Anything For Love (The Hunter Brothers Book 1)

by Lola StVil

  “Why? What happened? Did they threaten you?’ Before I can reply, Decker starts talking to himself.

  “Wait, why would they go after you…they wouldn’t, useless…you were in their way somehow…by protecting someone else…a kid in your program. Who is it? Fuck! Okay, we got this. Just don’t make contact, whatever you do. Avoid them. Got it?” he says, suddenly turning very serious, very fast.

  “Too late.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve already made contact,” I mumble.

  “You approached a member of the Street Kings, fuck!” He hisses as he rakes his hands through his hair. “Alright, walk me through it, Wonder Woman. What happened?

  “I kind of…cursed them out.”

  I explain what happened back at Carlos’s school. Decker chews me out pretty good for putting myself in such a dangerous position. Right away he starts making calls to see what he can find out about the gang members I described. I don’t want to tell him not to say anything to Wyatt, but he guesses that’s where I’m headed.

  “Winter, he’s my partner, I can’t lie to him.”

  “I know. I know. But both you and my friend Jana have already lectured me. Does Wyatt really need to weigh in on this?” I beg.

  “You think this is about getting a lecture? You don’t get it. Wyatt is going to lose his shit. You have no idea how protective he is about the people in his life.”

  “Then let’s not make it worse.”

  “You need to tell him. He needs to know,” Decker insists.

  “Okay, but later when the situation has been diffused.”

  Decker mulls over my suggestion while I bite my lower lip and wait with bated breath. I have no idea what he’ll decide in the end. But what I do know for sure is that that if Wyatt knows what happened earlier, our dinner will be filled with fireworks, but not the good kind. “Fine, he won’t hear it from me,” Decker grumbles. I take his hand and thank him. He then looks at the bag of food on the desk, marches over to it, and speaks in a stern voice.

  “I’m taking your fries; I think you know why.”

  ***

  A few hours later, after taking Carlos back to the group home, I get ready for my date. I look at myself in the mirror one last time, call a Lyft, and head out to see Wyatt. I didn’t pay any attention to the address he sent me last night. But I should have. He lives on Seventy-third Street, on the Upper East Side. It’s an affluent part of the city and it’s only a few steps from Central Park. It’s the kind of real estate people salivate over. When I get to his apartment building, I can’t help but marvel at its beautiful five-floor spice-colored exterior. He opens the window and calls out to me from the fifth floor.

  “Hey, babe! Be right there,” he says.

  This place is worth some serious money. How much do cops make? Well, maybe he’s renting a room here and they let him use the stove.

  He emerges from the doorway and pulls me in for a tight hug. I inhale his fresh, intoxicating scent. It feels so good to be in his embrace. Can I stay in his arms, please? When he pulls away I can’t help but be a little sad. He’s got on a pair of dark jeans and a grey V-neck long-sleeve cashmere shirt. I can see make out his well-defined muscles from here. God damn.

  It’s a crime to let the evening go by without getting close to that. Fear be damned, I want this man so bad…

  “You okay?” he asks as he studies my face.

  “Yeah, sorry.” I smile nervously.

  “C’mon, baby, get inside, it’s freezing out here,” he says as he takes my hand. We enter the elevator and go to the top floor. He signals for me to enter the apartment.

  “Are the apartment owners home?” I ask before I enter.

  “What?”

  “The people you rent a room from.”

  “I’m not renting. You’re fine to go in. No one is here but us,” he assures me, amused by my question. I enter the apartment and find an exquisitely decorated home. The various shades of grey, white, and black help create a warm, yet distinctly masculine feel. The “L” shaped sofa could easily double as someone’s bed, given its large size. It sits before a grey-and-black Persian rug, which works perfectly with the hardwood floors. The large wooden coffee table sits across from what must be the largest flat screen I’ve seen in someone’s home. But my favorite aspect of his home is the exposed brick.

