He pulls a chair out and sets me down gently. For a man this big, I would never expect him to treat me like expensive porcelain.

  Hunter pulls back, and my gaze lands on his wet shirt. My face burns with shame. “I’m really sorry,” I whisper again.

  Hunter shrugs it off. In one stride, he reaches the sink and bends to search the drawers. He wets a tea towel and hands it to me.

  The silence presses into my ears as he fills a glass with water. My heart hammers in my chest as I wipe my face.

  He surely won’t hurt me now, will he? Why would someone worry about cleaning me up if he planned on killing me?

  Hunter offers a glass of water and an empty bowl. I blink at it, unsure what that’s supposed to be.

  “Wash your mouth,” he instructs, his voice clear in command. “Spit it out.”

  “I can do that in the sink.”

  “You’re unwell. You don’t have to stand. Do it.” And he tilts the bowl closer.

  I sigh, shame making my eyes prickle with tears. Hunter turns away. At least he isn’t reacting like Lars did. I’m grateful for his stoic understanding.

  I obey him. Hunter puts the bowl inside the sink and starts working on something. With his back to me, I can only hear the clink of a spoon in glass. Hunter turns to me and offers me a glass of water, the liquid still swirling inside.

  “There’s a teaspoon of salt and a tablespoon of sugar. You look pale. It’ll help.”

  I already feel better. Just being away from the heat of the diner kitchen and out of the bouncing trunk helps. My gaze rises to him.

  Hunter’s blue eyes pierce through me, assessing the situation with unnerving intensity. He watches me drink. The air crackles. The tension between us is palpable. Strangely alluring.

  Or maybe I’m delusional after living my life with no one caring for me like this.

  “Thanks,” I say, trying to ignore the tingles beneath my skin. “I’m feeling better now.”

  “Good,” Hunter grunts, his eyes never leaving mine. “You can start.”

  I arch an eyebrow in doubt. “Start... what exactly?”

  Hunter’s lips twist. “What were you doing in my trunk?”

  NATALIE

  I hesitate, not wanting to reveal too much about my past with Lars. Hunter helped, yes, but we never know. If Lars is after me, he could just ask around to find out where I live.

  I must be careful. “I had to hide.”

  His expression doesn’t change. “From what?”

  “A... stalker.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the entire truth.

  “Really?” Hunter raises an eyebrow, his tone sarcastic. “And you couldn’t have asked for help? Called the cops? You decided jumping into a stranger’s trunk was a good idea.”

  My lips press into a line. “Considering how annoying you were at the diner, I doubt you’d have wanted to be involved,” I retort, a bit of my own sarcasm creeping in.

  “Fair point,” he admits, cocking his head. “Even so, you could’ve chosen a better hiding spot. What makes you think I won’t hurt you?”

  “I didn’t know it was your car.”

  “That’s much worse.”

  “Well, I couldn’t go home. He could be there.”

  Something dark crosses his eyes. “And the cops?”

  A knot tightens in my throat. “The cops rarely take women seriously. It gets worse when the insulting man has money.” And I brace myself for this argument. An argument I’ve had dozens of times.

  Justice is on Lars's side. There’s no use involving others. I tried.

  Hunter stares. His jaw works. A muscle there flutters.

  The tension between us grows, but there’s something comforting about this. This... banter.

  Hunter shakes his head. His shoulders relax an inch, and if he were a man for sighs, I’m pretty sure he’d release a big one now.

  “Alright. It’s your life. You do whatever you want,” he says, his lips tilting downward as he motions back to the living room. “Do you want me to carry you to the bathroom?”

  I curl my nose. “No. I can walk.”

  “Fine.” His brow arches.

  “Fine,” I shoot back. I don’t know why I’m responding like this. Hunter pushes all my buttons.

  His brows press upward. I get to my feet and follow him out of the kitchen. He shows me to the bathroom.

  “Clean yourself up. You’ll feel better.”

  “Thanks,” I mumble as I step into the pristine bathroom. It’s spotless and organized, unlike Lars's house. The tiles gleam under the soft light, and every item has a designated place. The contrast is crazy.

