Page 71 of Hunted to Be Mine

“Selina.” I tipped her chin with a knuckle. “Do you regret Munich?”

The words hung between us, heavy with what we hadn’t said. Her eyes widened a fraction. I braced myself.

“God, no.” She shook her head. “But you’re hurt, and I’m gross, and we’re on a train being hunted, and I don’t even know what this is…”

I set a finger lightly on her lips. “You could skip showers for a month and I’d still want you.”

She rolled her eyes, some tension bleeding out. “That’s gross.”

“It’s honest.” I shifted, my side complaining. “And my injuries are superficial.”

“Your definition of ‘superficial’ needs work.” The doctor edged into her tone.

I searched for words I didn’t have. In the scraps I remembered, I’d had women—faces without names. For leverage. For intel. To burn off adrenaline. Empty. This wasn’t that.

“I don’t know what this is either.” My voice dropped. “I don’t have the language.”

I found her hand and laced our fingers.

“You’re the first real thing I’ve had since… before.” The rest stuck. “Your hair’s a mess, there’s a smudge on your cheek, youhaven’t showered in two days—and I don’t care. It makes you real.”

Her expression softened. “Is that what you want? Something real?”

“I want you.” The clarity of it surprised me.

She searched my face, then nodded slowly. When she leaned in this time, I met her halfway.

The kiss wasn’t Munich. Not desperate. Not rushed. Slow. Intentional. Her mouth soft against mine, unhurried even with danger at our backs. I slid my hand into her hair and drew her closer, memorizing the taste of her, the small sound she made when I tugged her lower lip.

Fragments flashed before me—anonymous rooms, alleys, safe houses. Bodies as tools. Pleasure as currency. All of it hollow. Nothing like this.

I broke away and pressed my mouth along her jaw, down to the pulse at her throat. It beat against my lips—warmth and life I wasn’t supposed to have.

“Careful with your ribs.” Her fingers skimmed the bandage.

“Worth every ache,” I said into her skin.

I wanted to take my time. I’d never wanted that before. Munich had been need. This felt like discovery. I wanted to map her, hold every inch in memory in case this was all I got.

The train curved. She bumped into me. Pain lit my side. I welcomed it. Pain meant being alive. Here. With her.

“We need to be careful.” Her mouth hovered near my ear.

“We should.” My hand slipped under her shirt to the heat of her back.

Her laugh vibrated against me. “You’re a terrible patient.”

“And you’re a terrible doctor.” I caught her mouth again. “Seducing your patient.”

“You seduced me first.” Breath against my lips.

“Then we’re both guilty.”

Her fingers found my shirt’s hem and tugged. “Let me see.”

I winced, helping her peel it off, fabric scraping over bruises. Her gaze darkened at the spread of blue-black across my torso. Her fingertips hovered above the worst of it.

“You shouldn’t be upright.” Clinical, heated, both at once.