Page 38 of Hunting Gianna

“I know you’re fucked up. But… thanks. For not making this worse.”

I look at her, really look, and for a second I almost say something true.

Instead, I just grin, hand low on her back, steering her into the cold.

“Dinner’s at six,” I say. “If you’re hungry then, we can come back.”

“Oh, I’m so excited!”

The look on her face is enough to make me feral. I’d kill men for that smile.

When we get in the door, the mood changes instantly. The air in here is thicker, sexually charged with everything we left unsaid. I put the food on the counter and open the fridge. The hum of it is the only sound for a long, loaded minute.

I’m pouring a glass of water when I realize she’s just standing there in the entryway, not moving.

She’s watching me. I turn around and lean on the counter, watching her right back.

She looks small, even though she isn’t. Her lips are chapped, bitten raw, and her eyes are black and wide.

I let the moment hang. The only thing in the world is the soft click of her teeth as she bites the inside of her cheek.

She clears her throat, and the sound is so quiet I almost miss it.

“Knox,” she says.

I don’t answer.

She’s gathering herself. I can tell by the way her hands go from fists to fingers and back again. She’s terrified, but she’s also angry. That’s my favorite flavor on her.

“I need…” she starts, stops. “I want to make a deal.”

This is good. I let a smile break over my face.

“Go on,” I say.

She takes a deep breath, and it hurts to watch. It’s like her lungs are trying to remember what air is for.

“You want me,” she says. “Fine. But if you ever hurt someone—kill someone—like you did that hiker, or anyone else, it’s over. You let me go. No chase, no games. Just done.”

It’s not the speech I was expecting. It’s better.

She holds my gaze, and I see it: the flicker of hope, the belief that I can be negotiated with, that there’s a man under the animal. I almost want to tell her she’s right.

Almost.

I set the glass down, cross to her slow, each footstep deliberate.

“Okay,” I say. “Deal. But you should know, Gianna, that if someone comes for you—if anyone tries to take you from me—I will kill them. I can’t promise I won’t.”

She nods, and the motion is half defeat, half relief.

“Fair,” she says. “Just… don’t make it a habit.”

“Noted.”

The tension is still there, so thick you could wrap your hands around it and squeeze.

She looks at the floor, then back up, and there’s something hungry in her eyes. “What happens now?” she asks.