Page 69 of Moonlight Feels Right
Chapter Twenty
Emmalyn woke up slowly on Sunday morning, awareness coming in gentle waves. First, the warmth surrounding her, then the unfamiliar weight of an arm draped across her waist, and finally, the soft, steady breathing of the man beside her. She kept her eyes closed, savoring the moment, allowing herself to remember the night before—Hunter's hands on her skin, his mouth against hers, the way he'd looked at her as if she were the only person in the world who mattered. It had been everything she'd imagined and so much more. There had been tenderness amid the passion, laughter amid the intensity, a connection that went beyond the physical.
Finally, she opened her eyes and looked at him. In sleep, the hard lines of his face had softened, and his lips were slightly parted. She resisted the urge to trace the outline of his jaw with her finger, not wanting to wake him. Instead, she simply studied his face, committing each detail to memory.
He was handsome. Strong. Complicated. A man who had seen darkness but was fighting his way back to the light.
She'd watched him with Olivia, witnessed his patience and kindness, his steadfast determination to do right by his friend's child. She'd felt his protective instinct when Jeremy had threatened her, seen his vulnerability when he'd spoken of his crash and the loss of his best friend. A knot formed in her throat as she realized just how much she'd come to care for him in such a short time. It wasn't just attraction or chemistry—though they had plenty of both. It was deeper. She trusted him. And that terrified her more than anything.
Trust had always been her Achilles' heel, the thing she guarded most fiercely. Her mother had chosen a cult over her and had let her go when she was only twelve years old. That experience had taught her a brutal lesson—not to count on anyone. She couldn't give someone the power to hurt her. And she had never given anyone that power, until last night.
Of course, there had been other men in her past. But no one like Hunter, who had slipped past all her defenses days ago. She wouldn't regret the night no matter what happened, because they'd shared so much passion, laughter, and talking. She'd really loved the talking because it hadn't been about anything deep or traumatic. They'd spoken about favorite books, movies, and travel spots. Their conversation had flowed so easily, and when exhaustion had finally caught up to them, they'd fallen asleep in each other's arms.
But now reality had returned. They'd had their night, and maybe that was all they could or should have. Even if he didn't leave for a few weeks, it was going to be torture to be with him when she knew it was all going to end. At some point, she had to get her guard back up. Didn't she?
This already wasn't some casual fling she could walk away from unscathed. She was in too deep. She knew that. She'd known it before she'd slept with him. No regrets, she reminded herself. She just needed to move on.
With exquisite care, she slipped out from under his arm and eased off the bed. Hunter stirred slightly but didn't wake. She grabbed the first clothes she could find—a T-shirt and a pair of yoga pants—and padded out of the bedroom, closing the door gently behind her.
In the kitchen, she went through the familiar motions of making coffee, finding comfort in the routine, but deep down she knew that while everything looked exactly the same as yesterday, her life had changed.
Leaning against the counter as she waited for the coffee to brew, she wrapped her arms around herself. Hunter's scent still clung to her skin, a reminder she couldn't escape even if she wanted to. And that was the problem. She didn't want to escape. She wanted to crawl back into bed with Hunter, to pretend the outside world didn't exist, that the future wasn't looming with all its complications. But that wasn't real life. Real life was standing in her kitchen, trying to figure out how to protect her heart from a man who had already stolen it.
Hunter reached across cool sheets where Emmalyn's warmth should have been. He opened his eyes, confirming what he already knew—she was gone. The disappointment was immediate and surprisingly sharp.
He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, replaying the night in his mind. The way she'd looked at him in the bar, the electricity of their dance, the breathless walk home. And then, finally, alone together, the last barriers between them had fallen away.
It had been incredible. Not just the physical connection, though that had exceeded every expectation, but the sense that they'd crossed some threshold together. He'd never experienced anything like it before. Sex had always been straightforward for him—pleasurable but uncomplicated. This had been different because Emmalyn was different.
He wished she hadn't already gotten up, that they could have escaped into each other again before they had to deal with the real world. But the scent of coffee drifted in from the kitchen, revealing her whereabouts.
Sitting up, he ran a hand through his hair. His clothes were scattered across the floor, mingled with hers in a way that brought a smile to his face. He pulled on his boxer briefs, jeans, and shirt, then made his way to the door.
The sight of her in the kitchen stopped him in his tracks. Her T-shirt clung to her breasts, the yoga pants outlining the rest of her beautiful body. Her wavy blonde hair was tousled from sleep and from his hands. She was achingly beautiful, and the rush of emotion he felt was both exhilarating and terrifying.
She turned and saw him, and the expression on her face was both happy and wary.
"Morning," she said. "I made coffee for you." She quickly filled a mug and brought it to him.
"Thanks." He took the mug from her hands, then set it on the counter and reached for her, pulling her up against his body. "I need something else first."
Desire flared in her eyes, which was all the invitation he needed to lean in and kiss her, savoring the heat between them and the taste of coffee on her lips. As he ended the kiss, he said, "I wish you'd stayed in bed longer."
"I didn't want to wake you." Her voice was light, almost deliberately casual, as she pulled away from him. "You looked peaceful and also tired. I thought you could use the sleep."
"For future reference, if it's a choice between sleep or you, I'll always choose you."
His words hung in the air between them, and he saw the flicker in her eyes—the recognition that his statement about the future had brought up the one thing neither of them could change.
"Emmalyn," he began.
She immediately shook her head. "Let's not do that, Hunter."
"Do what?"
"Talk about last night. It was great. It was awesome. And I don't want to ruin the memories by analyzing anything. Okay?"
He didn't want to say it was okay, because she was acting like it was over between them, and they still had time. "Nothing is going to happen for a while, Em. We can make more memories."
