Hunter (Reynolds Protective Book 2), page 22
No matter how many times I ran from this man. No matter how many times I ran from his feelings for me or my feelings for him. He always caught me. Not with force or demands or ego; he caught me with patience and steadiness and devotion.
“Is it?” I no longer knew if running was strong or weak.
“Hell yes.” He dragged in a breath. “The strongest thing any one of us can do is build on top of something that’s been broken.”
My lips peeled apart, the surety in his stare a lifeline I clung to. “How do you know?”
His jaw tensed and released, and his gaze shifted to the side; it was the first time he looked away from me, scanning the field to his right that eventually gave way to trees and then forests and then mountains.
“This was the last place—the last time I saw my dad before his heart attack.”
My breath caught. Of all the things I expected him to say, I wasn’t prepared for that.
“Here?”
He dragged a rough hand through his hair, tousling the rich strands. “That morning, Dad said he wanted to take me on a hike before work. At first, I was excited because that meant I didn’t have to go to school and didn’t have to deal with English class; I had a book report due. Turned out, he and Mom realized I’d asked Ranger to do the report, and this was his way of having an intervention.”
“You had Ranger…”
“I shouldn’t have, but I hated reading and he loved it, so I thought I’d give my broken brain a break for once.” He let out a small laugh. “I should’ve known they’d realize; Ranger’s good at a lot of things—sounding like anyone except himself isn’t one of them.”
A small smile crossed my face. “What happened?”
“I was angry. Mostly at myself, though it came out directed at him. I stormed through where Arch’s house is now, through those trees toward this field.” He pointed to the spot. “He huffed to keep up,” he continued, his gaze darkening with pain as the story continued. “When I finally stopped, I remember he bent forward for a second to catch his breath and when he rose, rubbed his fist over his chest.”
“Oh, Hunter.” I pressed my fingers to my lips.
“I asked if he was alright, and he said he was fine.” He cleared his throat and repeated, though his voice was no smoother than before, “He told me he was fine.”
My heart cracked open and broke for the shadow of a boy I saw in the man in front of me.
“But he wasn’t.”
His head gave a little jerk, and I bit into my cheek to stop the small cry that bubbled up.
“The kind of heart attack he had is called the widow-maker. If Ranger were here, he could tell you which artery it was and the exact statistics on how likely it is to survive it—all I know is that the chances are pretty damn slim.” Hunter exhaled slowly. “It happened when he was finishing up his first call of the day. By the time the ambulance got him to the hospital, he was gone.”
“I’m so sorry, Hunter.” Tears sped down my cheeks, but I couldn’t think to wipe them away.
“Do you know how long—how many times, I thought it was my fault?” he rasped. “That if I hadn’t been so angry. If I hadn’t made him chase me through this field. If I hadn’t listened to him when he said he was fine—”
“You were just a boy!” I protested.
“With no more reason to blame myself for what happened than you do.”
A small cry escaped my chest and my gaze dropped. “It’s not the same.”
“Because Roscoe meant to hurt you and my dad didn’t?” he charged. “We aren’t responsible for trusting someone we cared about when they made us feel like everything was okay when it wasn’t.”
A sharp, shuddered breath whipped into my lungs. “I blame myself for being afraid to trust anyone who claims to care about me. Maybe I don’t blame myself for his betrayal, only the way it damaged me.”
I tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let me.
“The last thing Dad said to me before we walked back to his car was that there will always be parts of life—parts of us that are broken. We can either choose to try and bury those parts or till them; we can either try and hide our weaknesses or turn them over, breathe life into them, build on them and grow them into strengths.” He paused. “I never asked Ranger to do my English homework again.”
I tried to swallow but my throat felt tight. “That’s why you want to build your house here.”
“Building a home here isn’t to remind me of his death; it’s to remind me that he was responsible for so much of my life even after he was gone.” He cupped my cheeks, and I shivered when his palms slid back through my hair. “I know a lot of things seem broken right now, baby. I know it’s hard to want to build on something so vulnerable—see a future when things are clouded with hurdles. But I also know that even on the days when I look out those windows and can’t see the mountains, they’re still there.”
“Hunter…” I started to shake my head. I didn’t need all this. This man had my heart from the moment he found a way to join my book club.
“I don’t want to be your book boyfriend or your hero, Zoey; I want to be your mountain. I want to be the thing you know will always be there no matter what—the one you can always trust.” He kissed my cheek, turning my tears into tattoos of his lips. “And the mountains don’t wait for the clouds to clear or for the thunder to stop in order to stand tall, so I’m not going to wait for Roscoe to leave or for us to find your stalker before I tell you that I love you. Before I tell you that you aren’t the center of my world, you are my world.”
My shoulders shook against the strength it took to not break down completely into sobs.
He grunted and held me tight, kissing each tear that crossed my skin.
I turned my face up and searched his gaze. “I love you, Hunter.”
I felt his big body tremble with relief. “I love you, too, heroine.”
His mouth crushed mine, his tongue barreling through my lips and claiming every inch of my heat.