  “Okay, so please tell me you are on the take. That’s the only way I can think for you to be able to afford this place.” I laugh. He adds his own laughter to the mix.

  “Seriously, are you a crooked cop?” I reply.

  “Can I take your coat before we discuss my finances?” he teases.

  “Oh, okay,” I reply as he helps me take my coat off. His smile fades. He looks concerned. Crap, did I forget to button something or put on deodorant?

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “You look…” He growls.

  “That’s a good thing, right?”

  “How am I gonna be able to stop myself from…you don’t make it easy to stay away from you,” he says as he studies my curves in my little black dress. He likes the plunging neckline. I can tell.

  “Maybe you don’t have to stay away—I mean…maybe I’m not the same girl from Halloween night,” I tease.

  “Good to know,” he says as he pries his eyes away from my figure.

  “I love this place, it’s beautiful,” I tell him as I look around.

  “Thanks. If you see anything of beauty, I’m sure my mom picked it out, to be honest. I was good with a TV and a place to sit and watch it. But decorating always makes her happy, so I said she could add a few things. Then I went undercover last year, and when I got back, she had done all of this,” he admits.

  “She did a great job.”

  “She’s gotten really good at decorating. She now has a hand in all our properties.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My family owns some real estate around town. No big deal,” he says as he takes my hand and guides me toward the kitchen. Something smells heavenly.

  “Um, I’m gonna need more details.” I sit at the dark grey marble countertop and watch him move around the state-of-the-art kitchen. What the fuck? Who is this guy? He signals towards a nearby wine rack and asks me my preference. I choose a bottle of red wine. He pours some for me in a glass but gets himself a bottle of beer.

  “It should be ready soon. There’s just enough time for the Q&A you’re dying for,” he teases.

  “Good!” I reply, trying not to get lost in his perfect eyes.

  “My family does pretty well. My granddad saved his whole life to buy his first rental property, and through a series of investments and a ‘work until you drop’ attitude, he became pretty wealthy. We own a few dozen properties in the city alone.”

  “So you were raised super rich, huh? You grew up drinking gold for dinner?” I tease.

  “No, not at all. My parents paid for our college; everything else, they wanted us to do for ourselves.”

  “That’s kind of harsh.”

  “We thought so as kids but my brothers and I found our way and that’s because we knew we had to. We all have strong careers and can stand on our own. I don’t think that would have been the case if everything was handed to us.”

  “I get that. So, how does your mom feel about you being a cop?” I ask.

  “She has offered me ten million dollars to get a different line of work.”

  “Wow! Seriously?”

  “Yeah, she worries. A lot. But she also knows I love what I’m doing. Actually, after Rose died, I didn’t want to add to her stress, so I told her I would quit the force but she wouldn’t hear of it. Deep down, she knows it’s what I was meant to do.”

  “And what about this place?”

  “Our grandfather willed each of us a townhouse; five for us guys, and one for Rose. She willed her building to me, but I haven’t done anything with it,” he admits.

  “Makes sense, it would be hard for me too. Wyatt, why didn’t you tell me a
ll this before?”

  “Money is a really funny thing. It makes people act different once they find out.”

  “Well, I want you to know I don’t care about how much money your family has,” I assure him.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, I only want you for your body—and your flat screen TV.” He laughs and leans in so our foreheads touch. When we pull apart, he looks in my eyes and smiles to himself.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Winter, you really are everything I’ve ever wanted...”

  The moment I slid her coat off her shoulders and got a look at her in that curve hugging black dress, it was a battle between my dick and my mind. I pulled her to me because I couldn’t bear the space between us. As we embraced, I inhaled her scent. She smelled like jasmine and happiness. How the hell did she manage that?

  I watched her take in my place. She asked a lot of questions; it was hard to focus because that fucking dress hugged her ass so well, it was all I could do not to rip it off. No one has ever messed with my control like this. The funny thing is, she’s not aware of just how dangerous that body of hers can be. How can she expect me to think when she’s wearing that?

