Page 108 of Bloom

And he… couldn’t? Be still my beating freaking heart.

Swallowing over the sudden lump in my throat, I watch his thumb trace the curve of mine. I quietly admit, “I wanted to ask you. I was trying to be…” I wave my free hand in the air in lieu of really explaining.

Too long passes without a response, and the silence makes me itch. When I glance up, I find Hunter looking at me all… weird. Soft, but scrunched, like he’s thinking real hard about something. He opens his mouth and I panic, suddenly scaredabout what might come out so I find myself cutting in. “You don’t have work today?”

His mouth closes. He shakes his head.

I hum. I try not to smile. I fail. “That’s good.”

Thick fingers twirl a lock of my hair. “Yeah?”

“Suppose it’s a long hike for a quick booty call.”

Abruptly, his hand falls away. “That’s not why I came out here.”

It isn’t? “I’m joking.”

Hunter squints at me. “Are you?”

I drop my gaze again. Maybe not—I find it hard to believe he raced the setting sun to get to me simply to be in my presence.

Stepping back, he holds his hands up, palms towards me. “I won’t touch you. Scout’s honor.”

As if he was ever a Boy Scout—sounds way too social for him. “You’re always touching me.”

Hunter smirks a little, but he certainly looks serious as he rakes his gaze down the length of me in a way that feels as tangible as a touch. Sounds serious too when he says, “I find it real hard not to. Always have.”

Despite the very not-funny heat coiling in my lower belly—a girl needs some warning before being accosted by a look like that—I snicker. “Alwaysis a little dramatic.”

Both hands landing his hips, Hunter cocks his head at me. “You have a very selective memory, you know that? ‘Cause I can think of at least a dozen times.”

Curiosity makes me brave. “Name one.”

His eyes narrow, and suddenly, I feel like I’m losing a game I didn’t even know I was playing. “You were takin’ out Aster. Wobbled a little while mountin’ her. Knew you weren’t gonna fall, but I’d been imaginin’ puttin’ my hands on you since you walked into the barn wearin’ those fuckin’ jeans, so I did. Even though I could tell you were mad at me.”

I remember that. I don’t remember him looking at me the way he is now, though; eyes burning bright, his tightly-wound restraint almost a visible thing.

“That day we cleared out the old barn,” he continues, and I almost wish he wouldn’t, a little scared what might come out next. “You were wearing these tiny denim shorts and fuckin’ Simon kept staring at your ass.” He pauses. The corner of his mouth curls, wry and not a bit apologetic. “Ikept staring at your ass.”

A surprised, disbelieving huff parts my lips. “You didn’t even like me then.”

“I liked you just fine.”

“You wererude.”

Hunter shrugs, eyes freakinggleaming. “Tiny denim shorts,” he repeats. “Veryfrustratin’.”

I blush something fierce, but I manage to say, “You were horrified at the idea of me flirting with you.”

“Horrified isn’t the word I’d use.”

I don’t want to ask what one he would—I don’t want to know. I just shake my head, holding my hands up in surrender, and Hunter promptly breaks that whole honor thing by lacing his fingers through mine. I snort as he squeezes, simper as he stoops to kiss my temple, shiver when he fingers the hem of my pajama shorts. I quip, “That lasted long.”

Hunter smirks. “Tiny shorts.”

32

Every time he looks at her, something in his chest throbs.

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