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He froze. No. They hadn’t. Gabriel had pulled him out of the fire—but Hunter had gone to face Calla alone.
“Are they helping you,” said Kate, “or are they keeping an enemy close?”
He’d be lying if he hadn’t thought about this already. Hadn’t Gabriel used those exact words the other night? Hadn’t Nick demanded to see his text messages? Michael had asked him to help with his landscaping jobs. Was he being nice—or was he making sure he knew where Hunter was?
When Hunter and Gabriel had been fighting Calla’s fires, Michael had done the same thing to Gabriel, dragging him all over town under the pretense of being brotherly.
Michael had talked about leaving town—in a week. Leaving Hunter here with nothing but a mess they’d all been part of.
“There are still more Elementals in town, aren’t there?” said Kate.
“Yeah.”
“You’re in a good position to help us find them.”
“Sure.” Hunter made no attempt to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “I’d love to help the guy who shot me.”
“He thought you were working with the girl who started the fires.”
“Why the hell would he think that?”
“Because you were negotiating with her.”
Hunter glared at her. “I wasn’t negotiating. I was trying to get her to stop—”
“I know. I know.” She paused. “And he knows. Now.”
Hunter sighed and glanced away. That familiar guilt was trapping him. Did he owe the Merricks anything? Was he betraying them by even being here? All this indecision was almost painful.
Then he realized: did it matter? They’d be gone in a week.
He stared back at Kate, at the crystal blue of her eyes, which were just now beseeching him.
“How am I supposed to keep you a secret?” he asked, his voice rough.
Then, just like last night, she was in his lap before he was ready, her fingers in his hair, her lips warm against his. It was like she had power in this, like the feel of her lips and her skin and her breath could control him. His hands grabbed her hips, finding an inch of skin between her jeans and the tank top.
Every Elemental in town could attack him right this instant and he wouldn’t care.
Everything about her kiss was so Kate, aggressive and gentle at the same time, like an attack you didn’t know to defend yourself from until it was too late.
Power surged in the air around them, and now, alone, no secrets between them, he did nothing to hold it back. His hand slid up her side, and she didn’t protest. He kissed his way down her jaw, along her neck, aware that the temperature in the woods had turned downright tropical. She smelled like something tropical, too, mangoes or papayas or something sweet and edible.
Suddenly, she was pulling at his T-shirt, and he drew back to help her.
But then her cell phone chimed.
Twice.
It hit him like a bucket of cold water.
He was already trying to disentangle himself from her—but now she grabbed his shoulders. “Stop,” she whispered. “Stop. I told you—he’s not my boyfriend.”
Yeah, maybe not. But that didn’t mean this was . . . real.
Idiot, his subconscious was yelling. You’re an idiot.
Kate leaned in again, touching her forehead to his. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since the first morning I saw you.”
