Hunter's Heart (6 page)

Vic beamed, nodded and scurried away. Hunter’s smile warmed her to the core.
Who was this man?
She knew special ops men worked hard and played harder. In his day job, Hunter jumped out of perfectly good aircraft, spent hours under water. Was a trained killer. She imagined the “playing harder” part translated to drinking, fighting and women.

With all his charm, the man sitting across from her didn’t fit any of that. If he’d been pointed out to her and she had to guess what he did, she’d say construction or fitness trainer.

The duplicity gave her a twinge of discomfort. Duplicity was at the root of her emotional problems.
Crap
. All her problems, and she didn’t want or need any more. The “head doc” she occasionally visited suggested it wasn’t what happened but how she chose to react to what happened. Yeah, let the doc who grew up in the burbs be a street urchin in a war zone and live with a psychotic, murdering father. See what she said then.

“You okay?” Hunter reached across the table and touched her hand, jolting her from the thoughts. “Where’d you go?”

“Sorry. I was thinking how different your lifestyle is from your sister’s. What were you saying?”

“Same wavelength. I was asking how you manage with no family. That has to be difficult.”

He was quite skilled at redirecting the conversation away from him. “Sometimes.” She gave him a polite smile to go with a lie she was quite good at telling. In truth, she was relieved not to have the shit in her life she overheard other people whining about.

If her father reappeared, she didn’t know what she’d do. Yes she did. She would do the exact same thing she did the last time she saw him—with one exception. There would be no warning before she stuck a knife in his stomach. She drained the contents of her glass then held it out.

“More please.”

Chapter 4

Get a room.

“Another bottle of wine sir?” Vic asked as he removed the recent dead soldier.

“No,” he said emphatically as Celia nodded. “We’re ready for the bill.” Three bottles had been more than enough. He wasn’t feeling it, but Celia? She was over her limit and had a definite buzz on.

That was his fault. He’d kept filling her glass, deep into making her laugh with slick conversation. Engrossed, watching her eyes flash. Watching her toy with her go-everywhere hair when she laughed.

Gawd.
The sound of her laugh gave him a buzz. He also had the distinct impression laughing was not something she did a lot. He made a mental note at their next dinner to keep the wine intake to one bottle. Geesus, he wasn’t going to take her home and leave her like this and he couldn’t stay. Even if he didn’t have an early morning departure he’d promised himself he’d go slow with the sex thing. There would be no staying over.

They stepped outside into a perfect summer night. It was still early and people were strolling up and down the sidewalk taking advantage of the weather. “It’s a nice area. You wanna walk and do some window shopping before I take you home?” He wasn’t much for window shopping—hell, he’d never done it before—but walking would help her work off the buzz. He looked up and down the street. There couldn’t be much to it. He’d just do what everybody else was doing.

“Yes, kind sir. I’d be delighted. I’ve never been to this part of town.” She wrapped her arm around his and tugged him along the brick sidewalk. They strolled past quaint shops until Celia stopped dead at the window of a vintage clothing shop.

“Look.” She dragged him close to the window. “See the suit hanging back there with the fedora? That’s a Cary Grant suit. Perfect for you.”

“Don’t like it,” he said with mock disgust. “And just who is Cary Grant?”

She turned and looked up at him. “You know perfectly well who he is. If you don’t like the suit, pick out what you want.”

He paused, acting as if he was thinking about it. He knew what he wanted.
Her.
Nothing on.

“There. See the Hawaiian shirt and shorts.”

She faced the window and nodded when she found the items.

“And, that white one-piece bathing suit next to it for you. Those are rocking, dude,” he said, using a clichéd surfer accent.

She looked up at him with the sweetest smile he’d ever seen. He looped an arm round her, bringing their bodies together and before he knew what he was doing, his tongue had passed her warm lips to explore her mouth. She tasted of wine and lip-gloss.

She kissed back with no hesitation. Her arms twisted around him, her hands pressed against his back as her body arched against him.

“Get a room,” a voice gnarled with age said from behind him. He broke the kiss, breathing hard but continued to hold her. He looked over his shoulder and saw a skinny man with a white beard, holding the leashes of two dogs, one white, one black. The man grinned at them.

Celia peeked around him. Her arms still wrapped around his body. “Oh we will,” she said, “but first he has to buy me an ice cream.”

Hunter’s head snapped around to look at her. Those warm sweet lips that had been against his were now spread wide in a devilish grin.

“Good,” the old man said. “Shouldn’t give it away for free and this fella looks like he can afford it.” Celia laughed out loud. The old guy made a gesture like he was tipping an invisible hat, yanked on the leashes and went on his way. Like a weird Santa Claus parody.

“Oh, my gawd. I’ve never done that before,” she said.

“What?” he asked, trying to get his blood headed north again.

“Talked like that to a perfect stranger.”

She grabbed his hand, leading him to the street. “Ice cream first,” she said in a deep voice pointing to a shop across the street with a big neon cone sign above the door.

First?
Great Caesar’s ghost. Was she serious about the second part? The way she kissed him, it was possible. On a scale of one to ten with ten being the hottest, it had been about a thousand for him.

In his big head, the voice of reason was telling him not to fuck this up. The voice began listing reasons not to have sex with her tonight. Reminding him he was leaving in the morning and she’d had too much wine.

She pulled him into the ice cream shop.

“Wow. They have a gazillion flavors,” she said.

They did and he figured there would be a few minutes of deciding. Before the girl on the other side of the refrigerated cases could reach them Celia blurted, “Mint chocolate chip. Two scoops,” she added hastily.

He waved the girl off. “None for me thanks.”

Celia looked at him, all serious. “You aren’t having any?”

