Page 41 of Hunter

“Stop what?” she retorted, her body fitting deliciously into the curve of my front.

She wriggled against me, trying to escape, and I let out a growl. She stopped, looking up and down and every single place but my eyes.

“Stop spending your money on spoiling Adair instead of buying the things you need.” I slid my hands down to her waist, splaying my fingers over her hips. I didn’t miss the pink blush spreading across her cheeks.

Brushing my thumbs over her abdomen, I felt the soft ridges of her stretch marks. My gaze traveled down to them, seeing the faint little scars marring her otherwise flawless skin.

When her tight stomach muscles flinched against my touch, I let my hands wander farther south.

“Hunter,” Mallory breathed out. “Let me go.”

“What are you going to do if I don’t?”

“I’ll uh …”

I slid my fingers inside her waistband, brushing the edge of her pants, and she gasped, followed by a sweet little moan. It almost unmanned me right there.

My vision became so tunneled that I had to fight the need to crush my lips against hers, but it wasn’t the time. Not yet.

I looped my fingers into her beltloops and pulled. The button didn’t even snap, but it left a gap between her waist and jeans that could easily fit—

I stopped.

Mallory saw what I was doing and jerked back, snapping my fingers out of her jeans. “What are you—”

“Mallory.” I looked up at her face, knowing how pissed she was and not caring. “How long have you had those jeans?”

The anger on her face stuttered, and it was almost as if I could see the walls slamming up.

“What does it matter?”

“Are they the same jeans you had when you were pregnant with Adair?”

Her gaze snapped to my eyes, not looking away. “No,” she lied. Big mistake.

“You’ve had the same clothes for overfouryears!” I bellowed, my anger climbing.

“I said I haven’t!”

“You lied!” Every damn time she lied, she looked straight at me—a novice liar’s mistake.

“So, what? I like my clothes.”

“That’s not liking your clothes. That’s salvaging them. And guess what? You don’t need to.”

“No, I like them.” She stole a glance down at the jeans clutched in her arms, and I could see the flicker of a frown cross her face. She didn’t like them. Not one bit.

“That’s it,” I snapped, throwing my arms in the air. If she wanted to be stubborn, let her be stubborn. I couldn’t give more of a fuck if I wanted to.

I turned and made it halfway toward the back door where I could see Adair rolling around on a small trike I had ordered him, which Mallory hadn’t complained about of course, when I felt a sharp tug on my shirt.

“Don’t walk away from me!”

Screw it.

I turned and dropped my shoulder to her waist and stood. She let out a sharp squeal as I wrapped my arms around her knees.

“Keep wriggling, and you’ll fall.”

---