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It made me sick. I knew my dad; he didn’t start fights, so if he was involved in one, they were punishing the wrong person.
My fingers drummed against the armrest, each second stretching out longer than the last as I began counting down the agonizing forty-eight hours until I could put my eyes on him. All the while, the discomfort of wearing a man’s shirt as a makeshift dress gnawed at me, its length barely reaching my thighs.
I tugged at Hunter’s button-down, hoping to coax more coverage, but the motion drew Hunter’s gaze to the toned expanse of my upper leg. His eyes lingered there, longer than car driving standards would recommend, before wandering slowly and deliberately back up to my face, making my skin tingle where they passed.
Heat rushed to my cheeks, and his mouth curled up slightly.
Dammit.
It royally sucks when you enjoy being checked out by the one person you do not want to be attracted to, and not only does your body blow your cover, exposing how much you like it, but the panty-melter notices you enjoying it.
When he returned his attention back to the road, my eyes decided to take on a life of their own and drift downward, drawn irresistibly to his chest. It was lean and muscular, a canvas of strength meticulously sculpted by hours of dedication. Each muscle was distinct, the dips and curves throwing tantalizing shadows under the soft light.
It took a serious fight to force my eyeballs away from the exquisite lines of his abs and back up to his face.
Where his eyes were already on me, catching me drooling over him. Based on the pull of his lips, he liked every minute of it.
This was all so infuriating; why did he have to enjoy making me blush, and why did he have to be so…so…irresistible?! It didn’t help that everything about him seemed so…intoxicating—like he’d been designed by a team of experts specifically for maximum appeal.
But did I really have to sit here and admire the scrumptious details? The way his lean forearm looked as it dangled on the steering wheel? No matter how hard I tried, it was frustratingly impossible to ignore just how attractive Hunter was.
“I have to say, I can’t believe you were going to fight off a knife-wielding vigilante,” Hunter’s voice was low. “While it was unnecessarily dangerous, I’m impressed.”
The hint of admiration in his tone gave my heart an unfamiliar, erratic flutter.
I’d never had someone handle me the way he had before—normally, I was too fiercely independent to need help from anyone. It was as shocking as it was exhilarating, sparking heat that radiated across my skin.
“Anyone would’ve done the same thing,” I said.
Hunter’s face fell, and his Adam’s apple rolled.
“Not everyone.” His tone was deep and sad with a pinch of anger throbbing through it. I wanted to know what he meant by that, but I could tell whatever it was, was something incredibly painful.
“You said you grabbed a shard of glass to fight him?”
I nodded.
“Where did you learn those fighting instincts?”
I pursed my lips and stared at the congested road in front of us.
“Does it have anything to do with being the daughter of a notorious killer?”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Meaning what, my father taught me how to hurt people?”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” he said.
“My dad isn’t anotoriouskiller. That implies he’s up there with Ted Bundy or something. And he’s innocent.”
His sea-glass-colored eyes seized mine, making my neck heat so much, I had to look away.
I hated that I had no control over these stupid flutters that took flight when he looked at me like that. I’d never gotten them with other guys.
“I lost my dad when I was a kid, too,” Hunter said. “He died when I was nine, and nothing was the same after that.”
I raised my eyebrows, shocked that Hunter Lockwood had exposed such a private part of his life to me.
“As hard as that was, I can’t even imagine what it must’ve been like for you.” His tone was soft and kind, making my guard relax even more.
