Page 17 of Hidden Mate

“Yeah. It’s me. You’re safe.”

“Hutch, what are you doing here?” she asked angrily, trying to push him away.

“Apparently, I was watching you watching me,” he answered, ensuring he still had her pinned to the wall. “Your turn. Why were you watching me?”

“Because…” She could think of no reasonable explanation other than the truth.

“Talk to me, Naomi…”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Naomi? Why not?” he asked, confused.

“Because it’s not my name,” she confessed, knowing there was no easy way to do this and that she had no choice but to tell him the truth.

“What do you mean it’s not your name?” The look of suspicion on his face indicated he already had a pretty good idea.

“My name is not Naomi Brady. And I’m not a mystery novelist.”

He pressed a little harder against her throat, not quite choking her, but close. “Then who are you, and what are you doing in Mystic River?”

“My name is Nora Blake. I don’t live in Vermont.” She sighed. “Would you please quit leaning on me?” Hutch relieved some of the pressure. “God, I need a drink. Let’s go back to The Workshop.”

This was going to be a lot longer explanation than just her real name and where she lived. Her real occupation might well be a stumbling block, but if she was going to make him understand the real danger he was in, there could be no holding back.

There was no way she could or would kill him. The battle lines had been drawn. She and the Master were now on opposing sides.

CHAPTER9

HUTCH

“I’m open to that, but just one thing first,” he said.

He leaned her back against the wall and looked down at her. He had height and muscle on her, but he could tell Nora wasn’t the least bit intimidated. In fact, she looked exhausted. Not just physically but weary in her soul. He studied her face—it was a lovely face, but when he looked closely, he could see the secrets, the regrets and the fear. He didn’t know what had put that haunted look in her eyes, but he meant to see it eradicated.

Ever so gently, he moved his hands down to the front of her jacket, grasping it and pulling her close. He could feel a shiver of desire as it passed between them. It occurred to him that at the right angle, they might be seen, and he didn’t much care. Lifting her face to his, his lips hovered over hers before he leaned down and brushed her lips before letting his mouth settle on hers.

He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue before sliding it inside her mouth to tangle and dance with hers. Nora moaned and grabbed his jacket in the same way he had hers. She pulled herself closer, allowing him to feel her need as it arced between them. His tongue slid along hers, plunging deep and making her moan. She rubbed her lower body against his throbbing dick.

Hutch was lost in her kisses, drugged by her essence. He could see why those who were lucky enough to be gifted a fated mate were possessive and protective. He didn’t care what her story was; he didn’t care why she was really in Mystic River, although he had his suspicions. None of it mattered. All that mattered was she was here now with him, and she would remain at his side.

He couldn’t seem to get enough of her. Hutch felt like a starving man at a banquet. Again and again, he kissed her, encouraging the burgeoning intimacy between them. He wedged his hard thigh between hers and let her rub herself along the top of his leg, moaning at the friction and pleasure she created. Nora relaxed and held his shoulders, letting him lead her to a rhythm that seemed to build heat and arousal in her body. He thought about taking her to the edge and leaving her there until she came clean, but he wanted to watch her come. Wanted to see her give herself to him.

Nora flung her head back as her orgasm seemed to reach its crescendo. “Look at me,” he growled.

Her head came forward and she looked deep into his eyes until hers rolled back in her head, and she buried her face in his jacket, muffling her cries as she called his name. Here in the alley, under the outside stairwell that led to his place above the bakery, Hutch experienced the most intimate interlude of his life. It would be so easy to take her up those stairs and lose himself in her. He wanted answers, and he knew if he took her upstairs, it would be entirely too easy to lose focus on what he needed—what they both needed: transparency and trust.

“That’s what I wanted. You’re beautiful Nora, and make no mistake—Naomi or Nora, you’re mine.”

She nodded, relaxing against the wall, her breathing coming back to normal. Keeping a wary eye on him, she took his hand and began to lead him upstairs. He stopped her progress and shook his head when she looked at him. Taking command of the situation, he guided her back to The Workshop. Once inside, they sat down at the table in the back—the one which offered them the most privacy.

“All right, Nora, not from Vermont. Talk.”

She smiled, with a little less sorrow than he’d seen earlier. “I live in Boston. I have a really nice townhouse in Beacon Hill, and I’m an assassin. I was sent here to kill you.”

“Because the other two attempts failed?”

“Not two, three. The first was in the desert when they blew up your Humvee. The second was when you were back at your base, and they tried a hit and run. The last time was in Ottawa.”

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