Page 34 of The Hunter

Around her, I was unraveling.

I couldn’t have that.

Spinning around, I stalked down the stairs, barricading myself in my office.

But her voice echoed in my head.

So did that moan.

Chapter Fifteen

Henry

I blew out a deep breath as I closed the door to my office, as if the solid barrier could muffle the echo of Ariana’s voice in my mind.

Correction.

Her moan.

And my body was still suffering from the effects of that fucking moan.

Which was exactly why I needed to put space between us before I acted on these urges with the woman I was supposed to hate.

This was what I needed. To surround myself with the familiarity of my office.

The Underworld, the nickname Gideon had given this place, was supposed to be my escape. My sanctum. A stone-and-steel bunker hidden deep in the mountains, far from anything remotely resembling a distraction.

Except now ArianafuckingKane was upstairs, wearingmyshirt, snuggling withmydog, while I hid away down here, trying to forget the way my body reacted when she moaned. How her tongue slid along her lips as she swiped the hot chocolate off them.

How I’d wanted to lick the hot chocolate off them, too.

I dropped into the chair and stared at the wall of monitors. Some looped live feeds from around my property. Others flashed snippets of code, encrypted strings waiting to be cracked. One screen cycled through various databases, hoping to identify the man who tried to take Ariana.

But I ignored it all.

Instead, I navigated to a bookmarked page I hadn’t been able to let go of, no matter how many times I told myself I should… Sarah’s travel vlog,Wanderlight.

The profile photo hadn’t changed in months. Why would it? There was no one alive to change it.

Sunlight caught her hair just right, giving the dark brown strands a copper sheen. Her green eyes sparkled. Her smile practically glowed through the screen.

She looked so damn alive.

Shewasso damn alive.

Not anymore.

Despite my better judgment, I clicked on the last post she ever made —a selfie on the beach with the setting sun painting the ocean an orange hue. The caption read “To new beginnings.”

A few hours later, her body had been found in a luxury suite at one of Victor Kane’s hotels in Santa Monica.

Empty wine bottle. Empty pill bottle. No signs of struggle. Case closed. But I didn’t buy it.

I navigated to the video section and began scrolling before stopping on an older one titledWandering West–Hidden Gems in Santa Fe. The instant I hit play, her voice wrapped around me like a ghost.

“Hey guys! Today I stumbled across this teeny, hole-in-the-wall café. No signage. No website. Just the smell of cinnamon and the sound of jazz pouring out of the windows.”

She spun the camera, revealing a courtyard bathed in golden light. There was a mural painted on one wall that fit the adobe vibe of her surroundings.