CHAPTER THREE

Hunter

The bitter winter wind whips across my face as I stand at the porch, staring down at the annoying journalist from earlier. Thunder rumbles overhead and more snow falls in thick heavy flakes, dusting the shoulders of her coat. I lift my eyes back to hers and as she stares back at me, I feel my breath catch in my throat. She's undeniably attractive, with sharp features, piercing eyes and a mane of dark hair that frames her face perfectly. The deep scowl on her face quickly reminds me of how annoying she is. I let out a groan of frustration, feeling the heat of anger rising in my chest. Why is she back? What more can she possibly want from me? I made it crystal clear during our last encounter that I had no intention of answering her nosy questions or indulging her thirst for juicy gossip. Just as I'm about to give her a piece of my mind, she beats me to it. 

"I know you're not happy to see me," she says, her lips twisting into a sardonic smile. 

I scoff, unable to hide my annoyance. 

"Then why are you here?" I snap, crossing my arms over my chest. She shifts on her feet, her gaze dropping for a moment before meeting mine again.

"I have a problem, and I was hoping that you would help."

I narrow my eyes, trying to guage her intentions. 

What game is she playing this time? 

My anger momentarily forgotten, I study her face, searching for any hint of deception. But her face is blank with no expression. I let out a sigh, my breath forming a cloud in the cold air. 

"What do you need my help for?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. She shifts her weight as she gestured behind her. 

"My car broke down and I can't go home. Can you help me check it out?"

I stare at her, amused. She needs help? From me? The very idea is laughable.

"And why should I do that?" I ask, narrowing my eyes. She shifts her weight again, from one foot to the other, her gaze darting around nervously. 

"Well, there's no one else I can ask. You're the only one around for miles. Please? It's freezing out here and I really don't have anywhere else to go." What makes her think that I'd help her after the way she bombarded me with questions that threw me off guard earlier on. The mere thought of it makes my blood boil. Before I can respond, a low rumble of thunder echoes across the sky and the snow begins to fall even harder. I watch her as she shivers and pulls her coat tighter around her. 

"Look, I know you don't like me and I also know that you're not obliged to help me," she says, her tone suddenly more conciliatory. "But, please… just…can I at least come in for a little while?"

I hesitate, torn between my need to turn her away and the nagging sense of guilt that tugs at my conscience. I grit my teeth, knowing that as much as I'd love to slam my door in her face, I can't bring myself to do it. As much as I despise her, the thought of leaving her out here in the cold night makes me feel off. I groan. The last thing I want is to have this woman under my roof for any length of time. But again, I can't bring myself to turn her away. 

"Fine," I growl,stepping aside reluctantly.

 "Come in."

Her face lights up and she hurries past me stomping the snow off her boots boots as she enters my home.

"Where's your car?," I ask, closing the door behind me.

"Just down the road, a bit far from here," she replies, shrugging off her coat.

I watch as her eyes darts around my apartment, taking in every detail. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head, cataloging every detail I'm sure, no doubt, for her next exposé. I clear my throat, drawing her attention back to me. 

"I can't work on your car tonight," I say, my voice gruff. 

"I can't work on your car tonight," I say my voice gruff.

"It's already late, and it's too cold out there," I pause, realizing that the only option left is to let her spend the night. The very thought makes my skin crawl, but I find myself saying the words anyway.

"You can stay the night, but first thing in the morning, I'm taking a look at your car and you're leaving."

I see the relief wash over her features, and a part of me curses myself for giving in so easily. 

"Thank you," she says, her voice softening.

"I promise, I'll be out of your hair as soon as you can get my car fixed."

I nod, already dreading the hours ahead. This is going to be a long night. I notice how the wet fabric of her blouse clings to her boobs, and I quickly avert my gaze, cursing myself for even noticing. 

"Thank you so much, really," she says again. 

"It's no trouble," I lie, gesturing for her to have a seat.

"Make yourself comfortable. I'll go put the kettle on and see if I can find you something dry to wear."

As I retreat to the kitchen, I feel her eyes burning into into my back. I resist the urge to turn around and meet her stare. I set the water to boil in a small kettle and make my way to my bedroom, closing the door behind me with a soft click. Leaning back against the solid oak, I exhale a long breath, willing the frustration in me to subside. 

Why did I agree to let her stay the night? Ah yes, because I'm a goddamn fool with a soft spot for a pretty face. Now, the peace and solitude I've managed to build over these months are now being disrupted by this journalist's presence. It's just for a night. I'll her leave first thing in the morning. After I'm done fixing her car, that is. Then, I would return to my quiet life. After a few more moments of respite, I cross to the closet and rummage through the neatly folded stacks of clothes. Finally, I pick a big shirt. It would likely look like a gown on the journalist because of her smaller frame, but at least it would keep her warm and dry. Clutching the shirt in my hand, I make my way back to the living room, where she's still seated, her arms wrapped around herself as she shivers slightly. She looks up as I approach, her eyes narrowing as I extend my hand to her.

