On the Rocks (Last Call #1)(23)

He helps me out of the Jeep and leads me in through the front door, where I bend over and kick off my muddy boots. Hunter does the same, although he does nothing more than step out of his flip-flops, and then he swings me up in his arms and carries me up a flight of stairs that are just off the foyer. I can’t even think to protest before he’s depositing me inside a bathroom and ordering me to get in the shower.

“Throw out your wet clothes, and I’ll put them in the dryer. I’ll bring you something to wear.”

Then he turns around and heads back down the stairs.

I stand there just a few seconds, debating what to do. Between the heater in the car and the dryness of his house, I’m feeling marginally better and part of me just wants to flee. But the other part… the one that still has a tiny shiver running through me every now and then, glances longingly at the shower and before you know it, I’m stripped bare and hopping under the spray.

Several minutes of hot water pours down on me before my muscles start to loosen, and my brain seems to start functioning again. I formulate my game plan, which is to get back in my clothes, be damned if they’re still wet, and hightail it out of here.

The door to the bathroom opens up, and I peek outside the shower curtain. Hunter is in the bathroom, bending over to pick up my clothes. When he stands, he sees me watching and gives me a smarmy grin. “I brought you my robe to wear until your clothes are dry. Come down when you’re done. I’m making some hot tea.”

And with that, he leaves, closing the door firmly behind him.

I stay under the hot water for several more minutes, finally climbing out after availing myself of his shampoo, conditioner, and soap. After I dry off, I use a brush I find under the sink to brush my hair out and slip the robe on. It’s massive and swamps me completely, but it’s soft and warm, and oh shit… it smells just like Hunter.

Walking into his kitchen, I see he’s changed out of his wet clothes and has on just a pair of jeans that ride low on his hips, his bare feet poking out from below. His back is broad, muscular, and sun-kissed. It makes me want to run my hands along his skin just to feel the warmth of it. He turns to look at me and gives me a smile.

“Feel better?”

“Yes,” I say quietly. “Thank you.”

Picking up a steaming cup of tea from the counter, he hands it to me. “No problem. I like to help damsels in distress.”

“I’m not a damsel in distress,” I snap, because it seems natural to try to take his head off. I take a sip of the hot tea and almost groan over how good it tastes.

Hunter takes a sip of his own tea, leaning back against the counter. “Funny… you looked like you could use some help when I stopped.”

Glaring at him, I say, “Whatever. All I had to do was call for someone. It’s not like you saved me from the zombie apocalypse or anything.”

Hunter laughs, his eyes alight with humor. “You crack me up, Gabs.”

“I’m glad I amuse you,” I grouch.

“You do a lot of things to me. Amuse is just one.”

His voice is husky, his eyes serious as he says that, and my stomach flips end over end. I just stare at him, because his words… the way he’s looking at me, it’s completely hypnotic. For some strange reason, I want to drop my tea to the floor and just rub up against him.

Focus, Gabby, I tell myself. You have a mission—to push Hunter Markham as far away from you as possible.

I can do this. Chin up. Resolve in place.

Opening my mouth to ask where the dryer is, because I fully intend to leave, Hunter cuts me off.

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret, Gabriella Ward.”

His words stun me, more so because he used my formal name and the only person that does that is my mother… and only when I’m in trouble.

I’m a glutton for punishment though, and I can’t help but croak, “What’s that?”

“I have this figured out.”

He doesn’t say anything more but takes a sip of his tea, watching me over the rim of his cup. He’s baiting me… wanting to see how much I really want to know about his epiphany.

I don’t make him wait long because my curiosity is killing me. “What do you have figured out?”

He smiles at me and it’s carnally hot, invading every cell in my body. My skin warms… just from that smile, and my breath gets shallow. He notices my reaction to him, and it pleases him because his smile now turns triumphant. He never answers my question but sets his cup down and pushes away from the counter. As he walks toward me, I swear I get a little faint from the rush of blood that fires through my veins. His eyes are sparking with intensity and I’m powerless to look away.

Stopping just inches from me, he takes the tea from my hand and turns to set it on the kitchen table. When he turns back, he stares down at me at me a brief moment before he raises one hand. It’s as if he’s in slow motion. I don’t dare look away from his gaze, but I can see his hand rising up in a leisurely fashion from my peripheral vision.

My face. Yes, he must be bringing it up to touch my face.

But it rises no higher than my chest.

Placing his finger just at the base of my neck, he skims it south across my skin, ever so lightly. He pushes downward, right through the v-gap in his robe I have on, and my breath freezes in my lungs when the material starts to part.