Page 4 of Crossed Paths (The Ramblers of St. Claire #2)

Hunter

W e move around each other without needing to speak; clearing glasses, flipping chairs, wiping down surfaces. It’s not rehearsed, but it works. A rhythm we fall into like we’ve done this a hundred times before.

Alex doesn’t rush, but she’s efficient. Every glass stacked, every cloth folded, every motion purposeful. I mop while she dries. No jokes, no need for them. Just the soft squeak of rubber soles on clean floorboards and the occasional brush of her arm as we pass.

When everything’s done, she tosses the tea towel over the bar and nods toward the back hallway. “Come on, I’ll let you out this way. It’s quicker.”

We make our way through the narrow corridor behind the bar, past crates of mixers and the cellar door. She unlocks the rear entrance and pushes it open with one hand.

Rain greets us in steady sheets, slapping against the cobbles and running in rivulets along the edge of the yard.

“Well,” she says, leaning against the frame, “classic timing. ”

I glance out. “Of course. Yorkshire weather. Always waits until you’ve got somewhere to be.”

“My flat’s upstairs,” she says, nodding upward. “So I’m sorted. You, on the other hand…”

“My cars at the hotel,” I say, eyeing the puddles already forming. “I’d be drenched by the time I got there.”

“You could wait it out. Might ease up.”

We linger in the doorway. Close now. The kind of close where I can hear her breathing if I let myself listen. Her T-shirt smells faintly like lemon and something warmer underneath, maybe rosemary or something from earlier in the kitchen.

She hasn’t moved. Neither have I.

A loose strand of her ginger hair has curled near her cheek, just catching the damp.

I reach up and tuck it behind her ear. My fingers brush her skin, and I linger longer than I should.

She looks at me—steady, wide-eyed—and the space between us feels impossibly small. Charged. Her breath hitches, and I feel it in my own chest like a pulled thread.

I take a slow step closer.

Her back is against the doorframe now, the rain still falling steadily outside the door, the scent of wet stone rising between us.

My voice is low when I speak. Rougher than I mean it to be.

“Don’t you want me to stop?”

She doesn’t answer.

She just looks at me. Grey eyes locked on mine, chest rising faster now .

I lean in, just enough to feel the heat of her. “Alex,” I say, barely above a whisper. “I need this more than you can imagine. But one word from you and I stop. Tell me now.”

Her lips part, and for a second, I think she’s going to push me away. I’m already stepping back, trying to gather the self-control I’ve been clinging to all night.

Then her hand catches the front of my jacket. Grips it.

Her voice is a whisper. “Don’t stop.”

And I don’t.

I move in slowly, deliberately, my lips brushing hers with a tenderness that belies the urgency building inside me.

Her mouth is soft, warmer than I remember, and I savour the shape of it.

The way her lips part slightly, inviting me in.

Her breath mingles with mine, carrying the faint scent of something uniquely her—something I’ve craved for years.

I’ve imagined this moment a thousand times, but nothing could have prepared me for the reality of it.

Alex leans into me, her body pressing against mine, and I feel her curves, her strength, her her . She’s always been this force of nature, this woman who commands attention without even trying. And here she is, in my arms, surrendering to something she probably didn't know she needed.

My hand slides up her back, tracing the curve of her spine, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her T-shirt. She’s solid, real, and I’m acutely aware of every inch of her against me.

“Hunter,” she murmurs against my lips, her voice shaky, uncertain.

But I don’t let her pull away. Instead, I deepen the kiss, my tongue brushing hers, tasting her fully for the first time.

She gasps, and I take advantage, exploring the wet heat of her mouth, the softness of her lips, the way she melts into me like she’s been waiting for this just as long as I have.

Years of unspoken feelings, of glances across crowded rooms, of moments like this one that never quite happened—they all converge in this kiss.

I’ve loved her from afar, watched her laugh, cry, live her life without me, and always wondered what it would be like to be the one she turned to. Now I know.

Her hand comes up to my face, her fingers brushing my stubble, and I feel a jolt of electricity at the touch.

She’s always been so careful, so guarded, but now her walls are crumbling, and I’m the one she’s letting in.

I pull back slightly, just enough to look at her, to see the raw emotion in her grey eyes.

They’re stormy, like the sky outside, but there’s something else there too—something soft, vulnerable.

“Alex,” I whisper, my voice hoarse with need. “Tell me to stop. Now. Before I can’t.”

She searches my face, her breath coming in short gasps, and for a moment, I think she might. But then she shakes her head, her hand tightening in my hair, pulling me back to her. “I can’t,” she says, her voice barely audible over the rain. “I’ve wanted this for too long.”

Those words are like a spark to gasoline.

I’m on fire, burning with a desire that’s been simmering for years, and I can’t hold back anymore.

I guide her backward, my hands firm on her waist, and she lets me lead her, her body moving with mine like we’ve done this a hundred times before.

I push the door closed with my foot and guide her to the backroom.

We stumble, lost in our kiss, barely registering the pool table in the centre of the room until Alex’s bum hits it with a soft thud .

I step back just enough to pull her T-shirt over her head, letting it fall to the floor.

She’s wearing a black simple bra that contrasts beautifully with her pale skin, and I take a moment to appreciate the sight of her, the curves of her body, the way her nipples peek through the soft material, tight and begging for attention.

She’s stunning, and I’ve never wanted anyone more.

“You’re going to ruin me for good,” I murmur, my hands cupping her tits, thumbing her nipples until she arches into my touch with a soft moan.

“Hunter,” she breathes, her head falling back against the pool table. “Don't make me beg.”

I kiss a trail over her soft stomach whilst tugging her trousers down, not caring where they land. Her knickers follow, sliding over her hips before joining the heap on the floor.

“Hunter, please, fuck me,” she moans.

I don’t need to be told twice. I unbuckle my belt, undo my hiking trousers, and kick them aside, my cock throbbing with anticipation. She watches me, her eyes dark with desire, and I see the moment she realizes just how much I’ve wanted her.

I step closer, positioning myself between her legs, and she spreads them willingly, her hands gripping the edges of the pool table.

I tease her, brushing the head of my cock from her clit down to her pussy, feeling how wet she is, how ready.

She’s panting now, her eyes closed, her body tense with anticipation.

“Hunter,” she whimpers, “don’t tease.”

So I don’t. I thrust into her in one smooth motion, filling her completely, and she gasps, her nails digging into the wood.

She’s tight, so tight, and I nearly come just because of the way she envelops me, the way her body clenches around mine.

I give her a moment to adjust, to feel the stretch, but she’s already moving her hips, urging me to start.

I pull out slowly, then push back in, setting a steady rhythm that has her moaning my name. The pool table creaks beneath us, but neither of us cares. This is raw, spontaneous, everything I’ve needed for so long.

I lean down, kissing her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, my hands roaming over her body, worshipping every inch of her. She’s perfect, and I want her to know it. “You’re incredible,” I groan, my hips snapping into hers faster now, harder. “So fucking incredible.”

Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling me up for another kiss, and I give it to her, our mouths moving desperately, hungrily. Her legs wrap around my waist, her heels digging into my back, and I angle my thrusts, hitting her deeper, harder.

“Yes,” she cries, her voice breaking. “Right there. Don’t stop, Hunter. Please, don’t stop.”

And I won’t. Not until we’re both a mess, until we’re both screaming each other’s names, until we’re both lost in a storm of our own making.