“It’s going to be a long flight.”
Duke cut his eyes over to the woman next to him and immediately wished he hadn’t. Beyond her artfully tousled and streaked bronzed hair, he’d seen blue sky and fat, puffy clouds. Too damned high—
Jerking his eyes back to the front, he stared at the seat in front of him and slumped deeper in the seat.
She glanced behind her and then slid down the thin panel, blocking the view of the window. “There. That should help.” She leaned in a little closer. The hand on his arm slid down to rest on his thigh, a few inches above his knee. With her lips only an inch from his ear, she whispered, “Why don’t we try to keep each other distracted?”
He slanted another look in her direction. Slowly, he took a deep breath, taking in her scent. Female. A little heavier on the perfume than he liked. Still, soft . . . warm . . . definitely female. He caught the trace of another scent on her, though—a guy’s. It had a feel to it, a settled-in feel. Somebody she came in contact with regularly. Close contact.
He smirked and glanced down at the hand on his leg. Her left hand. There wasn’t a ring there now, but there had been. Recently. He could see the paler strip of skin where the band had rested. Chances were, it was tucked somewhere inside her purse or something
“Very considerate of you . . . sure your husband won’t mind?”
Then he caught her wrist and guided it back to her own lap. Ignoring the look of disbelief on her face, he folded his arms over his chest, closed his eyes and feigned sleep.
He wasn’t about to sleep, though.
The woman was right about one thing, though—he did need to find something else to think about, something else to focus on. Like the fact that shortly after he landed, he was going to have to track down Ana and apologize for being an ass. And he was going to have to find some way to work with her for a little while.
Close contact with Ana Morell—something he’d avoided like the plague for five years.
Shit, the last time he’d been in close contact with her, he’d been just a breath away from being about as close to a woman as a man could get. So fucking close the scent of her wet pussy had flooded his head, so close her tight nipples had pressed into his chest as he arched her head back and kissed her. With her skirt shoved to her waist, the only thing that had separated them had been a pair of panties and his jeans. Too many times, he’d found himself dreaming of that night, but the pathetic part was that only half of the dreams were nightmares.
The rest of them were the sort of dream that brought him awake on the knife’s edge of desire, his cock aching and his balls burning. Too many dreams where he wished he’d at least had the chance to bury his dick inside that soft, pale body before she sold him down the river.
She might have sold you down the river, but if it wasn’t for her, you wouldn’t have gotten out of that hellhole alive.
It was a familiar voice, one that had whispered the same thing in his mind over and over. The voice of his conscience? Or the voice of his libido? Duke didn’t know, didn’t care, wished it would just shut the hell up.
One thing was certain, he wasn’t ever going to get that damned close to Ana ever again. She’d betrayed him, humiliated him, hurt—
No.
One hand closed into a fist. She hadn’t hurt him.
He’d have to care about her in order for to hurt him on any level other than physical. And he didn’t care about her.
She might have caused him physical pain, might have been behind some of the most hellacious moments of his life, but it was all physical. All of it. She couldn’t hurt him on a deeper level because he didn’t care about her.
He didn’t.
CHAPTER 5
LATE Sunday night, with her checking account a few hundred dollars lighter, Ana returned the rental and caught the bus back to Hillside. Nothing. She’d accomplished exactly nothing, other than wasting money. She was careful with finances and she hadn’t spent anything she couldn’t afford to lose, but there was no way she could keep this up. She’d be completely broke in a couple of months and she could just say adios to the idea of trying to buy a car in the spring.
You’ll make it work. She wanted to give herself a better mental pep talk, but she was too damned tired and even on the best of days, Ana was not an optimist. Stubborn, yes. Optimistic, no.
The ride across town took too long. When the bus finally arrived at her stop, she was the only one to exit and she breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped out into the cool night air. Riding the bus was cheaper on the wallet and better on the environment, but she hated being closed in with a bunch of strangers. She kept her normal shields up but even through those shields, it made her skin itch and her head throb.
She needed a break.
Needed some peace and quiet to clear her head.
A few hours earlier, on the drive back to Anchorage, she’d swung by Eklutna Lake, looking to do just that—ease her raw nerves. She’d walked the quiet paths, listened to kids playing down on the lake’s edge and let her tired brain rest.
As sore as her body had been, as much as she wanted the comfort of her bed, she had needed to soothe ragged edges of her mind more. After her miserable attempts at playing psychic Nancy Drew, she’d desperately needed it.
But now it was like she hadn’t ever had that quiet time.
And of course, she didn’t really have much time to unwind since she had to be back at work in the morning. She hitched her purse higher up on her shoulder and took the handle of her small carry-on, wheeling it along behind her as she walked the two blocks home.
Her muscles strained and screamed at her with every step. Too much walking and hiking. Ana was active enough, something that had been drummed into her head back at Excelsior. But being able to run a couple of miles on the treadmill and some strength training on the weights wasn’t enough to prepare her body for the past few days.
