Page 7 of Hunting Gianna (Stalkers in the Woods #3)

Chapter Five

Gianna

I wake slow. Disoriented. Naked beneath the heavy, soft weight of a blanket.

Everything hurts, especially my fucking pride.

My mind tries to make sense of where I am, but I don’t have time to process as I look around.

The world tilts when I see a worn shirt stretched across my skin.

Who the hell? What the fuck? Rain. Thunder.

Falling. Shivering. Unaware. Collapsing.

Fragments start to form, shards too scattered to piece together.

The slow pulse of memory pushes through my skull, through my muscles.

My body aches and burns and pulses along with the rhythm of it.

My nipples feel raw under the thin fabric of this stranger's shirt. My skin tight, my thoughts tangled. How did I even get here? My mind is a bad dream, but I know I need to get the fuck up, and my body won’t let me.

My limbs feel swollen, heavy and tired, dragging me down.

My breath comes slow and thick as I pull myself into a sitting position.

Damp strands of hair cling to my cheek, the back matted from how I slept.

I'm aware of every ache, every confusion. It’s too hot, too tight, and I feel it all.

Especially the way my mind and body won’t get with the program, like I've run a marathon and haven’t had time to recover.

Looking around, I spot my phone. I stretch for it, fingers trembling against the screen.

It lights up and unlocks. No service, because of course not.

Low battery. Fuck. I turn it off to preserve what little it has.

The room seems to spin around me. The effort drains me more than I care to admit, but it’s proof I’m alive.

Barely. My eyes fall shut as I grasp for any sense.

The room is warm, too warm, like I’m breathing inside an oven.

I shift, skin tight against the soft cotton of his shirt.

It moves against me and my body responds, too alive and too strange.

My skin tingles and I’m acutely aware of the fact that I’m wet between my thighs.

My own wetness, to be exact and I fight the urge to rub my legs together to be rid of the throb.

I blink hard against the sensation, the guilt and need that follow.

This has to be some fucked up dream, and I have to find my way out of it.

Dizzy, dizzy. Breathe. More flashes. The way here, stumbling in a panic. Calm down, Gianna. Breathe. A silhouette, a door, falling. Dizziness and fatigue. Darkness. Heat. Tea.

He carried me to bed and tucked me in… did he…?

The rough heat between my thighs grows, and it leaves no doubt.

Leaves the feeling that I shouldn’t be this sticky.

That I should be more angry. More… The pulsing in my body hits each spot I don’t want it to.

More… More than a little afraid. But there’s a hint of shame and the smallest thrill that makes me forget the rest. For a second.

I take a breath, turn the awful wonder of it into a thought I can hold.

Into something I can maybe understand. My heart is loud in my chest, and so is the heat that pulses through my veins.

He did. He definitely did. He came on me.

What the fuck else did he do? I cover my face, feel my own breath against my hands.

Feel the rise and fall, the hum of it in my bones.

Feel the places he’s touched, even if I’m only just now realizing.

Despite what my ex said, I am very attuned to my body. To how it reacts. How it feels.

And right now it feels… alive in ways it hasn’t in ages. And that terrifies me. I should be terrified, but honestly, years of shitty sex will do that to you. This… if my savior did use me as a come dumpster… would it be so bad? It’s more than I ever got with Brad.

I get out of bed before I think it through. There’s no other way out except through the bedroom door. The window has bars on it. So… I have no choice but to put my proverbial big girl panties on and go see who the fuck is waiting out there for me.

The edges of the room swim as I stand. It’s too much, all of it. I feel every cut, every bruise, every memory on the verge of coming back to me. God my knees hurt. Looking down, I can see the scrapes and bruises, but they’re clean. Like someone washed the dirt and blood away to let them heal.

With a sigh, I force my legs to walk out the door before I give myself a chance to chicken out.

He sees me before I see him. His gaze, the kind that burns. His eyes are a trap I walk straight into, his body leaning casually against the counter as I approach. The scent of coffee fills the air, fills my head, and he fills everything else, even my confusion. The grin says it all.

"You're up."

My stomach turns. My pulse turns. Everything inside me turns except for my body, still under his control. The grin widens. "Wasn't sure you'd be moving this early. You were exhausted last night.

Everything is warm and close and deliberate. Each movement as precise as his stare. He pours coffee, his gaze unblinking, eyes tracking me, seeing entirely too much judging by the small smile that crinkles the sides of his lips. "You had a rough night."

I clam up. He’s making me nervous, but not in a ‘you scare me’ kind of way.

More in a ‘Goddamn how is this man so sexy’ kind of way.

He’s got to be at least 6’4, piercing blue eyes, light, sandy hair.

But it’s cropped close to his head… I’m thinking he’s military?

His biceps are massive and it definitely looks like he weight lifts.

I can’t stop staring and he notices because he clears his throat and cocks his head.

"Breakfast?" A pause. His eyes linger on the hollow of my throat, on the curves he’s thoroughly eye fucking.

Finally, my voice finds its way back to me. "Who are you?"

"Knox. Knox Milano. The guy who saved your life.

