Page 53 of Only the Hunter

“And you listened.” The pad of my index finger moves back and forth over my thumbnail, my adult version of fidgeting. “Most people don’t.”

Something shifts then—subtle but undeniable. His hand lifts, hesitates, then settles lightly at my wrist. Not gripping. Just there. Warm.

My fingers still.

The room feels hushed.

He leans in, not enough to close the distance, just enough that I can feel his breath, smell the faint trace of soap from his shower.

“Evie,” he murmurs.

I don’t know what he’s about to say.

I don’t know what I’m about to do.

I only know that if he moves another inch, I won’t stop him.

I tilt my head, breath slow⁠—

Knock. Knock.

The sound is sharp in the quiet room, so loud I flinch.

Room service.

We both freeze.

Then he exhales—slow and controlled—and pulls back, his hand withdrawing slowly from my wrist.

“I’ll get it,” he says, voice steady and deep, but different. Rougher.

I nod, pulse still racing, and draw the throw tighter around myself.

The knock comes again. He crosses the room to answer it, and I watch him go, still feeling the ghost of his hand at my wrist.

Chapter 13

Gabe

With my back to Evie, I take advantage of the interruption to take a deep breath, slow my pulse, and calm my reaction.

I almost kissed her.

And if I had, it would’ve been entirely inappropriate.

Not because she’s Scott’s little sister—it’s been years since that needed to factor. Because she’s here chasing a witness through a city where someone is already tracking her case. She needs steady. If I kiss her tonight, I’m not steady anymore. I’m compromised. And a compromised man doesn’t keep her safe.

Two attempts on her life and a home break-in. She doesn’t need distraction—she needs stability and focus.

After that last internal reprimand, I open the door and scan the uniformed man, clocking his hands, waist, and cart. Clear.

He pushes the cart to the corner of the living room and the round dining table, setting the table up so both Evie and I are facing the view through the French doors.

It’s midafternoon, but it’s a cloudy January day and the sun will set around five. On our clocks, we should be six hours earlier and have trouble falling asleep, but I suspect Evie didn’t sleep well, and she’s exhausted. If we can manage to fall asleep early, we’ll be better off in the morning and less likely to sleep half the day away.

Evie takes the bill and signs.

Another reminder that I’m here for logistical support.