"Here," I say, handing the shirt to her. 

"You can change into this. There's a bathroom down the hall if you want to wash up."

"Thanks," she says, her eyes sparkling with mischievous glint.

"You're surprisingly accommodating and a better host than I thought you would be."

"Don't get used to it," I shoot back.

"And if you want tea, I can make some. I already have the kettle on. She arch's a perfectly sculpted brow, her lips curving into the slightest of smiles.

"I would love a cup of tea. With nothing in it, please."

I nod. "I'll have it ready."

She stands and walks towards the bathroom. I watch the way her hips sway with each step. As she gets inside the bathroom and shuts the door behind her, I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. The whistle of the kettle pulls me from from my reverie and I make my way to the kitchen. I quickly start making the tea. When it's ready, I carefully pour some into a mug and set it down on the counter. I glance towards the bathroom, wondering how long she would be in there. Part of me hopes she would take her time, allowing me a few precious moments of solitude to gather my composure. I walk to the living room, my eyes scanning for any sign of her. 

The bathroom door is still closed, the sound of running water echoing through the hallway. Then the sound stops. A few more seconds, the bathroom door creaks open and I feel my breath catch in my throat as she emerges, wrapped in a towel, water droplets glistening on her skin. I quickly look away, hear pooling at my groin. 

"I'm sorry, I don't like to dress in the bathroom."

I nod stiffly, unsure of what to say. I watch her from the corner of my eye as she slips the shirt over head. I can't help but notice how the shirt swallows her whole frame, the fabric pooling around her waist.

She looks so small, so vulnerable and it tugs at something in me. I notice how the light catches her features- high cheekbones, full pouty lips and those hazel eyes that seem to dissect everything around her. She's so attractive in a way that frustrates me because I shouldn't be feeling this way for someone I just met. Someone that poses as a threat to the perfect life that I've created for myself. I feel my heart rate quicken and I push the thought away. I know better than to get distracted.

"The tea is ready. You should have it now, before it gets cold," I say, cursing the slight tremor in my voice. 

"Thanks. I'll have it now, please," she says, shaking her hair. Water splashes onto the hardwood floor and I internally grimace. 

"You're going to clean that up," I mutter as I head to the kitchen for a towel. The silence stretches between us as I head to the kitchen for a towel. The silence stretches between us as I hand her a towel. I feel her gaze on me, perceptive and inquisitive. I'm used to being scrutinized, but there's something about the way she looks at me that unsettles me and makes me nervous.

When she's done drying her wet hair and cleaning up the mess she made, she hands me the towels and I stash them away. I return to the living room, handing her the steaming mug. 

"Here you go. Careful, it's hot." 

She accepts the mug, her fingers brushing against mine is the process. A spark of electricity cackles between us, and I quickly withdraw my hand, clearing my throat.

"Thank you," she murmurs, wrapping her hands around the ceramic mug gratefully. 

She takes a sip, her eyes closing momentarily as the warmth spreads to her. I settle into the armchair across from her, studying her in silence. The earlier tension seems to have dissipated, replaced by an uneasy calm. I avert my gaze, trying to look at anything but her. But my eyes keep drifting back to her, like a moth to a flame,taking in the way she blows on the tea, the way she chews on her lower lip in concentration as she waits for the hot liquid to cool off. The awkward silence between us stretches as she sips her tea. Soon, I see when the wheels in her head start to turn and I know it's only a matter of time before she starts to ask questions. Sure enough, after a few minutes, she clears her throat.

"So, um, this is a beautiful home you have here. Do you, uh, live here alone?"

I resist the urge to snap tat her.

"Yes, I like my privacy."

"I can imagine," she says, nodding. "Being a renowned author must come with a lot of attention."

There it is, the not-so-subtle attempt to get me to open up about my personal life. I clench my jaw, determined not to take her bait. 

"It has it's challenges," I simply say.

There's another stretch of silence and then she tries again.

"I'm really intrigued though. Why did you choose to stay in a place as far as this?"

I let out a frustrated sigh.

"Look, I know what you're trying to do. I'm not really in the mood for all this. I'm not answering any of your questions either. So let's just… I don't know, sit in silence until you're done drinking your cup of tea."

She blinks, clearly taken aback by my bluntness.

"I'm….I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry. I'm just genuinely curious, that's all."

"Well, your curiosity is a bit too much for me at the moment," I say, my tone dry.

"I value my privacy and I'd prefer not to discuss my personal life with you."

Her cheeks flush with embarrassment as she looks down at her mug. 

