I careen off the road, panic clogging my throat. I jolt in my seat as I bump along the grass median strip, hitting puddles that douse my windshield. The car slides sideways, completely out of control, along with the frantic beat of my pulse. I release the brake and try again, shoving my foot down hard.

The brakes grip. Tight. I keep my foot planted as I’m flung forward. The seatbelt finally locks, burning my neck and holding my chest in place. My forehead hits the steering wheel. Pain consumes my skull, and the world blurs.

For a moment, there’s nothing. No movement. No sound. No panic. Just a blur.

“Jesus Christ.” I close my eyes and breathe. Slow, calming breaths.

The rhythmic thump of the windshield wipers returns to my awareness. The light patter of rain, too. Cars pass, slushing water.

I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe. I chant the words over and over in my mind.

It was a careless road accident. A stupid goddamn mistake. That’s all. There was no malicious intent. No hidden agenda. No asshole trying to kill me.

I open my eyes and swallow the need to crumple. For once, I wish I could be weak. I want someone else to fix my mess. To make everything okay again. I want the guilt over Dan to be gone. The pain over my family to ease. And I want Hunter.

I want him now.

Come on, bitch. Focus. Get your ass out of here.

I place the car in reverse, and a shadow creeps into my peripheral vision. A large, looming figure approaches my door. I lunge for the glove compartment and yank it open.

“Are you okay?” a man asks.

I pause in my reach for the gun hidden beneath road maps and glance over my shoulder. A guy stands at my window. His image is distorted through the droplets of rain against the glass, but I can still glimpse a relatively handsome face full of concern.

“I saw everything. Do you want me to call the cops?”

“No. I’m good.” I straighten and wind the window down a crack, letting the chilled wet air gush in.

He smiles at me as rain hits his smooth honeyed skin and chocolate hair. “You sure? That old guy shouldn’t be on the road.”

“Old guy?”

He nods. “hair, thick glasses, golfer hat. He almost cut me off a few miles back.”

The tightening in my lungs loosens. I can deal with the thought of an old-timer. It’s the other possibilities that poke at my paranoia. “I didn’t see who was driving.”

“I don’t think he saw much of anything either.” He chuckles, but the humor quickly fades under his narrowing brown eyes. “You’ve got a bump.” He points to his forehead. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll be fine once I get back on the road.”

He retreats a step and glances along the side of the car, his gaze low. “That might be a problem. Those wheels look pretty deep.”

Shit. Shit. “Shit.” My frustration comes out in a rough shout. This is the karma I expected. The starting phase that will slowly morph into something big enough to drag me under its suffocating wing.

He flashes a sexy grin. It’s gorgeous, filled with oozing amounts of charm. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you out of here. Why don’t you put it in reverse and give it a try?”

A shiver runs down my neck. Not a welcome one. As physically appealing as this guy is, I don’t want to be reliant on him. But being stuck on the side of the highway, in the middle of nowhere, is even less of a preference.

“Yeah…” I nod and wince at the renewed pain pounding through my head. “Okay.”

I place the gearshift in reverse and slowly lower my foot on the accelerator. The wheels spin, whirring and sliding without traction. “Damn it.”

“I’ll give you a push.”

He stalks for the front of the car, and I can’t help my usual cautious analysis. He’s tall. Way taller than I am. Thick arms, broad shoulders. In an attack, overpowering him would be difficult. In all honesty, it would be almost impossible without a substantial eye gouge or knee to the groin.

He stands before the beaming headlights, places his hands on the hood, and meets my gaze through the windshield. “Give it another try.”

“Hold on a sec.” I reach across the car, grab my gun from the glove compartment and my coat from the passenger seat. I hide the weapon inside the thick material and place them both in my lap.

I don’t believe this guy’s selfless act. I don’t care that he’s attractive, or kind, or charming. I’m not even sure I buy his account of the old guy not seeing me. I have no choice but to question everything.

“I’m ready now,” I call out the window. “How about you?”

“Go for it.”

I inch my foot down on the pedal. The wheels spin, whir. I hold my breath, my pulse increasing with each passing second. I can’t stay out here. I can’t wait for a tow. The piece-of-shit car has to move. There is no other choice.

Please, please, please.

The man roars as he pushes, his expression pinched, the material of his long-sleeve gray shirt growing damp and sticking to his biceps.

The car slides in and out of traction, moving sideways, farther and farther, before finally gripping. I exhale in a gush of relief and steer through bumpy, soaked grass.

The man follows, running after me, still pushing, until I pull the car to a stop parallel to the highway. He grins at me through the windshield, his chest heaving as he straightens, exposing more muscles hugged by his shirt and the faint hint of dark tattoos beneath.

He walks around the hood, shaking his feet, and returns to my window, his lips quirked in smug satisfaction.