  I take off the hoodie, knowing it needs to be washed. I turn on the tap and splash cold water on my face, feeling the adrenaline drain away.

  As I stand there, I realize how safe I feel in Hunter’s presence. There’s something solid and dependable about him, like an anchor in stormy seas.

  Maybe it’s the stoic way he reacted to the whole thing, without complaining or being rude. It’s refreshing.

  When I leave the bathroom, Hunter is standing there with a sweater of his for me. I accept it, bringing it to my chest. I’m in a t-shirt and it’s strange to be this exposed.

  There’s no way to hide it, though.

  Hunter’s gaze drops to my pregnant belly. For a moment, a quiet tension hangs in the air. I can almost hear the cogs turning in his brain.

  “Put it on,” he says, cutting the silence, his chin tilting to the sweater. “I’ll wash your hoodie.”

  “Thank you,” I say, pulling the sweater over my head.

  The sweater is big enough it almost reaches my knees. I tuck it into my waistband. It’s warm and comforting, like the tight hug of someone who cares.

  Hunter watches me, speechless, then walks back into the kitchen. I follow him there and pause near the table as he enters what I believe is the laundry room. He’s back a moment later.

  “Tea or medicine? Maybe some juice?” he offers. I blink at him, confused by the lack of judgment at finding a pregnant woman in his trunk. I swallow.

  “Tea would be great.”

  I watch the muscles on his broad back move as he fills the kettle and sets it on the stove. “Mint tea might help with your stomach,” he says, then takes a beat, “Do you know if mint tea is safe for pregnant women?”

  I smile at his back, my cheeks flushed with warmth. “Yes, it’s safe.”

  I take my previous seat. Hunter pulls a chair close to mine and joins me, his thigh nearly brushing against mine. My heart races, our proximity filling the room with an electric tension that’s both exhilarating and terrifying.

  “Tell me about your family,” Hunter blurts, his blue eyes seeking mine.

  Surprise leaves me at a loss for words for a moment. I clear my throat. “I don’t have any,” I admit, feeling exposed under his gaze. “I mean, no one but the baby.”

  He watches me, the silence heavy with unspoken thoughts. I can’t help but wonder if he’s considering calling the police and reporting me as some crazy chick who’s broken into his car.

  “Listen,” Hunter says finally, his voice low and serious. “I may... have an idea. It’ll sound crazy.”

  My eyebrow arches. “An idea?”

  His blue eyes search my face. Tension tightens between us, a fist around my heart. Why do I feel like a live wire under his gaze?

  Hunter swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Yeah. I have a proposition for you.”

  HUNTER

  Staring at her, I can’t help but wonder if what I’m about to propose makes me the monster I’ve always feared. Natalie’s swollen stomach is a constant reminder of her vulnerability.

  And the whole stalker thing? This woman might be desperate, and I would be taking advantage of that.

  My gaze drops to her stomach again. A strange ache builds in my chest, an unfamiliar longing.

  I take a deep breath, grounding myself. This might be a solution. This might truly help both of us.

  “Alright, hear me out,” I say, jumping into the deep end. “How about we pretend we... are dating?”

  Her green eyes widen. They widen until I see her entire irises. Shit. If she could go any paler, I’m sure she would.

  I brace myself for rejection. Before she can speak, I bulldoze ahead. “Look. I’ve got this wedding coming up in a couple of weeks, and I told my friend I was seeing someone. If we play this charade, I can keep you safe from your stalker until you’re sure he’s gone, and I’ll have a date to boot.”

  Natalie bites her bottom lip. She looks away, considering my proposal. Her lips look so soft and inviting, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to lean in and taste them.

  “Okay,” she says, snapping my attention up. “I get where you’re coming from, but...” Another torturous pause, “Are you sure about this? He’s your friend, he’ll understand if you tell him you don’t have a date.”

  I sigh. “My friend is... a worrier. To stop his fussing, I told him I had a girlfriend.”

