8. Hunter

Chapter 8

Hunter

Hannah doesn’t leave Cara’s side again. They pour their hot chocolate into mugs, and then we rejoin Wyatt’s family in the living room.

It turns out that Cara’s career focus is environmental science, and Heath co-owns a construction company that specializes in passive solar design, so it doesn’t take long before they’re deep in discussion.

Which leaves me to sip my drink and watch her be beautiful and smart and fascinating.

She’s wearing a silky black top with little slitted cap sleeves that curve over her shoulders and leave the rest of her soft arms bare. If I stare hard enough, I think I can see the imprint of my fingers where I grabbed her and begged her not to leave.

“Dinner won’t be much longer,” I say abruptly, interrupting everyone’s conversation.

I’m unsettled. I’m restless.

I need to drag Cara off to my den so we can talk, but I can’t. Not without raising Hannah’s suspicions, and once I do that, she’ll be like a dog with a bone—and once she finds out I kissed her classmate, I’ll never hear the end of it.

And I don’t know how Cara will be treated, either.

That has to be my top priority: making sure she is our guest of honor tonight. Nothing else.

“What are we having for dinner?” Cara asks.

“Italian,” I say. “Lasagna, specifically. But I have lots of other options if you don’t like?—”

“Lasagna is great,” she says quickly.

“He’s being modest,” Wyatt says. My brother never misses an opportunity to be anyone’s hype guy. “He’ll have so much food the table will groan. Did you make those yummy little roaches this year?”

Even if the hype involves unnecessary insect mentions. “Goat-cheese stuffed dates wrapped in prosciutto,” I translate for Cara, heat racing up the back of my neck at her wide-eyed confusion.

“They look like bugs,” Hannah offers, trying to help.

Cara’s expression turns to outright distress.

Fuck. Me.

“There’s also prosciutto-wrapped melon, and some tomato and mozzarella appetizers, too,” I say desperately. “I’m going to work on those.”

While I’m putting out the appetizer trays, and trying to make the dates look less bug-like, Hannah comes in and refills her hot chocolate mug.

I don’t bother pointing out that she’s probably ruining her appetite for dinner .

The sooner dinner is over, the better. Then the Christmas movie watching can begin and I can disassociate until midnight.

Maybe we’ll make it through this night without my filthy fantasies about her lab partner being revealed.

But nobody in my family understands that I want dinner to be over quickly. Hell, they won’t even let it begin.

They all take their sweet time coming to the table. They linger in the kitchen, admiring the two lasagnas I made, nibbling at the appetizers, and pouring another round of drinks.

“These really do look like bugs,” Cara says suspiciously, looking at the wrapped dates. She’s switched to water, smart girl.

“You have to try one,” Wyatt urges, popping one in his own mouth. “Fuuuuuccck.”

Emily giggles.

Heath grunts.

Hannah narrows her eyes. “Don’t make sex noises, Uncle Wyatt.”

Cara’s cheeks turn scarlet and she stuffs a date in her mouth. Her eyes flare wide and her lips purse in a way that makes me lean in. “Oh,” she moans softly around it. The bright red cheeks soften to a pleased pink. “Ohhh…”

Hannah throws her hands in the air. “Et tu, Cara?”

“So good,” our guest mumbles, grabbing another one. “Why are they so good?”

I’m gripping the island so hard I’m surprised the granite doesn’t crack.

She likes the sweet and salty combination. I’ll remember that. I’m going to remember every single second of this night. Even the awkward parts where she won’t look at me. Those drive a dark, possessive part of my inner beast, who knows she’s scared and just wants to soothe her.

Emily pours a glass of Prosecco and hands one to Cara as well.

I make a strangled sound before I can stop myself .

“I don’t need that,” she says in a hurry, putting it down.

Hannah glares at me.

So I’m forced to circle around to Cara and pick it up, press it back into her hand, and ignore the way my heart twists when her fingers graze mine. “Please,” I grind out. “We’re all having a bit.”

“Thank you,” she whispers.

I watch as she takes a careful sip, her lips touching the flute nervously.

There was nothing nervous about the way she kissed me. Her hot-blooded reaction to our kiss stunned me, and I ran scared.

And then she showed up on my doorstop, sending me spinning for a second time because she’s not a twenty-five-year-old college employee. She’s a student, an undergrad like Hannah, and I’m a lot older than her than I originally thought.

That’s not scaring me away, though.

It fucking should.

I shouldn’t be imagining those perfect plush lips kissing their way down my chest and teasing me until she wraps them around my cock.

“Dad!”

“What?” I drag my attention to Hannah.

“Should I put the lasagnas on the table?”

“They’re heavy. Wyatt, put them on the table. Hannah, grab the salad.”

She rolls her eyes.

I’m brooding as I take my usual seat. Hannah puts Cara at the opposite end of the table, and I fucking hate it.

I want her beside me.

Hell, I want everyone else gone, and I want her on top of the table.

