The Hunter

“Are you sure?” Persy screwed up her little nose.

“Yes.” I pushed her through the door. “Go!”

I spent the next three hours tidying the apartment up as best as I could, unpacking, putting things away in my room, and using the spare room to arrange my archery equipment, as per my agreement with Hunter. We hadn’t even exchanged phone numbers, but a deal was a deal.

As night rolled in, I collapsed onto the opulent, satin-upholstered sofa and groaned, my hair matted on my forehead. Two, perfect circles of sweat graced my shirt under the armpits, hardly an aphrodisiac.

I’d begun to drift off, despite my best efforts, when the doors to the private elevator of our penthouse floor slid open and Hunter walked in, carrying a few shopping bags.

“Yo, roomie, what’s shaking?” He jerked his chin in my direction, swaggering into the depths of the living room. He took the two steps down from the landing to the living area, discarded his bags on the coffee table, and sat on its edge, planting his elbows on his knees. His scent drifted into my nose: fabric softener and rich-boy musk that made my mouth water, no matter how much I hated him.

I peeked under my lashes, preparing myself for his gut-punching beauty. If I thought a week away from him would subdue his impact on me, I was sorely mistaken. His gray-blue eyes looked like winter stones, glimmering playfully, his cheeks ruddy from the evening wind, his lips swollen and full, and his tawny blond curls a perfect mess. Everything about him was male, sharp, and muscular.

“Got you a present.” He threw something into my hands.

A small envelope. When I opened it, I saw a Target gift card. Yes, the actual store. I rolled my eyes and smiled tiredly. “Thanks.”

“I like what you did with the place.” He looked around, picking up one of my feet from the coffee table and removing my holey sneaker. I watched in horror as he let the dirty shoe drop to the floor, took my socked foot, and began to dig his thumbs into it. At first, I tried to yank my foot away, but after hours of working—and years of training in general—my muscles were tense and rigid. The massage felt too deliciously good not to accept.

“What the hell are you doing?” I scowled, watching him put my foot atop his muscular thigh and massage it thoroughly. His thigh was so hard, I wondered what the rest of his body felt like.

STD. It feels like catching an STD, you moron.

There was no denying he was good with his hands, and I wondered how many girls had fallen for this trap.

“None,” he said, reading my thoughts as he smirked at me knowingly.

“W-what?” I stammered, hating myself for becoming an inarticulate mess.

His father shouldn’t have put all his trust in me. If he could see me with Hunter right now, he’d know how helpless I was—not that I was going to go lax on his son, but I was definitely not bulletproof to his charm.

“You’re wondering how many times I’ve done this as foreplay. The answer is never. I’m doing it because you look like crap and need a break, and because you cleaned our apartment even though the housekeepers arrive tomorrow.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling stupid but too exhausted to get riled up about it. “You really know how to compliment a girl.” I was tired of hearing how unattractive I was to this guy. Besides, everything he did—even the glorious massage—was braided in mockery, like he didn’t take anything seriously, ever.

“Would you like to be complimented?” He popped an eyebrow, digging his fingers deeper into my heel.

My eyes rolled in their sockets, and I let out a groan as the delicious pain unknotted my muscles. “I really don’t care.” I dropped my head to the back of the sofa, closing my eyes. “Where were you, anyway?” Now was a good time to start investigating him and show authority.

“Shopping.”

“With who?”

“My sister, Aisling.”

Funnily enough, I remembered his sister. His brother, too. I must’ve deleted Hunter permanently from my mind because he was a boy my age, gorgeous, and about as unattainable as planet Mars. Those things somehow made him an automatic enemy in my eyes.

“You’re going to love her. She’s appalled by everything male and fun, just like you.”

“I resent that statement.”

“You resent everything.”

Biting my tongue to keep from lashing out at him—solely because I knew I’d already gotten my vengeance for the day—I changed the subject.

“How do I know you weren’t out and about with some other girl?” I opened my eyes. He blew air through his cheeks, hiking his long, strong fingers from my foot to my ankle, kneading it in circles.

“For one thing, you’d know if I’d had sex, because I’d be rocking the after-orgasm glow.”

“I can’t believe I’m humoring this, but what does your after-orgasm glow look like?”

“I’m afraid I can’t fake it.” He winked, removing my leg from his thigh and returning it to the table gently. My heart missed one lonely beat at the loss of his touch before Hunter took my other foot and gave it the same treatment, removing my banged-up sneaker and massaging it heel to toes. “You’ll have to give me an orgasm to find out.”

“Hard pass,” I said.

He regarded me with amusement, trekking his fingers up my ankle. Silence engulfed us. Finally, he said, “Who’s gonna take care of Hunter Jr., then?”