“Thanks.” I glance down at his soaked shoes and wince at the pants drenched from his ankles to his knees. “I’m sorry about your clothes.”

“You don’t happen to have a towel, do you?” He leans forward and looks in the car, scoping out the front and the back.

The chill returns, sliding down my neck, my spine. I slip my hand into my coat and palm my weapon. “No, unfortunately, I don’t.” I shouldn’t be this jumpy, not when he clearly needs a towel, but distrust comes with the territory.

“No problem.” He waves me away. “Where are you headed, anyway?”

None of your damn business. “Portland.”

“Me, too. Do you want me to follow you in case you have any problems?”

“I’ll be fine.” My response is unintentionally growled, which only increases his grin.

“I’m not looking for a gratitude blow job, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s just that the roads are slippery, and it’s harder to drive at night. Your wheel alignment might be messed up, too.”

“I don’t have much farther to go. And if I run into any problems, I have someone I can call.”

“Okay. I’ll get out of your hair, then.” He reaches out a hand to shake.

I stare for longer than necessary, my heart pounding as I release my gun and clasp his offering. “Thanks again.”

His palm engulfs mine, and he’s warm despite the rain and cool temperature. He also grips my hand gently. Not weak, but not overpowering.

Those dark eyes turn somber, and I can see sympathy staring back at me. Or maybe it’s an apology. I don’t know either way, but he stares for longer than he should, his attention stealing parts of me that I want back.

I pull my hand away and paste on a smile. “It was nice meeting you.”

“Likewise.” He inclines his head and gives me a two-finger salute. “I’ll see you around.”

He walks away, and I watch my side mirror until he’s inside his car. I wait. Then wait some more. He doesn’t make a move to leave before me. In fact, he flashes his lights, instructing me to go first.

“Damn you.” I pull onto the highway, trying to watch the road and the Good Samaritan who can’t take a hint as he follows.

I pump the brakes to make sure they’re in working order, then I press my foot down on the gas. I stop worrying about highway patrols and breaking the speed limit, and focus on ditching the guy behind me.

I reach Atomic Buzz within fifty minutes and park in the alley out back before walking inside.

Brent is behind the bar with Hunter perched on a seat in front of him.

They both look toward me at the same time, and I shiver. It’s easy to ignore Brent’s gentle smile; I’ve seen it so many times before. What I can’t tear my gaze away from is Hunter and the concern tightening his brows. His eyes narrow, taking me in, head to foot. The air in my lungs becomes heavy. My sternum throbs. I raise the collar on my coat in a vain attempt to shield myself.

Why does he have this effect on me? How does he have any affect?

I left town to gain distance from him, yet the physical miles seem to have brought me emotionally closer. My dream, and the fucked up message my subconscious tried to send, have me on the verge of weak, pathetic girliness.

“Thanks for the loan.” I continue forward, forcing my attention to Brent, and lob the keys at him. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” He places the keys back on the hook. “How did the old girl run?”

“Like a dream.” I lick my lower lip, trying to relieve the scorching heat of a predator’s stare. “She’s parked out the back. I even took her through the car wash so she looks all pretty.” Truth be told, I’d had to hose off all the caked mud and grass to hide the evidence of my off-road adventure.

Hunter slides off his seat, and I stiffen as he approaches. Every inch of me is aware of him—my nerves, my pulse, my intuition.

“Are you okay?” His voice is low, yet strong.

That’s what I need right now—strength, and lots of it.

What I wouldn’t give to be a person who could crumple into a pool of exhausted tears and dramatic sobs. To have the freedom to be vulnerable and allow him to gather me in his arms and whisper words of comfort.

Like in the movies.

Like in a dream.

I grind my teeth, grinding away the weakness at the same time. “Yeah. Of course.” I step back, needing distance from the eyes that narrow on my forehead. “Why wouldn’t I be?” I lick my lower lip, then curse the action. “On second thought, don’t answer that.”

I need to break this… whatever it is—attraction, distraction, complication. “I’ve gotta go.”

“You’re not staying for a drink?” Brent asks.

“No, not tonight. I’m exhausted.” I give them a lazy finger wave and turn for the door. Then I hear it—his footsteps. Hunter’s pursuit.

My heart trembles with giddy excitement, and I wish it didn’t. I wish I had some glimmer of control. But I’m completely lacking.

I reach the door, push outside, and stop as soon as I feel him approach behind me. “I can’t do this tonight, Hunter. I’m too tired.”

“Relax.” He settles into me, his legs brushing the back of my thighs, his arm wrapping around my waist to place a gentle hand on my stomach. “I’m not looking for sex.”

I don’t move. I can’t. I’m starved for his touch, my appetite too demanding to ignore.

“Are you hurt?” he murmurs.

I frown in confusion. “Why would I be hurt that you don’t want to have sex with me? I just told you I’m too tired to deal with you tonight.”

