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Her cheeks felt hot. “This is not a booty call.”
He smiled and put his hands on her elbows, leaning in to speak along her jawline. His fingers were warm on her skin, and his breath brushed her neck. “Relax.”
She inhaled, wondering if cinnamon was an aphrodisiac. Part of her wanted to pull away—and a bigger part wanted to lean into him.
But he let her go and stepped into the hallway, leaving her swaying in the foyer. “Mind if I have something to drink?”
Becca hustled to beat him to the cabinet. She grabbed two glasses and poured lemonade, then watched him take a sip. The flame in the jar candle on the counter fluttered and jumped, keeping time with her heart.
She had to stop staring at him.
“Want to ... ah ... watch a movie or something?” she asked, then wanted to kick herself. What, was she six years old?
But he lowered the glass from his lips. “Sure, Becca.”
She folded herself into the corner of the couch and prayed for something decent on cable. Apparently, Comcast wasn’t on her side. She settled on some adventure flick she didn’t recognize and glued her eyes to the screen.
Hunter dropped into the dead center of the sofa. He watched the movie for five seconds, then glanced at her. “Are you actually watching this?”
“I’m actually looking in that direction.” She tossed the remote at him. “Watching might be a little strong.”
He caught it without looking and muted the television. “Talk to me.”
She smiled and glanced up at him through her lashes. “About what?”
“Anything.” He set his glass on the coffee table, then leaned back into the cushions and hooked his thumbs in his pockets. It pulled his jeans down, just a little, but enough to show a millimeter of tanned skin at his waist, just the barest edge of his boxers.
Becca reminded herself to breathe.
“What’d you do tonight?” he said. “Did you have to work?”
That snapped her back to reality. She shook her head quickly, but her eyes kept flicking back to that strip of skin. “No—I was driving home from school, and there was a storm, and I—I totaled my car.”
Hunter sat up straight, and his tone was almost angry. “You what?” He looked her over, his eyes intense. “Jesus—are you okay?”
“No—yeah, I’m fine.” She remembered that his father and his uncle had been killed in a car wreck, and her tone softened. “I’m okay. Really. My dad would never have left me alone otherwise.”
He probably wouldn’t have left her alone if he’d known she was going to invite a boy over, either. Too bad for the absent parent.
Hunter looked distraught. “But—totaled? Where?”
“The bridge on Old Mill.” She’d heard the paramedics recite the events so many times that it was easy to forget that supernatural happenings had almost led to her death.
“The creek overflowed.” Becca hunched her shoulders. This was the last thing she wanted to relive. “It must have buckled the bridge supports or something—”
“I heard about it. A lot of people were hurt.” He ran a hand through his hair. Multicolored lights from the television danced across his features, making him look vaguely frightening—or frightened. “Becca, I had no idea.”
She stared at her hands in her lap. Hunter was so earnest, offering anything less than truth felt shady. “I didn’t want to be alone.”
When he didn’t say anything, she glanced up. He was studying her, his eyes shadowed.
That was too much. “I’m fine.” She stretched out her bare arms. “Look. No bruises even.”
He took her wrists in his hands, running his thumbs lightly along the inside of her forearms. “Hmm. No bruises.”
His touch was making her shiver, but she couldn’t pull away. This was the exact opposite of grappling in a field—but somehow she wanted to tackle him all the same. “Yeah. Chris and his brothers pulled me out of the car.”
His fingers stilled, and his voice went hard again. “Really.”
