After We Fall (Take the Fall, #3)(25)

The first time he hit me, it shocked us both. He swore never to do it again, blaming it on the drugs he had to take in order to keep his PTSD under control. Except he did it again and again. Eventually, he stopped making excuses and started blaming me.

Then, he stopped getting high at all before he hit me, and that’s when I knew he would end up killing me one day. The last time he put his hands on me, he almost did.

Something inside of me snaps and I start screaming, my hands covering my ears to drown out my words. “I don’t need your forgiveness. I did nothing wrong. Nothing.”

My words become a chant, filling the car, filling my brain until my entire marriage is playing in my head and I’m reliving every moment. Every slap and every bruise. Every excuse.

Everything.

Suddenly, the world is tilting. A hard tug has me standing, then pressed against a hard, warm wall. Strong hands run up and down my back, whispering words that I can’t make out at first.

“It’s okay, Evangeline,” the low, rumbling voice tells me. “You did nothing wrong.”

I break down, sobbing and not caring who’s touching me. As long as it’s not Penn, I don’t give a damn.

“Shh, it’s okay.”

Tipping up my chin, I open my eyes to see who’s holding me. Warm green eyes meet my gaze. “Hunter?”

“Yeah.” He continues to stroke my back even as it starts to pour. “What the hell happened?”

I swallow, mortified that he’s seeing me like this. “My husb—ex called me. Someone gave him my new number.”

Hunter’s warm eyes turn into shards of ice, but I know that look’s not directed at me. “Son of a bitch.”

“I’m fine.”

He gives me a look.

“Okay, I’m not fine. Happy?” I snap.

“Why in the hell would I be happy about that?” he asks, his head dipping dangerously close to mine.

“I don’t know,” I say brokenly. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

“Damn it, sweetheart. I—” He shakes his head. “If you don’t like this, tell me no.”

“If I don’t like what?”

His lips crash into mine, hot and demanding before turning gentle. Before turning into something unbearably sweet. My mouth opens under his, our tongues automatically tangling, like we’d done this a thousand times before. Desire rushes over me, making my skin hot and my nipples tight. Hunger for him races through me like fire, and for the first time in years, my body feels alive.

I feel alive.

He presses me against the side of my car, one arm around me while the other caresses my face as we kiss. Every inch of my body is touching his and I can feel his erection, feel how much he wants me. It feels as though I’m falling into a pool of hot bliss.

I want more. I need more.

I need to slow down.

I gasp, pulling back a little even as my arms steal around his neck.

“Is that a no?” he asks, panting like he’s just run for miles and miles.

I’m breathing just as hard. Opening my mouth, I attempt to speak, but I can’t say a thing.

“Just nod if you want more.”

My heart slams against my chest at the thought of more.

“Angel, it’s all up to you.” His fingers trace the curve of my cheek. “I want you, make no mistake about that, but I won’t force it. I won’t get mad if you say no, either, but give me an answer. Let me know if I have a chance.”





Chapter 9


Hunter


Cold rain beats down on us, steaming as it hits my skin, while I wait for her answer. Growing up with an * of a dad, I thought I’d learned patience, to control my temper…to wait it out through the storms of his abuse. I thought it was one of the qualities that made me a good cop.

But at this moment, I don’t feel any of those things. I’m tightly strung, my muscles taut.

She peers up at me, through lashes that are heavy with raindrops. Her lips are swollen from my kisses. Her cheeks are flushed pink.

“I want…” Her mouth closes abruptly.

Fuck.

“Hunter,” she says right before giving me a tiny nod.

Oh hell, yes. “Let’s get you inside.” I run my hands down her arms. Her skin is soft, slick with moisture, and cold as ice. “Warm you up.”

She doesn’t say a word as I lead her inside and up the stairs to my apartment. A gentleman would take Evangeline to her own apartment, but I’m no gentleman. I’m half afraid that as soon as she got inside, she’d come to her senses and send me on my way. Besides, she likes Jake, and when I’m stressed from work, he always calms me down.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

“No—I mean”—she glances up at me—“yes.”

“I hope you like spaghetti,” I say, trying to keep her mind off of everything but me. “Made a big batch of it.”

“You like to cook?”

“I like to eat.” I open the door and usher her inside. “I freeze the leftovers.” What I don’t tell her is that I was forced to learn to cook at a young age. Whenever my dad got into one of his moods and took it out on my mother…let’s just say she was in no condition to prepare a meal. So I did it. Later, she taught me the right way to fix tortillas, rice and beans, and fried chicken—my father’s favorite meal.