Need to give her a Christmas kiss on all her festive parts.

What you need to do is talk to her, you idiot. Apologize for putting her in this position and then swear you’ll never touch her again.

Maybe when we get into the movie watching, I can give her a tour of the house. Show her my studio and barricade us in there until she accepts my apology.

Except if I do that, I’ll definitely pull her into my arms. Wedge my leg between her thighs and make her ride me again, like she did in that alley.

I can’t tear my eyes from her as I pass the salad and bread past me. Wyatt puts a piece of lasagna on my plate, but I barely touch it.

“This is delicious,” Cara says.

Wyatt grins at her and tops up her glass of Prosecco. “Hunter takes good care of us.”

Her gaze flits my way for a second, then drifts away. Comes back, searching. Then gone again.

Don’t look away, I want to demand. Look at me. Ask the question that’s on the tip of your tongue. Ask it here, and now. In front of my family. Ask me why I dirty deleted my account. Make me admit I was scared.

And making me admit shit isn’t what she needs. That’s what I want.

It’s what I’ve wanted since I swiped across her profile, impressed and more than a little worried about her guileless honesty.

I never drop into anyone’s DMs. In two years of trying to date, I’ve had nothing but dud experiences, and I’d basically given up. But this girl needed to know that her bio needed a bit more…cynicism.

Instead, she talked me into being her first kiss.

Her first fucking kiss, Hunter. You really believed she was twenty-five?

Fuuuuuck.

If I’m being honest with myself, I was a goner when she called me Daddy in the text message chain.

What did she say to me in the kitchen? Now we’re experiencing the consequences of our choices?

Yeah.

Fuck indeed.

Cara takes another small sip of wine, her tongue swiping against her bottom lip after she drinks, and my cock goes so hard under the table I swear my face must drain of blood because it’s all needed elsewhere.

She is a stunningly beautiful woman, and under any under any other circumstances I would be falling over myself to kneel at her feet. Tell Daddy what you need, sweet girl. It would be a fucking honor to take care of her. Except for two inconvenient facts: she is my daughter’s friend and classmate; and I am, without a doubt, not worthy of her. She's out of my league. I mean, she's really out of my league, because she's too young for me, but also smarter than me, and has her whole life ahead of her.

I’m just a middle-aged guy who draws sarcastic comics.

“That’s it. That’s our Christmas tradition!” Hannah claps her hands. “Dad feeds us far too much food.”

A middle-aged guy who draws sarcastic comics and gives his family stomachaches.

“And then Wyatt and I insist on decorating the house a bit more than the nothing that he has already done.”

Oh come on. I have to protest that. “What? I got a Christmas tree! And I put up Hannibal’s Christmas portrait!”

Hannah shakes her head. “Dad, for someone who cares so much about Christmas, you don't have any outdoor lights. You don't even have any mistletoe.”

An electric spark zaps up my spine and I look at Cara, watching our exchange with wide eyes. There has never been any need for mistletoe in this house before tonight.

Kiss Daddy goodnight.

I could use some mistletoe.

“It’s okay, bud, I've got you,” Heath says. “I brought back the lights that we bought last year, that you very helpfully took down for us and returned.”

I glance over at Heath. “You didn't want those lights up at your house?”

Heath grins. “I bought him a separate set of matching lights for our house, man. Love makes the grumpiest of us do fun things.”

Hannah gives Cara a pointed look. “So we'll eat dinner, and then Wyatt and I are going to put up those Christmas lights.”

Emily and Heath exchange a knowing look. “We'll supervise the Christmas lights.”

“Oh, thank God,” I say with a smile.

Hannah rolls her eyes and continues, undeterred in her mission to fully explain the evening to her friend. “And then we usually watch Christmas movies and have some fun dessert. What is it this year, Dad? An affogato cart?”

Wyatt looks at me, confused.

“An ice cream sundae bar,” I translate for him.

He pumps his fist. “Aww, yeah. Love that. But um, what about Emily’s trifle?”

“Fuck,” I growl.

I forgot about the trifle when I bought the ice cream and toppings. And then I forgot about it a second time after Cara arrived on my doorstep.

Hannah sighs.

Emily laughs.

Wyatt looks genuinely confused.

From the other end of the table, Cara is now giggling openly at all of us. Her laugh is better than the gleeful rustling of paper on Christmas morning. And hearing it again is suddenly all I can think about.

Getting her alone so I can hear it privately is my top priority.

“We do have two dessert options tonight, that’s true. Emily made a gorgeous- looking trifle,” I say. “But I forgot about that, so I also got the supplies for an affogato cart.”

“That sounds really specific,” Heath says. “Inspired by something?”

Oh, if he only knew. I stare at Cara until she gives me her gaze, and then I say, “I guess I’ve been craving the combination of sweet vanilla and dark coffee all week. I had that specific combination last weekend for the first time ever, and it’s all I can think about now.”