Hunter's Fall (29 page)

Authors: Shiloh Walker

Tags: #Romance, #Contemporary, #General, #Paranormal, #Fiction

BOOK: Hunter's Fall

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Except him, of course.

And although it sounded incongruous, he could certainly distract her. She should be trying to figure out what was going on, and she
was
. . . sort of. When she wasn’t overcome with the urge to fling herself at him and sob on those wonderfully strong-looking shoulders. Or the skin-blistering lust that had her yearning to peel off his clothes and learn every muscle, every line of his body. With her eyes, her hands, her mouth.

Get it together, Morgan
, she told herself.

“So are you going to answer me?” she asked, finally forcing a question past her tight throat.

He lifted a brow at her. “Answer what?”

“That . . . thing. Hell, I don’t know what to call it. But you move fast. Too fast.”

“Maybe I work out.”

“Superman on steroids doesn’t move
that
fast,” she said sourly.

A grin curled his lips. When he smiled, he had a dimple in his cheek . . . and his eyes crinkled at the corners. It was that sort of smile that would lay women low . . . that boynext-door kind of smile, with just a touch of wickedness.

“Superman wouldn’t do steroids. It would mess with his mojo,” he said.

She blinked at him, and then, to her surprise, she laughed. “Good point. And we can’t have anything messing with the Man of Steel’s mojo.” Her smile faded and she shook her head. “But you didn’t answer me.”

“Because I’m not entirely sure how to do that just yet.” He shrugged and rested his head on the back of the couch. “So, what’s your name?”

Morgan narrowed her eyes. “I thought you knew my sister.”

“I do.”

“You know my sister, know her well enough that she told you where to find me, but she never mentioned my name,” Morgan said slowly.
Not likely.

He lifted his head just long enough to meet her eyes. “She was too busy sputtering about what a mistake you were making.” He lay his head back down and murmured softly, “A bad mistake. The worst kind.”

Yeah, she’d figured that much out. She’d known it going in but she hadn’t seen another way out.
Actually, I just didn’t look hard enough
, she admitted.

“Where is Jazzy?” Morgan asked, folding her arms over her chest.

“Someplace safe. I’m not sure where.” He didn’t sound too concerned with that fact, either.

“You don’t know where she is.”

“No.”

Morgan ground her teeth together and tried, for about five seconds, not to lose it. Then she bit off, “I need to find her.”

“Do you? Why?” he asked, his voice oddly flat. He came off the couch, his muscles uncoiling, that lean body unfolding. He hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans and watched her from unreadable dark eyes.

Morgan stared at him. “
Why
?” she echoed. “Damn it, she’s my sister.
That
is why. She’s
my
responsibility. I need to take care of her.”

“You were doing a lousy job of it today.”

She flinched as though he’d slapped her. It would have hurt less if he had. Tears burned her eyes but she blinked them back. Spinning on her heel, she folded her arms over her chest and stared at the wall. “This is none of your business, you know.”

“I hauled your butt out of a mess of trouble. That kind of makes it my business, at least in some way,” he said after a few seconds.

“Nobody asked you to haul my butt out of anything. I was handling it.”

“You were scared to death.”

Morgan glared at him over her shoulder. “I was
handling
it. It was my mess—it was my responsibility to clean it up.”

“Yeah, it was your mess. And that’s why I found your sister hightailing it out of town like she had demons chasing after her,” he responded. He shook his head. “You honestly don’t realize how much trouble you were in, do you? Jazzy, that kid you claim is
your
responsibility, has a better head on her shoulders than you do. She knew something bad was going down and she had the common sense to get the hell out of Dodge. But you were lingering right in the middle of ground zero, admiring your manicure.”

She flushed. “I wasn’t
admiring
my manicure.” She shot a glance at her nails—they were bedraggled, cracked and desperately in need of some TLC. The hangnail she’d been picking at was gone, revealing a small, tender red area. “I was . . . ”

“Trying not to let that bastard see how scared you were?” he offered.

Somehow, she knew he wasn’t talking about Sanders.

Tearing her eyes away from him, she started to pace the living room. It was a lovely space, the hardwood floors gleaming a mellow gold, the furniture white as snow, soft as a cloud. A huge window faced out over the ocean. It would be one hell of a view for an early bird with a desire to watch the sun rise.

She felt terribly out of place.

Swiping her hands down the front of her jeans, she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “I was scared. I was in trouble, and I know that,” she said quietly. “I do appreciate your help . . . ah . . . you know what? You never told me your name, either.”

He was quiet for so long, she didn’t think he’d answer.

She held her breath as the silence stretched out.

Then, his voice deeper, rougher, he murmured, “It’s Dominic.”

For some reason, for some bizarre reason that made absolutely
no
sense, his answer made her want to fall to the ground and sob.

Dominic.

What did you think he was going to say?

She swallowed and tried to smile. “Seeing as how you hauled my ass out of the fire earlier, I guess I ought to at least tell you my name. It’s Morgan. Morgan Wakefield.”

His mouth spasmed. Pain flashed through his eyes. It was fast, there and then gone. And if she hadn’t been so aware of him, she would have missed it. His features smoothed out and he said, “Well, I can definitely tell you that it has been an experience meeting you.”

“Yes.” She licked her lips and glanced away from him. Okay, niceties done. She really did need to get out of there.

