Taking Him (Lies We Tell)(18)

Had it really been wrong to want that? It hadn’t felt wrong. No, nothing had felt more right to her in all her life than holding him in her arms. As if she’d been the one sheltering him instead of the other way around.

Clearly though, she’d been the only one who’d felt the rightness because he’d ripped himself out of her arms and walked away.

Her hand on the wooden spoon tightened and not from anger. From fear. But shit, she wasn’t going to be a coward, not like she had been up in his bedroom. She’d started down this path and she hadn’t come to the end of it yet. Tonight she was going to give him the dinner she’d cooked and get some answers from him. Talk about this thing between them once and for all.

God, sometimes it felt like that was what she’d been doing her whole life. Chasing people for attention. Chasing Hunter. It was depressing. Finally she’d gotten him to see her as a woman who wanted him, and yet for some reason he’d pulled away again and sure enough she’d followed. Like a good little girl. Like a good little dog.

She let out a breath. Yeah, that’s what she was. A lapdog running after her master, begging to be petted. How pathetic.

A sound alerted her. A footfall.

She tensed but didn’t turn. “I’m cooking dinner.”

A brief silence.

“I figured that’s why you were standing at the stove.” His voice sounded neutral. Steady.

Ellie waited a beat then said, “Are you going to continue avoiding me? Or do you think we could actually be in the same room for once?”

He didn’t say anything to this but she heard the scrape of a chair being pulled out. “Vin mentioned you were pissy with him today,” he said in a conversational tone. “He wanted me to find out why.”

Ellie turned, mentally bracing herself for the impact his physical presence had on her.

But naturally enough that didn’t help. It never bloody did.

Hunter sat casually on one of the kitchen chairs, knees spread in that lazy, dominant posture that always made her catch her breath. He had one elbow resting on the table, his other hand on one powerful thigh. Judging by the fact he was in clean denim and a white T-shirt, he’d obviously gone upstairs to shower and change after arriving home. And she hadn’t heard him come in, too busy brooding over her pasta sauce.

She folded her arms over her breasts to hide her body’s instinctive reaction to him. And then his dark eyes met hers and her heartbeat rocketed. Crap. When would this ever end? Would she feel like this every single time she looked at him? Twenty years from now? Thirty?

If so, she wasn’t going to be able to bear it.

“He can’t ask me himself?” She tried to sound cool and uncaring, but it came out sounding petulant.

“Apparently you told him to piss off.”

“That would be right. I don’t particularly want to talk to him.”

He tilted his head. “Why not?”

Bugger it. He was doing the laidback, friend thing he always did when Vin’s directness got her back up. Usually it meant Vin was worried about her and hadn’t been able to get any answers out of her. Back when she’d been a teenager, she’d preferred talking to Hunter. His soft approach had always worked with her.

But not today. Today she hated it.

“Don’t do that,” she said. “This is the last time I’m going to say this: I will not go back to being Vin’s little sister with you, Hunter. Not anymore.”

He didn’t reply for a long moment, watching her. Christ, if he told her she’d always be Vin’s little sister with him so help her, she was going to hit him.

But he didn’t. “It’s me you’re pissed with, I know. But don’t take it out on Vin. What’s happening with us has got nothing to do with him.”

Ellie widened her eyes in exaggerated shock. “Oh my God. ‘Us’? There’s an ‘us’ now? You’re not going into your usual denial thing?”

Something dark gleamed in his eyes. “No.”

The simple word seemed to sink down into the space between them like a stone into still water, casting out ripples. And she became aware of the distance he was from her. Of the pressure of his gaze. Of his stillness. And it wasn’t the stillness of a man waiting for something to happen. It was the stillness of a predator before it pounced.



Hunter couldn’t say what had crystallised inside him. Only the moment Ellie had told him she wasn’t going back to being Vin’s sister anymore had made him aware that not only would she never be that to him again, he didn’t want her to be either.

