Page 15 of Tempted by a SEAL

“Yes, that’s right. I studied at Oxford.”

“I never introduced myself—Hunter Murdock,” he said, reaching across Mason toward her.

Emma took his hand, and the feel of his large, slightly calloused hand wrapping around hers sent goosebumps across her flesh. Making her feel inexplicably safe.

Tendons bulged from his skin, and muscles twined up his thick forearm. His hand was rough but warm, and he held hers just a beat too long.

“Emma,” she said, suddenly feeling foolish as she stared at him.

Reluctantly, she pulled away, not unaware of his fingertips just grazing across her skin as he let her go.

“Well, Emma Nolastname, you must not go digging around through ancient ruins Indiana Jones style—your hands are too soft.”

She pressed her lips together, trying not to break into a smile. “I primarily do research now. My findings have been published in multiple academic journals around the world. But don’t worry, I logged plenty of hours in the field back at university.”

“Beauty and brains,” Hunter quipped. “A dangerous combination.”

He winked at her again, and she felt an unexpected surge of warmth wash over her skin as her heart pounded. She wasn’t the type of woman to fall at a man’s feet, but she had a feeling he could charm the pants off anyone.

Not that she planned on showing him her knickers.

Her face flamed at the thought, and she only hoped he didn’t notice.

Right.

With her fair complexion, that was like asking someone not to notice the sun rising every morning.

“I do travel frequently for work, but I’m usually poring over research and documents, not digging up ancient artifacts. I’ll admit the latter sounds far more interesting though. Probably makes for better stories at cocktail parties as well.”

“How often do you travel?” he asked.

“Every month or so. It really just depends on what I’m working on at the moment and where I am in my research. Why do you ask?”

Hunter exchanged a glance with Mason, who looked up from texting someone on his mobile. “Just curious about something. Where was your last trip?”

“The Middle East,” she said, not elaborating.

Her own mobile vibrated in her backpack, and she pulled it out, glancing down at the screen to see another text from her neighbor.

A man was here looking for you earlier. Should I ring the police again?

I’m worried about you.

Emma shoved her mobile into her backpack, swallowing. Maybe she should ditch the thing all together. If the men looking for her had found out where she lived, they could certainly find her mobile number. Track her using GPS or some other technology.

Coming back to London with the documents she’d discovered was a big mistake.

Piercing blue eyes met hers as she looked up. She scanned the chiseled planes of his face, the firm set of his jaw.

Hunter’s eyes narrowed as his gaze fell on her backpack.

“I should get going,” she said, suddenly climbing down from the barstool. “That was my neighbor—there’s a problem at my flat.”

“Emma,” he said, nailing her with a gaze.

Her eyes were drawn to the earpiece she hadn’t noticed before. To the way his eyes swept around the entire pub before once again meeting hers.

“Who are you?” she asked, her heart racing as sudden awareness seeped through her.

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