Page 8 of How To Catch A Killer … And Date His Best Friend

Fuck. Just the thought of that moment has everything clenching within me.

Hunter stands by the main entrance, his hands buried in his pockets as he leans against one of the large support pillars, and while I should be asking how the hell he managed to bribe his way back inside while there’s a line out the door, all I can focus on is the way those deadly eyes track my every move.

He’s like a predator who’s already decided I’m worth the chase.

A shiver sails across my skin, and I can’t help but stare back as I cut through the throng of customers. He might be a predator tonight, but I’m more than willing to bite back.

He has an air about him, something that warns me that he’s dangerous, that he’s not the guy you give your heart to, and that’s more than okay with me. I don’t intend to give that much of myself, not tonight, at least.

Making my way through the crowd, I finally reach the door, and can’t help but notice how he hasn’t moved an inch. His stance is still exactly the same. It’s almost inhuman. Most people don’t hold themselves like that. They shift on their feet or glance around. They get distracted by conversations around them or check their phones. They’re never this still. Never this focused on just one thing. But I won’t lie, I don’t hate it.

Settling myself in front of him, I lift my chin to hold that dark, tantalizing stare, and just when it almost becomes too intense for me to bear, Hunter’s gaze drops down over my outfit, appreciation thick in his wild stare as he slowly skims over my subtle curves and the way my tits are pushed up inside the corset top. “You do all this just for me?”

Fuck, that deep, rumbly voice is killing me.

My heart races, my thighs discreetly clenching as I grin and shake my head, realizing this is his way of telling me that I look absolutely delicious.

I move an inch closer, my voice dropping so that only he could possibly hear me. “Considering these clothes are guaranteed to be on the ground in a rumpled heap by the end of the night, no. I didn’t do this for you. This was all for me. But if I were a betting woman, my guess would be that you don’t give a shit what I’m wearing as long as you get to be the one to tear it off me.”

His eyes seem to sparkle with the same raw anticipation that I feel, and he holds my stare for just a moment, a million silent messages passing between us before he finally gestures toward the door. “Come on, Savage. I’ve been waiting for this all night.”

“You and me, both.”

Hunter pushes away from the pillar, the move instantly closing the space between us. He towers over me, and my stomach flutters. I knew he was tall and built, but I was kneeling on top of my bar, and it’s hard to tell just how tall someone is from up there, but now with both feet planted on the ground, there’s no mistaking it. This man is a beast. He must be at least 6’4” and built of solid muscle, the black fabric of his shirt straining around his strong frame.

There’s no other way to describe him other than mouthwatering.

Hunter drops his hand lower on my back as he leads me out of Black Velvet, and with every step I take, I become completely intoxicated by that woodsy scent. It’s expensive cologne mixed with something darker, something intriguing. I can’t put my finger on it, but whatever it is, I can’t wait to spend my night breathing it in.

The line outside the club stretches halfway down the block, full of people desperate to get into Black Velvet. Women teeter in heels, probably clutching fake IDs, while drunk college guys desperately try to pick them up. None of them stands a chance of actually getting in. Even if we weren’t at capacity, my bouncers can spot an underage girl or a fake ID a mile away. They just really enjoy making them stand there all night waiting for entry.

Hunter guides me through the crowd like he owns the damn sidewalk . . . like he owns me, and I won’t lie, I like it. There’s a dominance about the way he touches me, and it has my heart pounding with excitement.

As we walk further out of Black Velvet, I notice the exact moment my bouncers see me, and as they take in Hunter’s hand low on my back, they both stiffen.

“Boss,” Marcus says, eyeing Hunter like he’s a disease that needs to be extracted. “Everything good?”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Both Marcus and Dean have been particularly protective over the past few months since there’ve been so many reports of a serial killer on the loose. “I’m fine. Having a night out for a change. Don’t wait up for me.”

Hunter’s hand flexes on my back, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s the realization that I’m the boss, or if it has a little something to do with the waves of judgment coming from Marcus and Dean.

Marcus and Dean don’t miss the subtle flex, but they’re more perceptive than most. That’s why I love them. They’ve saved me and my bar staff from unwelcome hands more times than I can count, and for that, I will forever be grateful.

“Give him a break,” I say, leaning slightly closer to Hunter, trying to put my bouncers at ease. “He’s not an axe-wielding murderer. We’re just going for a drink, and then I’m going straight home.”

Marcus narrows his eyes, watching Hunter like a hawk, while Dean just smirks, finally seeing this for what it is—a wild hookup that I fully intend to enjoy.

“Ahhhhh, I see,” Dean says, his eyes sparkling with realization. “Have fun.”

There’s no resisting a good eye-roll now. “Oh, I will,” I remind them. “Don’t wait up. I’m abandoning all responsibilities tonight.”

Dean snorts. “Again?”

“Please. I’m an excellent boss.”

“You threatened to staple my hand to the bar two hours ago.”

“You were openly gawking at Danielle’s ass. She was so nervous that she dropped a full tray of espresso martinis,” I remind him. “You do realize that instead of awkwardly looking at each other like lost puppies every night, you could . . . oh, I don’t know, ask her out!”