Willing Prey By Allie Oleander - 30

I wake up in the woods. Sunlight filters through the top of the tent. Birds chirp and chatter. Cozy and cuddled in my sleeping bag, I feel all right. Not great, not good, but all right. This was a smart move. I’m stinging from yesterday, but it’s hard to mope when I’ve got a whole day in the woods stretching before me, a new novel in my bag, and a hammock already set up and waiting for me.

Dressing quickly in jean shorts and a T-shirt, I swish mouthwash as I unzip the tent. I step out and spit all over myself in surprise. There’s a lump in the hammock, a huge, human-sized mass not fifteen feet from my tent. My stomach knots. Dread dries my mouth. I can’t hear the birds anymore, not over the voice in my head shrieking, Oh fuck . That lump in the hammock is big. Man-sized. I wish it was bear-sized. At least then there’d be a chance that I could offer it my sunscreen and escape while it decides whether it likes the taste of SPF 75+ as much as the smell.

There’s no signal out here, and even if I could get a 911 call to go through, that doesn’t help me now. Abandoning my campsite because some fucker moved in also doesn’t sit right. If he’s dangerous, it won’t matter. There’s nothing stopping him from following me back down the trail. The longer I stand, watching the still form, the angrier I get. All I want is a measly day or two of forest therapy. But no, this no-boundary-having asshole comes along and ruins it. Scares me into nearly aspirating mouthwash in my own campsite.

Fuck this guy.

Quietly, I lean back into the tent. The handle of my utility knife feels good against my palm, sturdy. Though the tool’s primary purpose is cutting paracord and small branches, I’ve gutted fish with it, so it could do some damage. Considering how agitated I feel right now, I could probably do some damage with my fingernails. Possibly my teeth.

Easy does it.

Don’t go full fight mode.

Yet.

There’s a good chance the person sleeping in the hammock is harmless.

But there’s also a chance they aren’t.

I creep close, but not too close. The hammock’s fabric keeps me from seeing the man’s face, and I don’t want to lean over and expose myself. Knife clenched in my fist, I position myself about six feet from the head of the hammock. Anger thrums through me, but it’s a nervous, nauseous anger, fueled by fear. I’ve taken enough self-defense classes to know when things go bad, it happens fast. Violence needs to be on my list of possible responses.

Here we go.

“Can I help you?” My voice cuts through the quiet. Pride soars when it sounds controlled, braver than I feel.

The figure in the hammock stirs to life. I tense. It’s a man. I see the back of his head. Dark hair, chaotic in a way that’s so Shane it makes my heart ache.

Focus.

The man turns, swinging his legs over the near side of the hammock. My jaw drops.

It is Shane.

In my hammock, in the woods, at a campground when he should be at work. My heart wants to turn cartwheels, but my brain won’t let it.

“Claire.” His voice is rough, sleepy.

Sexy.

No, don’t go there.

He drags a hand through his hair, making it wilder. There’s stubble on his jaw, and he’s looking at me with an expression I can’t place. My rib cage is cracking open. The okay-ness I woke up with is devolving back into yesterday’s heartache. I want my peaceful morning back.

“Why are you in my hammock? How are you in my hammock?”

“You weren’t answering your phone.” He sounds wounded.

Mr. Moves in His New Prey Before I’m Even Gone is hurt by a few missed calls? I almost tell him there’s no signal but bite my tongue. Not his business. The contract’s up.

Just business, just business, just business.

“How did you find me?” The question comes out as sharp as the knife in my hand.

“GPS tracking. You didn’t take your watch off.” Shane rises from the hammock, starting toward me. Whatever he sees on my face stops him, and he straightens his shirt. He’s wearing jeans, hiking boots, and the T-shirt I wore out of the woods the day we saw the bear.

His words sink in. I don’t have to look at my left wrist to know he’s right. Shit. Over the month, it’s become a part of me, as unnoticeable as the emotional support hair ties it sits beside. Mortification makes me painfully aware of its presence. I stole his prey watch and made him come find me to get it back. It’s probably expensive, and he needs it to hunt Sophia.

“Oh fuck, I forgot I was wearing it.” Tucking the knife handle precariously under one arm, I unbuckle the thin black strap with speed that surprises me. “I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here. I would have brought it back when I realized, but who knows when that would have be—”

“Claire,” Shane interrupts. “I don’t want the watch.” Letting out a rough chuckle, he runs a hand through his hair. “Keep the watch, fling it into a lake, I don’t care.”

“Oh.” I pause, watch in hand, knife under arm, brain jumping to conclusions because this campsite is an easy two hours from his house, and if he came all the way out here—

No.

He takes my confusion as a green light, coming closer. I try to glare at him, but my face refuses. I want to smile, because hope—the flighty little bastard—is whispering that if he isn’t here for the watch, he’s here for me . Freezing again anyway, he raises his hands in a placating gesture.

“Can we talk?” he asks. “Or will you stab me?” The smallest smile teases at the corner of his mouth. It shouldn’t feel like glimpsing a sunbeam on a cloudy day, but it does.

