Hunter's Need

by Shiloh Walker

  Hate was an ugly emotion, one that threatened a man’s control, and to a man like Duke, control meant everything.

  Looking at her made it hard to think, though, and he focused his gaze on the floor instead, staring at the warm gleaming wood as he made himself think back, made himself remember.

  “I’m not going to lie to you and say I’m cool with what happened, but I get why you made the choices you made. I don’t agree with them, but they make sense.” He glanced at her from under his lashes, watched the surprise flicker across her face. “I’ve already wasted enough energy being pissed at you over the past few years. But I don’t think I ever hated you. I dunno, maybe I’m too damn lazy to waste that much energy on something that’s done and over with.”

  “Fine. You don’t hate me. You’ll just distrust me and anything I say or do for the rest of your life,” she said, averting her gaze.

  She took off her shoes, dropping the thick-soled hiking boots by the couch and then focusing on her socks, paying a lot more attention to the simple task than what was really needed. Duke watched her, watched as she settled back against the couch and reached up, toying with the top button of her shirt.

  An unconscious action, Duke suspected, but still, he couldn’t quit staring at her slender fingers and wishing she’d undo that button. Then the next one. And the next . . . he wanted her. Wanted to see her strip out of her shirt, her jeans, her bra and panties, to see her naked in front of him.

  He wanted her—just as he had for the past five years, but for some reason, it no longer pissed him off quite so much. No—not some reason. That made it seem indefinable, like he didn’t quite understand the change. But he did. It was because he knew the truth, or at least some of it now. Because he’d finally made himself ask the question that had haunted him for so long.

  She had wanted him that night. It hadn’t been a lie, hadn’t been a show to sucker him in. She’d wanted him then, and she wanted him now.

  Plus, as much as he hated to acknowledge it, knowing that she’d suffered thinking he hated her . . . that meant something, right? Maybe it even meant—hell, he didn’t know. Maybe it meant she felt something. Maybe there was just the slightest chance that she was as hung up on him as he was on her. Maybe he wasn’t the only one walking around with a tangled, twisted mess trapped inside.

  Shit. This was too confusing. Way too confusing.

  “If I distrusted you, I would have hung up the phone when you called,” he said flatly, slipping off the bar and stalking around the counter into the kitchen. It was small, too confining, but he needed something to eat. Something besides lousy airport food or a hamburger. Jerking open the refrigerator, he stared inside.

  “Why are you here?”

  He glanced into the living room as Ana rose from the couch, still watching him with shuttered eyes.

  The first night he’d met her, those purple eyes had been like windows into her soul, showing her every last emotion—it had been endearing that first night, seeing the desire and the nervousness warring within her. Then the rug was jerked out from under him and he’d ended up struggling for his life, and he figured it had all been an act.

  Now he was realizing it hadn’t been an act. But things had changed—she’d learned to hide her emotions better.

  He hoped she’d gotten better control over her gifts, too. One of those gifts had caused them a lot of trouble and it was one that would wreak havoc on his instincts.

  Although sometimes he had to wonder if she’d clouded his instincts as much as he wanted to believe. He’d been thinking with his dick from the moment he laid eyes on her.

  Hell, she wasn’t the only one who’d fucked up that night. He had, too.

  Of course, if he hadn’t gone with her . . .

  He shied away from that. It was something else he hadn’t let himself think about, and he wasn’t going to change that now. Tearing his gaze away from her, he looked back into the refrigerator, studying the rather bare shelves.

  Behind him, Ana sighed, exasperated. “Are you going to answer me? Why are you here?”

  “I’m here because you called.”

  “Why you?”

  He took his time answering, taking a few containers from the shelves and peeking inside. A few, he set on the counter, a couple, he put back on the shelves. One he tossed into the trash can alongside the wall—he didn’t even need to look inside that one. Whatever it had been, it was now science-fair material. “Apparently I was the best candidate.”

  “I bet that went over swimmingly.”