  She arches an eyebrow, cocking her head. “So, you lied? To your friend?”

  A shrug shakes my frame. “A small lie that keeps him happy.”

  She twists her lips and narrows her eyes. “Okay, but do you think this can work? What if your friend finds out?”

  Her voice is as sweet as honeyed whiskey.

  Focus.

  “He won’t. It’s his wedding. He’s going to greet you, be happy for me, and move on,” I reply, trying to sound as confident as possible. “And you’ll have someone to keep you safe. I ain’t gonna let anything happen to you or the baby.” I pause, letting her chew on this. “So, do we have a deal?”

  She hesitates, her gaze flitting between my eyes and the floor. Finally, Natalie nods, her golden ponytail bouncing around her face. “Alright, I’ll do it. But only for two weeks. Only until the wedding.”

  “Promise,” I agree, suppressing a shiver as we shake hands. My fingers brush against her delicate skin, sending an electric charge straight to my core. Her fingers fit perfectly around mine.

  The kettle hisses and I let Natalie’s hand go. I pour the steaming liquid into two mugs. The fresh aroma of mint tea fills my nostrils as I walk back to Natalie, her lips sunk into her bottom lip.

  “Here you go,” I say, handing her a mug. Her fingertips brush against mine, sending sparks skittering up my arm like fireflies. I try to ignore the sensation, focusing instead on the way she cradles the mug in her delicate hands and blows gently across the surface to cool it.

  Ah, and the sweater. Sleeves covering her knuckles, the garment so big for her small frame. The sight of her in my clothes shoots blood south. I grind my teeth together and take a seat so she won’t notice.

  “I don’t want to get you involved or hurt,” she murmurs, her green eyes full of concern. “You’ve already helped.”

  “I can handle whatever comes my way.”

  “Your friend will think you’re about to be a father if I show up looking like this,” she says, gesturing to her swollen belly.

  “Ah, that ain’t a problem,” I reply, shaking my head. “We can tell him it’s from your ex, and we’re going to raise him together. That’s not a problem. You don’t need to hide.”

  Natalie looks surprised, then nods. “We’ll just be helping each other for a little while.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Okay.” Her lips tilt into a small smile. “Where do we start?”

  HUNTER

  Natalie stretches her arms toward the back seat, fingers searching for her backpack. I’m faster, opening the back door and hauling her bag over my shoulder.

  Natalie huffs as she leaves the car. She tries to get to the trunk before I do, but I have longer legs. I snatch her suitcase before she does.

  “You don’t have to carry everything, you know?” she shoots, annoyed, as I slam the trunk shut.

  “I know, but I want to.” I’m not a smiling person, but she makes me want to start smirking.

  The strangest feeling.

  Natalie tilts her chin up in defiance and hurries toward the door. She steps inside and holds it open for me. I readjust the backpack over my shoulder before following her back inside the house.

  The thought of Natalie lugging these bags by herself, pregnant, out of her apartment, into a bus, fearing for her life... It burns. The thought burns, an all-consuming anger inside me. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt.

  It’s blinding, so I avoid looking at it. My teeth grind together, my lips turning in disgust. This so-called man who Natalie fears so much... I wish for five minutes with him. Just that.

  “If you want me to carry it, you can say so,” Natalie says, that sing-song voice cleaning my head of thoughts of violence.

  Whirling around, I arch an eyebrow at her. “What? I told you I’ll take it.”

  “Then why were you scowling?”

  Oh. “I was not scowling at it.”

  “Then at what?”

  She doesn’t need to know. I’m such a rotten person I’m daydreaming about ripping the head off an unknown man.

  I don’t respond.

  We walk into the living room. Her fingers brush the backpack strap near my hand. My arm stiffens.

  “Let me take the backpack, Hunter,” she insists, reaching out for it.

  “Absolutely not,” I grunt, shifting the weight on my shoulder to keep the bag from her grasp. She huffs, her pink cheeks puffing out like a disgruntled chipmunk, but I can’t help being amused by her fiery temper.

