Page 6 of Hunter's Revenge

I want to ask him where I should drown my sorrows when I have so many, but I think better of it. Comments like that will lead to him offering to be my listening ear so I can talk about things I can’t.

“I’ll be okay, Duke. I promise.” I give him a little smile, hoping he doesn’t use those fatherly instincts he’s so good at to discern through my lies. “I’m still shaken up. What happened to Gage was truly horrific.” Better to play the game and let him think I’m distraught over Gage’s death. Only hardcore liquor will get me through the rest of tonight, and I don’t want him to stop me from drinking.

“Okay. Whiskey it is.” He dips his head, then switches his attention from mine when someone walks up to the barstool next to me, filling my surroundings with a deep, musky scent that reminds me of the forest. “Ice-cold bottle of beer for you?” Duke asks, the tension leaving his face.

“Yes, please. And I’m impressed you remembered.” The sexy, deep voice coming from the man next to me forces me to look at him.

When I do, my eyes lock on a deadly handsome face that would rival every heartthrob ineverymovie, romantic or otherwise, that I’ve ever seen. I’m pretty sure Hollywood definitely missed out on this guy. Then again, the serious military muscles bulging against his long-sleeved black T-shirt suggest you’d never find him acting in a romance movie, or even in an action one. Those muscles are far too definitive to be just for show.

“You’re practically a regular now,” Duke chimes. “Hope you’re settling into the beach house okay.”

“I definitely am.”

“Glad to hear.” Duke chuckles heartily and the handsome stranger returns his smile, revealing deep sexy dimples. “Not many people like being on the other side of the beach. They think it’s too quiet.”

“That’s what makes it perfect for me.”

Listening to the conversation, I quickly realize that Mr. Handsome is the new guy staying in Duke’s old beach house. It’s a ten-minute walk from my place. I’d heard Marybeth talking about him from the day he moved in, but of course, she being her, she forgot to mention that the man is drop-dead gorgeous.

“Good, good. One bottle of ice-cold beer coming right up.” Duke dips his head and saunters away, but I’m still staring at the handsome stranger. And I can’t look away.

I’m the last person who should stare at anyone, let alone a man like him. The glance I caught of myself on the way here revealed that I look like shit. My hair in its high bun looked like I’d just rolled out of a barn, and my eyes, which are normally a vibrant sea-green, were red from crying so much last night. I even had the blotchy skin to match.

Remembering how I look, I try once more to turn away, but I’m hooked all over again when a dark blond lock falls away from his slicked-back hair and he straightens up, showing off more of his body.

I’m normally good at guessing people’s height, so I peg him to be around six feet four. As there’s no wedding band on his ring finger—and no indentation to suggest he’s taken it off—I think it’s safe to say he’s unmarried. But that’s not always an absolute indicator; neither does it rule out a girlfriend.

Marybeth never mentioned a girlfriend or anything relationship-wise. Only that she was happy to sublet the beach house so early in the year and she hoped he would stay for a while.

I wonder what this guy does and what brings him to Wilmington. The oncoming spring has attracted a lot of surfers and those who love our beaches and scenic views, but I don’t get the feeling that this guy came here to surf or sightsee.

And I’m just staring.

Andstillstaring. It’s no surprise when he looks at me, but what I’m not prepared for is to actually lock eyes on him face-to-face and realize just how good-looking he is.

Rich brown eyes gaze back at me with open fascination, along with a spark of something deliciously dark that instantly makes me think of hot, sinful things.

Hot, sinful things that remind me how long it’s been since I was intimate with anyone. Those hot, sinful things are the sort I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about in regards to a complete stranger, and I shouldn’t be wondering if that’s how he looks when he’s having sex.

The thought of having sex with a man like him sends a jolt of desire straight to my pussy and instantly I’m wet.

When my handsome stranger’s eyes darken, I have the mortifying thought that he can read my mind, and even though it’s entirely ridiculous, I think he knows I’m wet, too.

Embarrassed, I look away quickly, breathe slowly so my heart will stop hammering in my chest and finish the last of my drink. As I’m not normally like this, I can only assume the host of drinks I’ve had over the last few hours must be doing a number on my head and it’s possible I’m drunk.

“Don’t tell me you’re drinking by yourself.” The low timbre of his rusty baritone draws me back to him like a fish attracted to irresistible bait.

I’m looking at him again, but this time wondering if he’s talking to me. That last sip of drink didn’t help either, because my skin feels hotter than before.

“Me?” I say in a breathy voice, actually pointing to myself.

The corners of his sensual lips slide into a grin, and I resist the urge to drool like a dog hungry for a bone.

“I’m looking at you, Malyshka.”

Malyshka?

Whatever that means sounds exotic and mysterious. I also detected the very slight undertone of an accent, but I’m not sure what it is since he mostly sounds American.

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