Sylvie shrugs as she steps up to me, face tilted back, that teasing smirk still playing at her lips. “Maybe not the only thing.” She takes another step, making us almost flush. “Maybe I’m also thinking about the fact that this has to be pissing you off in some way. ThatIpiss you off.”
“You don’t piss me off,” I tell her, lowering my face like she’s the magnet I’m in orbit of.
“Don’t I?” she whispers.
“No.” Our lips are suddenly a breath apart, and all I can think about is claiming them. Tasting her and quenching this strange desire.
When I move closer, she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she holds firm, and I hesitantly brush my lips against hers. That first touch isn’t enough.
Sylvie makes a sound in the back of her throat. “If you’re going to kiss me, Hunter, then actually mean it.” She moves to take a step back, but I grab her arm and tug her into me.
“Like this?” I ask quietly, watching her expression shift from frustration to surprise as I claim her in a hard, unforgiving kiss.
It’s unlike anything I’ve ever done before. Ever felt. And it is all-consuming. Too much.
This alone tells me a kiss won’t be enough to quench the desire.
Nothing would be enough.
SIX
SYLVIE
Hunter’s kiss—hard, powerful, breathtaking—both takes me by surprise and unlocks something within me. It’s like a strike of something passionate and all-consuming, thrusting me into a range of emotions I can’t identify.
And just as quickly, it all comes to a halt when he pulls back, his eyes dark with a hunger that makes my belly do flips. Hunter releases me like I’ve burned him, taking several steps to the side. But I can still feel the hard press of his lips against my own, the scrape of his beard against my chin, his fingers hot and strong as they held me to his solid body.
Hunter scrapes a hand through his dark, dishevelled hair. “Let me find you something else to wear,” he mutters without looking at me. “The guest room is down here.”
From the corner of my eye, I watch him turn on his heel and stalk towards the stairs off the entry way.
I don’t move to follow him, instead collapsing onto the sofa. Fuck.Fuck. That was…
That was better than I’d ever experienced, and also the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. I never should have baited him into kissing me. That’s my fault, and I’ll own up to it.
But why had he done it in the first place? Why even try?
I swallow hard as I listen to the heavy clomp of his feet upstairs. I have a feeling that’s an answer I’ll never receive, because Hunter Gates is not the kind of man to open up. And I shouldn’t care.
I just need to get through this upcoming date with him, see the firehouse reopen, and then I can kick him out of my life for good.
Sleep ishard to find when you’re in an unfamiliar home with a storm raging beyond the wooden walls, but I somehow find it at some point in the early hours.
Except my dreams feature one person. The one I can’t have or should even think about.
And it’s Hunter in that stupid suit as he rolls his sleeves up to…
I shake my head of the remnants and slide out of bed. I can’t even say it was uncomfortable, because that’d be a lie. The cabin is gorgeous in that rustic way most cabins are, but this one feels like a real home. Maybe it’s because of Opal and her little touches around the house. I’d noticed her art on the mantle, the photos of her in the entryway. There are even a few of her with a woman I assume to be her mother, though after all the time I’ve spent with the teen, I admit I never asked about her.
Even as I leave the safety of the guest room, I notice on the wall across from me are paintings directly on the wood, almost like a mural showing a field in spring, with all sorts of wildflowers blooming amongst tall green grass.
I knew Opal was a bit of an artist, but she’s more talented than I gave her credit for.
Once I get to the living room, I breathe in freshly brewed coffee and what smells like cinnamon. I follow the smell into Hunter’s kitchen, finding him by an espresso machine frothing milk.
Stopping in the doorway, I lean against the wall, arms crossed, brows raised. “I didn’t take you for an espresso man. I thought you’d be a drip-coffee kind of guy.”
The thin material of his Henley grows taut over the thick muscle of his shoulders as he stiffens. “You’re up early.”
