We’re doing this right now.
“I need to know why you’ve been avoiding me for five years, and I’m not going to take any simple answer.” I breathed in and out. “One year avoiding me? Fine. Two years, and I would leave you alone. Three years, I’m now pissed. Four years, I’m wondering if you ever even cared about me all those times you said you did. Five years, and I’m brokenhearted over losing you.”
I let out an exasperated breath, feeling like I’d been deprived of oxygen for several hours. A tiny bit of relief hit me that I’d finally gotten to say the words to him.
Now what will he say?
Hunter didn’t respond. Instead, he rose, walked over to me, plucked the glass from my hand, and rested it on the table next to the couch.
Rising, I was about to pick it back up, but he towered over me. I stared up at him.
He grabbed my wrist as if to keep me from reaching for the glass. It was the first time he’d touched me since we’d been reunited. He slipped his fingers along my wrist and then held my hand. “Zola.”
“Yes?” I let go of his hand and stepped close to him, leaving only a few inches of space between us. And then, I pushed my chest into his as I got on my tippy toes. “Talk to me.”
He closed his eyes and I swore he inhaled. And I had to confess that the closeness might’ve been too much for him, yet I couldn’t help but want his body near me.
Warmth bridged between us.
I won’t leave this alone, Hunter.
I took a chance and hugged him.
He relaxed in my hold and wrapped his arms around me too. “I’m sorry, Zuzu. I should have called you more.”
“I don’t want to force you to talk to me. I just want to know, if I did something wrong.”
“Never.”
“That’s sort of a lie.”
Sighing, he whispered, “How can you always tell?”
“Because I can taste it.” I looked at him. “You can tell me anything. What happened that Christmas?”
A dark chuckle left his mouth as he let me go. “Goddamn it. You don’t want to open up this can of worms. It’s better, if you leave it alone—”
“What could you say that we couldn’t work out?”
“You have no idea.”
“Tell me.” I gave him a weak smile. “Don’t you love me?”
Again, that heated intensity hit his gaze. “Never doubt that.”
“I love you too.”
“But would you love me after a few dark confessions?” His nostrils flared. “Love comes with rules.”
“It does not. There are no rules to love.”
He ran his fingers through his hair and began to walk off.
“No way.” I tenderly grabbed his arm and stopped him. “You tell me now. I’ll accept it. I won’t judge. I won’t treat you any crazy way. Please. Trust me, Hunter. Trust me to not hurt you for simply being yourself.”
His next words held an edge. “Goddamn it.”
I refused to move or even blink.
“Sometimes…” He turned to me with a scowl on his face. “Sometimes…I get aroused…when you’re around. Sometimes…I want you so bad, I could fucking kill someone.”
With the slightest shift of his gaze, he met mine. He looked annoyed. And something else. Deep within his pupils, hunger mingled with lust.
Holy shit!
And for a moment, one careless, unguarded, unexpected moment, something flowed between us. It wasn’t resentment or fear, neither guilt nor anger. It was lust. Strongly sexual. Erotic in every way. Hot awareness set in and along with it, an undying sexual tension.
9
Cocaine and the Swell of Cleavage
Hunter
Zola stared at me in shock.
Someone knocked at the door. I left her with her mouth open and went to answer it.
I had to say it. What else could I do but admit it? And now, what would happen?
I felt like killing someone. Not her, of course. But the stalker wouldn’t get a soft break with me. He would get a very hard break—on both arms and legs.
Did I lose her? That’s all she needs is another wierdo, drooling at her body. She’s already got a stalker. Now the guy that’s supposed to protect her admits to wanting to fuck her.
Room service rolled in with the food I’d ordered earlier. Another knock hit. Five people barreled in after—three women and two men. Tons of stuff filled their hands. Another set of women pulled in a large hanger cart full of dresses.
I wasn’t excited about discussing this topic further with a bunch of people around. There weren’t many things that gave me a sense of vulnerability, but Zola was one. Everyone in this room needed to fear me, not see my soft side.
“Sorry, we’re late.” A tall bald-headed man waltzed by and snapped his fingers at me. “You must be the new guy. Make me some champagne, please. My throat is dry.”
I closed the door. “I’m not the bartender.”