Savannah’s head jerked up. “You do?” Her chest filled, impossibly tight.
He cupped her jaw. “I’m a cop, Savannah. I know killers.” His face darkened. “We need to talk about Walkson.”
She flinched.
“You said you didn’t know your attacker.”
“I didn’t. The man who choked me was not Andrew Walkson. He was bigger. Believe me, I know.” She gave a hysterical laugh.
“He hurt you,” Hunt said quietly.
She shuddered. “Yes. But he hurt poor Amelia worse, then tried to frame me. And then he terrorized my family. My father died about a year before Walkson started sending me letters. We were all still grieving and finding our feet without Dad. Walkson threatened my mom and younger brother, Ezra.” She bit her lip hard. “He told me in great detail just what he’d do to them.” She’d had nightmares about it for months.
“Jesus.”
She grabbed the front of Hunt’s shirt with her free hand. “He’s not sane, Hunt. He’s obsessed.” She swallowed. “Do you think the attack has to do with him?”
Hunt frowned. “I don’t know.”
“He must’ve hired someone.” She gasped. “And for the shooting at the Bean.” She leaped out of the chair, her paintbrush clattering to the floor. “God. He’s found me, and a whole new way to terrorize me. I have to go.”
Hunt grabbed her arms. “You’re not going anywhere.” His voice was a gritty growl.
“I have to. He’ll hurt more people.” Oh, God. What if Walkson hurt Hunt?
She couldn’t let that happen.
“I have to go.”
“No. We don’t know it’s him for sure. Let me help you.”
She tried to pull away. “No!”
“Let me rephrase that. I’m going to help you.”
“Hunter—” anger sparked “—you don’t get to boss me around. I’m an adult. I’ve been protecting myself for a very long time.”
“Not anymore.”
She saw the stubborn glint in his gorgeous green eyes.
Argh. He was going to dig in.
“You aren’t listening. Andrew Walkson is dangerous.”
“So am I.”
His tone made her pause. She knew he was, but Walkson was sneaky. He wouldn’t take Hunt head-on. He’d hide in the shadows, behind fake smiles and his ordinary face, and attack from behind.
She had to protect Hunt, but he wasn’t listening. She made a strangled sound. “Don’t go bossy on me.” She shoved against his chest.
And splattered blue paint all over his white shirt.
She gasped, and saw him look down.
Suddenly, laughter bubbled up inside of her. “There goes another shirt, and it’s totally your fault.”
He made a sound, part growl, part something else. “I think it’s your fault, and you owe me two new shirts.”
She shook her head. “You brought it on yourself.”
He reached out and dipped his fingers in the paint pots on his desk. Then he smeared his fingers over her face.
Savannah gasped. “You did not.”
His lips twitched and she reached past him, dipped her fingers in red, then swiped at his face. He tried to dodge, but she got him, smearing color on his collar.
Then it was war.
They both went at the paint. Savannah got green, and pressed handprints all over his shirt, and started laughing.
His paint-covered hand grabbed her shirt and hauled her in.
She hit his chest and gripped his arms.
They looked at each other for a beat, then their mouths collided.
Oh. God.
Heat. Need. Lust.
It felt like a wild explosion. She pressed into him, trying to climb that big body of his.
He groaned deeply in his throat, intensifying the kiss. One hand clamped on her ass, and she slid both her hands into his hair. She wound her tongue against his, desperate for more of his taste.
Then the sound of a choked female laugh made Savannah blink.
Hunt lifted his head. They were both breathing heavily.
“Hunt, I didn’t know you were a budding artist.”
Savannah looked over. A highly amused Brynn stood in the doorway.
Then she looked back, and barely controlled her own laugh. Hunt had paint on his shirt, streaked on his face, and in his hair.
Savannah guessed she hadn’t fared much better.
“Not a word,” Hunt growled.
Brynn smiled. “That’s going to be impossible.”
“Quiet.” His gaze moved to Savannah. “You aren’t leaving.”
She didn’t respond.
He gripped her chin. “You aren’t leaving. We’ll sort out the stalker who’s after you together.”
Savannah trembled. She wanted it so much. To not be alone. To lean on someone who cared.
“You can’t get hurt,” she whispered.
“I won’t.” He yanked her in for a hug.
“Well, Hunt, you have paint in your hair,” Brynn said. “And Savannah has a lovely handprint on her ass. So why don’t the two of you get cleaned up, and I’ll take you out for lunch? I want all the details on Savannah’s stalker.”
“And you think I’m bossy,” Hunt muttered.
Chapter Eight
Hunt set the chicken in the sizzling pan. He checked the pasta that was boiling, then tipped more balsamic glaze onto the chicken.
“I never pegged you for a chef.”
He turned. Savannah was sitting at the island, where he’d planted her. She was wearing a pretty dress made of a green, patterned fabric. It was short enough to show off those slim legs and the V-neck gave him tantalizing glimpses of smooth skin. She cradled a glass of wine, but had only had a few sips.
He wanted her to relax, but tension throbbed off her. He could see her chewing on the situation. He realized she probably always did. Life on the run from her stalker meant she’d always be thinking of Walkson. Always driven by one man—a murderer who was obsessed with her.
Hunt also knew she was fighting not to run. Not to head out the door and disappear.
His gut locked.
He dipped his spoon into the sauce, then held it up to her. “Open.”
She licked the spoon and moaned. Which went straight to his cock.
“I’m a single man, I like to eat, and take out every night leaves you overweight and feeling like crap. So, I learned to cook.” He smiled. “And the ladies are always impressed.”
“I’ve not seen any ladies.” She glanced away. “Not that I’ve been spying on you, or anything.”
His smile widened. He nudged her legs apart and liked the way her chest hitched. Just one small touch from him and she always responded. He stepped between them.
“I’ve been busy with work, and my sexy neighbor has been keeping me awake.”
“Because of my loud music. I know.”
“That, too.”
A dull flash of color filled her cheeks.
“I talked with Vander. We’re organizing for you to always be protected during the day. At night, you’ll stay here with me. I have a good security system. After dinner, I’ll show you how to enter the code.”
“Protected?”