"Okay, I understand. I'll try to keep my questions to myself." Immediately, I feel a twinge of guilt. There's a long moment of silence, the only sound the soft clinking of her mug against the table. I find myself feeling guilty. Perhaps I was a bit too rude. Still, I can't bring myself to apologize. I sink back into the armchair and stare straight ahead, determined to avoid her gaze. Just as I to feel unease and irritated with myself, she speaks up again.

"You know, I didn't come all the way just for an interview, right?"

I turn to look at her, brow furrowed.

"What do you mean?"

She shifts in her seat, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"I mean, I'm not just after a story. I…..I genuinely want to understand you, to know what led you to make the choices you did."

I scoff, shaking my head.

"Forgive me if I have a hard time believing that. You're a journalist. Your job is to dig up stories, not to understand anyone."

"I've told you before. I'm a writer, not a journalist."

I snicker, "same thing."

"No, they are not," she argues, "you're a writer too, does that make you a journalist."

I'm surprised at her comeback but I don't grace her with a response. 

"Look, I know I've been persistent with my questions, but I promise it's not for gossip or anything like that. I just…" she pauses, her brows furrowing slightly.

"I can't help but be curious about the man behind the books I've loved for years."

There's a vulnerability in her voice that I don't expect, and it catches me off guard. I study her, searching for any hint of deception, but all I see is sincerity.

"I…" I hesitate, unsure of how to respond.

"I appreciate your….curiosity, I suppose. But the truth is, my story isn't one I'm willing to share. And definitely not with you."

The journalist nods, her gaze dropping to her lap. "I understand. I won't push you, I promise. I just hope that someday, you'll be able to open up, even if it's not to me."

I sigh, the fight leaving me as quickly as it came. The silence that follows is heavy, weighted with unspoken words. Desperate to break the tension, I clear my throat and ask, 

"Are you hungry? I can make something for you if you want."

She shakes her head, her eyes meeting mine briefly before darting away.

"No, thank you. I'm not hungry."

I nod, unsure of what to say next. The silence returns, and I find myself stealing glances at her again, captivated by every little movement she makes. Soon, her eyelids begin to close. I watch, transfixed as her breathing slows, her body relaxing into the plush cushions of the couch. Her head tilts to the side, facing me. My gaze lingers on her parted lips and suddenly, my imagination spirals. I feel a pang of longing as I stare at those lips, imagining what they would feel like against mine.

I bet it would feel so good to have those lips wrapped around my dick while I trace the delicate curves of her face with my fingertips as I make her take me down her throat. The thought sends a shiver down my spine and a rush of heat floods through me. I catch myself just in time, just before my thoughts spiral further. What the hell is wrong with me? I shake my head as if that can clear the inappropriate fantasies invading my mind.

"Get a grip," I mutter under my breath, criticizing myself for even letting my thoughts wander. I curse myself once more as I dig my nails into the palms of my hands in a desperate attempt to ground myself. This is madness, pure and simple. I barely know this woman and yet the mere sight of her has made all the emotions I tried really hard to suppress come alive. She has set my heart racing like some silly school boy. Besides, she's an unwanted visitor and I shouldn't have any business thinking of her in this way. Steeling my resolve, I reach out and gently shake her shoulders. 

"Hey, wake up."

Her eyelids flutter open and for a moment, she looks confused. 

"What?" She murmurs, taking a moment to gather herself. 

"You need to follow me. I'll show you the room you'll be sleeping in."

She blinks and for a moment, I think I see a flash of annoyance.

"Oh don't worry, I'll sleep on the couch, thank you."

I feel a surge of irritation mixed with something I can't quite place.

"Are you sure? It's not exactly comfortable," I press, trying to hide my annoyance. I sigh, feeling frustrated again. I open my mouth to argue, but the words get caught in my throat. Why do I care? She's an unwanted guest, after all, so why would I care where she sleeps in? I decide to let it go.

"Alright, suit yourself," I say, my voice lacking any real enthusiasm. As I turn to leave, an impulse strikes me. I walk to my closet, rummaging through the shelves until I find a couple of blankets. I know I shouldn't care, but I want to be sure she's comfortable, even though I know I shouldn't bother. When I return, she's already fast asleep. Carefully, I drop the blankets over her, my fingers lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. For a moment, I simply observe her, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way her lashes rest against her cheeks. My closeness to her suddenly feels too intimate, and I pull my hand quickly as if I have touched something hot. I stand there for a moment, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. A strand of her falls across her face and the urge to brush it away is almost too much. But I resist. I practically push myself to walk away. I need to cool off. I make my way to the bathroom and turn on the shower. The water is cold as I let it cascade over me, hoping that it would cleanse my mind of the thoughts that are swirling around in my head. I stand under the shower for what feels like an eternity, but the cold water does nothing. Heat still simmers beneath my skin. Eventually, I step out, wrapping a towel around my waist. I glance at the clock, and I realize how late it has gotten. I flip into my bed, tossing and turning, my mind racing. Eventually, exhaustion takes over and I fall into a restless sleep.