Page 47 of The Hunter

And like last night, it wasn’t the lack of gourmet food that left me momentarily speechless. It was the sheer normalcy of it. The quiet kindness.

“No, this is…” I pushed out what felt like the first real breath in years. “This is perfect.”

I picked up my knife and fork, my mouth watering as I cut into the bacon.

“It’s bacon. You can use your hands.” He grabbed a strip and devoured it in two bites.

I stared at him, slightly aghast.

Victor would have lost his mind.

But again… Victor wasn’t here.

I set the fork neatly beside my plate, picked up a piece of bacon, and took a bite.

The flavor exploded on my tongue — salty, rich, blissfully greasy. A low moan slipped from my lips before I could stop it.

Henry froze mid-chew.

When I glanced at him, his hungry eyes were trained on me. For a moment, neither of us moved. The space between us tightened, the air heavier than it had any right to be.

“Sorry,” I whispered, breathless. “It’s just…been a while.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Just stared.

Not vaguely. Not casually.

His dark gaze slowly traveled over my face. The swell of my chest beneath his Henley. My legs covered by his oversized sweatpants. And then, God help me, he brought his eyes back to my lips as I licked a hint of grease from the corner of my mouth.

His jaw tensed, every muscle in his body growing rigid.

My heart pounded so hard I fully expected for it to burst through the walls of my chest.

For a fraction of a second, I thought he might erase the distance between us. Lean in close. Kiss me.

The thought should have horrified me. Should have filled me with the same dread I felt whenever Victor forced himself on me.

But it didn’t.

And that scared me more than anything.

Henry quickly tore his gaze from mine, any of the desire I swore I saw seconds ago gone. “Too provincial to be on the menu at Casa de Kane?” he remarked icily.

“Something like that.” I sliced into the egg, watching as the yolk spilled out over the plate.

I wasn’t about to go into detail about how Victor dictated every aspect of my life.

From what I wore. To what I ate. To how I fucked.

“My dad used to make bacon and eggs every morning before he left for work,” I added when Henry remained silent. “I’d wake up to that smell.”

For years, the scent brought back memories of love and warmth and safety.

Then Victor ruined it.

“He died, right?” Henry asked.

I didn’t ask how he knew. I just nodded. “Drunk driver.” I swallowed hard through the guilt that surfaced every time I thought about that night.