Something incoherent slips from my lips. A word of protest or acquiescence? Who knows? Sparks ignite in my brain, fire flows through me. It can only be quenched by Hunter. And he damn well knows it.
The hand on my waist comes up to the buttons on my shirt. The pop of one button sounds loud even though it took a mere flick to open it. Then coarse fingers skim the tops of my breasts and I sigh. We’ve been apart all of one night and I didn’t realize how much I missed his touch already. The rough texture of the hair on his chin rubs my neck and sensitizes it. I feel as though I might crackle with static.
I’d been so preoccupied with the hurt he’d inflicted, I forgot about this. Forgot how weak he makes me. A shiver makes itself know, wracking my body.
“I need you, princess.”
I stiffen. That word. The endearment I used to love has taken on a new meaning. For a while it was painful to hear, then he made be believe it. But I recall what he must have thoughts of me. Our first meeting when he accused me of stealing. Now the word sounds bitter to my ears.
“Why do you call me that?”
“What?” His hand leaves me breast and a chill sweeps over me.
“Princess? Why do you call me that?”
He chuckles. “Because you’re my princess. Because I want to treat you like one.”
I try to wriggle out of his hold but he keeps me held to him. His muscles tense against me. Sweat tingles on the back of my neck, in part created by the heat between us, but my belly swoops and dives as I fidget again. I’m not scared of Hunter but I’m scared of the effect he has on me. He doesn’t want to let me go, physically or emotionally by the looks of it and I don’t know if I can fight him either way.
“I don’t believe you. You began calling me that way before we grew close.”
“That’s true. But it’s in the past. Nothing changes the fact that you’re my princess, Jessie. Mine. Understand?”
I shake my head. “You can’t possess me. I’ve had men own my body. I won’t let that happen again.”
He drops his arms as if stung by my words. I don’t turn to face him but I imagine him scraping a hand through his hair.
“I’m nothing like them,” he says tersely.
I turn then, arms wrapped around myself. His brow is creased, eyes dark. Tense lines crease around his lips, barely disguised by the dark hair on his jaw.
“I know—”
His head snaps up. “Do you?” He steps close again and looms over me. I’m bent against the kitchen counter. His chest comes flush against mine and my traitorous body responds again. “When I say you’re mine, I don’t mean your body, Jess. I mean your heart.” Hunter steps back and smacks a hand against his chest. “You own me and if you let yourself I know you’d figure out that I’m in your heart too. And there’s no changing that. Your past, my past, none of it will change that. You can fight this as much as you want but I’ll still be there, just as you’ll always be in mine.”
I pin my shaky hands under my armpits, mind reeling from his words. The heart in question throbs against my ribs as if reaching out for him. “I—” I’m too weak, I want to say. Too scared. Too distrustful. None of it comes. I’ve been played with too many times now. Betrayed once too often. If I accept all this, there will be no going back.
“I was an asshole. I wanted money. Nothing was worth hurting you for, but believe me, I will make up for it. You just have to let me in.” He says the last part through his teeth. It verges on a growl of frustration. “You have to let me in,” he repeats.
The ache in my throat threatens to strangle me. My vision blurs and I spin away before I can weaken. It’s all too much for me to take in—that kind of love. Can I even live up to it? I storm upstairs and hide myself in the spare bedroom. When no footsteps follow, I cry. I cry because of the hurt in my chest and the tainted memories, and I cry because, in spite of myself, I wanted him to follow.
***
When the sun has dropped and the street lights are on, I finally emerge from the bedroom. I have my full make-up on, something I’d been cutting down on since the truth came out. I still need some kind of disguise, particularly for being at the bank, but the terror I’d lived with had eased in Hunter’s presence. But not today. I need protection. Dressed in leather trousers and a Murphy’s tee, I draw up my shoulders and try to reform the plates of my armour. It seems Hunter has put too many dents in it because as soon as I see him, all in leather too, I want to fling myself against him.
“You ready?”
I nod. “Are we taking the bike?”
“Yeah.” His gaze skims me. “You’re dressed for it.”