I shoot Danny a look, and he puts a hand on Tanner’s shoulder and squeezes. Tanner lets out a hiss. Then his eyes widen. He attempts to arch his back away from an object I can see being pressed into his kidney.
My voice drops to something only he can hear. "Bad news—you’re not the hunter. I am. And I don't share.”
He swallows hard, nodding.
Danny releases him, waving at him with the spoon he’d swiped from a nearby table. Tanner backs away, glaring, but he doesn’t say another word.
I watch them until they are out of sight.
The pulse beneath my palm flutters, and I turn back to the beauty at my mercy.
Damn. She’s fucking beautiful. And too damn innocent.
“Do you know him?” I ask.
“Of him. The health center has a long history patching up his past transgressions,” she answers breathlessly.
I nod and finally let my hand fall from her skin, but not before caressing one last time.
“Pippa,” she says, softly.
“Grayson,” I murmur, turning away before I do something reckless.
I have to leave. Or I’ll catch her before she even has a chance to run.
TWO
PIP
I love my work friends, I do, but when the full moon crazy hits and the squeals are on the up, I ninja the fuck out. I’m so not awoogirl!
I prefer functionality to mere sickly existence after a big night out. This is why most of my friends would now be home nursing hangovers while I’m heading out the door to jog to the gym.
I’m not sure what social category I fit into. I’m a bit of an awkward turtle and not a massive party person. The one time I was caught singing to myself while prepping a CT room has now been hailed as a party trick to drag out of me by my colleagues. I seldom do it; large scenes of people—and the attention—just aren’t for me.
Buzzing in the gym door, I’m pleasantly surprised to find the gym empty. Usually, my friend Viv would be here, but I’m convinced she’s recently found a horizontal version of cardio elsewhere.
I’m in my own world, listening to music in my headset and panting out tunes while doing a circuit when movement catches me off guard in my periphery. I startle and rip my headset off, clasping at my chest.
“Didn’t mean to startle you.” His voice is deep and smooth, with an edge of amusement.
Him. My devastatingly attractive savior from last night. Something about his tone unsettles me. Like it belongs in a darker room, whispered against naked skin. He owns his menace like a badge of honor. My stomach coils tight. I’m a moth, and he’s the flame.
“It’s okay,” I manage, throat dry. “I thought I was alone here.”
He tilts his head, watching me too closely. “You’re not.”
I feel my cheeks burn with the flush I try to contain as I bite my bottom lip with an awkward smile. My gaze follows the interwoven lacing of veins traveling down his arms to his hands. I cock my head, noticing the freshly cracked, bruised, and inflamed knuckles now gripping the weights.
“Rough night?” I ask, nodding toward his hands.
He follows my eyeline. “It’s nothing.”
I purse my lips but don’t push the subject. Instead, I acquiesce myself to the far end of the gym to continue my circuit, sweat in peace, and ogle unabashedly from afar. He’s a little over six feet tall, with sculpted muscles weaving, cording, and curving across the entirety of his tanned body. Beginning at his Achilles tendon, they map a rugged terrain all the way up to the trapezius muscles of his neck. His back is broad across the shoulders, tampering at his waist, and an intricate sleeve tattoo adorns his left arm. Jesus, was this guy a Roman gladiator in a previous life?
If that wasn’t enough to put us mere mortals to shame, his chocolate-brown hair is clipped short and effortlessly finger-combed back to perfection. His five o'clock shadow frames his plump lips, casting a perfect shade across his chiseled jawline.
What struck me the most last night was the intensity of his green-hazel eyes. His spicy cedar scent burned that image into my head for all eternity.
