveil all the details now.”

  The smile that had been playing around the corners of his mouth the entire evening deepened.

  “So, just theoretically, if I were to ask you to pack your bags and go somewhere with me, you’d be free to accompany me?”

  Evenly holding his gaze, I couldn’t help but snort.

  “Don’t you have work to do? It’s the middle of the week, and you only just spent a weekend away with me.”

  He shrugged as if that was only a minor detail.

  “You know that I have the kind of job where I have to be available 24/7 to my clients? This once, they’ll have to do without me for a couple of days.”

  It was so tempting to agree, but I just couldn’t let him do that.

  “Your schedule is so chock-full with appointments that you don’t even have time for a coffee break with me in the evening, and you want to just up and leave from one moment to the next?”

  He shrugged off my concerns.

  “I have no court appointments until next week, and my assistant already called everyone she could reach on short notice. The rest someone else will take care of, or keep busy until I’m back. You really don’t have to worry about me. Alison has been nagging me for ages to take a few vacation days, and I’ll never get to that if I wait until my schedule clears. It’s not every day that the woman I love stands her life on end. I think that warrants a quick trip to properly celebrate the occasion.”

  Phrased like that, who was I to keep protesting?

  “And to where do you want to whisk me away? I need to know at least the basics so I know what to bring.”

  The look on his face turned shrewd and he got out his phone, quickly tapping away on it.

  “The weather forecast is balmy with a slight chance of clouds. Maybe a little warmer than here, but not much.”

  “You’re not going to tell me where we’re going?”

  “Not until I have you trapped in an aluminum can thousands of feet up in the air so you can’t run away. But bring your passport.”

  Letting out a shaky breath, I wondered what to reply, but really, there was just one answer.

  “Of course I’ll go with you, wherever you want me to go.”

  And so it came that, roughly two hours later, while most of the city was about to head to bed, Darren and I drove to the airport to hop onto the company jet again, apparently booked for “special expenses.” True to his word, he waited until after takeoff when the steward had opened a bottle of champagne for us before he finally told me where we were headed.

  “Paris? As in Paris, France?”

  “Paris, Ohio just doesn’t have the same ring to it,” he surmised, once again amused at the way I was looking at him.

  “This has to be the most cheesy destination choice in the history of getaways. The most cliché, too,” I let him know.

  “Probably,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not a damn fine choice.” Reaching over, he took my hand, then hauled me onto his lap until I was sitting sideways across his thighs. He reached up and clasped my cheeks, then pulled my head down so he could kiss me. “You absolutely deserve the cheesiest, most cliché romantic getaway in the history of cheesy, cliché romantic getaways, and I will do everything in my power to ensure that you’ll never forget it.”

  That I could easily believe, and I happily kissed him back.

  Chapter 21

  Darren made good on that promise to turn this into an unforgettable experience from the moment we touched down on French soil. A limousine was already waiting to take us to our hotel, a grand old affair right out of a fairy tale. Even with catching a couple of hours of sleep, I felt heavily jet-lagged, but with the late afternoon sun painting the entire city in a warm, cozy glow, I was only too happy to hit the streets. That first evening we didn’t do much except take a walk along the Seine, but I loved every single minute of it. Maybe it was the different culture or just getting away from home, but really, I thought he could have led me down the drabbest street in the dankest town on earth and I still wouldn’t have been able to stop smiling.

  After a quick yet delicious meal in the hotel restaurant, we retired to our suite, and I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

  The next morning, though, was a different affair completely. But then any day that started with being awakened by soft kisses, followed by very persistent licks in exactly the right places could only be a perfect day.

  Because we’d retired early, we were awake, if not quite ready to leave the bed, just after dawn. Which was a good thing, because there was also the huge bathtub and lavish shower to explore, and the lush carpet of the living room, and if not for my stomach letting out a truly embarrassing rumble, we likely would have defiled at least one of the sofas in there, too. I was tempted to let Darren call room service but had a feeling that we’d never actually make it back out onto the streets of Paris if that happened.

  That day was just as gorgeous as the one before, and we spent it mostly outside, wandering aimlessly through the streets of one of Europe’s most beautiful cities. It might have been fun to mingle with the tourists, but I preferred to be able to actually talk and not get jostled every step of the way, so we kept exploring off the beaten path. We still made it to all the usual sights but didn’t linger.

  So it came that in the afternoon we found ourselves in the lush green grass at the outskirts of the Jardin des Tuileries, me nibbling on a pink macaron, the sun shining in my face, with Darren’s head propped up on my thigh as he was staring at the sky—or at my tits; either way, he was smiling, and so was I. Whatever we did, that seemed to be a constant.

  “Penelope?”

  “Hm?” I replied, industriously sampling the delicious treat while trying to decide whether I should select a green or a blue one next.

