Page 40 of Hunt Me
Heat floods through me—wine and want and something darker I won’t name.
“Should I be scared?”
“Absolutely.”
“Why?”
“Because I think you actually like the fear.” His gaze locks onto mine, predatory and knowing. “It turns you on.”
My breath catches. I should deny it, should laugh it off as typical male arrogance.
But he’s right.
“That’s quite an assumption.”
“It’s an observation.” He leans back, supremely confident. “Every time I corner you, your pupils dilate. Your breathing quickens. And it’s not just fear, Iris.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“So are you.” He signals the waiter, never breaking eye contact. “I’d like to test that theory tonight when we leave here.”
Heat pools low in my belly. “Test it how?”
“There’s a place I know. Old industrial building in South Boston. Multiple floors, mostly empty.”
I shouldn’t ask. Shouldn’t engage.
“And?”
“Hide and seek.” His smile turns wicked. “You get a ten-minute head start. I hunt.”
My pulse spikes.
“That’s insane.”
“Scared?”
“Of course I’m scared. You’re—” I lower my voice. “This is fucked up.”
“Is it?” He pays the check without looking at it. “Or is it just honest? No pretending we’re normal people on a normal date. No games about who we really are.”
“We’re already playing games.”
“No.” He stands, offering his hand. “We’re about to stop playing.”
I stare at his outstretched palm. This is my exit. I can walk away, go home, rebuild my walls.
Or I can take his hand and follow this dangerous pull into something that might destroy me.
“What happens when you catch me?”
“When, not if?” His smile sharpens.
“Realistic.”
“Then I guess you’ll find out.” He waits, patient as a spider. “Ten minutes, Iris. That’s generous, considering.”
“Considering what?”
