Page 21 of My Treasured Obsession

From the outside, he appeared suave and put together, but the unshaven jaw boasting a five o’clock shadow and the black wavy hair carelessly tousled gave him a hint of ruggedness.

Dare I say, with the sun setting behind him in a picturesque sight, he even reminded me of the heroes from my favourite paranormal romance books. A night creature from centuries-old lore. He could pass as a charming vampire, a dominant werewolf, a filthy demon, and…my musings were a clear indication that my state of mind was currently far from okay.

“I like your bow,” Hunter remarked with a low rasp that did nothing to tame the skyrocketing tension between us.

I enjoyed accessories and getting dolled up for any occasion. Whether it was for a night out with my girls or to run a quick errand. I never missed an opportunity to don my best. Smiling at Hunter’s compliment, I returned, “And I like your chain.”

Hunter smiled back and offered me his hand, helping me step out of his car. I ignored the way my skin buzzed at our fingers touching and smoothed a hand over the skirt of my black dress while he closed the door behind me.

Hunter walked ahead, his long-legged strides eating the distance from his car to the front door of the café. I almost wobbled in my heels, trying to keep up with him.

When we entered Le Petit Moulin, the aroma of coffee and viennoiseries wafted in the air. My stomach grumbled. I could go for a warm mochaccino and some donuts. The café wasn’t packed as per usual since we arrived at a peculiar time—too late for lunch and too early for dinner.

Adjusting the heart pendant choker around my neck, I inspected their selection of sweet treats while Hunter sauntered to the counter, Luna in tow. He started chatting with the server, a pretty woman who seemed just a bit older than us.

“Gabby,” Hunter called out after a few seconds. “What would you like?”

“I’ll have a small mocha and half a dozen of the mini donuts.”

“Assorted?”

“Yes, please.”

I walked over to them, but Hunter already whipped out his black card from his leather wallet and paid for both of us.

“What are you doing?” I asked, baffled. “I was going to get my own.”

Hunter crossed his arms over his barrel chest, pinning me with a serious look. “Don’t take it personally, sweetheart. I never let a woman pay when she’s out with me.”

Hearingsweetheartagain brought a flood of memories from last night. Once more, I could feel the phantom of his masculine hand collaring my throat. Could feel the outline of his ridge against my stomach. Could feel his lips on mine. Sinful, greedy, and impatient for more.

“Thank—”

“For the love of God,” he teased. “Stop throwing around the T-word. I get it. You’re welcome.”

A small chuckle burst out of me. “Okay, fine, I won’t. Just know that I’m thinking it.”

I’d find a way to repay him. With a house plant, baked goods, and something else. Though I had a feeling nothing would be enough for the generosity he bestowed upon me today.

Quietly, we watched the woman prepare our order. She was wearing a minidress, strappy heels, a pink frilly apron, and her ensemble was complete with diamond jewelry and beautiful pin-up style waves that fell down her back. I’d seen her here often and was beginning to wonder if she was the owner.

Her name tag read Elsie.

She turned around with a radiant grin and a pink tray containing our food. Hunter took it from her, leaving her a generous tip in the jar. As we walked away, I couldn’t help but tell her how great she looked. “You’re gorgeous. I love your heels.”

She blushed and chuckled lightly. “Likewise.”

We found a secluded corner in the empty café. Hunter pulled out my chair for me, then sank into his. I plucked Luna out of the carrier and into my lap but kept her leash wrapped around my wrist so she wouldn’t wander off. Noticing my sweet, furry companion, Elsie came over with a little bowl of cat treats and petted Luna, who relished the attention. Once she wandered off, Hunter and I dug into our food.

He’d ordered himself a salad with chicken breast and sparkling water. I watched as he placed a napkin over his lap, took hold of the pink cutlery—which his big hands dwarfed—and used his fork and knife to slice into the meat before bringing a forkful into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. He was so posh, sitting across from me with a regal posture, eating like we were at a five-course restaurant and not a casual, cute café with cramped seating.

He ate his salad and I devoured half of my donuts, companionable silence floating between us. I relaxed further into my seat. With other people, I sometimes felt the need to fill the quietness with chatter. But not with Hunter.

His presence was steady and solid, demanding no words and offering solace in return.

I liked that.

A little too much.