Page 3 of Shades of You (Calypso Key #4)

Chapter Three

Brenna

The following afternoon, sunlight filtered through the blind covering the big picture window, throwing slanted beams of light across the floor of my little bookstore. I stood behind the checkout counter, thumbing through the delicate pages of a first edition of Catcher in the Rye that smelled faintly of adventure and time. The store was quiet, winding down from another day. After carefully replacing the Steinbeck in my display of treasured books, I reached for a Hemingway. I was admiring its rugged cover—a mirror to the author himself—when the chime above the door jangled.

Glancing up, I froze.

The man who entered was dressed in all black and seemed too large for the cozy confines. Easily six and a half feet tall, he was stunningly handsome, his face a chiseled formation of angles that a trimmed, dark beard perfected. Said face was paired with an alarming amount of muscles on his arms and chest, with tattoos marking his skin. The sight made my heart race as I considered the cash in my drawer. Was I about to be robbed? Then, with a sharp intake of breath, recognition dawned on me like a switch being flipped. There was no mistaking it.

Hunter Markham stood at the threshold of my store.

As I took him in from the crown of his almost-black hair to the pair of giant feet inside work boots, the differences between the boy who’d left and the man who stood before me were legion. The rumors had done nothing to prepare me for this Hunter. Gone was the near-skeletal, wiry frame that couldn’t take in enough calories. In its place stood a man with shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of any world. His upper arms, visible beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt, were canvases of ink. Elaborate tribal tattoos reached toward his elbows, leaving his forearms unmarked. More ink covered the upper part of his chest, visible where his shirt collar was open.

His frame was bulging with muscle, the result of what had to be countless hours of disciplined physical exertion. Yet, it wasn’t just his physique that was intimidating. It was the aura around him, an almost visible force that spoke of strength and power. My heart continued its wild gallop as shock and fear turned to recognition. Not to mention the barest glimmers of raw attraction.

Good God. He’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen!

Hunter’s jaw was set, his cheekbones high. His hair, once a rebellious mop, was now cropped short, giving him an older, more martial appearance. His eyes were the same shade of stormy dark brown I remembered, but where they had once looked at me with youthful hope and mischief, now they held secrets, guarded and unreadable.

“Hello, Brenna.” His voice was deeper than I remembered, resonating through the quiet space between us .

I cleared my throat, trying to remember how to speak. “Hunter.” At least my voice came out steadier than I felt.

“Been a while,” he added, his eyes cautiously surveying the shop.

“Years.” My hands involuntarily smoothed the front of my apron. “I… You look different.”

He gave a noncommittal grunt, his posture stiff as he shrugged.

My curiosity got the better of me as I decided to test how much of the bookworm remained. “I’d heard a rumor that you returned. Did moving away give you what you needed?”

A spark of recognition ignited in his eyes, softening them. “You can’t get away from yourself by moving from one place to another. There’s nothing to that.”

That was all it took. I recognized in his voice the boy I had once sat in the library with for hours. My heart leaped, and I couldn’t suppress the smile breaking across my face. Understanding my question, he’d answered with a line from The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway, a book we had both loved.

Without hesitation, I responded with the next one. “Hell. We could have a good life anywhere.”

Hunter’s warm expression slowly morphed into a full smile. The transformation was startling, like watching someone step out of a shadow. The sight of it brought an unexpected warmth to my chest, a soft glow that pushed back against the years apart. It also brought a different kind of flutter in my stomach.

“Still remember your Hemingway, huh?” I observed, my voice lighter now.

“I was told recently it’s part of my DNA.” His smile changed his whole demeanor. For a moment, the imposing figure before me was just Hunter—the same person who debated literature with me, whose laughter used to fill my ears. Only now he was drop-dead attractive in that imposing, towering body.