His breathy laughter sweeps over my neck, and he walks around to face me. His hand raises, slow and sure, his fingers pushing the hair from my forehead. “I’m talking about this.” A gentle touch glides around the tender bump in pure, heart-melting torture. “But if you want to keep talking about sex…”

“No.” I nudge him out of the way and walk to the curb to check for traffic. “I’m completely exhausted.”

“Too exhausted for sex?” he asks. “I guess we skipped the whole dating thing and slid straight into being a married couple.”

I can’t hold back a smile. “Don’t be a dick.”

“Then don’t be a pussy.”

My humor fades. He’s right. I need to toughen up. “Good night, Hunter.”

I walk across the road and hitch my handbag higher on my shoulder.

The crunch of his steps follows. “I’m worried about you.”

It’s not the words that slay me. It’s the tone. The pure concern. Ten years have passed since anyone has uttered words like that to me. Ten long, painful years.

“I bumped my head.” I reach my building and face him. “It’s no big deal.”

He nods and his focus lowers, the seductive trail moving over my cheek, my jaw, to my neck. His brows snap tight, and his jaw ticks. “Fuck.”

“What?” I place a hand on my neck, to the place where the seatbelt had burned me. “Is it bad?”

“It’s bad enough.” He nudges my wrist away and scrutinizes the area. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Just let it go.”

I continue to the building entrance and enter the pin code. The lock releases, and he pulls the door wide.

“Let me go,” I clarify.

“I will. Once I check you over and make sure you’re really okay.”

I stand there, caught between two options, one sensible, one indulgent. “It’s my neck and my head. That’s all.”

He nods. “Good. That means it won’t take long.”

He lathers me with his concern, pulling at the thinnest fibers of my control. He’s figured me out and determined how much I crave him. He knows he’s my weakness.

“You’ve got five minutes.”

He smirks, and the sight should have me retracting my offer. It should…but it doesn’t. He follows me into the elevator, down the third-floor hall, and into my apartment.

Oh, shit.

The box of my life secrets is still open with the pages scattered across the floor, over my coffee table, and along the sofa, like a mass of dirty laundry. I shoot a glance at Hunter and he’s staring, taking it all in with those scanning eyes.

“Sorry about the mess.” I dump my handbag on the floor and take slow, measured steps, forcing myself not to rush forward. “Help yourself to the coffee machine, or get whatever you want from the fridge.”

“I’m good.” He follows, stopping at my sofa to peer down at the skeletons now outside of my closet. “Do you need a hand?” He leans over and picks up a piece of paper.

“No.” I lunge and snatch the newspaper article away. “It’s confidential.”

He infuriates me with a dubious raise of his brow.

I lose all pretense of calm and scramble, shifting the pages into piles to cover them from view. “I do research work for a university professor. He doesn’t like when we discuss projects with outsiders.”

“Outsiders?”

Shit. I sound like an idiot. “Yeah.” I shrug. “He studies criminal psychology but already has enough issues of his own, ya know?”

He nods and focuses on the piles I’ve created, his neck slightly craned to peek at the information. “Seems interesting enough.”

“Not really.” I grab the last of my secrets from the floor and stack them on top of those on the sofa, then those on the coffee table. I shuffle until they’re in a neat pile and then place them back in the box.

“There.” I dust my hands and will my pulse to settle. “All done.”

He continues to nod, lazy and contemplative.

“Now, where were we?” I wiggle the coat from my shoulders and drape it over the sofa. “You wanted me to prove I was fine, right?” I spread my arms wide, then tap my nose with each forefinger and do a twirl. “See? I’m perfect.”

Again, he gives me a lethargic nod, and this time a smirk is added to the mix, as if he’s agreeing that I’m perfect. “How did it happen?” He approaches with predatory steps. “Was it your boyfriend?”

I swallow, my mouth tingling. I want to lie. I want to lie so damn bad and tell him this fake boyfriend hurt me. He hurt me because of you.

Would Hunter care? Would he vow to protect me?

I suck in a deep breath and stand tall. I’m not going to succumb. Not again. “I had a slight car accident. I ran off the road.”

He stops in front of me, almost toe to toe.

“I adore Brent, but his car is a piece of shit. The seatbelt didn’t lock fast enough, and I hit my head on the steering wheel.”

He remains calm. Always in control. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” His gaze scans me, across my hairline, along my jaw, down to the small V of my thin cotton sweater.

“I’m not hurt at all.”

He grips my sweater and begins to lift.

“Hunter.” I place my hands on top of his. “I’m not doing this now.” No matter how adamantly my body voices a protest.

He meets my gaze, those hazel eyes strong and true. “I know.”

He continues to lift my sweater, taking it over my head and dropping it to the floor. He captures my stare as he unbuttons my blouse from the top. I hold my breath as his knuckles brush the inside curve of my covered breasts, and I can’t fight the need to swallow.