“Nope, I’m allergic.” He wanted to say he wouldn’t be able to eat watching what her tongue would do to the mint chocolate.

“That’s tragic.” She shook her head dramatically. “Allergic to ice cream.” The girl handed her a cone with two whopping-sized scoops he’d have trouble downing after the meal they had. He paid and grasped her elbow, leading her outside. “You’re a guppy.”

She stopped and paused, mid-lick, her eyes big as CDs. “A guppy?”

“It means you’re a mark. Someone who’s easy to tease. I’m not allergic. Just didn’t feel like ice cream.”

Her eyes narrowed then her eyelids closed, long lashes resting on her cheeks a moment before she opened them.

“You must be…the only person on earth…who can resist ice cream,” she said in a dreamy voice then took a long lick.

Ah damn
. The light from the old-style streetlights gave her uplifted face a golden glow. His heartbeat kicked up a notch. He wanted her. Wanted her in the best way.

Another long lick and little head was screaming to go for it. Her gaze went to the window of the art gallery they were standing in front of.

“Look.” She stabbed a finger in the direction of a small gold-framed painting depicting a cottage on a bluff overlooking the sea. “I think it’s Ireland. What do you think?”

“Maine.”

“Have you been to Maine?”

“Yes. Have you been there?”

“No.” She sighed dramatically. “I would love to go there—wherever it is—and stay in that cottage.”

A couple chasing a kid on a bike with training wheels passed them. The poor kid was wearing a helmet, kneepads and gloves. “Damn,” he said. “I had that crap but didn’t use it. The best part of being on a bike or skateboard, anything that moves and goes fast, is the freedom.”

“Did you get hurt?”

“Had my share of body-meets-concrete incidents.” He held back telling her about one summer’s competition among his six siblings to see who got the most stitches. He wasn’t ready to share he came from a huge family when she had none. “Fun times and good memories. Wonder what memories that kid’s going to have.” He glanced at her. A twinge skittered over his shoulders.
What kind of memories did she have growing up in a war zone?

“I don’t know anything about children but isn’t it late for them to have him out?”

“Depends on the kid. Maybe they need to wear him out so he’ll sleep.”

She snorted. “They look like they’re the ones worn out.”

They walked in silence for a while.

“How’d you get your nickname?” She glanced over and gave him a hot look then tongued that ice cream long and slow. He had a feeling she knew she was tormenting him.

“What do you know about the names?”

“Only that most….” She looked around the sidewalk furtively, as if it were filled with sketchy characters. “Most of the men you
work
with have them.”

“They do.”

“Are you going to tell me?” At this point, she was licking faster to keep up with the melting ice cream. “And don’t give me that, if you tell me you’ll have to kill me line.”

That was exactly what he’d been going to say. “Promise you won’t tell?”

“Cross my heart.” She made an X over her heart with one hand. The hand holding the cone tipped. He reflexively reached out and righted her sticky hand, saving the scoop from splatting on the pavement.

“We do something that gets us remembered and we get a moniker.”

She brushed an errant strand of hair from her face with the back of her non-sticky hand. Her eyes widened. “Oh, something special? You’re a good hunter.”

“Eh, yeah. I guess you could say it’s special but—I’m not a good hunter.”

“Then why the—?”

“Most names come from a screw up, something that’s embarrassing.”

She said nothing, clearly mulling over possible options.

“After BUD/S…. That’s basic SEAL training.”

She nodded. “I know about BUD/S.”

“Okay, after BUD/S there’s more schooling. We train constantly. Survival training in different climates.” He paused and looked around, rubbing the back of his neck. No one outside the teams knew the story of how he got his name.
Shit.
He realized his hand and now his neck was sticky.

“You don’t have to tell me.” She crunched on the cone and began walking.

“Nah.” He caught up. “I don’t mind. In survival training we’re left in the middle of nowhere, the jungle, the Arctic Circle in winter, the desert, the ocean—and expected to survive.”

“Do you get to take a gun?”

“Sometimes, with limited ammo. Generally it’s no more than a knife, a field tool and if we’re lucky a couple of nasty-tasting protein bars.”

She finished the cone and dropped her soggy napkin in a trash bin near an antique shop.

“You have ice cream….” He tapped a finger to the corner of his mouth, mimicking where green mint smeared her cheek, then reached for the handkerchief in his back pocket. Before he could hand it over, her tongue darted out once, then twice, licking it away.

“Gone?”

“Yeah.”

She took the offered handkerchief anyway. “Thank you,” she said, dabbing her mouth. “Go on.” She held onto the white cloth and circled her arm around his.

“I never shot, trapped, or caught a damn thing. I survived eating berries, plants and roots, minnows, lizards—and once a snake.”

The handkerchief went to her mouth, hiding the smile on her lips but not the one in her eyes.

“You think that’s funny? I lost twenty pounds one week.”

She laughed out loud at that.

They’d circled around and arrived at his truck. He reached around her to open the door. “Thank you for tonight.” She stretched up and gave him a quick, mint-chocolate tasting kiss. “It was really nice.”

“You said that Thursday night.”

“I did.” She narrowed her eyes, looking thoughtful as he opened the door. “You know, I have an excellent vocabulary and I keep using the same words to tell you what a nice time I’m having. Does that mean I’ve had too much to drink?”

“No.” He laughed. “It means you’re having a nice time. And the fact you’re having a nice time makes me feel really nice.” Fuck, it made him want to go macho man and do a few chest thumps.

Chapter 5

I don’t want to screw this up.

Hunter unlocked Celia’s front door then handed her the key. She didn’t move to go inside only looked up at him expectantly. He had no intention of going in and being tempted to break the no-sex vow until he was back from training.