“Time does have a way of changing things, though.” My surprise mingled with a sense of relief. My sweet friend hadn’t been completely lost to time and distance after all. Once again, I couldn’t contain my curiosity about him. “So what have you been up to all these years?” I stepped around the counter and leaned back against it, trying to sound casual. But inside, my mind was racing with the rumors that had occasionally trickled back to me.

Hunter’s expression closed off again, the shields coming back up as if by reflex. “I was in the Marines,” he said, voice even but guarded. “After I got out a few years ago, I lived in South Beach. I just moved back here and started my own security agency down the street.”

“Security, huh?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, his gaze briefly flicking away before locking back onto mine. There was a coiled readiness in his posture that spoke of experiences being left unsaid. More lurked behind his eyes, utterly unreadable, except for the brief time we’d spoken about books. Books…

“Did you come in for something to read?” The change in topic seemed to catch him off guard, and a hint of shyness crept into his posture, a stark contrast to the confident, intimidating man who had walked in moments ago.

“Uh, yeah. Yes, I did.” He cleared his throat, looking slightly embarrassed.

Is he here to see me?

“Action and adventure are over there.” I pointed back toward the section that housed tales of daring exploits and heart-pounding suspense. “You always did like books full of thrills.”

“I still do. Thanks.” Hunter’s voice softened at my gesture. He gave me a nod and went toward the back of the store. Walking quietly and softly over the wooden floor despite his bulk, his movements betrayed nothing of the internal currents I sensed swirling within him. He disappeared between the aisles, the set of his shoulders a shadow against the spines of countless adventures.

To distract my nervous hands, I moved to an antique oak table and rearranged the display of candles I’d set up. These were lavender and vanilla and gave off a pleasant, bookish scent I loved. The chime of the door pulled me from my thoughts. And once again, I got a shock when I glanced up.

Knox stepped in, stumbling slightly over the entry. His light hair was mussed and stuck up on one side. He reeked of alcohol and desperation, and my heart plummeted.

“Knox.” My voice held an uneven mix of surprise and discomfort. “What are you?—”

“Brenna.” My name on his tongue was clumsy and thick. His hazel eyes locked onto mine with unsettling intensity. Knox had always been unpredictable when he drank.

“You need to leave,” I insisted, trying to muster authority into my voice. “Now.”

“Come on.” He moved closer, reaching out as if he could bridge the chasm between us with his unsteady fingers. “You don’t mean that. We were good together. We can be again.”

“Absolutely not,” I countered sharply, my stomach clenching. This was not the reunion any girl dreamed of. “We’re through. You need to go. ”

But he was undeterred, stepping forward to grab my arm, making me wince at his touch. What I had once craved now felt like an invasion. “We’re worth another shot, Brenna. We can work out our problems.”

“Get out of here,” I hissed, shaking off his grasp as my heart galloped in my chest.

That’s when Knox vanished from my sight in an abrupt blur of motion. He was in front of me and then gone . My breath caught in my throat as I turned my head. Hunter had him hoisted in the air, pressing him against the end of a bookcase with an ease that defied belief. One of Hunter’s hands was bunched in the fabric of Knox’s shirt collar, and the other held him by the waistband of his jeans like he weighed nothing.

“The lady told you to leave.” Hunter’s voice was low and menacing, a stark contrast to the gentle cadence he’d used just minutes earlier. “What part of that don’t you get? Maybe I can clear it up for you.” He twisted the hand holding Knox’s pants slightly, and my ex’s face went pale.

“Okay! I’m leaving. I’m leaving!” Knox’s voice broke into a higher pitch at Hunter’s motion, sounding almost comical if the situation weren’t so frightening.

Hunter released him abruptly, both hands letting go. Knox crumpled down to the floor, then regained his footing with a stumble. His eyes were wide, darting between Hunter and me, but it was clear where the power lay.

“Out. Now.” Hunter’s tone left no room for argument.

