Chapter Four
The next morning, Hunt headed out to his Charger.
There was no sign of movement at Savannah’s. He scowled. She was probably sleeping like a baby. Meanwhile, he felt tired and churned up.
That kiss…
She’d vibrated with passion, then shoved him out the door like he had an infectious disease. He knew she was wary, but still. After helping her with her artwork, he’d thought they’d made a connection. Hell, he’d never felt that feeling before, having a hand in creating something so beautiful.
Sure, putting criminals behind bars gave him a sense of satisfaction, but that was different. That always felt like the end of something bad. But making art felt like the beginning of something good.
And how Savannah had looked after that kiss, her face flushed with desire…
If she poured that much passion into her art, would she give the same level of it in bed? His cock tightened.
Hunt swallowed a groan. He’d dreamed of her. All night. He’d woken with a throbbing cock that he had to take care of in the shower.
Today, he was stopping at the local coffee shop for something with an extra shot before he headed to his desk. He found a parking space and headed inside the Roasted Bean, known to the locals as the Bean.
They were doing a brisk business.
“Hey there, Detective.” The pretty brunette at the counter gave him a flirtatious smile. “The usual?”
“Yes, thanks, Sam.”
He paid and moved aside, going through his cases in his head. He needed to catch up with Brynn about some gang crime, then follow up with some informants.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a bicycle pass by the front window. His muscles tightened, and a moment later, Savannah bustled into the coffeeshop.
She wore another pair of those tiny denim shorts, and a slouchy, white T-shirt. It fell off one shoulder, revealing smooth, golden skin. Her blonde hair was in a ponytail today, and it made her look younger. She headed straight for the counter.
“Vanilla latte. Stat.” She smiled, then turned and spotted him. Her smile wavered and she hesitated, then she moved toward him. “Hey.”
“Good morning.” Damn, just looking at her tied him in knots. He wanted her. Badly. He wasn’t a man used to having trouble controlling himself. “How’s the lip?”
His gaze went to her pink lips, covered in something glossy. The small injury looked better already.
“Totally fine.” Her finger brushed her bottom lip, sending his brain into X-rated territory.
Shit. He put a stranglehold on his out-of-control desire. “Sleep well?”
“Like a baby.”
“That makes one of us.”
She raised a brow at his grumpy tone. “Rough night?”
He leaned closer. “My sexy neighbor kept me up.”
Heat hit her cheeks. “It wasn’t that late.”
“It wasn’t helping you with your art that kept me up.” Her hair smelled like fruity shampoo, but still with an undertone of paint that he shouldn’t find so alluring. “It was afterward, lying in my bed, hard for you.”
Her lips parted. “Hunter…”
“Hi, Savannah. Hi, Detective Morgan.”
Hunt made himself step back. Ella-Mae was beaming at them. The teenager was tall and thin, her blonde-brown hair in a braid.
“Hi, Ella-Mae.” Savannah shot the girl a bright smile.
“I wanted to ask how Marcie was?” The girl’s face filled with worry.
“She’s staying with her sister, and sorting out her options.” Hunt hoped she picked one where she divorced her abusive husband, but Hunt had heard the excuses she’d made for John—that he was stressed at work, not sleeping well, had some health issues.
It was fifty-fifty as to how it would go for Marcie.
“So, she’s safe.” Ella-Mae released a breath. “Savannah, you were like Wonder Woman yesterday, diving in there to stop John.”
It looked like Ella-Mae had a girl crush.
“She was foolish,” Hunt said.
Both women looked at him.
“She could have gotten hurt badly, worse than a split lip.”
Savannah straightened. “Morgan—”
He touched a loose strand of her hair and tucked it back behind her ear. “Foolish, but brave.”
Some of the fire went out of her eyes.
Hunt noted Ella-Mae looking between the two of them, and her smile—impossibly—got bigger.
“Morgan and Cole,” the barista called out.
Ella-Mae nodded. “I’ll let you two get back to your coffee date. I need to go.”
“It’s not a date,” Savannah said quickly.
The teenager winked. “Right. Well, I need a chai and a doughnut.”
“Shouldn’t you be at your summer job?” Savannah asked.
“I have a day off. Bye.”
Savannah snatched up her coffee. Hunt reached past her for his own.
“Great, now she thinks we’re together,” Savannah muttered.
“You have a problem with that?”
“We aren’t together.” She sipped her coffee.
“Yet,” he countered.
Her eyes went wide. “What?”
“I like the look of you, Savannah.”
She stiffened. “I won’t be around long. I don’t do relationships.”
“You mean you have secrets, and you don’t trust easily.”
She looked away and sipped her coffee again.
Hunt moved closer. “I like how you smell like paint. I like the way you look at me, even when you’re trying not to. I admire that you rushed in to protect Marcie, even though it was risky. And I like that you really liked my hands. I’m keen to let you study them in more detail.”
Those gray eyes met his, boiling with emotion. “Don’t do this,” she whispered.
“What?”
“Tempt me with things I can’t have.”
There was so much pain in her voice. He fought back a frown, and the urge to bombard her with questions. A part of him wanted to know who’d hurt her so he could make it go away. It was just how he was built.
Suddenly, he heard the screech of tires outside, and then the distinct sound of gunfire.
The front windows of the Bean shattered.
Hunt acted on instinct. He leaped on Savannah, taking her to the ground.
Screams exploded through the coffee shop, and furniture rattled and shook as patrons dove for cover.
“Hunt,” she said shakily.
“Stay still,” he growled. “Everyone down!”
There was another spray of bullets, and he felt Savannah jolt and press into him. He made sure he kept her covered with his body.
Bullets peppered the counter, pinged off metal and glass. Something broke with a loud crash. Savannah cried out, and he held her tighter.
He’d keep her safe. He hadn’t been there for his team in Afghanistan, but he’d be there for Savannah.
Finally, there were no more bullets. There was another screech of tires.
Cautiously, he lifted his head. Sobs and cries filled the coffee shop.
“Hunter.” Savannah’s fingers curled into his arms.
He kissed her nose. “It’s going to be okay.”
A teenage boy half rose from behind a chair. “They’re gone. The car sped off.”