  Duke shrugged and pulled the lid from the first container. Buffalo wings. Some salad in another container and then a third one held banana pudding. Yum. Glancing up at Ana, he said, “I need to eat.”

  She glanced at the counter and then back at him. “I never would have guessed.”

  “You went and turned into a smart-ass,” he said, still waiting. “Do you mind?”

  Ana frowned. “If you need to eat, then why do you care if I mind?”

  “Do you mind?” he repeated.

  “No. I don’t mind. Eat. Please. Eat and then do whatever in the hell you need to do so you can leave me alone.”

  “Whatever in the hell I need—I’ll remember that.” But first, he really needed to eat.

  “You hungry?” he asked as he started in on the wings—excellent, even if they were cold. Spice and flavor, not just heat.

  “No.”

  “Did you already eat?” he asked as he popped open the lid on the salad.

  “No. Just not hungry.”

  Before he could look for any salad dressing, Ana was going through her refrigerator. She offered him two bottles and he took the blue cheese. He could have done without the salad, but when he was that hungry, food was food. The pudding was homemade, filled with chunks of bananas and vanilla wafers. The first taste had him grunting with approval. He took another bite and studied her from under his lashes. “You don’t eat enough.”

  “I eat just fine. Look, can we—” The phone rang, interrupting her. She frowned, glanced at it as though a little startled.

  “Hello?”

  Even though Ana had been the one to answer, Duke had no trouble recognizing Kelsey’s voice. He grinned. He should have known she’d be checking up on him. He listened to the conversation as he polished off the pudding.

  “Yes, he’s here.” Ana’s gaze slid in his direction then bounced away.

  “Good.” Kelsey released a pent-up breath. “I wanted to make sure he didn’t bolt at the airport. I’d meant to call, let you know he was coming, but I got sidetracked.”

  “Why would he have bolted at the airport?”

  Duke felt blood rush up to his cheeks as Kelsey cheerfully chirped, “Oh, he’s got this thing with flying.”

  “A thing about flying?” Ana repeated. “What kind of thing?”

  “Scares him to death, if I’m guessing right. But that’s beside the point. I just wanted to make sure he got there okay and you two had hooked up.”

  Kelsey, you’re evil, he thought, glaring at the phone as Ana glanced at him. He caught a flash of amusement in her eyes as she studied him. She looked like she was trying to decide if she wanted to laugh or not. “He’s here right now. We haven’t had a chance to talk or anything, though. I just got home.”

  “That’s fine. Duke can handle things. I’ve got to go. It’s pretty late here.”

  Silence stretched out between them as Ana hung up the phone. She glanced at him, then away. Looked back and this time, she looked like she wanted to say something, but then she looked away again.

  She kept that up for about thirty seconds before Duke’s temper snapped.

  “What?” he demanded after she opened and closed her mouth before saying anything for the fifth time.

  “Ah . . . she said you . . . uh . . . well, you don’t like to fly?”

  Duke snorted. No, that wasn’t what Kelsey had said. That would have been too polite. Kelsey had a mischievous streak a mile wide. “That wa
sn’t exactly what she’d said, now was it?”

  “Well, no. Not exactly.” She blinked, then stared at him like he’d suddenly sprouted an extra head. “She said you were afraid of flying.”

  Jamming his hands into his pockets, he stared right back. “I’m not afraid of flying—I’m afraid of being trapped inside a tin can that could come crashing down to earth at any given time. Going out in a blaze is just fine, as long as I’m not strapped into some chair and hurtling toward the earth at a thousand miles a second.”

  “Air travel is ridiculously safe, Duke.” Her mouth was a straight, unsmiling line, but he could see the corners of her pretty pink lips quirking as though she had to fight the urge to smile—or laugh.

  He scowled and dumped the bowl on the counter. “Laugh away, Ana.”

  “I’m not laughing,” she said.

  Only because she was fighting it. But it didn’t bother him as much as he would have thought. Maybe it was because when she was fighting not to laugh, that blank emptiness in her eyes faded away.

