Page 10 of Hunt Me
“That’s leveling the playing field.” I zoom in on the frame where I stood, showing just enough—the curve of my jaw, the fall of blonde hair, the deliberate grace in my movement. “He’s had the advantage of invisibility. Operating from his fortress in Beacon Hill, surrounded by family security, protected by distance.”
“And you just took that away.”
I stand, my body still humming with residual adrenaline. “I’m taking a shower.”
Maya waves me off, already returning to her laptop. “Try not to plot world domination in there.”
“No promises.”
The bathroom door clicks shut behind me. I strip off my clothes, catching my reflection in the mirror—flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, that wild energy still crackling under my skin.
The shower spray is hot, as steam fills the small space. I step under the water, letting it cascade over my shoulders.
But my mind stays in that café.
Alexi’s face when he spotted me. The way his entire body shifted from casual to predatory in half a heartbeat. Those sharp green eyes watching me with such intensity that I felt it across the room.
My hand trails down my stomach.
He’s objectively attractive. I’ve known that from surveillance footage, but seeing him in person—the barely contained energy, the brilliant mind visible in every expression, the dangerous grace in how he moved when he stood to chase me.
I lean back against the tile wall, water running over my breasts.
The power of it. Walking into his territory, sitting right there while he reviewed my work, making him feel what I’ve felt every time his countermeasures surprised me. Hunted. Watched. Vulnerable.
My fingers slide lower.
He thought he was untouchable. Protected by firewalls and distance, and the anonymity of the digital world. Then I appeared. Real. Physical.Close.
I imagine those green eyes finding me again. The recognition. The hunger.
My breath catches.
This isn’t about him, not really. It’s about thewin. The perfect execution of a plan. Seeing his confident expression crack into something raw and reactive.
I bite my lip, chasing the feeling.
The phantom made flesh. The ghost he couldn’t catch was suddenly sitting ten feet away. His fingers on that laptop, trying to track me, while I watched every minute tell, every frustrated gesture, every brilliant synapse firing behind those dangerous eyes.
My free hand braces against the shower wall.
The image shifts. His hand closes around my wrist instead of just reaching. Those clever fingers that fly across keyboards are now gripping me tight enough to bruise.
Heat coils low in my belly.
What would he do if he’d caught me? Dragged me back to that table, demanded answers? Or followed me outside,cornered me in some alley, used that brilliant mind to crack me open the way I’ve been cracking his systems?
My fingers move faster.
The way he looked at me—like I was a puzzle he needed to solve. A code he had to break. That intensity, that focus, turned entirely onmeinstead of his screens.
I imagine him figuring it out. Finding me. Those sharp eyes go dark with recognition and something else. Something hungry.
“Fuck.”
The word echoes off the tile as pressure builds. My hips rock against my hand, chasing the sensation. Water beats down on overheated skin while my mind fills with dangerous scenarios.
Alexi Ivanov is backing me against a wall. His body caging mine. That brilliant, unstable energy is finally taking on a physical form instead of a digital one. Making me answer for every breach, every taunt, every time I slipped through his defenses.
