She shook her head. The image of Hunt—big, gorgeous, dependable Hunt—lifeless and bloody, made her stomach revolt. She set her glass down on the coffee table with a click.
“Don’t let him get in your head, Savannah.”
“He’s been there for years. Haunting me. He threatened my mom and brother. He killed a woman who looked like me. All because of me.”
Hunt touched her leg. “It’s not your fault. Walkson is to blame.”
“How can you be so calm?” Her pulse skittered like crazy. “He’s dangerous.”
“I know. And I’m not calm.”
There was a snap in his voice that jerked her head up. She saw the blazing fire in his eyes.
“Hunter—”
“I hate seeing you terrified. I hate knowing you feel you have to flee, that this asshole has control over your entire life.”
With catlike speed, Hunt slammed his glass down on the coffee table so hard it cracked the glass. “You’ve had to hide your art, stay away from your family.” He cupped her cheek. “Deny yourself the life you want to live.”
Her pulse was still pounding, but different emotions rushed through her now.
Hunt leaned in, his fingers brushing her cheek. “I’m going to stop him. Whatever it takes.”
The fear raced back in. “Hunter…”
He rose and pulled her up. He moved to the window, and wrapped his arms around her.
“I’m going to stop him.” Hunt tugged her so her back was pressed snugly to his front. He was so strong. Warmth poured off him. “You never have to be afraid again.” He nuzzled her neck. “I hope he’s out there, watching, seeing that I have you, and that I’m not letting you go.”
Oh, God. Hunt’s mouth traveled to the side of her neck. He nipped.
She arched into him blindly, staring out onto the empty street.
Hunt pulled her away from the window and back to the couch. He dropped down and pulled her onto his lap so that she straddled him again.
“You’re so beautiful, Savannah. So is your art. I want you to be able to share your talent with the world.”
Her chest locked. “Don’t you dare make me cry.”
He smiled darkly. “Maybe I can make you feel something else, instead.” His mouth took hers.
She shouldn’t do this. Shouldn’t let this man get closer.
But as soon as his mouth touched hers, she didn’t care. On a moan, she opened her mouth, slipping her tongue between his lips.
He groaned and grabbed the back of her head. His kiss turned harder, more ferocious.
Vicious arousal washed away every single thought from Savannah’s mind. Hunt pulled her closer, one hand sliding into her hair, tugging hard.
She ground against him, feeling the steel-hard bulge under her. His cock pressed against the juncture of her thighs and her clit throbbed. Her panties were saturated.
Savannah put everything into the kiss. She licked, nipped, her tongue dueling with his. She rocked on his lap as he plundered her mouth. His raw hunger throbbed off him.
God, she loved messing up this oh-so-steady detective. This could become addictive.
His hand cupped one of her breasts. She made a sound, pressing into his palm. She wasn’t over endowed, but she knew her breasts weren’t bad. He thumbed her nipple through her dress and her bra until it pebbled.
Then he bunched up the bottom of the dress and slid his hand under the fabric.
She froze.
His palm pressed to her belly, and she felt his gaze lock on her.
She couldn’t look at him.
His fingers moved, tracing the ridges of scars on her belly. Every muscle in her body strung tight.
“He did this.” Hunt’s voice held a gritty edge.
She nodded.
“Eyes, Savannah. Now.”
She looked up.
There was no horror, revulsion, or worse, fascination.
“These are signs you survived, baby, that’s all.”
“I… I don’t want to take my dress off.”
“That’s okay. I can make you come with it on.”
What? His hand shifted, bunching up in her dress. The air caught in her lungs.
“Hunter—”
“Shh.” He kissed her again.
Soon, she was so lost in the kiss, that she lost track of everything. Then she felt his big hand under the dress, between her legs.
As his fingers brushed her panties, she jumped.
He pushed the damp fabric aside and his fingers stroked her. He made a hungry sound. “So soft.”
As he stroked her, her hips moved, her small cries escaping her lips.
He found her clit and rubbed it.
Savannah gripped his shoulders. “Oh, God.”
He slid two fingers inside her.
She’d sculpted them, so she knew they were big. She enjoyed the stretch, panting at the pleasure. His thumb moved back to her clit.
“Ride my hand, baby. I want to watch you come.”
She couldn’t have stopped if she’d wanted to. She moved her hips, working herself on his fingers, sensation jolting through her.
“Hot, tight, slippery.” He bit her bottom lip. “I can’t wait to watch you take my cock, Savannah.”
She cried out. A shock of pleasure rocketed through her, and she picked up speed, moving her hips wildly.
Her orgasm was building, and she felt like she was on the edge of the cliff, ready to fall. He kept up the pace, his fingers plunging into her, his thumb rubbing her clit.
“Hunter.” He pushed deeper and Savannah came.
As the climax crashed over her—strong and potent—her body clamped down on his fingers.
She heard her cries and her vision wavered.
Then Hunt pulled his fingers free and tipped them sideways on the couch. He pulled her tight against his chest and held her.
“What about you?” she whispered, trying to get her breathing under control.
“Later. Right now, I’m right where I want to be.”
He kissed her and she shivered, still floating in bliss.
“And I’ve got you right where I want you.”
She clung to him, but even feeling so good, resting in his arms, her fear wasn’t far away.
This didn’t change anything. She had to protect him.
She had to leave.
Chapter Nine
Savannah crouched by the edge of Hunt’s bed, night shadows dancing on the wall.
After her earth-shattering orgasm, they’d dozed on the couch. Hunt had finally urged her into his bedroom, into one of his big T-shirts, and into his bed.
Once again, he’d curled around her. She thought it would be hard to sleep, but she’d drifted off, feeling warm and safe.
Until she’d dreamed of Andrew Walkson stabbing Hunt, over and over.
Blood. There’d been so much blood.
Savannah had woken on a terrified gasp.
She’d lain there, heart racing, until the nightmare had passed. But as she’d stared at the ceiling, listening to Hunt’s even breathing, she’d been excruciatingly aware that her nightmare could become reality.
More than anything, she’d wanted to stay here, curled up in Hunt’s arms. To let him shield her.
But she couldn’t.
She hadn’t known him long, but she knew he was a good man. He had brothers, family, and friends who loved him. He was courageous and he’d fought for his country, and now served his city.