Page 11 of Hunted for Halloween

Ever since that night at the maze, I have been plagued with intense withdrawal symptoms. It's like I'm suffering from an addiction she has struck me with and I fucking need her to survive. I didn't think I could ever see her again and that had taken a dark toll on me in a way I didn't see coming, until I encountered her again, as Jonathan's daughter.

I knew there was no way in the world I was going to let her slip through my fingers again. My best friend's daughter or not.

The car rolls to a stop and I look up from my screen. My lips tilt in a victorious smirk that quickly dissipates when I lock eyes with my chauffeur. A stony glare mounts on my face and that causes him to look away.

Lance, my trusted bodyguard steps out of the car before me to pull the door open for me.

When I step out of the car, rising to his view, I tell him, “I want everyone shopping gone except her. Do not lay your fucking hands on her. Do not get in proximity of her or breathe in the same air as her. Just get your job done and get out. Do you understand?”

“Yes, boss.” He answers stiffly, marching into the boutique.

In no time, I spot the customers marching out of the boutique with irritated looks on their face and I take that as my cue to step in.

The receptionist flashes me a warm, receptive smile, but the mane of blonde hair at a distance catches my attention. I'd recognize those blonde tresses anywhere. The door to the dressing room opens and closes, causing me to stride swiftly in that direction.

My breath catches in my fucking lungs when I stop short by the door, taking in the sight of her from behind. Her blonde hair, styled in waves, stops right on her ass. The skinny jeans she's wearing cup her ass cheeks perfectly, the dips and contours overly pronounced. Her green silk thin-strapped blouse is tucked into her jeans, complimenting the richness of her fair skin like it's specifically made for her.

Aurora blooms like a flower in spring. The light and innocent that cocoons her aura calls out to me like a beacon. It's so damn hard to resist. I couldn’t stay away from her even if I tried.

As though she can sense that she's being watched as she runs her fingers over the dress in her hands, she looks up sharply, those green eyes widening when they land on my reflection in the mirror.

She gasps and whirls around.

“How are you even here right now? Are you following me?!” she scrambles for something to say, the material of the dress in her hands held flush against her frame.

But it doesn't hide her from my view. Nothing can. Not even her.

Her eyes, a reminder of the vibrant green color of the forest during spring, flash with a mix of fury and irritation that doesn't in any way make me flinch.

Fury and irritation are emotions, and emotions are subject to change. We both know they are a camouflage of her true feelings.

“I thought I made it clear that you can't hide from me, Pumpkin.” I unfold my arms, pushing my frame off the doorway and sauntering into the room like there's nothing capable of stopping me from getting to her.

It’s the truth, after all. Nothing will stop me from getting what’s mine.

Her face flushes a dark shade of red at the nickname, her full, glossed lips parting in an attempt to say something.

“Get out or I'll scream.” She moves backwards.

“No, you won't.” A dry tone accompanies my words, almost bored.

“I told you to stay away from me!” she snaps, her breathing slowly picking up a harsh pace. “Aren't you scared of my Dad finding out what happened between us? What part of it was a fling don't you get? It can't happen again!” she enunciates every word, sounding irritated.

I try to contain my fury, but I can't. With this woman, control and restraint are myths, she makes it so hard not to lose my shit. Rage sweeps through me in strong, harsh, tidal waves.

She stares at me with so much regret and anger, like she's trying to fucking erase me.

If it were easy to erase her, I'd have done it the night we met or the night I found out that she's Jonathan's daughter. Yet the more I try, the more it feels like a part of me is being stripped away. In all the five decades I have been alive, I have never meta woman who's capable of tearing at my controlled facade until her.

“You are my Dad's best friend. You are older than me, is that so fucking hard for you to understand?” she squints her eyes at me in disbelief, her thick dark lashes fluttering with every breath she takes.

A tense silence envelops the dressing room, thick, sharp and cutting.

“Is that so, Pumpkin?” my voice comes out dangerously calm with a dark edge to it as I prowl towards her with the intent to devour.

Her eyes widen, her lips parting slightly, begging to be filled with something. I want to keep the look on her face in the back of my mind for when her back hits the dresser, and it dawns on her that there's nowhere to hide.

Her scent, a heady rush of jasmine, teases my nostrils when I close in on her. I don't hesitate to sweep her off her feet, placing her on the dresser. Her soft, small frame held flush against the hard ridges of my chest. She feels so soft and fragile, like she's going to break if I hold onto her any harder than I currently am.

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