“That depends, do you deserve to be stabbed?” My voice is lighter than I want it to be, relief that it wasn’t a stranger in my hammock and my traitorous body’s happiness at Shane’s proximity escaping when I need to be professional.

Maybe he wants another thirty days?

His grimace is sheepish, and surprising. “Probably. Gretchen would say absolutely.” After a moment he adds, “Margot too.”

Again, there’s a fluttering in my rib cage, hope making my breath hitch. “If you don’t care about the watch, why are you here?”

“Because I need to apologize.”

Silent, I watch him. He shifts side to side, uncomfortable, but I don’t offer him an out, even though part of me wants to. As much as I want to ease his discomfort, say don’t worry about it or it isn’t a big deal and wave off whatever his apology is for, I don’t. I’m curious to see why he’s sorry.

Sorry for acting like we were a couple when we weren’t?

Sorry for moving in your replacement before you left?

Sorry for not saying goodbye?

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he swallows hard. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

The lack of specificity is unhelpful, but it has to be Sophia. Margot’s sharp; there’s no way she missed how upset I was yesterday.

“Sophia didn’t hurt me,” I lie, wanting to save some sort of pride. “But it would have been nice of you to say goodbye.”

He opens his mouth and then closes it. “Wait. What about Sophia?”

“Your new prey .” Fuck, I wish I could be nonchalant, but my voice finally breaks on the word, and I can’t. “Margot was settling her in. She’s pretty. Long hair. I’m sure you’ll enjoy her.”

“God, Claire, no. It’s not like that. I swear.” He takes another step and eyeballs the blade. “I’d like to come closer, but I’d also like to remain unstabbed.”

I glance down at the knife. Sometime during our conversation I moved it from under my arm, and my knuckles are pale from how tightly I’m gripping it. Setting it down on the ground, I fidget, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands.

“Sophia isn’t prey. She’s Margot’s sister. Her apartment is getting painted or something, I don’t know. She needed somewhere to stay for a few nights.” He gives me an incredulous look. “Do you really think I’d do that? Hire someone else?”

“That’s the point of the contract, right? None of the hassle of a relationship. Thirty days and done. Strictly business.” As I say it, I feel in my bones how wrong that is. There’s nothing businesslike about the way he’s looking at me.

“Just business?” Shane’s jaw works side to side. When he speaks again, his voice is low and rough. “Do you think I’d spend every evening with you if it were just business? Think I’d rush home from work because talking to you is the highlight of my day if it were just business ? The things I’ve told you”—his throat bobs with a hard swallow—“may not seem like much, but it’s more than I’ve ever shared with anyone.” If the woods caught fire around us, I’d burn, the emotion in his gaze impossible to look away from. Shane keeps talking, his eyes fierce. “Tell me it’s just business to you. That you honestly think that’s all there is between us. Tell me.”

“I thought there was more.” The words tumble out, choppy and fast. “But you never asked me to stay, never said anything about the end of the contract. I almost texted you before I left, but then I saw Sophia and…” My voice trails off, and I want to stop, but that feels cowardly. “It hurt. It felt like I was being replaced. Again.”

“Never. I would never do that.” He drags a hand through his hair. “I kept putting off talking to you, because I couldn’t figure out the right way to do it.” An agitated chuckle comes out with his exhale. “I’m not good at relationships. I like contracts, rules—clear expectations so that I know exactly what my job is. I’ve always been this way. When I know what and how to do something, I can excel at it, but relationships don’t work like that. And I’ve already fucked this up.” He gestures between us. “And I will probably keep fucking it up.”

His use of the word excel jostles a memory to the front of my mind—what Gretchen said when she ran into Sydney and me at the coffee shop: He avoids things he thinks he won’t excel at. That man’s scared of anything that doesn’t have a handbook and KPIs.

Looking at his face extinguishes any final embers of uncertainty. This isn’t ultracompetent lawyer Shane, or dirty-talking sex god Shane. This is just Shane the overthinking human who hates making mistakes. Considering that I bolted when I saw Sophia because of my own insecurities, I can appreciate this side of him as much as the other two.

“How did you fuck it up?” I keep my voice gentle, trying to coax out the words he’s tripping over. “We’re here, we’re talking; that’s pretty much Relationship 101.”

Shane steps toward me, closing the remaining space. “I wish I had asked you out properly. I wish I’d asked you to dinner, or a movie, or to feed ducks. Worked my way up to fucking in the woods like animals. I wish I’d started this the right way.”

He quirks up the corner of his mouth in a smile, but there’s sadness in his eyes.

Aw.

“You are going to be very unhappy to hear this, what with your passion for rules.” I keep my voice light. “But there’s no such thing as the right way. If we do this, there’s just our right way, and we decide what that is.”

“ ‘If’?” Eyes stern, jaw set, Shane’s stare could cut glass. “What do you mean, ‘if’?”

We’re chest to chest, T-shirt to T-shirt, but not embracing.

“You still haven’t told me what exactly you want.” I’m split fifty-fifty between serious and teasing. “I understand this is hard, but I need words. Don’t try to act shy. If you can tell me there’s nothing on Earth that tastes better than my cunt, you can ask me for whatever it is you want here.”

