“There’s a sample sale at one of the designer stores this afternoon,” she lied.

Hunt glanced over his shoulder. Fuck, his eyes were dark. “Is that so?”

Was that a purr in his voice?

She couldn’t help the step she took back, bumping into the kitchen island. “Yes,” she said, unable to look away.

Hunt’s eyes darkened further. He said nothing.

She couldn’t breathe properly with that stare fixed on her. That stare that told her he scented everything going on in her body.

Her nipples pebbled under that stare.

Hunt went preternaturally still. His eyes dipped downward. Saw her breasts. The thighs she now clamped together—as if it’d stop the throbbing beginning to torture her between them.

His face went positively feral. A mountain cat ready to pounce. “I didn’t know clothing sales got you so hot and bothered, Quinlan.”

She nearly whimpered. Forced herself to keep still. “It’s the little things in life, Athalar.”

“Is that what you think about when you open up that left nightstand? Clothing sales?” He faced her fully now. She didn’t dare let her gaze drop.

“Yes,” she breathed. “All those clothes, all over my body.” She had no idea what the fuck was coming out of her mouth.

How was it possible all the air in the apartment, the city, had been sucked out?

“Maybe you should buy some new underwear,” he murmured, nodding to her bare legs. “Seems like you’re out.”

She couldn’t stop it—the image that blazed over her senses: Hunt putting those big hands on her waist and hoisting her onto the counter currently pressing into her spine, shoving her T-shirt over her midriff—his T-shirt, actually—and spreading her legs wide. Fucking her with his tongue, then his cock, until she was sobbing in pleasure, screaming with it, she didn’t care just so long as he was touching her, inside her—

“Quinlan.” He seemed to be shaking now. As if only a tether of pure will kept him in place. As if he’d seen the same burning image and was just waiting for her nod.

It’d complicate everything. The investigation, whatever he felt for Shahar, her own life—

To fucking Hel with all that. They’d figure it out later. They’d—

Burning smoke filled the air between them. Gross, nose-stinging smoke.

“Fuck,” Hunt hissed, whirling to the stove and the eggs he’d left on the burner.

As if a witch spell had snapped, Bryce blinked, the dizzying heat vanishing. Oh gods. His emotions had to be all over the place after last night, and hers were a mess on a good day, and—

“I have to get dressed for work,” she managed to say, and hurried toward her bedroom before he could turn from the burning breakfast.