Page 12 of The Hunted
“I’m pretty sure as an agent,” the wordagentwas said with heavy sarcasm, “they would have taught you that stalking is a crime.”
“I’m not stalking you,” he grumbled, moving away from Jordan’s touch. “Just because we happen to be in the same place doesn’t mean it was on purpose.”
“How do I know that?” She dropped her arms at her side. “Isn’t that what a stalker would say when he gets caught? I’m sure you know how seriously stalking gets taken by law enforcement.”
She moved toward him. Her movements reminded him of a cat in the wild with its sights set on its prey. The image almost made him chuckle, knowing how untrue that was. She wasn’t the predator here.
He was.
No matter how fast his heart beat in his chest or how strong his need was to close the distance and feel her body against his, it didn’t change their dynamics. If they were alone, he could wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze until there was nothing left but a body. No matter how hard she fought, he knew she wouldn’t win.
“Did they teach you in training that there are different types of stalking? You know you fit into at least three of the categories.” She stopped in front of him, close enough that he could smell the musky scent of her sweat, though it was coated in something vanilla. “You should ask me why I’m here, Santino Alvarez, and you’ll realize if you weren’t stalking me I would have seen you long before now.”
The rest of the gym fell away as they stared at each other. Her mismatched eyes kept him memorized, each color seeming to pop more than the other, but there was something else in her eyes he couldn’t quite understand. Most women looked at him with want and desire. But even when they were forward in their advances, there was a coyness to them—almost bashful. They wanted him to make the move and be the aggressor.
It was different with Silva. It felt like she was toying with him. It felt like she was sizing him up to see what responses she could get out of him, and why did that make him want to engage with her more? She called to something dark inside of him, that same part that demanded he take lives because he could so easily.
“I’m curious,” he murmured, taking a step closer unable to stop his need to be near her, “what stalking categories do you have me in, princess?”
She bristled under the pet name like he knew she would but recovered quickly enough. She brought her hand up to her face and ticked off each type with a finger raised. “The rejected and resentful stalker,” she leaned in. “Those are obvious. I hope I don’t have to explain that one,” she stage-whispered. “I could probably make a case for you being an intimacy-seeking stalker, and the one most men like to fall into—predatory. Now, ask me why I’m here,” she repeated, but he wasn’t going to ask.
He could guess why she was in this small room sparring with someone. Most women looked for ways to find strength after an assault of some magnitude, and while he wouldn’t diminish what she might have gone through, he didn’t think she was here for that particular reason.
Santino had come to this gym often enough. Jordan would drag him out of the office to get the blood pumping so they could figure out whatever case they were working on. For Jordan it was often just an excuse to talk to whatever woman was here at the same time. He used this gym like he would an after-hours spot, hoping to scoop up a lay for him and Santino. But he’d been here when he was with Jordan. His usual gym was across town and away from everyone he knew. If they were running into each other now, he had to wonder if she was the one stalking him.
“Silva no-last-name, I think I’ve caught you in a lie. I come here all the time. How do I know you’re not stalking me? Between running me down at the coffee shop, pickpocketing me, and now this?” hetskedunder his breath, taking a step forward for no other reason than it made her look up at him.
Some twisted part of his mind flashed to an image of her on her knees, chained, with welts on her naked body. There were pretty tears running down her face while he fed her his cock. Those mismatched eyes locked on him and were begging for more. The image made his blood pump into his already semi-erect penis.
His mind working on ways to get her under him should have alarmed him, but he found he wanted to peel back her layers and find out what made her tick if only so he could understand why he was physically attracted to her.
“Interesting,” she purred, stepping into the remaining space between them. “Turning the tables on me seems like a lazy tactic. Further proof I’m right, and yet you still haven’t asked me why I’m here.”
There was a buzzing sound in his ear, and the lights in the gym flickered before they dimmed, spotlighting Silva’s eyes. They were hauntingly beautiful, wrapping him up in her spell. He felt a tug in his chest before it dropped lower to his stomach, and he realized this was what people searched for. This need—this hunger that felt different from the gnawing sensation that signaled he needed to feed the beast inside of him.
This was the first time he ever wanted to reach out and wrap his hand in her braid, tilting her face up to his to find out if her lips were as soft as they looked. This was a new layer for him, and he knew he couldn’t leave here. He couldn’t let her leave without plans for something else, plans for something more.
Not only would she provide the perfect cover, but he was actually intrigued and enticed by her.
But for how long?
“You’re not going to introduce me to your lady friend?” Jordan’s booming voice snapped them both out of their staring contest, and Santino had to fight the urge to punch him right under his rib. The desire to do bodily harm blazed to life, and there was a high possibility Jordan was about to be his first deviation from his list.
“I’m Jordan,” he stuck out his hand to her, “Santino’s better, more charming half.”
“I doubt it.” She didn’t take her eyes off of Santino as she shook Jordan’s hand.
“Ahh, don’t say that. I can show you just how charming I can be.” He brought her hand up to his lips and yelped.
It happened fast, and Santino had to fight the smile tugging at his lips. Silva had Jordan bent over and his hand at an odd angle. If she put any more pressure, she’d be able to snap his wrist.
Yeah, she wouldn’t go down easy.
“I didn’t say I wanted your greasy lips on my skin, now did I?” She put more pressure on his hand and he grunted. There was a gleam in her eyes as if she was getting off on causing him pain. “That doesn’t sound like an apology.”
“Silva.” The coach stepped up, placing a hand on her shoulder. Santino watched the gleam slowly die out of her. She reluctantly let go and took a step back like she didn’t trust herself not to knee Jordan in the balls.
“Damn,” Jordan cursed. “I was just trying to be nice. My fault.”