His confidence is unnerving. The air smells like syrup and heat and the slightest bit of danger, and all of it wraps me up.

"I saw you collapse." He motions to the pancakes piled on a plate and the ridiculousness of it all makes me bark out a nervous laugh.

"Brought you in. Warmed you up." My pulse quickens at the reminder. " I guess it worked."

My throat is dry. My body isn’t. Not at all. It's so fucking obvious. If my nipples could get any harder, they’d break glass.

"So?" He leans back, never breaking eye contact. "You hungry?" I swallow against the wild thing inside me that says yes to all of it. The desperate, wrong, and beautiful thing that says yes and says more.

He’s exactly the type momma warned me about. Dangerous. Electrifying. Like standing too close to the sun and expecting to come away unscathed.

Stupid girl, you should run.

I can hardly breathe with the way he looks at me, with the way he makes my skin ignite and my mind struggle to keep up. The slow drag of his eyes is more dangerous than I want to admit. I should be gone. Should have made a dash for the front door when I had the chance.

But the chance is gone, and I'm still here.

"Gianna," I manage, the word catching in my throat as he nods like it’s a prize. "My name’s Gianna." A small, satisfied grin. A dangerous one. I try to look away but I can't. He knows what I am before I do.

"I know your name. Coffee?" He asks again, patiently. As if I’m a child unable to understand words. The cup is already in his hand, and I reach for it, trying to seem unaffected. Trying to keep my hands from shaking.

His attention is consuming, leaving no room for anything else, and it takes all I have to speak. "How long was I out?"

"Not as long as you needed."

I should hate this. Should hate him. Should not feel this drawn, this frantic, this absolutely wrecked human being who thought he was allowed to jizz on my tits because he saved me. But I am, and it’s fucked and now I’m conflicted.

His gaze locks onto mine, more intense than anything I've known. Than anyone I’ve known. A force of fucking nature, this man.

I know what he is. He’s the devil wearing the smile of an angel.

But I don’t know what to do about it.

"Breakfast sounds good," I say, trying to hold on to something, trying to make it seem like my choice.

We sit across from each other, like this is a first date and we’re two lovers, sharing pancakes and coffee.

"Do you live here?" I ask.

"As much as anywhere else, I suppose." He doesn't look away. Not once. Not fucking ever. I feel my cheeks burn. It wasn't the answer I wanted, but it was. It was and it wasn't, like everything about this.

The kitchen is quiet. His presence is not.

I try again. "It's beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as some things." The pause after he says it, the way it hangs.

Such a smooth talker. “You say that to all the women you kidnap?”

He chuckles. “Kidnap? You came here. And to answer your question, no Gianna. Those words are reserved for you.”

My fuck he’s intense. Not even keeping anything behind those lips that look so soft, they’d destroy me and rebuild me with one kiss.

I fill my mouth with food, trying to fill the spaces I can't close up. Trying to fill the emptiness, the hunger, the suffocating want.

I fight to keep the nervousness down, but it's like trying to push a fire out with more flames. The shame of wanting him, even as a one night stand, a rebound, of sorts. Of knowing he knows. Of wanting more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

Certainly more than I ever wanted to fuck my ex.

But how the hell does one approach something like that?

Yeah, um, so let’s bang and then I’ll be on my merry way?

I focus on the table as I think. It’s ridiculous, really.

I should be calling the cops and yet… My pussy decides to start throbbing again and I squirm, trying to get rid of the feeling.

"Seems like you found a nice spot." My voice is too loud, too eager, too fragile. "It's isolated. Remote. Out of the way."

"Great for getting away."

Or getting luring unsuspecting women inside. Oh fuck, what the hell am I doing? This shit is dangerous as fuck. I am going to land up on Missing Women posters .

The heaviness settles over me, and I don't push it off. I let it in, knowing how dangerous it is.

"What about you?" He asks, tilting his head to study my face, my body language. "How’d you end up in the middle of nowhere?"

I swallow hard, and the sound seems to echo. "Thought I’d unplug," I say. My tongue trips over the words. "Take some time alone. I wasn’t... wasn’t expecting this. The storm. I mean. It wasn’t in the forecast for this week."

“Hmmm, weather up here can change pretty rapidly. But since it’s still going, you’re welcome to stay another night.”

I can hardly speak because my mouth is so dry and it’s as if there’s cotton balls in my mouth.

Taking a long sip of coffee, I clear my throat and my voice comes out a squeak. "I don’t want to impose."

He leans in, and it makes me shiver, goosebumps spreading over my skin. "Stay as long as you need."

A careful breath. I put the mug down, pretend my hands are steady. He is so close. Too close and not close enough. His knee touches mine under the table, and I lose the rest of my defenses. "If you’re sure..." A quiet plea that shames me, a quiet plea that saves me. A quiet, soft defeat.

"I’m sure."

The mug slips, spilling my coffee. Exhaustion, to be sure. Definitely not him. He’s not affecting me this way. Nope. He watches me clean it up, knows it’s me who’s undone. Not the fucking coffee.

My God what have I just agreed to?

It would be safer in the woods.