I slung my arms around his shoulders, wrapping them tight and flushing my body to his. My feet lifted off the ground in the process just enough for the breeze to blow underneath them.
“Hunter…” I panted, feeling the rod of his cock wedge against my stomach.
I wanted him. I wanted him now.
He pulled back and set me in front of him, his gaze glinting like a predator.
“Here?”
I reached out and flattened my palm over the thick bulge of his pants. “Please.”
His kiss was a force of nature when it came to me. Lips and teeth and tongue reshaping the world I knew to something made only for him.
Our mouths stayed fused when he lowered me into the grass, strands catching in my hair.
Working the waist of his jeans open, he was back between my legs in moments, the hot tip of his cock searching for my slit.
I gasped when he found it.
“Mine.” He slammed deep with the word, and I cried out, pleasure zinging through me.
He shunted wildly for a few thrusts, driving me into the earth, and then flipped us. I gasped and grappled for his chest until I steadied on top of him.
“Ride me, baby,” he growled, encouraging my hips to move. “Ride my cock and make me come.”
I gasped and rose on my knees, sliding his length out and then sitting back down. In this position, he hit something deeper inside me. The bulbous head rubbing against my front wall in a way that curled my nails into his chest and dropped my head back.
“Oh god,” I whimpered, moving up and down with uncoordinated abandon, chasing the friction he stoked in my body.
Grass and branches scraped my knees. The wind blew strands of hair across my face.
“That’s it, baby.” He groaned, his hips rising to meet mine with the frantic slap of skin on skin. “Take all of me.”
I gasped, pleasure twisting tighter and tighter inside me like a rope ready to unwind. I loved taking him bare, loved the way I could feel him swell and erupt his release.
I used an app to track my period, but it also tracked my fertility. So, I knew days when it wasn’t safe to do it this way—and days when it was.
“Hunter,” I panted, my gaze wildly searching for his as my climax started to break me apart. “Hunter…”
I couldn’t breathe. I needed release more than air, and taking it was all I could focus on.
“I’m here, heroine.” His teeth clenched tight. “I love you.”
I screamed and ground my hips down as my climax swept through me.
Hunter bellowed out a roar, driving as far into my pussy as he could before I felt the flood of warmth deep in my muscles.
At some point, he pulled me down to his chest and held me there, letting our breaths return to normal.
I snuggled closer, inhaling deep. He was my future. No matter what happened, Hunter Reynolds was it for me.
I pushed up on one hand and found Hunter’s gaze. “I love you, too.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
HUNTER
“I think Gunner should take care of Bolden, and you can head over to Jackson for the day.” Arch drummed his fingers on his desk, looking between me and my brother.
“No. I can handle this.”
“Really?” Gunner cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t think murder looks good on him, Archie.”
I glared at Gun and then replied steadily to Arch, “I know how to stay professional on the job.”
Gunner winced, quickly reading into the subtle jab I’d delivered back.
It was one thing when I was providing security detail for a man who was working with my woman’s ex, but now that I knew the truth about what happened between Zoey and Roscoe, I couldn’t blame Archer for wanting to send Gun in my place.
“I’m not implying you can’t be professional, but I don’t want you to have to be,” Archer said, leaning forward and propping his elbows on the table. “I know how you feel, Hunt. I know how I would feel if someone did that to Keira.”
My jaw tightened, and I shifted my stare past him out the window, zeroing in on the spot where she’d told me she loved me.
“We’re sure it’s not the wife?” Gunner crossed his legs and changed topics for a second.
Once I had the full story on Roscoe, I didn’t want to leave any stone unturned. Even though I understood the premise of an open marriage, I needed to rule out the possibility of a jealous and vengeful spouse anyway.
Ranger was able to find the details on Roscoe’s wife, Sophie Bertrand. She’d arrived in the States last month, and there was no record of her leaving Florida.
“Ranger checked. She’s still in Florida. Has been this whole time,” I answered.
It didn’t exculpate her; it was a man delivering the packages and a man in the photos, after all, but that didn’t mean there couldn’t be a woman behind it.
“How about we let Gunner handle today, and then you can continue the detail—”
“No,” I growled. “I’m not going to let that fucker think I’m too uncivilized to be in his smug scum presence.”
I caught the slight shake of Gunner’s head in my periphery, wordlessly indicating that this was exactly what they should be worried about.
“Hunt—”
“Sorry to interrupt.” Ranger cracked open the door and stepped into the room.
“We’re just finishing up, Range. Give me a minute to figure out who’s heading to the Worth Hotel, and then we can chat.”
Ranger pursed his lips and nodded, holding back and clutching his iPad to his chest.
“I want you two to switch assignments for today,” Arch declared, adding before I could protest. “Final answer, Hunter. You need another day to cool.”
I wanted to argue, but I had no ground to stand on. There was a fifty-fifty shot that as soon as I saw Roscoe’s smug face, I would punch the French right off of it, and if anyone could see that, it was Arch.