  “I’d like to ask you a question,” Darren went on, now focusing on my face.

  Looking down at him, I raised my brows in question, my mouth still full of french pastry.

  “Will you marry me?”

  I kept chewing for another five seconds before my mind ground to a halt and forced my jaws to follow along. All I could do was simply stare at him, then swallow belatedly. My mind was utterly blank, as if he’d reached inside and wiped my mental slate clean. I was aware that saying nothing was almost as bad as saying “no,” but that didn’t help much.

  He gave me about ten seconds, then his smile took on a wry twist.

  “I don’t mean right now. Just, you know, in general.”

  That wasn’t really helpful, either.

  “But you’ve only known me for a few…” I started, then trailed off because my thoughts were still spinning.

  “Months?” he finished for me.

  “Weeks!” I exclaimed, then took what felt like the first breath in forever. Time stopped slowing down to the speed of molasses and caught up with me, and hopefully also my mangled brain.

  “Doesn’t matter. I know that you’re the one
for me.”

  His smile really did terrible things to me—like make me consider this in earnest—but now that I could think again, the reasons why this was a recipe for disaster kept piling up.

  “But—“

  “No excuses,” he interjected gently, then took my macaron-stained hand in his, pressing a soft kiss against my knuckles. “Either you want to be my wife, or you don’t. It’s that simple. For once in your life, don’t let others dictate what you’re going to do.”

  I felt like frowning at that accusation—whatever I was, “pushover” was not part of my job description—but really, it was so damn hard to do anything but smile.

  “Are you really serious? I mean, all this, did you plan this?”

  “You’re avoiding my question,” he teased, then shrugged. “Yes, I am serious. Deadly serious. And while I might not have exactly planned it, the thought has been bouncing around my head.”

  And had likely burned out a few circuits, because otherwise I couldn’t fathom why he’d reached the conclusion that he wanted to—

  It was even too absurd to put into words inside my mind.

  When I continued to just stare at him, Darren pushed himself up until he was sitting beside me, his hip pressed against my leg as he continued to stroke the back of my hand.

  “Is it really that hard a question to reply to? If you ignore everything else until there’s just you and me—do you want to spend the rest of your life with me? Loving me?”

  I must have gone just as crazy as Darren because as he kept looking straight into my eyes, I knew, deep down, what my answer was. And really, there was no reason not to let him know.

  “Yes, I do.”

  His answering smile was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and then he was kissing me—not just a peck or a brief sweep of my lips with his, but full on passion and heat, until we toppled over backward, both laughing. He ended up leaning over me, still smiling, and I reached for his face, running my thumb over his bottom lip. He opened his mouth and kissed it softly, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “Of course, there’s still a long way to go from here. Finding a location, setting up a prenup—“ He paused there, cocking his head to the side. “I don’t have to tell you that we will have a prenup?”

  “Goes without saying,” I replied, a little breathless. “You’re a lawyer, and while I’m not exactly rich, I’m not a pauper. It would not make sense not to clear things up ahead of time.”

  “I’m glad we agree on that. And that you said yes, because for a while there you had me a little worried.”

  I shook my head, still stupefied.

  “Don’t worry, I don’t make empty promises. You just surprised me.”

  His smile widened into a lopsided grin.

  “It might have been a little evil to just ambush you like that, but I don’t believe in drawing things out unnecessarily. You are the woman I love, so why not make it official?”

  I didn’t know if I agreed with him on that, but there was no sense to protesting. All the things I could have said were excuses, really—like what people would think of me should they ever learn of how we’d met or what I’d been up to for the past decade and more. From the very beginning he’d always ignored me when I’d reminded him of that, so why did it surprise me that he hadn’t changed his mind? I should have known better.

  “You really want to do that, all out in the open? I’m not sure I want to make a spectacle out of us.”

  He snorted with a little more derision than was strictly warranted.

  “I don’t care about anyone else but you. That’s why I asked you here in the spur of the moment rather than organize a party, or some other great event. Of course, if you want to, we can host an engagement party as soon as we get home, but that’s not what I care about. I will always be yours, and you make me the happiest man in the world by agreeing to be mine.”

  Darren leaned in for another kiss, a gentler, softer one now, and I was only too happy to lose myself in it.

  Then he leaned back but only far enough to focus on my eyes, suddenly serious. “You don’t have to worry about anything, ever again. Promise.”

  I replied with a smile, if a somewhat strained one. “People will talk. People will judge. When it comes down to that, to them I will always be a—“

  His finger pressing against my lips silenced me. His eyes narrowed but with as much sadness and pain than annoyance in them.

  “I keep telling you to stop referring to yourself like that. It’s not what defines you. You are a beautiful, kind-hearted woman, and you’ll soon be my wife. Doesn’t that mean more to you than what others think? How often do we have to hash this out until it sticks?”