  Edging around him, she took the empty bowl and gathered up the rest of the dishes.

  He ran his tongue along his teeth, watching her as she dumped the dishes in the sink.

  Whatever in the hell you need—she told him to do whatever in the hell he needed. Bad words to say to a man, he figured. He stared at the back of her head as she ran some water over the dishes. The smell of apple-scented soap filled the air; a few stray bubbles drifting upward as she washed the bowls.

  Her hair had gotten longer, hanging halfway down her back. She’d braided it. Closing the distance between them, he reached out and tugged the band from the end. He tossed it onto the counter and started to comb his hands through her hair. She went still under his touch.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice shaking.

  He rested his hands on her waist, held her steady as he leaned into her, nestling his cock against her denim-covered backside. “You told me to do whatever I need. I think I need to do you.”

  She stood stiff, straight, unyielding as he reached around and sought out the buttons of her shirt, freeing one then another, then another until the simple white cloth parted, revealing a slim strip of pale flesh.

  “I’m not going to sleep with a man who can’t stand me,” she said.

  “We’ve already covered this, baby. If I couldn’t stand you, I wouldn’t get hard just hearing your voice.” Leaving the shirt hanging on her, unbuttoned down the front, he rested his hands on her shoulders and listened to her breath catch in her throat. “I get hard when I hear your voice, when I think about you, when I see you, when I walk through a room and smell you. Hell, even watching you trying not to laugh about me and planes is enough to make me hard.”

  He slid his hands around her and reached up, cupping her small, silk-covered breasts in his hands. “And I don’t plan on doing much sleeping just yet.” No, the only thing he planned on doing in the next couple of hours was fucking her. He had to.

  Whatever Ana sensed wrong around here, it wasn’t so choking, so pressing that it had his skin crawling. He couldn’t really feel much of anything, beyond her.

  So that meant it could wait.

  She couldn’t.

  Just then, he wasn’t aware of anything but his need to have her. Finally have her, finally give in to the urge he’d been fighting for too damn long. This obsession he had with her, it wasn’t going to get better until he dealt with it and dealing with it meant having her. Taking what she’d promised him years earlier.

  “You didn’t come here for this,” she whispered.

  Actually, Duke suspected he had. No, not entirely. He had a job to do, and he’d do it. But if that was all that mattered, he wouldn’t have felt so drawn to make his way to her house and sit outside while he waited for her to arrive. He could have left, at any time, and just prowled around until something in his gut woke and called him to action.

  But he’d come here. To her.

  And for this.

  “I did come for this,” he said gruffly, plumping her breasts together and staring down, fascinated by the sight of his hands on her body.

  Duke’s skin was gold, naturally so. By contrast, Ana’s breasts looked snowy white against his hands, creamy and warm, the scent of lavender rising stronger on the air. “I came for this and if I had half a brain, I would have done this years ago. You’re inside my skin, Ana, and that’s not going to change until I have what it is you promised me five years ago. What you promised us.”

  A sigh shuddered out of her. “Duke, this isn’t a good idea.”

  “Yes. It is.” He let go of her, rested his hands on the counter beside her. He wanted her, and he had every intention of having her—but he wouldn’t force it on her. Gripping the counter, he dipped his head and whispered, “You wanted me five years ago, didn’t you?”

  He had to know, had to hear the answer from her, even though his body already knew.

  Her answer, when it came, was soft and hesitant. “Yes.”

  Duke flexed his hands and just barely managed to swallow a pleased growl. “You wanted me, the same as I wanted you. You want me now . . . the same as I want you now. It’s not going away, Ana, and you know it. We might as well deal with it. But if you can’t handle that, then you tell me now. Tell me, and I’ll give you some room, give you a little more time.”

  Handle it?

  Hell, no, she couldn’t handle it. She couldn’t handle him. She’d never been able to handle him, not even when she’d spied him across the crowded bar five years earlier and known what she had to do.