“Look, I appreciate your help, seriously. But I need to try and figure out where my sister went.” She edged away, keeping him in her line of sight as she made for the door. “I get why she took off—she’s a hell of a lot smarter than I am, I guess. But still, she’s just a kid and I . . .
hey
!”

She’d almost reached the door. Almost.

Then he was there, one hand braced against it, the other braced at the wall just over her shoulder. Pinned between his lean body and the wall, she stared up at him. Her pulse raced. She could feel it, fluttering in her neck, and she could hear her blood roaring in her ears. She swallowed and his gaze dropped, lingering on her throat.

Hypnotized by the heated intensity of his eyes, she held still as he lifted a hand and brushed his finger across the hollow of her throat, rested it just above the mad beat of her pulse. “I’m sorry . . . Morgan,” he murmured. His voice hesitated over her name. He tore his eyes away from her neck and met her gaze. With a slow shake of his head, he whispered, “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you walk away.”

She ducked under his arm, backing away from him. Her entire body shook, and the farther away she moved, the more she ached. She didn’t want to move
away
from him. She wanted to grab him, lose herself in him. Her heart raced faster and faster and she felt out of breath. She hadn’t done a damn thing, but she felt like she’d just got done doing ten miles at an all-out run.

“You can’t keep me here,” she said, her voice shaking.

You can . . . and why in the hell do I want you to?

Dominic sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He stared at the floor, his shoulders slumped. He looked tired, exhausted to the bone and . . . sad. She could feel his grief. Feel his pain. It beat inside her heart, like it was her own pain, not just his.

“Look, Morgan. It’s late. I know you’re confused and scared.”

“Scared,” she muttered. She pressed her fingertips to her temples. Inside her head, it was quiet. Too quiet. Everything inside her seemed frozen . . . waiting.

Waiting for what?

She was staring at the floor and never heard him move, but as the shadows on the floor in front of her shifted, she jerked her gaze up. He stood there, less than a foot away. She licked her lips and watched as his eyes tracked the movement. She could remember his taste . . . she wanted more.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said quietly. There was a plea in his eyes. Desperate and determined, as though he could will her to believe him. “I’m not. I’ve spent . . . ”

His voice trailed off.

Morgan stared at him. “You’ve spent . . . what?”

A muscle pulsed in his jaw as he reached out, smoothing a strand of hair back from her face. He tucked it behind her ear and then slid his hand around her neck, cupping it in his hand. She sighed and leaned into his touch, even as she tried to remind herself she needed to get the hell away from this strange, disturbing man.

But she couldn’t get away. And not just because he wouldn’t let her.

He stroked her cheek with his free hand, feathering the roughened pads of his fingers over her face as though he wanted to memorize it. “I’ve spent too long waiting for you. Looking for you. Now that I’ve found you, there’s no way in hell I’d let anybody or anything hurt you.”

Time fell away.

She
fell away.

Her breath lodged in her throat, and for the longest time, she wasn’t aware of any sound but the beating of her heart, racing faster and faster. The world whirled around her . . . racing in time with her heart. And suddenly, she wasn’t standing in a lovely little house on the beach with a dark, grim stranger with sad eyes that broke her heart.

No. She was . . . somewhere else. Maybe even some
one
else.

She was on the ground, and in her arms, there was a man. A man with sun-streaked golden brown hair . . . and sad eyes that broke her heart. His blood pumped out, hot and wet, staining the ground beneath them, turning the dusty earth into mud.

He watched her with those sad, grieving eyes as he reached up to touch her face. He was dying. In her arms, he was dying . . . this man she loved more than life itself.

My beautiful, foolish, wonderful girl. I love you so much. I will come back . . . I will find you again . . .

“No!”

She screamed, and the sound jerked her back to herself. Tearing away from Dominic, she backed up, shaking her head.

His voice echoed in her head.

So different . . .

I will find you again . . .

I’ve spent too long waiting for you. Looking for you . . .

All of sudden, those voices were in her head, again, clamoring. One of them was louder, stronger.

Calling out a name.

But Morgan couldn’t make sense of it.

She took one more step away and then . . . darkness.

S
HE might not know him
here
. . . but in her dreams, she knew him.

In her dreams, he was waiting for her. But she was too afraid to believe it.

Too afraid to come out of the shell she had crafted for herself, a shell spun of her magic. A spell . . . a spell that kept her pain at bay, a spell that split her from her memories.

She was on that wide, soft couch under the window, and he was there, with her, next to her, stroking her hair back from her face.

She reached up and with a trembling hand, cupped his cheek. “Is it you? Truly?”

He caught her hand and nuzzled it, pressing his mouth to her palm. “It’s me. Dear God, darlin’, I never meant to be gone from you this long.”

“I can’t believe this,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears. They stung her eyes and she blinked them away, furious at those salty drops because they blurred her vision, kept her from staring at him.

He was so different.

But his soul felt the same.

And those eyes, those eyes . . . she would know them anywhere.

“Why?” she demanded, her voice cracking. “Why
now
? Don’t you know how . . . ”

How lonely I’ve been? How much it hurts . . . just living, every single day without you? Why
now
?

Now . . .
Now. When she was so broken. So shattered inside. So unworthy of him. Of a second chance. Of happiness.

“I can’t believe this,” she said again, shaking her head.
I won’t.

“Why?” He stroked her hair back from her face, his hands gentle, so gentle and warm and strong.