Page 25 of Hunting Harbor

The nightmares won’t stop. They won’t stop, and I’ll never stop unless I...

It’s just a weekend, I tell myself again, letting Kairo’s name flash once more. I take a deep breath, ignore the fluttering in my stomach, grab my bag and stand in front of my door, my hand resting on the knob.

Last chance to-

The knock is loud, and I feel the sound pulse through my chest. Another insistence, another certainty. I hold my breath until I see spots, open the door when I’m about to burst. Kairo stands there, tall and fucking gorgeous. My entire world narrows to the sight of him - strong jaw, broad shoulders, the flash of dark eyes before they settle on my bag. I’m packed, it’s happening. He folds me into his embrace with the ease of possession. Like I’m his girl. “Ready?” he asks with that deep, rumbly voice that steals my breath, like he’s already claimed me.

His presence fills my small apartment, my smaller world, and I feel crowded by him, suffocated and overwhelmed and more alive than I’ve felt in months. Like I’m about to pass out or pass some point of no return. His smile makes my skin too tight, a slow tension building beneath, but I smile back and convince myself this isn’t crazy. His hand finds mine, and the contact spreads through me, heat or panic or both.

I nod, a shaky gesture, and it’s enough.

“I have it,” he says, taking my bag, taking my will.

He’s in control before I know what I’ve given up.

We leave the safety of my apartment and I lock the door with shaky hands, almost dropping my keys twice before he guides it in the hole with a wink.

He leads me to his car, his hand still on mine. I should be thinking about what this means, about going to a cabin in the woods with a man who makes my heart ricochet and my blood quicken with a single word. A man I barely know. A man who already knows too much about me. But Kairo makes it impossible to think of anything except him. The desire that rolls off him in waves, pulling me under. Drowning and wanting it.

His touch lingers, his thumb tracing my knuckles before he opens the passenger door. Before he leans in, catching my breath and holding it hostage.

“It’s beautiful out there,” he says. “You’ll love it. Trust me.”

Words so simple I shouldn’t feel them this deeply, shouldn’t feel the sharp edge beneath. He moves with intent, closing the door before I have the chance to answer. Before I remember that I’m terrible at trusting anything but my instincts. Especially when they scream at me this way, high and warning, and completely ignored.

The car swallows me, it looks expensive and smells of leather and him. He gets in and the interior shrinks even more.

“Ready?” he asks again. This time it’s not a question. Not really.

“Ready,” I say, trying to believe it.

The city unfolds behind us. The miles roll forward. So do I.

We slip onto the highway, and Kairo slips into easy conversation, like this isn’t a huge and dangerous step, like we’re a normal couple taking a normal trip. “So tell me more about your book,” he says, glancing over with those eyes. “The one with the masked guy who hunts you.”

“How do you know those details?”

His jaw tightens, ever so slightly. “You told me the first night at the bar.”

“Right.” I don’t remember telling him. Maybe I did. “Um… yeah, I’m almost done. Maybe this weekend will help me with the ending. Maybe it won’t.”

I expect him to tease, to push. He doesn’t.

“Maybe it won’t.” He agrees and his jaw relaxes.

“Maybe you’ll wish you left me at home. I tend to chatter on and on about my books to anyone who will listen. It annoys the hell out of them.”

“Not a chance,” he says, a small laugh catching in his throat like a cough, like disbelief.

He reaches for my hand, a quick squeeze, then releases. The effect isn’t quick at all. It lingers. He doesn’t say anything more and neither do I. Just letting the silence fill the space and calm my galloping heart.

The roads get narrower, winding, each turn a question I don’t know how to answer. It’s happening, it’s real, and I’m more anxious than ever.

The hours slip away. So do my excuses. My fears. My sense. All that’s left is the smell of him and a feeling that I’ve signed up for far more than I bargained for.

He pulls me close and pulls off the highway, down a dirt road with a dingy sign that saysPine Ridge Retreat. There’s no sign of anyone else. There’s no sign of anything except the forest and us.

“Not far now,” he says, watching me more than the road, like he’s watching for second thoughts, like he knows I’m beyond havingthem. The car slows to a crawl as he forces it over the bumpy terrain.

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