He glances down, and his jaw tenses.

I’m caught in a daze, transfixed by the way his hair falls gently over his forehead, as a lone finger streaks a line from my shoulder to my cleavage.

“You’re hurt worse than you thought.” That finger continues strumming my desire with its delicate caress. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Hmm?” I glance down to the light pink line marking my chest. An extended war wound left from the seatbelt. “It’s nothing. It doesn’t even hurt.”

My attraction is much more painful.

He ignores me, those fingers trailing farther along my buttons, this time leaving them in place. He reaches the hem and lifts, exposing my stomach.

I notice everything he does, the soft blinks, the slight narrowing of his stare. Every inch of me is in tune with every inch of him, the gentle rise of his chest, the bite of teeth into his lower lip.

He’s beautiful. Harsh, yet stunning.

The pad of his thumb swipes my abdomen, the touch trailing above the waistband of my jeans in exquisite lethargy.

It’s so light.

Too light.

Barely enough.

“There’s the slightest mark here. You’ll probably bruise tomorrow.”

I don’t care. Right now, I wouldn’t mind if the morning brought the end of the world, as long as he didn’t stop touching me.

“Is there anywhere else I need to check?” he asks.

Mmmhmm. There sure is, doctor.

“No.” I clear my throat. “Is there anywhere on you that I need to check?”

His light chuckle is like melted chocolate and scented candles—the absolute perfect prelude to sex.

His eyes darken, growing devilish. “Maybe.” He slides his hands over my ass, gently pulling me closer to grind into me.

I withhold a whimper, caging it inside my throbbing chest.

All I can think about is sex. Lots and lots of sex. Tangled sheets. Sweaty skin. Glistening muscles. Moaning. Screaming.

Oh, God, I could come already.

“You distract me,” I admit.

“From what?”

I blink to awareness, realizing my stupidity. I’ve fought to keep him away from my secrets, only to stumble with the simple grind of his dick.

I’m slipping.

“Nothing.” I shake my head.

He growls, his fingers digging into my ass. “I should’ve known better than to assume you’d ever share any insight into your life. You won’t even tell me your fucking name.”

He doesn’t stem the aggression in his tone. I see it. I feel it, too. The threat should scare me. Instead, I crave it. I want more. “You know my name.”

“Yeah.” He scoffs. “It’s Emma. Steph for short.”

He retreats a step, and his withdrawal leaves me chilled. Icy. I want to reach out, to grasp, and tug, and pull. Instead, I hold my ground as he begins to pace.

“When are you going to tell me something real?” His question is a plea that hits the weaker parts of my resolve. “I want to hear the fucking truth for once.”

I lift my chin, battling his emotional onslaught.

Don’t falter. Don’t break.

“Who are you running from?”

I shake my head. “I’m not running from anyone.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s true.” I keep my hands at my sides, even though I want to reach out and reconnect. “I’m searching for someone. I’ve been searching for almost ten years.”

His brows pull tight. He’s assessing me, attempting to sift through the truth and lies. “Who?”

“An old friend. A boyfriend.”

He releases a derisive laugh. “Another one?”

“No. Not another one.” I inch back to rest my hip against the sofa when all I want to do is move toward him. Into him. “I lied about Seattle.”

“Yeah?” He narrows his gaze. “Why?”

More stupid. So much stupid.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

I look away. I can’t do this. For normal people, this might be simple, giving answers to menial questions. For me, it’s slicing open a vein and letting my soul rush out.

He advances, eating up my vision to cage me against the furniture. “Why?” he growls against my ear.

“Because I can’t want this. You shouldn’t be here.”

“I don’t want to be here either, Emma.” He leans in, brushing his lips against my neck. “Steph…” He does it again, the next kiss lower. “Princess…” And lower, devouring the sensitive spot where my shoulder meets my neck. “I have a million things I need to do right now, and the only one I plan on doing is you.”

He keeps his mouth in place, and each second is a dose of pleasured pain. A temptation and a punishment.

“Do you love him?” he murmurs.

My heart drops at his raw emotion. “Who?”

“This boyfriend you’re chasing.”

I clutch his shirt, twisting the fabric. Even the concept of loving Jacob makes me nauseated. “No. We have unfinished business. That’s all.”

“Then how can I help you find him?”

The nausea vanishes, the bile and hatred being replaced with the warmest gratitude. Then disappointment. “You can’t. The only connection I had to him is now dead.”

There’s another pause, this one filled with tension. “The senator’s son?”

I don’t answer. He’s seen enough of my dirty laundry for one night. “Can we talk about something else?”

He nods, scraping his teeth over my shoulder. Tickling. Teasing.

I breathe him in, letting the lingering scent of fading aftershave sink into my lungs. “On second thought, let’s not talk at all.”