Hunter (Reynolds Protective, #2)

by Rebecca Sharp

“That’s what books do. They take you away. They let you escape your life and live a completely different one while you’re in them.”

“If tacos are God’s donation to world peace, then book boyfriends are his apology to women for men in real life.”

“Let me tell you a secret, Zoey.” My head tipped. “Real men make their own apologies… and we do a damn good job of making up for our own mistakes.”

“I close downstairs at Brews most nights. I’m usually here for an hour or so after I lock up, just cleaning and doing inventory.” She slid her tongue along her lip, branding it a traitor. “If you need somewhere quiet... you can come sit and listen to the book while I work.” Holy shit. It wasn’t much, and I tried like hell to temper my excitement. But holy fucking shit. “Thanks, Zoey.” I smiled and reached for her door. “I think I might take you up on that.” Who knew a damn audiobook would give me two things I never thought I’d have. The ability to enjoy a book. And her.

“The only kind of man who gets embarrassed by his woman reading a romance novel is a man who knows he can’t live up to the standard.”

“And what about you?” I breathed. His head dipped treacherously close to mine, our breaths knocking together. “I’m the kind of man who’d set his own standard.” Those full lips drifted another inch closer and I felt the embers low in my stomach catch fire. “One that no book boyfriend could come close to.” “That’s very… bold.” I gulped, the heat turning my insides to mush. “How can you be so sure?” Oh, Zoey, what are you doing? Boss. Bad. His left hand skated back up my neck and cupped the side of my face, his thumb stroking a long path along my jawline. “Because book boyfriends are trapped in the pages,” he rasped low. “They can’t tell you how damn beautiful you are, Zoey. They can’t tell you how many nights they’ve dreamed of your smile or desired your touch. They can’t step out of the book to stand in front of you, trembling with ache.” He stepped just close enough to let our fronts touch. Air churned in my lungs, his words like a mortar grinding desire into every one of my cells. I felt myself breathe—truly breathe—for the first time in months. No worry. No fear. No uncertainty. Only Hunter. “They can’t reach out and touch you.” The pad of his thumb slid to the swell of my lower lip, his gaze locking there like a hunter marks his prey.

“Baby, I’m sorry for all the men who abandoned you when they should’ve protected you. And I’m sorry for all the men who made you believe that protective men only existed in books.” I pinned her chin between my thumb and forefinger. “But make no mistake, I’m not sorry for the kind of man I am nor for the decision I’ve made. You’re in danger, and I damned well am going to do everything in my power to protect you, alright?”

After we finished up inside the office and made it to my car, I turned to her and asked, “Tacos?” The suggestion rewarded me a smile. “You know my weakness,” she charged. I grinned and started the engine.

“I think when something traumatic happens to you, it’s hard to place trust in others, yes, but it’s even harder I think to trust yourself,” I said, feeling Hunter’s gaze shift to me, penetrating through the superficial story to the truth underneath. “You wonder if there was something you did to cause it or could’ve done to prevent it.” I swallowed hard. “You feel ashamed by the position you’re in even though it’s no fault of your own.”

“The strongest thing any one of us can do is build on top of something that’s been broken.”