  It would be one thing if it was just the dress, but it’s more than that. Her laugh is just as dangerous as the dress. I love the way she asks questions and waits with bated breath as I reply. The only thing that rivals my need to fuck her is my hunger to know more and more about her. Fuck me for falling this hard, this fast.

  And now, we are at the dinner table. Everything has been laid out and she’s just looking at the food, not eating or anything. She’s just staring with her mouth open. Why the hell isn’t she eating? She’s such a weirdo.

  My weirdo.

  “Babe, are you gonna eat or what?” I ask.

  “This looks very good,” she says, sounding confused.

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “No, seriously. This looks amazing. You made real food.”

  “As opposed to fake food?” I tease, although I know exactly what she means.

  “It’s just that I thought you’d boil pasta and pour a jar of sauce over it, but this looks like real food. What is this?”

  “It’s brown butter scallops with Parmesan risotto and sautéed spinach. It’s really not that hard to make,” I assure her. She looks over at me in disbelief.

  “You might hate it. You don’t know until you eat it. Hence the eating utensils near your plate,” I playfully remind her.

  “Well, it looks amazing, I don’t care what Decker says.”

  “Decker?”

  “Yeah, when he came with my sandwich earlier. Well, he didn’t say anything but he made a face when I told him you were cooking for me. I’m guessing he feared for my life. Like your cooking could actually kill me.” She laughs.

  She misread Decker’s reaction, but I stay silent. I’ll tell her why he reacted that way another time; right now, I just want to know if she likes the food or not. No woman’s opinion has ever mattered to me this much before. This is new territory—for both of us, I think.

  “Babe, it’s getting cold. Eat.”

  “Okay, okay,” she says, then she takes a bite. Her face falls. I ask her what’s wrong. “This is really fucking good!” she says as shock takes over her face.

  “Can you be less shocked, please?” I reply.

  “Sorry, it’s just that I practiced my fake smile in case the food sucked, but no, this is really good. This is my real happy face,” she says, laughing. I have no choice but to join her crazy ass and laugh along. I’m in so much trouble with this woman.

  The rest of the meal goes by in a blur of laughter and discovery. She tells me about saving up to go to Hawaii one day to visit one of the largest bird watching fields in the world. I point out how odd it is that she wants to go to Hawaii for birds, and I tell her that she’s not at all normal.

  She asks, in a serious tone, if I’m okay with her being odd. I am very okay with that. She asks more about my family and I tell her about some of the charities we’re involved with. She volunteers to help out if we need extra bodies for any of our annual functions.

  “It so happens that I am a fantastic folder of napkins,” she says proudly.

  “Well, that’s a very useful skill.”

  “I know, I try not to brag about it,” she replies with a smirk. When we are done with the entrée, I head to the kitchen and come back with dessert—a plate of freshly dipped chocolate strawberries. She beams. She leans her head back and opens her mouth to take a bite. I watch as she makes contact with the skin of the strawberry, swirls it around her tongue, and wraps her lips around it. She bites down on the strawberry and suckles on its juices. My cock swells.

  I swear to God, I’m not gonna be able to take it much longer…

  ***

  He didn’t eat dessert; said he’s good just watching me. We talked a lot earlier, but now our words are gone and all that’s left is the crackling sexual tension that threatens to break us if we don’t give in to it. I have wanted to kiss him ever since I laid eyes on him. I want to feel his lips against mine more than I want air. But I don’t know where to start. It always looks so much easier on TV. I panic. I start to clear the dishes.

  “You don’t have to do that,” he says, sounding thrown by my actions.

  “Yeah, I do. You made dinner. I can clean up. And it’s not good to let them stay overnight. No big deal, I got it!” I reply as I rush into the kitchen. He follows me. I’m facing away from him as I add liquid dish soap to the warm water I’m collecting so I can wash the dishes.

