In Strange Woods - Claire Cray Page 0,28

eyes snapping to the landing just as a woman appeared there with a vacuum cleaner.

“Hello,” she said with a smile. “Pardon me. Guess someone dropped their caramel corn.” She walked to the hall table a few steps away from them, where a patch of carpet had been sprayed with sticky crumbs.

Hunter’s mouth was still pulsing. His fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and walk James back into the room, to pick up where they’d just left off, booze and witnesses be damned.

Then the vacuum fired up with a shrill whine and broke the spell.

James looked comically outraged, which startled a laugh out of Hunter, and their eyes met again. Now James looked embarrassed, his cheeks turning pink. Cute.

“I’ll hit you up tomorrow,” Hunter yelled over the vacuum. “When I’m done fishing.”

“Okay,” James yelled back. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” The vacuum got closer and louder, and he shouted, “Take it easy, all right?”

James nodded as he closed the door, slowly obscuring his sheepish face.

Hunter headed down the stairs and out of the hotel, still dazed. It was a good thing they’d been interrupted. That had gone far enough for how drunk James was. Hopefully he wouldn’t regret it too much when he sobered up. Somehow Hunter doubted that he would. He might be embarrassed, maybe, or worried that he’d crossed a line. But James didn’t seem like someone who spent a lot of time regretting things. Seemed more like he said what he wanted to say and did what he wanted to do, no more and no less.

On the way home, though, Hunter found himself worrying again about James being alone. What James was going through was the kind of pain that could do real damage. The kind people didn’t always survive. The kind that could sink into the soul, drag a whole life down.

Hunter never wanted to watch that happen again.

Chapter 11: In a Rush

James kicked awake, yanking the pillow from his face and gasping for air. His heart was pounding, his thoughts still scrambled from the nightmare he already couldn’t remember, and he was hungover again.

Goddammit. Fuck. What had he done last night? He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, straining to remember.

Fortunately, he hadn’t blacked out. Unfortunately, he recalled making a fucking ass of himself. Throwing himself like a flaming trash bag into Hunter’s night. Getting piss-drunk right in his face. Flirting shamelessly. Putting his hands on him—fuck. Kissing him! Grabbing him and kissing him.

Shame wrenched at his stomach, tying it in knots. What had Hunter thought? He didn’t remember being warned off or pushed away, but what did he know? As drunk as he’d been, he couldn’t trust his own perception at all.

All he remembered clearly were soft lips and lightly stubbled cheeks, excitement, lust, interruption. Then Hunter’s indulgent smile as he said goodnight, because of course he was too much of a gentleman to be anything but kind about it.

Jesus. This couldn’t go on. He had to get his shit together.

He gripped his hair and let out an explosive breath, trying to get ahold of himself. Okay. Enough messing around. Time to do what he came here to do. He had a map. He had legs. It wasn’t fucking rocket science.

Two miles up Pike Creek. That was nothing.

Within an hour he had the Brooks Bay Bridge in his rearview mirror as he headed back inland along the bay. He kept thinking he was going to cry. All the unbearable feelings inside him had swollen to the point where it seemed like he should burst. It had been building since yesterday, except for the brief reprieve when Hunter had been with him.

He didn’t stop in Spruce for coffee this time. Just headed straight for Woodstock.

Chapter 12: Drift Fishing

Hunter was a few hours short on sleep when he woke up at five, which slightly dampened the pleasure he usually took in assembling his fishing gear. But only slightly. There was something magical about getting up before dawn, flipping on a light and laying out gear while coffee gurgled into the pot and everything else was quiet.

It was still dark when he pulled up to Deenie’s house. She lived on a big chunk of land about two miles outside Spruce, and her house sat above one of the best little stretches of the Broken River for drift fishing. Better yet, she cooked a mean breakfast.

Hunter was dead sure she could shed light on some things about James’s land and the Woodstocks, if he could get her