With her eyes and her heart heavy, she turned down the gravel drive and trudged toward her apartment. She kicked a small rock and sent it flying. Absently, she lowered her gaze, watched as it came to a stop a few inches away. Kicked it again. Again—
A pair of booted feet appeared in her line of vision and a hand caught her arm. Hissing out a breath, she reacted instinctively, jabbing toward the neck with her free hand and lifting her foot. But before she could smash it down on the man’s instep, he moved.
Moved too quick—
She found herself whirled around, her back pressed up against a hard male body. Panic welled.
“Ana!”
That voice—
She stilled, sucked in a breath. As she did, the panic inside her started to ease, her body relaxed, before she even realized why.
It took a minute for her head to catch up.
She could smell him . . . and she knew that smell.
Licking her lips, she whispered, “Duke?”
He let her go, quick, as though he couldn’t stand to have his hands on her, and she figured he probably couldn’t. Instinctively, she tightened her shields, unwilling to pick anything up from him. Even if she deserved to have his disgust filling her head, she’d rather not, thanks very much. Edging away, she turned and looked at him.
The sight of him hit her straight in her core, a punch of heat that left her legs weak and her skin tight and itchy. She let go of her carry-on and folded her arms across her middle. “What are you doing here?”
“Whatever in the hell the problem is, it isn’t important enough to keep you from taking off for a weekend?” He glanced down at the carry-on and then up at her face.
Ana narrowed her eyes. “You’re the damn Hunter, not me. Playing avenging angel, guardian angel, that’s your business, not mine.” Exhaustion, unrequited lust and fear were sheer hell on a person’s willpower, she realized, clamping her mouth shut before she could say anything else.
“So you don’t see an issue with calling across the country and claiming there’s some sort of problem and then just disappearing for a w
eekend getaway?” he drawled, his voice caustic.
“You told me to handle it myself, if I recall correctly.” She almost said something else, but decided against it. Almost told him that she’d tried and utterly failed.
It didn’t matter. He was here now; he could handle it. Hooray for him. No reason for her to sink another couple hundred dollars into this mess, no reason to take off personal time and try to handle something that was way beyond her reach, no reason to lay awake at night, afraid to sleep because she feared the nightmares.
Let him deal with this bullshit. That’s what he was supposed to do.
Aren’t you feeling bitchy today? she thought darkly. Without another word, she grabbed the handle of her carry-on and headed toward the staircase by the garage door.
“Yeah, taking off when things get dicey, that’s your way of handling things,” he said, sardonically, following along behind her.
Too close, too. She could feel him, feel that big, warm body, the heat he put off, shadowing along close enough that if he just lifted a hand, he’d touch her. Halfway up the steps, she stopped and shot him a narrow look over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“Following you. What are you doing?”
“I’m going to my apartment. I’m tired. I want to take a shower and go to bed.”
He glanced over her shoulder toward the door at the top of the stairs. “Sorry, princess, but you got some explaining to do before you can go to bed.”
“Explaining.” Ana sighed and then started back up the steps. She’d already tried explaining to him and he’d mocked her, laughed at her. Told her to handle it herself and she’d tried, failed miserably and now he was here. Hell, that had likely been his plan all along—get her worked up and then show up in the flesh and save the day.
Of course, she doubted he really would have expected her to actually try to handle it. Abruptly, she was pissed.
Not just irritated, not just tired and grouchy, and not just edgy because she felt so damned guilty for what she’d done to him. She’d made huge mistakes in her life, but damn it, she’d done her best to rectify them, and she was sick and damned tired of having to pay for it in their eyes.
Seething, she stormed up the rest of the stairs and jammed her key into the lock, undoing the lock with a vicious twist of her wrist.
He followed her inside and she shot him a dirty look as he dropped down on the couch, settling down with lazy, feline grace.
“Make yourself at home,” she drawled. She left the carry-on by the door and shut it, turning the lock on the doorknob and then the deadbolt.
“Those locks suck,” he said, flicking a glance at her door.
“I’ll make a note of it.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared at him. “Whatever you need me to explain, fine. Ask away so I can explain and get your ass out of my home.”
A grin curled his lips. “Ana, you’re swearing. What’s got you so pissed?”
“I’m not pissed,” she lied.
“You know, even if you did do some kind of number on my instincts, I don’t know why in the hell I ever fell for any of your lines,” he mused, shaking his head. “You’re a lousy liar.”
“I didn’t hand you lines.”
Then, as something flashed through his eyes, she wished she hadn’t said a word.
The last thing she needed to do was think about ancient history, not when he was here. Not when he was so close. Not when he could smell every subtle change in her body, whether it was because she told a little white lie, or because her body went all hot and achy with need, getting worse with very damn second he was there.
“Didn’t you?” He came off the couch and paced toward her, that big, hard body all fluid, sexy grace and long, powerful muscles. His golden hair fell around his face and his gray eyes glittered in the dim light.
“You fed me all sorts of lines, and then I get a knife shoved into my chest and I wake up and find out the pretty blonde princess who had me twisted up inside was the puppet of a fucking psycho. Maybe that’s the difference . . . when somebody’s pulling your strings you do just as you’re told. Did Cat tell you to get hot for me? Is that why you seemed to want me so bad?”
