Page 8 of Shadow Hunter

“Kiss me and I’ll bite off your lower lip,” she snarled, quickly recovering. Though even as she said it, she leaned a little closer, drew a little nearer. Enough that it almost felt like she was asking him to.

This time, it was her turn to glance at his mouth.

“Would you?” He cast her another playful grin. Obviously, he wasn’t the only one affected by this little game. “I might be willing to risk it, are you?”

His gaze fell to her lips once more.

So close he could feel the warmth of her breath on his face.

He inched closer.

“I don’t know you,” she whispered, calling uncle as she stayed him with a single hand to his chest.

The words were enough to still him.

Did that mean she didn’t…

No, of course she didn’t recognize him.

He growled, the realization returning some sense to him. He’d won their little game of cat and mouse, but somehow, that didn’t thrill him. He stepped back a little, offering some of the space between them. “You’re right. You don’t.”

She glanced to his knife, clearly thinking about running again. He scowled. Didn’t she realize her every emotion, her every feeling played out on her face?

It was the only reason why he couldn’t look away.

Why his heart was racing inside his chest.

Or so he kept telling himself.

“Try that little escape attempt again and see what happens.” He pushed the blade a little harder against her throat. A harsh reminder of who was in charge here.

A sharp intake of breath tore from her lips, and then…she whimpered.

Fucking whimpered.

Guilt shot through him, instantly making him regret the decision.

As if she hadn’t just spit in his face, and then called him an asshole.

“Fuck me,” he swore under his breath. This. This was why he’d never fought a woman he cared for before. When push came to shove, as soon as she shed a tear, he became a weak link.

But she didn’t miss a beat. “Is that an invite?”

“It depends.” His gaze dropped to hers once more, his voice going low. “Do you want it be?”

This was insanity. Pure fucking insanity.

Who was this woman? This fierce, trained little spitfire who was unafraid to play wicked games with dangerous men in the dark.

Surely, nothisTiffany.

Staring up at him, she watched him with wide, weary eyes, assessing his every move. “You don’t want to hurt me.”

She said it slowly, as if she were testing the truth in the words.

He stared down at her for a long beat. “No, I don’t.”

His gaze fell to her lips once more, before he shook his head, trying to rid himself of this spell.

---