Hunter - Blaire Drake Page 0,11
“I looked into them too many times to forget them.”
“Fuck.” Hunter stepped back, releasing me from his hold. He dropped the gun from the side of my head, and when I turned, he was pulling the balaclava off his head.
A feeling I couldn't put into words flooded through my body in one fell swoop as he threw the mask on the coffee table and set the gun of top of it. The gloves followed, then he straightened, and he looked right at me.
I didn't know what I expected, but it wasn't this.
He looked everything like I remembered, but nothing like I dreamed.
His hair was the same dark brown, but it was cut close to his head on the sides and longer on the top, and the longer bits were swept backward from his face. And his face... Sweet fucking Jesus. He looked like Hunter... except he wasn't that fifteen year old boy I left behind.
His rugged features, from the shadows that highlighted his cheekbones and the stubble that dotted his sharp jaw, to the prominent line of his brow that was exaggerated by the frown marring his features, they were...
He was a man.
Pure, one hundred percent, man.
But it was his eyes. Always his eyes. They studied me with an intense scrutiny that made me want to squirm, and my blood pumped harshly around my body as he ran his eyes over me from head to toe. If I weren't so stunned by his appearance, I'd be more conscious of the fact I was wearing unforgiving yoga pants and a tank top that hugged my torso. I knew he could see every dip and curve of my body—and every dip and curve of my body could feel his burning gaze.
My mouth was dry, but I needed to say something. I couldn't take the silence anymore. I didn't know what to do with it, even though once upon a time we could spend hours without saying a word. Now it felt foreign, unnatural, and I wanted to get rid of it.
“So it's true. He found me,” I said, my scratchy voice breaking the tension that was building between us. “And he sent you to kill me. How lovely.”
Hunter dragged a hand across his face, and the white scars on his knuckles caught my eye instantly. “And Alexandria.”
“Good luck with that,” I drawled. “Mother Nature beat you to her.” I stalked past him as the oven beeped.
“What do you mean?” He followed me into the kitchen, still wearing the giant black coat he arrived in. Man, he must be hot in that.
“I mean,” I said, opening the oven and grabbing a tea towel to pull the pizza tray out. “She died two years ago. Breast cancer.”
“Shit. I'm sorry, Addy.”
“It's Adriana.” I closed the oven door, not looking at him. I couldn't bear to hear him call me by my nickname. I hated the way his voice dipped at the start. I hated the way I wanted to hear him say it again and again and again. “And you're not sorry. If you were sorry, you wouldn't have just had a gun to my head.”
“You think I wanted to do that?”
“You think it matters if you wanted to or not?” I spun around, my adrenaline subsiding, allowing anger to take its place. I could feel the red hot tendrils of my frustration snaking through my veins. “You did anyway. You still broke into my fucking house and tried to kill me.”
His expression hardened. “If I'd tried to kill you, you'd be dead, Adriana.”
I slammed the drawer shut after grabbing the pizza cutter. “Then you should try a little damn harder and finish the job, shouldn't you?”
“Jesus. I don't want to kill you.”
“Then fuck off back to New York and leave me alone.” A lump formed in my throat, and I slammed the pizza cutter blade into the middle of the pizza and rolled. Him standing in front of me was too much.
I'd spent endless hours and an unimaginable number of nights imagining what it'd be like to see him again, but I knew now they were all the dreams of a hopeless romantic. They were eyes meeting across a bar, bumping into each other in a store, maybe him even tracking me down... We'd see each other and we'd still love each other and everything would be perfect.
This was bullshit.
“I can't go back to New York,” he said quietly, eyes pinned on me. “It's your life or mine.”
“Well, you need to make a choice.”