She leaned forward, accepting the bite. The meat was tender, perfectly seasoned, the char adding a smoky depth that made her want another taste immediately. Their eyes met as she pulled back, and something electric passed between them.
Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. An older couple was being seated beside them. The man pulled out his wife’s chair, waited for her to settle, then walked around to his own seat. Once seated, they immediately reached across thetable for each other’s hands, a gesture that spoke of decades together.
“My parents are like that,” Brie said. “Thirty-five years together and they still look at each other like teenagers.” Hunter followed her gaze to the couple. “Did your parents have that?” she asked, then immediately worried she’d overstepped. “Sorry, you don’t have to…”
“They did, actually.” His expression softened with memory. “Until my mom died when I was fifteen. Dad kind of crumbled after losing his mate.” He paused, turning his wine glass slowly. “Made me wonder…” She could feel him working up to something important. “Over the years, I convinced myself I didn’t have a mate.”
“Why?”
“After seeing what happened to my dad when he lost mom, I think I was protecting myself.” He set down his glass. “I started believing I was one of those shifters who just... didn’t get one.”
She reached out to take his hand. His fingers were warm as they interlaced with hers.
Tyler appeared. “How is everything?”
“Perfect,” Brie said, not looking away from Hunter.
“Can I interest you in dessert? We have an incredible molten chocolate cake.”
Hunter finally broke eye contact. “One chocolate cake. Two forks.”
When it arrived, the chocolate oozed from the center, dark and glossy. The vanilla ice cream on top was already starting to melt,creating rivers of white through the chocolate. Brie took a bite, closing her eyes at the intensity.
Bitter chocolate, sweet cream, and salt that made everything pop. When she opened her eyes, Hunter was watching her with an expression that made heat pool in her belly.
Chapter
Fourteen
After Hunter settled the bill,he stood from the table, his body moving with unfamiliar looseness. The wine, the food, the way Brie had looked at him across the candlelight, it all combined into an unfamiliar sense of satisfaction. They walked through the restaurant, his hand on the small of her back.
“I don’t want this to end,” she whispered.
He checked his watch. Eight thirty-five. “It’s not. I have a surprise treat for you.”
“What kind of surprise treat?”
“A couple’s massage in the spa.”
Brie’s excited squeal doubled his satisfaction, leaving Hunter feeling like he was in a totally different reality than the one he was used to. They walked across the lobby, and he pressed the down button on the elevator. A moment later, the door swung open.
Downstairs, the basement spa was all blonde wood and river stones. Water trickled down a waterfall on the far wall. The air hung heavy with lavender and eucalyptus essential oil.
The woman behind the spa desk smiled. “Mr. Cruz, Ms. Rayner. Your couple’s suite is ready.” She handed them each a robe and slippers.
In his changing room, Hunter slipped on the soft cotton robe that smelled like sage. When he entered the massage suite, Brie was already there in her robe, sitting on the edge of one of the tables. Her hair was twisted up, exposing the curve of her neck. Candles flickered on a shelf, casting dancing shadows.
“We’re supposed to remove our robes and wrap in the sheets,” Brie said.
Brie moved behind one of the two privacy screens, and he did the same. He took off his robe and wrapped himself in a sheet that was cool against his skin. He lay face down on his table, hyperaware of Brie doing the same a few feet away.
The therapists entered the room, and they took their positions at the head of the massage tables. Warm oil drizzled across his shoulders. The first touch made him flinch, but the therapist had gentle hands that worked into muscles he’d forgotten existed.
“You’re very tense,” his therapist murmured. “Try to breathe.”
He tried. The woman’s hands found a knot between his shoulder blades. She worked it patiently, and he felt something release. Not just the muscle, but the memory tied to it. Fifteen years ago, hanging off a helicopter skid in Kandahar. The fear he’d pushed down, the certainty he would die that day.
More knots unraveled. Each one carried history. A knife fight in Bogotá. A three-day stakeout in Phoenix where he’d barely moved. A jump from a warehouse roof in Reno two weeks ago, looking for Brennan. His body had been holding it all, a library of violence written in scar tissue and chronic tension.
