Page 39 of Anton

“You missed a spot,” he muttered, his voice a little rougher than before.

“Did I?” I asked innocently, deliberately swiping my tongue across my bottom lip.

His gaze darkened. For a man who was supposed to be all business, he was suddenly very distracted. I sniggered.

“That’s enough cherries for me,” he said abruptly, standing and brushing off his trousers. “I’ve, eh, things to do.” He cleared his throat, and I stifled a grin.

“I’m going to head back a bit and then climb one of the higher trees and see if I can spot anyone trailing us. Stay here until I get back,” he said, having pulled himself together again.

Smiling, I nodded and popped another cherry into my mouth. His eyes widened, and without another word, he turnedand ran—literally ran—in the direction we’d come. I couldn’t tell if he was hurrying to a vantage point or fleeing for other reasons, but I had a feeling it was the latter. And in that moment, despite the situation, a spark of resolve flared inside me. This man could try to pretend otherwise, but he wanted me as much as I wanted him. By the time this was over, Anton DuPont wouldn’t just be unable to resist my charms—he’d be mine. Completely. Utterly. Forever.

CHAPTER 16

ANTON

DAY 2 – THAT AFTERNOON – THE HUNTERS CLOSE THE GAP

Fleeing from the sight of that damned teasing lick of her lips—burned into my mind forever—I ran through the forest, my boots pounding against the uneven ground, as hard as my heart pounded in my chest. Those bloody cherries were nearly my undoing. A second longer, and I’d have had to claim those lips for my own. But the jeopardy we were facing was too great to take the chance, and I didn’t just mean the hunters pursuing us. I sped up, running so fast I had to focus all my attention on my breath, weaving between twisting roots and low-hanging branches.

Marcie had no idea what she was doing to me. Or maybe she did—that sly grin suggested she knew exactly how close I was to losing control. But there was no room for distraction. Not now. Not with danger snapping at our heels like wolves. I needed to get my head straight, focus on the hunt—our survival—not on her mouth.

Shrubs brushed against my legs as I ran, their fragrant scent carried on the breeze. The terrain shifted subtly as I retraced our steps, heading back upstream. The forest felt denser here, the river’s murmur fainter beneath the rustle of the trees. Aleppo pines stood sentinel along the water’s edge, their trunks straightand pale, while the sprawling limbs of holm oaks spread a mottled shade across the forest floor.

Spain. I’d been nearly certain before, but now the details locked into place. The vegetation, the dry warmth, even the particular way the ground crumbled underfoot—it all pointed south, inland. I’d been to this region once before. It was called Sierra something, I couldn’t remember exactly, but now I had a good idea where we were. We could plan better if we knew that.

I stopped after running for a few minutes and climbed one of the oaks. From the higher vantage point, the forest stretched out in rich greens and faded golds, the river a glinting thread cutting through the landscape. My eyes scanned the area, taking in the movement below. The hunters were closing in. The two groups I’d spotted earlier had split into several smaller ones, each covering different sections of ground. Most of them were still a fair distance away, but a pair of hunters were close, too close.

My eyes tracked their movement. One of them stopped and crouched low, his eyes scanning the ground. He touched something, then spoke into his radio. Shit. It was where Marcie had tripped earlier, just before we’d stopped near the cherry trees. Not only were they closing in on the area, but they’d found our trail.

I gripped the bark beneath my fingers, forcing myself to stay calm. Time was running out. I had to move quickly, but I couldn’t afford any mistakes. Slowly, I began my descent, my boots finding the grooves and knots I’d memorised on the way up. When I hit the ground, I didn’t stop.

Branches whipped past me as I sprinted back to my Little Miss Sassy, my legs eating up the distance, every stride fuelled by the urgency of our situation.

Barrelling into the small clearing, I found Marcie where I’d left her, sitting under the cherry tree we’d eaten from. Her gazesnapped to me the instant I approached, relief evident in her features.

“They’re coming, and they’re close. We need to move. Now,” I said hurriedly, reaching down to help her up.

She nodded, grabbing my hand without hesitation, and I hauled her to her feet. She didn’t waste time with questions—just followed my lead and ran. Once again, I marvelled at her calmness under pressure.

Keeping low, we moved a little deeper into the forest, still following the curve of the river downstream.

After several minutes, the trees thinned out, and soon we stumbled onto a dirt track, its edges rough and uneven. It wound through the forest parallel to the river, taking the same winding path. I hesitated for a second before deciding to follow it, staying in the cover of the trees where the shadows would hide us. This could lead to a farm or a main road, but either way, it had to lead somewhere. Somewhere we could get help.

Running just in front of Marcie, holding tightly to her hand as she tried hard to keep up, I didn’t notice the farm truck rattling along behind us until she tugged on my arm.

“There,” she gasped, pointing.

Grinning, I nodded. This could be the help we needed. Or at least a chance to put some distance between us and the hunters. Unless there was a hunter inside. Still, we had to take the chance.

As it approached, I stepped cautiously out into the open, keeping Marcie a little behind me, and waved my arms to flag it down.

The driver slowed, his face a mask of suspicion as he leaned out the window.

The man was elderly, his skin weathered by years in the sun, and his hands trembled slightly as he gripped the wheel. I relaxed a little. He was no hunter.

“Qué pasa?” he called out in Spanish, his voice rough but steady.

I frowned, glancing at Marcie. I didn’t speak a word of Spanish beyond the basics, and this wasn’t the time to be fumbling through phrases.

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