  It’s a side of her that ain’t been allowed to flourish. Natalie hesitates too much, wonders too much. I hate to think about the pain she’s been through to be so careful around people.

  I want to see her burn.

  The door closes behind us and I motion for the space ahead of us. “Living room. Kitchen and bathroom you’ve seen already. The door into the balcony is that way.”

  Natalie snaps her head toward me. “A balcony. But it’s a house.”

  “The balcony hangs over a patch of the woods.”

  Her green eyes sparkle like crazy. “Oh,” is the only thing she says, as if she’s holding back. She glances that way, her cheeks going pink with excitement.

  And it’s so fucking strange. This feeling inside my chest, this want to make her smile, to give her whatever the hell she desires. Natalie has been through shit, and the bright way she faces challenges makes me want to protect her at all costs.

  God, what’s wrong with me?

  “Come on.” I put the backpack down near the suitcase. “Let me show you.”

  And it’s so worth it. The way her eyes sparkle when she walks into the balcony? And how bright she smiles when she finds the town in the distance? It’s so worth it. I stand in silence, watching her. Amazed at her.

  With her presence, it's as if something clicked into place. With me.

  And the thought terrifies me.

  “Let us head inside. You can come back later.”

  We take the hallway to my bedroom. I’m damn grateful I keep things tidy. There’s nothing worse than showing a woman your pigsty of a room. That just ain’t gonna fly.

  I put the backpack and suitcase down on the edge of the bed. “There’s plenty of space in the closet. Put your things there so you won’t have to bend every time you want to change.”

  Natalie steps inside after me, her green gaze fastened on the large bed. “Is there just one bed?” she asks, her voice almost flat.

  Almost.

  “Last time I checked, yeah,” I reply, raising an eyebrow.

  “Feels like some sort of romance movie,” she teases with a grin. “I mean, it’s a cliche.”

  “Can’t say I’ve ever seen any of those,” I confess. “Movies ain’t my thing.”

  Natalie raises her eyebrows at me. “But everyone loves movies. Or are you more of the bookish kind? I saw you had some in the living room. And a video game.”

  I shrug. “Not really. I never had the time for hobbies, so I’m trying to figure out something I like.”

  The words spill out of me before I can stop them. It’s so strange to open up like this. This girl does something to me.

  “Well, we’re going to have to change that,” she says with a determined glint in her eyes. “I’ll show you some of my favorites and I’m sure you’ll change your mind in no time.” And she grins, and that smile makes my stomach flip.

  The sun begins setting outside, casting a warm golden glow over the room. I watch as Natalie hangs her clothes in the closet, her touch gentle and deliberate. And, for a moment, I wonder if this fake relationship could ever turn into something real.

  But just as quickly as the thought enters my mind, I shake it away. This is all pretend, after all. And someone like me doesn’t deserve love, especially not with someone as bright and beautiful as Natalie.

  “So, are you going to have the guest bedroom?” Natalie asks once she’s done with her clothes and we walk back into the kitchen.

  I turn the lights on and shoot her an incredulous glance. “I don’t have a guest bedroom.” Never had guests, so there’s no reason to.

  Natalie’s lips curl downward. “So, you were not kidding. We’re going to share the bed?”

  I shoot her another look. “Of course not. I’ll take the couch.”

  I boil another kettle of water and pour us more tea while Natalie tries to convince me against sleeping on the couch. We’re halfway through dinner when she gives up.

  “You’re all so nice here. First, at the diner. I can’t believe they understood I had to step away so easily. Now this,” she complains, curling her nose. “You shouldn’t have to sleep uncomfortably.”

  I can’t help it—a dry chuckle escapes me. “That couch is amazing compared to many of my past sleeping situations. Don’t worry your head about that, spitfire.”

  Natalie twists her lips, but she doesn’t discuss and she doesn’t complain about the nickname. I almost want her to. There’s something about the way she fights herself on complaining, and how her temper wins it over.

  I like to see the flame in her eyes.

  We settle on the couch after she insists we should start watching the movies. Natalie chatters on as she chooses one.

 

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