  “Babe, put down the dishes and turn around,” he says behind me as he runs his fingers down my bare arms; every stroke causes a tingle down my spine. He nuzzles the nape of my neck and my breathing pattern changes.

  “Turn around,” he says in a husky voice. God knows I want to, but I’m more or less frozen in place. My biggest fear is that he’ll give up and walk away.

  Please, don’t walk away. I need you. My body needs you.

  He leans in further, closing the gap between us. I feel his enormous stone-hard erection behind me. He reaches over and turns off the water.

  “Don’t make me say it again,” he warns. His stern, “takes charge” tone makes the space between my legs ache with longing. He’s done asking for my permission. He knows what I want, even when I don’t. He turns me around, puts his hand on the back of my head, and hungrily devours my mouth. His tongue parts my lips with a series of seeking and possessive strokes. He swears under his breath as he latches on to my bottom lip. His touch sends a series of erotic sensations that grip me as our tongues intertwine.

  I don’t freeze up. Thank you, God! My body knows exactly what to do with his lips and his tongue. It knows to service him and every savage demand his mouth makes. We move in a frenzy of desire that so strong, it nearly consumes us.

  His cell phone rings.

  “Fuck! I gotta take this,” he says as he takes his phone out from his back pocket.

  “What?” he barks into the receiver. I try to catch my breath and manage the sharp disappointment of having him pull away so suddenly.

  “When did this happen?...Why the fuck didn’t you call me?...No, don’t do anything until I get down there!” he says, then angrily hangs up on whoever was on the other end.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask, not knowing what else to say.

  “No, I gotta go. Sorry, babe. Stay hang out if you want, but if not, the door locks automatically,” he says as he pulls out his gun and checks how many bullets are in the chamber. I jump slightly at the sight of his weapon. He rushes towards the door, and I call after him.

  “Exactly how dangerous is the situation you’re headed to right now?” I ask as I run to catch up with him.

  “Are you worried about me?” he asks.

  “Very.”

  “I promise I’ll be careful, and Decker’s got my back. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine, babe,” he says as he gives me a quick kiss on the lips.r />
  ***

  I’m still wheeling from our first kiss. I slide my finger over my swollen lips and a current of lust floods my body. Damn. Why does he kiss like that? It’s a fucking weapon! If I think about that kiss anymore, I’ll never leave this man’s home and he’ll think I’m a crazy stalker chick. So, I gather my stuff, but before I go, I tidy up the kitchen and dining room. He went out of his way for me and I think it’s only right I help out. I mean, it’s not like I can cook, so cleaning up is the next best thing.

  When I get home, I find myself missing him. I know, it’s lame because I just saw him but there it is, I’m already wishing I were with him. I call Jana and leave a message on her voicemail.

  “So, guess who pushed all her issues aside and got kissed? Me! Guess who kissed back? Me! God, Jana, it was such a good kiss! The kind of kiss that ruins you for other men. Shit, Jana. I think I really, really like this guy… That’s good, right?” I hang up the phone and right away I want to call him. Okay, seriously, what the fuck? I might as well write his name inside my locker with a pink marker and a heart!

  Okay, Winter, get ahold of yourself. Be a grown-up. Do something adults do. Pay a bill. Water a plant. Get life insurance. Anything other than stand here and daydream about Wyatt!

  The idea comes to me in a flash. It’s a way to do the adult thing and still think about him—go shopping for him. I swear I don’t mean that in a creepy way. I think he’ll like what I get him. It’s really hard to track down the item I want to get him, but that doesn’t stop me from surfing all night until I find a woman on eBay who may have what I need. I write her an email explaining what I am looking for and hope she gets back to me quickly. I close my eyes for what seems like a minute but turns out to be hours. When my cell rings, it stirs me out of a deep sleep. It’s him.

  “Hey, babe,” he says, sounding sad and exhausted.

  “Hey, is everything okay?” I ask as I turn on my side.

  “Yeah…” he says in pensive whisper.