Stop it. Duke stared at her, watched as the blood drained from her face, leaving her pale, her haunted, dark purple eyes all but black.
Stop.
Cat was dead. She didn’t fucking matter anymore, and if Ana was any kind of threat to them, every single last Hunter around would know. She’d be watched—or already dead. She wasn’t a threat and he knew it. At least not that kind of threat. Not anymore.
The kind of threat she posed to him was a different story, but one didn’t really have anything to do with the other.
She’d screwed up and even Duke wasn’t so blind to the fact that she had tried to make amends. She was guilty, never claimed otherwise, didn’t offer excuses or any other lame shit to try to help explain away what she’d done. Even the more plausible reason—her fear for her brother, she never used that card.
If it was anybody but Ana, he probably even could have found some reluctant admiration.
But with Ana . . .
Even as he told himself to stop, to back away, find out what he needed to know and get the hell away from her, he couldn’t. Even as he lifted a hand to touch her, curling it around her neck and tugging her close, he told himself to quit and he couldn’t. “No answer, Ana?” he whispered, rubbing his thumb across her full lower lip.
Let it go—none of that matters.
Except it did. It did matter, why she’d all but melted in his arms, melted around him, over him, so damned hot she’d almost burned him. Had she really wanted him? Or had it been because she had psycho bitch pulling her strings? How deep had Cat’s control on Ana gone?
She shook, her body all but vibrating. She was afraid, he could scent it on her, but it wasn’t just fear. His lids drooped over his eyes, a growl rumbling in his chest, as he realized he had his answer right there.
Ana didn’t have to say a damn thing.
She wanted him. All but burned with it.
That realization could have laid him out flat. Stunned, trying to adjust to it, he stared down at her. She returned his stare, watching him from carefully blank eyes. Those eyes didn’t reveal anything, but her body was a different story.
Want.
Need.
Longing . . .
It was the last one that really floored him. Longing . . . something that went deeper than desire, deeper than need.
He scented it on her. It was enough to make his mouth water and his cock swell. It was enough to have his heart aching, for reasons he didn’t entirely understand. Enough to make him want to haul her against him and finish the dance they’d started five years earlier. He didn’t, though.
Because of her fear. He didn’t like her being afraid of him. Heat—he just wanted to smell heat coming off of her, the heat, the desire . . . the longing.
“You’re hot now,” he whispered, lowering his head until his lips hovered just a breath away from hers. “I can smell it, almost taste it. Why are you so hot, princess?”
“Leave me alone, Duke.”
He should. He knew he should. He needed to back away, get the hell away from her, before the anger took control again, before the hunger burning inside him flared too hot for him to handle, before it spilled out onto them and scorched them both. Instead, he dipped his head and nuzzled her neck, breathed in the soft, warm scent of her. She smelled of lavender, soft and subtle, something that clung to her hair and skin.
“You know something that’s eaten me up for the past five years?” he whispered, raking his teeth along the curve of her neck. “Five years ago, I had you this close . . . this close to heaven and I would have done just about anything to get inside you. This close . . . and then I realize I’m closer to hell than I am to heaven—and I never even had the chance to fuck you. If you were going to send me to hell, Ana, you could have at least given me a send-off.”
&n
bsp; “Duke . . . don’t.”
“Why not?” He straightened, staring down at her averted face. He toyed with the top button of her shirt and wondered what she’d do, how she’d react if he bent his head and tore the buttons off with his teeth. “Why shouldn’t I touch you? You want me. You can’t lie about that.”
She reached up and caught his wrist and shoved him away.
He let her, although he was tempted not to. And when she stepped back, he let her, even though he didn’t want to.
“Why shouldn’t I touch you?” he asked again, his voice low, harsh with the hunger tearing into him.
“You hate me. I can’t blame you for that, but I’m not going to sleep with a guy that hates me.”
Cocking his head, he studied her face. His anger, the blinding anger that he had lived with for years began to fade as he caught scent of something else. Something besides desire and longing, something other than fear and hesitation.
It bothered him, that faint, almost hidden scent. Bothered him even more than her fear. It was acrid, sharp—almost like pain. Like she was hurt. Hurt—because she thought he hated her?
“I don’t hate you.”
She snorted and backed away from him, circling away warily and watching him like she didn’t quite trust him. “Yeah, sure you don’t. And you aren’t pissed off at me anymore, either.” She backed away from him, keeping her eyes on his face until she had put the width of the room between them.
He frowned at her. He didn’t like her being afraid of him. Wary, that was fine. It didn’t bother him, but actual fear, he didn’t like it. And he didn’t like knowing he’d done something to hurt her.
Sucker—she suckered you in once and you’re going to let her do it again?
Blocking out that voice, he hopped up and settled on the counter behind him, watching as she curled up on the couch. She was about as far away from him as she could be without leaving the room.
“I don’t hate you,” he said again. He wondered at it, how easily he could say it and mean it. For a long time, he hadn’t let himself think about whether or not he hated the pretty blonde that had been responsible for putting him through hell, afraid to let himself think about the answer because he’d feared it.
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