In Strange Woods - Claire Cray Page 0,36

at himself in the mirror, searching his own weary eyes. Clearly, he’d mishandled this whole thing. Obviously, the rational move now would be to leave town, get some therapy, and come back when he was thinking straight.

Hunter rapped softly on the door. “You wanna throw your clothes in the wash? I’ll give you something to wear.”

James looked down at his damp, dirty clothes on the floor. Holding the towel around his waist, he scooped up the pile and slid the door open to meet Hunter, who looked somewhat caught off guard.

“Listen,” James said awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to drag you into my weird problems. And after today, I can’t…I just don’t want to cause you any trouble. Anymore.”

Hunter rested a hand on the doorframe, staring at him with an inscrutable expression. After a moment he said, “You’re not causing me any trouble, James.”

“You’ve been helping me every day since I got here.”

Hunter shrugged. “Hasn’t cost me anything.”

James stared at him helplessly, unable to argue any harder. But Hunter had been helping him, and was helping right now, just by standing there so calmly with those kind brown eyes.

“How ‘bout this,” Hunter said. “Get those clothes in the wash. Take it easy. I got some work to do in the shop. When you feel like it, come out and I’ll tell you what I heard this morning. ‘Cause I heard a lot that I think you need to know.”

“You did?” James asked hopefully. “Okay. But then, really, I should…”

“Then you do whatever you gotta do.” Hunter shrugged again. “All right?”

James could not figure out why just looking at Hunter calmed him down so much. It made the thought of leaving seem unbearable. It made him want to reach out and cling to him like a lifeboat. He bit his lip and dropped his gaze to the floor again, nodding mutely.

“James,” Hunter sighed softly, and pulled James into a hug.

James dropped the laundry in surprise, and then his eyelids drooped as those arms enclosed him in perfect, solid heat. God. Yes. Just like he imagined. Hunter’s arms tightened around him, warm hands strong and tender on his naked skin. But there was no lust in his embrace—just genuine caring. A shiver ran through James and he laid his cheek on Hunter’s shoulder, helpless to stop himself.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Hunter murmured in his ear. “I like you, James. I wanna have your back.”

James opened his eyes in surprise, moved by the simple remark. I like you too, he almost said, but then Hunter drew back to look at him.

“Let’s see those scratches.” Hunter said, brushing a lock of wet hair from James’s brow and gently cradling his jaw to inspect the wounds. “Aw, it’s not so bad at all, huh? That’s good.”

“Yeah,” James rasped, unable to look away from Hunter’s kind, handsome face. Kiss me, he thought deliriously. Kiss me.

But Hunter stepped back and bent to scoop up the laundry. “Clothes are on the bed. There’s some stew in the fridge to heat up if you’re hungry. Just make yourself at home, alright?”

“Thank you.” James watched him walk away, the embrace still tingling on his skin. How thoughtful of Hunter to give him some space. How tragic that all James wanted to do was get back in those arms and stay there.

He dressed in the sweats, tee, sweatshirt and socks Hunter had left out. Then he sat at the table, gazing out the window with his cheek resting on his arms. It was afternoon now. Sunlight shimmered on the smooth parts of the river and glinted off the whitecaps where the water broke over the stones. Near the riverbank, looking over the water, was a single wooden chair.

Did Hunter have friends? He hadn’t mentioned any people or plans, and James hadn’t seen him do anything on his phone except play music. But he had to get along pretty well with people, or he wouldn’t be doing so well running his own business in a rural county. And who wouldn’t like Hunter? He was one of the most affable people James had ever met. Easygoing, considerate, and quietly funny. Hardworking, too, judging by how well he seemed to be doing on his own. And generous. Plus, he had excellent taste in music—in everything, really, from his home to his perfectly broken-in clothes. Never mind the fact that he was fucking gorgeous.

There was literally nothing not to like.

Last night belatedly crept back into his mind, and he closed his eyes with a soft, pained