Knox jerked a nod as he scrambled backward, staring at Hunter with wide eyes the entire time. The shop was completely silent as he slunk out of the store without another word. The bell above the door chimed mockingly as he exited, and I jumped at the jarring noise. I took a steadying breath, suddenly aware of the sweat covering my back. I turned to look at Hunter, who remained still, his gaze following Knox until he was certain my ex was gone.

Then, without moving, he slid his eyes to me. “Are you all right?” His voice returned to something softer, though the underlying strength was unmistakable. He didn’t look remotely upset, like throwing unruly drunks out of stores was something he did every day.

“Yes,” I managed to say, my voice somewhat creaky. I cleared my throat. “Thank you.” I couldn’t control the tremor in my hands—a reaction to the fear, the shock, and the confusing sense of safety Hunter’s actions had provided.

“I take it that guy isn’t a friend?”

I shook my head, taking a few steps closer to Hunter. “No, definitely not a friend. Just an ex who doesn’t understand boundaries.” The familiar pang of regret washed over me as I spoke those words. At how Knox had been charming at first, hiding the person he became when drinking.

Hunter’s gaze lingered on me. “You deserve better than that. Has he been a problem before?”

I shrugged, feeling a weird mix of vulnerability and relief at Hunter’s presence. “He’s texted a couple of times, but nothing like this. I thought we were done for good, but he seems to be having a hard time letting go.”

Hunter nodded, his expression serious. “Do you want my number?” My shock must have shown on my face because his posture relaxed. “I’m in private security, Brenna. Dealing with shit like him is what I do for a living.”

Something in his tone sent a shiver down my spine. And I was sure Knox had gotten his message loud and clear. “No—I’m fine. I’m sure we just saw the last of him. Thank you for your help.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked again, stepping closer to me. His gaze traced over my face as if searching for any signs of distress I might be hiding.

“Yes.” I clasped my trembling hands together to steady them, and tried not to notice how his huge presence that should have filled me with alarm—especially given what I’d just witnessed—was doing quite the opposite. “I’m fine now.”

Hunter’s eyes lingered on me before he finally nodded once, as if confirming something to himself. “Good,” he said simply and headed back toward the stacks of books as if nothing had happened.

As if he hadn’t just manhandled my drunken ex with the same ease as flipping through the pages of one of my cherished books. What had life done to him? I returned to the glass check-out counter, mindlessly straightening a stand of watercolor bookmarks.

Moments later, Hunter returned, a Clive Cussler novel in hand, its spine cracked with use. “I’ll take this one,” he said with a faint smile. His voice was back to what it had been before Knox’s rude entrance. “How much?”

“Oh, no charge,” I insisted, pushing his extended cash back toward him. “After what you did, it’s yours.”

The shadow that passed over his features was like a storm cloud over the sun. “I can’t ignore someone in trouble. Especially… someone who means something to me. It’s what I do.”

“Protect people?”

“Something like that,” he replied, pocketing his money.

I managed a shaky smile, feeling the weight of his gaze as I motioned to the book in his hand. “Enjoy your adventure.”

“Thanks.” That nearly imperceptible softening around his eyes made an encore. “It was good to see you. ”

“Likewise, Hunter.” His name still felt strange on my tongue, like a word from a forgotten language I was learning all over again.

He paused at the door, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “I’ll be back. Clive Cussler did write quite a few books, after all.” He held up the battered paperback in a salute, his smile widening before he stepped out into the waning day.

The door closed softly behind him, and I was alone in the quiet shop once more. My legs gave out, and I slumped against the counter, my hands trembling. Who was this man who had just walked out of my store? The boy who’d left town years ago, the one who whispered Hemingway and Shakespeare as he smiled shyly had been transformed. He was as daunting as he was mesmerizing, a living paradox wrapped in tattoos and mystery.

My heart raced, not just with fear but with a curiosity that bordered on yearning. Because of that small sentence he’d uttered. “ Especially… someone who means something to me. ”

I knew who Hunter Markham used to be, but the question was, who was he now? And more importantly, was it safe to find out?