If he knew they were Guides, wouldn’t he be doing something about it?
“What’s your problem?” she said. She slid a tube of gloss from her bag and ran it across her lips.
“Can’t figure out your angle.”
“My angle?”
“What’s with the little texts? Old boyfriend not doing it for you?”
She wanted to kill Silver for making it look like they were a couple. “Maybe I just like you.”
“Maybe I just like you back.”
His voice was quiet and intense, more sure than she was ready for. She turned away, suddenly flustered, heading into the darkness behind the tents. Even Silver couldn’t see in the dark.
“I don’t think that’s all,” Hunter said, following her. “I think you’re playing me for something.”
She hesitated. Suddenly he was closer.
“The problem is,” he said, “I just can’t figure out what.”
And then, before she had an answer, he was moving away.
God, he was making her insane.
She went after him. “Are you always this direct?”
“Saves time.”
She felt breathless, like he’d snatched control of this little interlude and was now playing keep-away with it. “I can’t even figure out whether you’re mad at me.”
She’d thrown a little plea into her voice, but he didn’t turn. “You’re not fooling me,” he said.
“I’m not trying to fool you.”
“Trust me, Kate, I know a lot about using people.”
What did that mean? She stared after him for a moment, watching him walk. He moved like a jungle cat, all purposeful, calculated motion—wrapped up in fluid grace.
She chased after him again. “I don’t get you,” she said. “Are you interested or not?”
“Not.” He kept walking.
“Liar.”
He lifted a hand in a halfhearted wave—but didn’t even look back.
“Running from a girl?” she called.
He ignored her. So she went after him for real, grabbing his arm from behind and trying to spin him.
Even though she’d seen him fight before, his speed was a surprise. He used her spin to grab her arm. Her defense training kicked in, letting her drop enough to twist free and send an elbow into his gut.
Or it would have been, if he hadn’t deflected her arm. He blocked her next strike and caught her wrist, twisting it to pin it behind her back and pull her close.
Then he didn’t strike back. His eyes were dark, and he held her against his chest.
She stared up at him, feeling his chest rise and fall against hers. His fingers were gentle on her arms, sending little bolts of electricity along her skin. She’d only ever felt strength like this with pain behind it.
Gentleness was new.
“You’ve got some nice moves,” he said.
“Thanks. I was going easy.”
He smiled, but instead of humor it was a little sad.
“Let me go,” she said. “I’ll prove it.”
He let her go. “I really don’t want to play, Kate.”
But she swung a fist anyway, throwing real strength into it. He blocked and trapped her arm, but she twisted free to aim a high kick into his ribs.
She wasn’t ready for him to catch her ankle and take her to the ground.
He pinned her there, but he was smiling. “Still going easy?”
Her breathing was too quick. She almost wished he wouldn’t let her go.
But he did. The smile slid off his face, and he backed up to stand.
She launched herself off the ground to punch him in the stomach, using all of her momentum. Then a leg sweep. He went down.
She was straddling his chest before he could move.
“I can throw you off,” he said.
“But you won’t.” She felt breathless and exhilarated and wished he would. She loved the feel of his hands, the way his power sparked against her skin, the way she felt him in her space.
Hunter smiled. His eyes studied her face, and she knew she was flushed. Her heart was almost louder than the music from the carnival.
Crap. The carnival. She glanced around. Silver was probably watching.
Hunter felt the change. Kate watched his smile fade. “Get up, Kate. I wasn’t kidding. I don’t want to play.”
The Merricks could wait for fifteen minutes.
She put her hands on his shoulders and looked down at him, feeling her hair fall along her face. “Where’d you really learn to fight like that?”
“My father. Where did you learn?”
“My mother took me to some guy who lived in a barn and slaughtered animals to make cured beef. He taught me.”
“Now that’s a touching story.”
She wondered what he’d say if she told him the whole story, how every night Roland had come after her with the same knives he used on the beef.