Page 77 of Hunted
And he lovesme.
It’s a heady thought and my breath catches at the idea of just how deep his love for me must go. Even if he hasn’t said the words, it’s obvious.
“Answer me, Darla.” Did he ask me a question? “Tell me you know who I want.”
“Me,” I whisper, bringing a smile to his lips. But instead of kissing me, he pulls back, standing tall as he looks down at me with a smirk of satisfaction, before turning and sitting in one of the side chairs.
I watch him with wide eyes as my heart continues beating fast.
“Well, fuck. That was hot,” Bower says, breaking some of the tension and allowing me to close my eyes and turn back to the TV.
What the hell was that, anyway? How is Reece able to work me up so much without even touching me? I pull the throw blanket into my lap, feeling like I’ve soaked through my panties and right into my leggings.
One thing is for sure. When Reece and I finally come together, it’s going to be explosive. I just hope I can survive the kind of heat he puts out.
Chapter twenty-one
Darla
The chime of the doorbell rings through the house, and I swallow nervously.
“Darla, it’s going to be okay. We’ve already been over what to tell them,” Kingsley says, trying to reassure me.
“They're on our side, we have nothing to worry about,” Reece reiterates as we wait for Arnold to escort the agents into the living room, where we all wait nervously. Well, I wasn’t sure if the guys were nervous, but I sure was.
Last night, after I’d calmed down from Reece’s heated words, he had brought up the fact that we needed to quickly get in front of our own story and report everything that’s happened. From the plane crashes, to the mercenaries, to the warehouse.
As much as I’d like to just sweep it under the rug and move on, Frank was still out there and we needed him behind bars. Reece said that he wanted to make sure we were all officially declared alive again, and that nothing would come out of the woodwork later to surprise us.
I was just grateful the agents had agreed to meet us at our house, especially when Reece explained how the paparazzi might show up if we went into town.
Footsteps have us all looking towards the front hall as Arnold rounds the corner, followed by a man I recognize. Although he’s much older than the last time I saw him.
“Mr. Benson?” I ask, rising to my feet as Reece’s dad steps into the living room.
“Darla, my dear!” He opens his arms as he steps towards me and gives me a tight hug. I don’t think he’s ever hugged me before, and it feels strange, but I let him do it as he seems to need it. He seems relieved to see me. It’s not that I’m surprised. He was nice enough to me as a kid, but he’s never been the friendliest man in the world, not even close.
Of course, now I realize he just seems different because he’s the complete opposite of my own dad, who spoke everything he was thinking out loud. Reece’s dad is quieter and more reserved, and I get the impression that he carefully thinks about every word that comes out of his mouth. I’ll never understand how our fathers were such close friends.
Finally, he pulls back and holds me at arm's length. “My, my, you have grown up into a beautiful young woman, haven’t you? And to think, you were alive all this time, on that island.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Remarkable.”
“Maybe if you hadn’t told me she was dead, I would have found her sooner,” Reece grumbles. His dad said I was dead? I didn’t know that. I frown up at him as he narrows his eyes on his son.
“I’m sorry. I promise you, if I had thought there was any chance of her surviving, I wouldn't have told you that. But they had been missing for weeks, it was practically impossible for her to have survived.”
Reece moves to my side, placing his arm around my shoulder. “And yet, here she is, living and breathing.”
“Yes, thank goodness for that,” he replies smoothly.
The doorbell chimes again, and Arnold quickly moves to answer it. I step back to the couch, leaning against Weston as Reece gives his dad a tight smile, clearly not wanting any animosity between them, especially when we were about to have a couple of federal agents in our living room.
“Thanks for coming, Dad. You can help tell the agents everything you know about Frank.”
“Of course,” he says with a nod as Arnold walks back into the room, followed by two men who do not look like the stereotypical agents I was expecting.
They walk in like they own the damn room, or maybe like they’re just sizing it up for threats. The taller one steps in first. He reminds me of Thor, and I know he must have more than a trace of Nordic blood in him. His tidy blond man bun sits at the top of his head, complemented by a short scruffy beard and has shoulders like a barn door. He looks like he belongs chopping wood in Norway, not flashing a badge. His eyes sweep the room once, calm and cold, like he’s used to spotting trouble before it starts.
The other man follows close behind. Dark hair and eyes sharp enough to slice. His olive skin makes me think he could be Greek. He doesn’t smile. He just stands there, taking it all in like we’re a puzzle he’s already halfway through solving. He’s got that tightly coiled energy I don’t trust, and it makes me fidget in my seat on the couch.