  I couldn’t believe how terribly naive he was, but maybe I was seeing this wrong. He was certainly arrogant enough not to care what people thought about him; why shouldn’t that luxury extend to me? I really liked that idea.

  “I believe you. That’s not the problem. And I don’t terribly mind how they look at me. I’m used to that. But I don’t want my past to negatively reflect on you.”

  His smile returned, if hesitantly.

  “You really don’t have to worry about me. I’d personally always favor a woman who has spent years working hard, supporting herself and proving that she’s a capable person over some trophy wife who thinks that just because she has huge tits and a prestigious name to her that she deserves everyone’s adoration. Just think about that. Who’s really the prostitute in this scenario?”

  He had me there, and he knew it. Besides, it was a fruitless battle because I realized that, whatever I said, he’d continue to disagree with me and disband all my arguments with his one trump card—he loved me for who I was. And today, maybe for the first time in my entire life, I agreed with him.

  The rest of the afternoon went by in a breeze. I never finished my macarons but let Darren lead me back to our hotel suite where he’d—recklessly—already ordered a private celebration dinner for us to be set up ahead of time. The food was, as seemed to be mandatory for France, delicious, but really, all I cared about was being with the man I loved. And I wasn’t alone in my love-struck staring, it seemed. There barely was a moment when we weren’t eating that he didn’t hold my hand or caress my face.

  Not soon enough for my taste, all the food was gone and everything but a bottle of champagne and two glasses removed, and we were alone again. I expected him to lead me into the bedroom, because if there was ever an occasion to have sex there, properly—well, maybe two, but getting engaged certainly counted—but instead he took my hand after undressing me and led me outside onto the terrace, the cool evening air making me shiver.

  At the stone balustrade he stepped behind me, his naked body pressing into my back as we both looked out over the city sprawling before us. His lips were hot and hungry on the side of my neck, making me moan, and before long one of his hands slid around my hips and between my thighs, finding me wet and willing.

  “Do you have a special reason why we’re doing this outside?” I asked, then closed my eyes when his fingers slid into me and made me clench around them. “So far you haven’t really been that into exhibitionism.” Except maybe the one time at the gala behind the stage, but I’d felt less exposed and out in the open than up here.

  “I just like the view,” he whispered into my ear. “Don’t you?”

  It was a stunning vista, I had to hand it to him, but that didn’t explain why he was already hard enough to make me stroking him counterproductive rather than necessary. Before I could answer, he’d apparently decided that I was ready enough and thrust into me from behind, making my protest die on my lips.

  Beds really were completely overrated, if you asked me.

  Leaning into me, he pushed my torso down until I was leaning partly over the balustrade, baring my breasts to anyone who might have been walking below, provided they carried binoculars. My fingers dug into the stone although I had no realistic fear of falling down, but my pulse still skyrocketed. Ke
eping one hand on my hip, Darren grabbed my right one with his, entwining our fingers.

  He set a fast pace, panting with need, his body hot where it met mine. More than anything, I could feel that he was claiming me, and in a sense that was a huge turn-on. Weird, but not bad. And right then, over the roofs of Paris, I wanted to be claimed. I wanted to be his. I’d never felt as free as I was now, unencumbered by any worries in the world.

  And when we came, almost in perfect synchronicity, I knew that I would be his forever.

  After almost catching frostbite outside, we vacated to the bed—finally—where we spent the rest of the evening reacquainting ourselves with every inch of each other’s body. Darren was tentative, he was loving, but also demanding and ruthless at times. He made me moan, sigh, scream, and in one instance even beg, and I got to repay him for all of that several times over.

  But unlike the many times before when we’d had sex, this felt different. The physical act might still have been the same, but with the mental constraints now gone, no reasons to hold back or stick to a script or put his pleasure above my own—not that that was an issue—I could just let go and lose myself in him. And that, truly, was the best feeling in the world.

  And there was absolutely no reason why this should ever change, even when we got too old for half of the horizontal acrobatics. My favorite part was still snuggling into his side when we caught our breath in between acts, and falling asleep, wrapped in his arms, when we were both too tired to go on.

  I woke up some time later, my body warm under the sheets but missing a vital component—Darren. My mind was sluggish but nothing compared to my body, which protested severely at just the notion of turning over, let alone getting up. Opening my eyes, I found the room cast in complete darkness except for the starlight seeping in through the half-drawn curtains.

  I told myself that Darren had likely just gotten up to take a leak, but the bed was cold beside me, so he must have left a while ago. The next option was an equally sinister one—even with clearing his schedule, he was likely still needed in the office, and it was only early evening back home. The idea that while I was sleeping he had to deal with business was both sad and kind of amusing.