I dipped my chin in reluctant agreement and rose.
“One day, Hunt. That’s it. And I’ll be sure to give the shitbag a real hard time,” Gunner said, pushing up from his chair to catch up to me.
I didn’t reply, needing the steps to the door to quell my anger.
“What’s up, Range?” Arch ask.
“I think I found out who the man Dalton is.”
Gunner and I stopped in our tracks, turning at the exact same time and the exact same speed, demanding, “What?”
“Why didn’t you say that?” I demanded with a low voice.
Ranger’s mouth open and shut. “Well, Archer told me to hold on.”
I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to remember that our little brother lived in a very literal world and followed directions to a T. And sometimes to a fault.
“What did you find, Ranger?” Archer prompted, quickly moving us past the situation.
“Well, according to Trish’s recollection, there was an Allen Dalton staying at the Betty at the time of the first incident; he checked in the day the package was delivered to RPG and checked out the following Monday.”
“Right, but there was no second stay around the time I found the second package at her apartment.”
The Betty was run old school, meaning Trish checked guest IDs but never copied them, trusting tourists a little more than modern times would warrant; unfortunately, while she vaguely remembered the name, she couldn’t recall Dalton’s face or any details from his driver’s license.
“Not at the Betty, no.” He held his iPad out in front of him, tapping on the screen to bring up a screenshot of the Worth guest list.
My eyes widened. “When did you get this?”
“Bolden’s security team requested it from the hotel, and they forwarded the information to our office email. It came in twenty minutes ago, and if you look at room 226, you’ll see it’s registered to a J. Dalton.”
Jesus.
“That can’t be a coincidence.” My head whipped up, meeting Archer’s gaze.
“Hunter—”
“I’m going to that fucking hotel,” I charged, and unless they were prepared to physically restrain me, there was nothing they could do about it.
“One more thing!” Ranger called, halting me before I blew through the door. “According to this register, J. Dalton checked in the same day as Roscoe and his team.”
Fucker.
“I’ll call when I have more information,” I yelled over my shoulder, striding down the hall to Zoey’s office.
Her door was open, and she was in the middle of entering something into the computer when my presence made her pause.
“What is it?” she asked before I got a chance to speak.
“I’m heading over to Worth.”
Worry tinted her gaze. “Hunter, are you—”
“Ranger found two reservations for Dalton,” I broke in.
“What? Where?”
“One at the Betty. The other at the Worth Hotel. Each stay around the time the packages were delivered.”
“How did you…”
“They sent over a guest list to Bolden’s security, and we were copied on the information. It’s for a J. Dalton, but it’s too many coincidences for me. It has to be the same person,” I declared as though I willed it to be.
Her chin lowered in slow motion.
“And Zoey…” I inhaled slowly. “He also checked in the same day as Roscoe.”
Her gaze widened briefly, unfiltered shock crossing her features. I knew she didn’t think it was Roscoe, but after the incident at Brews—after learning the truth and extent of his bitter narcissism, I wouldn’t put this past him: to psychologically torture her—first to make her need him and now to punish her.
“You said yourself he likes mind games, Zoey. There’s no way he’s not connected to this,” I said and rounded her desk.
She spun her chair, and I clasped her upturned face in my hands, pulling my lips to hers.
“I’m going to get to the bottom of this, heroine,” I promised her again. “I’m going to make you safe.”
Her lips were soft and hopeful under mine, splitting open and taking my tongue like it was all she needed to believe the words that came from it.
“I’ll call you as soon as I know,” I swore, resting my forehead to hers for a second before I straightened and headed for the door.
I was going to get answers. And then I was going to make Roscoe pay for every unseen bruise he’d inflicted on the woman who had my heart.
I strode through the old yet ornate entrance to the Worth Hotel like Aladdin beelining through the Cave of Wonders; I was here looking for one thing, and nothing would distract me.
“Hello, welcome to the Worth Hotel. Are you checking in?” The young girl at the desk offered me a pleasant smile; her jacket covered her nametag, but I wondered if it was the girl that Gunner was trying to avoid.
“I need to speak to your manager,” I said curtly, adding “please” as an afterthought.
“I might be able to assist you, sir, if you could tell me—”
“Tell your manager that this is about the very important meeting that’s starting here in twenty minutes, and I’m part of the security team.”
Her gaze bulged and she darted to the back; at least the staff had been well prepared for the importance of who was coming and what was happening today.
A minute later, she returned with a tall, lanky man by her side. He was young but his wire glasses and pinched mouth made him look much older than he probably was.
“That’s all, Caroline,” he dismissed her with a low voice.
Caroline. Knew it.
“How can I help you, Mr.…”
“Reynolds.” I showed him my ID to confirm. “I’m representing Reynolds Protective Group that’s here with Mr. Bolden today. We received a current guest list from the hotel yesterday, and I’m going to need to see the ID for the guest staying in room 226”—I opened my phone and zoomed on the spreadsheet from the hotel—“a Mr. J. Dalton.”