  She’d chosen him—on purpose, because she’d recognized what he was. If one of his kind went missing, it would be noticed. Somebody would come looking for him, and maybe, just maybe, it would be somebody who could handle Cat.

  It had been a calculated, cold decision—one she’d made for a couple of reasons. She couldn’t keep doing what Cat wanted of her and stay sane. She couldn’t become the monster that Cat was. And she had to get her brother away from Cat before it was too late. It had been a desperate gamble, a desperate plan.

  It had worked, all too well.

  “Ana?” His breath was warm against her neck, his mouth hot and silken as it glided over her skin. “You going to run away, princess?”

  She wanted to. This was a bad, bad, bad idea and she knew it. Duke wanted to fuck her, because he hadn’t been able to do it that night. That was his way of “dealing” with it. It wasn’t the way she needed to do it, though, and if she gave in, it was going to leave a scar on her.

  What was one more?

  Taking a deep breath, she reached up and freed the front clasp of her bra.

  Behind her, Duke blew out a harsh breath, a sound that was low and rough and sexy. It had her knees weak. But then he went to draw her shirt away and she stiffened, reaching up and holding it in place.

  “Ana?”

  “The shirt . . . I . . . I want to leave it on.”

  He dipped his head and nuzzled her neck. “Shy, princess?”

  “Yes . . . no.” Geez, how did she tell him that she had enough scars on her back to rival the ones on his chest? Not exactly titillating talk. “Can I just keep the shirt on?”

  He kissed her, an openmouthed, hot kiss that she felt clear down to her toes. “For now.” He toyed with the waistband of her jeans and murmured, “What about these? Because, Ana, we really need to lose these.”

  “I—uh—okay.” It was about the best she could do without whimpering.

  Another hot, soft kiss, this one on her shoulder, his heat scalding her even through the white cotton of her shirt. “Put your hands on the counter.”

  She did, locking her knees in an attempt to keep her legs from shaking under her. Blood roared in her ears, pounded and pulsed in tandem with the ache in her sex. She was hot, embarrassingly wet already and when he stripped her jeans and panties away, she gasped as cool air kissed the hot flesh between her thighs.

  “You’re wet for me,”
he whispered. “I smell it. Spread your legs for me.”

  She whimpered, her breath catching in her throat when he reached down between her thighs, stroking her slick folds with his fingertips.

  “You’re tight.” His voice had dropped to a low growl, so rough it was almost unintelligible. He pushed one finger inside her and Ana’s knees buckled under her, her breath caught in her throat—couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe. He stroked deeper, his rough fingertip rasping over swollen tissues. Shaking, she sagged forward, letting the counter take more of her weight. Duke growled, stroking his other hand down her hip.

  He said something, but Ana couldn’t understand his words. Nothing made sense, nothing connected—nothing even existed except for his hands on her body, the slow, easy glide of his finger in, out of her sex—nothing—

  She came, harsh and sudden, sagging against the counter. She whimpered, letting the counter take all of her weight, pressing her flaming face to the cool surface. Her breasts pressed flat against it, her shirt and bra clung to her damp body, and her sweaty hair lay in a tangle over her shoulders and face, blocking the world out.

  Unable to think past the roar of blood in her ears, she drifted, half caught in a daze, only dimly aware that Duke was no longer touching her. A harsh, rasping sound, oddly loud. The whisper of cloth, a dull thud. Lifting her lashes, she tried to look behind her, but her hair was in the way. She went to brush it out of the way and Duke caught her wrist. “Be still,” he muttered, pressing her wrist to the counter, holding it there.

  He nudged her thighs apart and she gulped as something pressed against her buttocks. He was naked—naked, and oh . . . oh, shit—

  The head of his cock, thick, full and hard, nudged against her entrance. Panicking, she tried to close her thighs but he shifted, using his knees to keep her open. She cried out as he pressed against her, forcing her to yield. Thick—burning hot, scorching—stretching.