Standing against the stove, her arms crossed over her breasts, red hair loose over her shoulders, she looked strong and sexy and very self-possessed. Her chin lifted a little in challenge. She had black jeans on today and a very loose black T-shirt, the strap of a bright purple tank top peeking out from underneath the T-shirt. And all the confusion in his head became very clear.

He wanted to touch her. Wanted her to touch him. What Vin didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. And Ellie would be gone in around two and a half weeks anyway. So why not indulge himself? She wanted him. He wanted her. There was no drama, right?

What would it be like to be inside her?

It was the one thing he’d never done. The one thing Liz had never manipulated out of him. Oh, he’d begged her for it—he’d been seventeen, after all. But she’d always refused. In her twisted mind, the fact that she’d never screwed him had meant she’d never cheated on her husband. And afterwards his virginity had remained the one thing he’d kept for himself. The one thing no one could take from him.

He’d never felt the urge to give that to anyone before. Not even a glimmer. The power inherent in keeping it was too precious to give up. But that was before Ellie. Before he’d touched her. Before he’d felt her around his fingers. Hot, tight, wet.

His body hardened. Became restless and aching. Suddenly he couldn’t seem to think about anything else.

Jesus, was he insane? This morning at the site with Vin all he’d been able to think about was the trust Vin had given him. And how he’d broken that trust. Now all he could think about was touching Ellie. Screwing Ellie. Two days ago the thought of a woman touching him was enough to make his skin crawl with distaste, and yet now the only thing he could think about was Ellie’s hands on him.

Yeah, he was insane all right. This situation wasn’t only messed up. It was fucked up beyond all recognition. Spinning wildly out of control.

Really, he should walk out of here. Keep the distance between him and Ellie. Do the denial thing she’d accused him of doing. But he couldn’t. He was pinned beneath the weight of all the years he’d spent without touch. And right in front of him was the one woman who’d broken through that barrier. Who could ease the hunger that gripped him by the throat and refused to let go.

Hunter forgot about the wedding. Forgot about Vin. He forgot about everything except his need for Ellie.

“Come here,” he said softly, and he didn’t make it a request. A demand was the only thing he had room for.

She blinked at him. “What?”

“You heard. Come here, sweetness. Now.”

Her intake of breath was audible in the quiet of the kitchen. The look in her eyes changed, the silver spark of anger lurking in the gray depths becoming something else. She dropped her arms, pushed away from the stove and walked toward him.

He couldn’t breathe as she came closer. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t take his eyes off hers. She stopped right in front of him, a flush creeping over her cheeks, making her eyes gleam bright. “What do you want?”

Hunter didn’t reply. Instead he sat up, put his hands on her narrow hips and pulled her forward so she stood between his thighs. She made a soft sound, one that sounded like surprise, her hands curling into little fists at her sides.

He looked up at her, into her eyes. Saw the glitter of desire.

I used to imagine you in my head…. I wanted you so badly…

“Hunter,” she said thickly. “What are you doing?”

“What you want me to do.” With slow, leisurely movements he began to undo the buttons on her jeans.

She took a ragged sounding breath. “But you don’t want…want this.”

He opened the denim and pushed her jeans down, revealing the soft paleness of her stomach. Today her underwear was cotton. Bright green with little blue stars. “Whatever gave you that idea?” He leaned forward, pressed his mouth to the sensitive skin above the waistband of her knickers, the scent of her filling his head, heady and sweet as incense. He closed his eyes, inhaling her, feeling the shiver that went through her.

“We need to talk about this,” she whispered.

“You really want to talk?” He let the backs of his fingers stroke gently over her bare skin, prompting another shiver. “I think we can do better than talking.”

“What, and have you distance me again? I don’t think so.” She tensed, preparing to move away, but Hunter tightened his hold, keeping her right where she was. Guilt threaded through the desire because she was right, they did need to talk. It would be the right thing to do. But shit, he’d always been fucking useless at doing the right thing. And besides, why bother when guilt only added spice to the mix? It always had done.