Feathers are rustling in my chest again; hope trying to take flight too soon. Settle down , I want to tell it. Don’t get too excited, let’s see how he does. There’s still a chance he could whip a contract out of those well-fitting jeans.

Fidgeting, he shifts his weight from foot to foot. Taking my hand, he squeezes it a smidge too tight. Shane blurts, “I want you to move in with me. For real.” As soon as he says it, his eyes go wide, his free hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Fuck. I wanted to say that more eloquently.”

A giggle escapes, and I have to tease him before he starts spiraling. “Are you sure you’re a lawyer? Because you’re not great at this whole talking thing.”

“I’m great in the courtroom,” he grumbles. Dropping my hand, he toys with the edge of my T-shirt. “Besides, it’s corporate law. If I lose a case, it sucks, but the world keeps turning.”

There’s a lump in my throat, and it grows when his eyes meet mine. He sounds as unsteady as I feel when he says, “If I lose you, I don’t think it will. These are higher stakes than I’m used to.”

I blink back tears. I want to make a joke, ease the emotion, but I don’t. My voice cracks. “ That was perfect. I needed to hear that.”

“Good,” he says emphatically. “That’s probably as good as it gets.”

Sniffing, I try to glare at him.

The look he gives me back is stern. “And while we’re defining terms, don’t you ever leave again. Complain, yell, bear spray me, whatever it takes. Just don’t fucking run from me—not like that anyway.”

“Make it clear you want me, and I won’t—” Before I’ve finished the sentence, he’s pulled me to his chest, hugging me tight.

“Are you sure it isn’t too weird dating a guy who hires women to chase through the woods?” He says it like a joke, but the tension in his body suggests otherwise.

“We decide the right way, remember? Are you done hiring women to hunt?”

A rough chuckle makes my heart skip. “Definitely. You’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

“Only took thirty days?” I tease, slipping my hands into his back pockets and squeezing his ass.

“Didn’t even take two. I was done from the moment you flung yourself off the roof.” He makes a displeased noise. “Never again.”

I laugh. “Wasn’t planning on it.” Wrapped in his arms, inhaling his scent—he smells unreasonably good for someone who uses a bodywash-and-shampoo combo—something nags at me. A question that could wait, but now is as good a time as any to prove that the right way doesn’t exist, but that I believe in our right way.

Steeling myself, I prep him. “I’m going to ask you a question. And the answer can be no, it won’t change anything. But since you went outside your comfort zone, I need to too.”

“Let’s hear it.” He nuzzles the side of my head.

Here we go.

“Would you ever let me hunt you?” My mouth is dry, but my palms are clammy. I brace myself for the no. Keith had been adamant that the hunt only went one way, and while I can live with that, a part of me is desperate to know how it feels to be the predator, to be the hunter.

His whole body goes rigid. “You’d want to hunt me?”

“I’d like to try, but only if you want to. Do you?”

“Yes.” It’s an exhale of an answer, more of a prayer. “With you, fuck yes.”

All right, then.

The hunger in his voice fuels my need. I want to see Shane run from me. Hunt him down. Wear him out. And when there’s nowhere left for him to run, watch him yield.

“I’m so glad.” My voice is as breathless as his. “I’m getting turned on just thinking about it.”

He pulls back, eyes bright, and goes in to kiss me. I turn my head, so he hits my cheek, his stubble dragging across my skin.

“You’ve got three minutes,” I whisper. “Do you know your safe word?”

He stares at me like I just asked him to shove his hand up my pussy and put on a puppet show. “Now? You’ll hunt me now?”

“Like the good little deer you are.”

Shane barks a laugh when I use his pet name; it turns into a groan when I drop my hand to his crotch. I give him a gentle squeeze. He isn’t completely hard, but things are moving in that direction. “Think you can give me a good hunt?”

“You have no idea.” His voice is thicker. His cock is too, swelling by the second in my grip. “Sure you’re up for this? We don’t have a whistle for when you can’t catch me.” The challenge is laced with playfulness, and I struggle not to smile.

Releasing him, I step away. “Oh, I’m going to catch you. It’s just a matter of when.”

“What happens when you do?” he presses. I hold my ground—and his gaze—as he crowds me, the heat of his body almost tempting me to call off the chase and go straight to the catch.

“I devour my prey.” Staying composed is a challenge. I almost giggle; the feeling of the power shifting in my favor is intoxicating and heady. But I want the full predator experience, and judging by how Shane’s pushing me, he intends to make me work for it.

He’s about to tease me, I’m sure, but I speak before he can. “You have three minutes. Use them well.”

The grin that melted me the first time I saw it steals my breath again. He’s off, racing out of the campsite. Flames leap in my stomach. The urge to chase him makes it hard not to follow. I’ve always wanted to try this side of the hunt. Anticipation builds, my body throbbing with a surprising ache. Chasing him. Catching him. Pinning him. It’s all I can think about, every other thought shoved from my head.

Shane has no idea what he’s in for.