Page 5 of Hunted

I can't stop the shudder that ripples through me. Every instinct screams at me to get up and flee, to put as much distance between myself and this man as possible. But some deeper, more primal part of me seems to have gone utterly still and calm in the face of his blatant threat.

I watch the bulging cords of muscle in Aksel's powerful forearms flex and shift as he braces his weight on the table, caging me in while he remains behind me. I can't tear my gaze away from the ink on his arms.

"You'll remain here until I deem it safe to proceed with your research. And you'll do exactly as I say without question or hesitation."

His head dips lower, the stubbled line of his jaw grazing the side of my neck. I can't stifle the whimper that escapes when his lips brush against the shell of my ear. "Do you understand, Miss Driscoll?" The proximity to such a powerful man sends a jolt to my core. Each consonant is precisely enunciated, underscored by his teeth grazing against my skin.

I give a tremulous nod, my throat too constricted to speak. Aksel's satisfied rumble of approval vibrates against me.

"Good girl." The timbre of his praise reverberates straight to my core, making me clench my thighs together. "I enjoy it when my guests learn to follow the rules."

He straightens and steps away slowly, allowing me to draw a shuddering breath as the charged tension abruptly dissipates. I almost mourn the loss of his presence surrounding me until I risk a glance up at him.

Aksel is eyeing me with a look of dark, ravenous hunger, and his cock is tenting his sweatpants. A sly, knowing smirk curves his lips when our gazes lock, and he makes no effort to conceal his arousal. Not that he could. It's huge and impossible to ignore.

"We'll have such fun together, Miss Driscoll." His tongue darts out to wet his lips. "So very much fun..."

Accepting this trip might have been a mistake.

4

AKSEL

The rain pelts down on the rusty tin roof of the carport, a steady thrum that drowns out all other sounds. I slide out from under my truck, wiping the grease from my hands onto a stained rag. My muscles ache from the physical labor, but it is a welcome distraction from the temptation sleeping just inside.

Zara.

The mere name sends a shiver down my spine. I can picture her now, tangled in the sheets, that golden hair spilling across the pillow. How easily I could slip into the bedroom, pin her delicate wrists above her head as she gasped in surprise...

I shake my head, gritting my teeth and forcing the thought away. Grabbing a wrench, I slide back under the truck's chassis, letting the rhythmic clanging of metal on metal overwhelm my senses.

It has been so long since I've had a woman in my territory. The rush of power and the thrill of subjugation are intoxicating. Zara's innocence is like a magnet to me, an untapped well of passion waiting to be broken open.

The wrench slips in my grip, clattering to the concrete. I curse under my breath and roll out to retrieve it. Through the curtain of rain, I catch a glimpse of movement from the cabin window.

Zara. Awake at last.

My body tenses, coiled like a snake about to strike. I can almost taste the metallic tang of her fear on my tongue. One misstep and those big green eyes would widen in terror as I showed her how merciless the wilderness could be.

The soft pitter-patter of footsteps on the porch makes me freeze. Zara emerges, wrapped in a blanket against the chill. Her gaze sweeps across the yard before settling on me, half-hidden under the truck.

Our eyes meet, and I see it there–a flicker of fear. It's good. She is starting to understand how isolated we are and how there is no escape from me.

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I rise to my feet, the rain plastering my shirt to the contours of my chest.

She's watching me.

The thought sends a thrill down my spine as I straighten up from beneath the truck, rain sluicing down my face and chest. Zara's wide eyes find mine from across the yard.

I allow my gaze to rake over her, taking in the delicate curves outlined beneath that thin blanket. Her fingers clutch the fabric tighter as I stalk toward her, water squelching beneath my boots.

"Did you sleep well?" I ask. Up close, I detect her pulse fluttering rapidly in the hollow of her throat. Her lips part as if to answer, but she doesn't speak.

Reaching out, I hook a finger under the edge of the blanket and tug it down, exposing the shirt she's wearing. Zara gasps, a blossom of color rising in her cheeks, but she doesn't pull away.

"You're soaked," she murmurs, her gaze dropping to my shirt plastered against my chest. "You'll catch your death out here."

A chuckle spills from my lips as I close the distance between us. She shrinks back against the cabin wall, blanket clutched to her chest like a shield. I lean in close enough for our bodies to share warmth, letting my eyes bore into hers.

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