Page 19 of Hunting Snow

The door opens and the warm rush of vanilla, cinnamon, and brown sugar crashes into me hard enough to crack the ice barrier I’ve lived in for far too long.

Her lips move with a single, breathless word.

"You."

CHAPTER 7

NEVE

Every nerve ending in my body fires at once.

I can’t believe it’s him. Those same dark, whiskey eyes that pinned me against a wall and watched me unravel in a stranger's bed hold my gaze now. Rain dampens his hair. Only now do I notice threads of silver weaving through his dark hair under the fading daylight. The spicy warmth of his scent caresses my senses and my pulse spikes. Heat blooms low in my belly and spreads quickly throughout my body. I should be embarrassed by how turned on I am.

But I’m not.

"Can I come in?"

His voice. Low and calm enough to make my knees go soft. The same voice that called me sweet girl in the dark while his hands learned every inch of my body.

I step back and let him pass without a word because my vocal cords have apparently stopped working. He moves past me and into my bakery, causing the small space to shrink. His gaze sweeps the kitchen, the front counter, the door, the windows, the back exit. All in under three seconds. A practiced scan that reminds me too much of the way my father used to do the same thing.

I cross my arms over my chest. Flour still dusts my forearms and probably my face. My braid is half undone. I'm wearing a faded apron over jeans and a T-shirt and I look nothing like the woman in the red dress from that bar.

His eyes settle on me and something tight in his expression loosens for a fraction of a second before the mask comes back.

My breathing increases and my heart pounds so hard it feels like a beating drum inside my chest. "How did you find me?" My voice is breathy and shakes way more than I like.

Thane keeps his eyes locked on me as he answers. "That's not the question you need to ask right now."

The edge in his voice cuts through the warmth of the bakery. My arms tighten across my chest.

I take a half step back and move myself behind the counter. My brows crease together when I ask, “What questions should I ask? Your name?”

Something about him is different. The energy around him is off. Almost like the danger I know he is involved in has walked through my door with him. "What does that mean?"

He pulls a stool out from beneath the counter and lowers his substantial weight, placing his hands flat on the surface. Scarred knuckles. Steady fingers. For the past week I’ve wanted nothing more than those same hands on me. Now that he is in front of me, I’m second guessing myself.

"Sit down, Neve."

My name. He knows my name. The blood drains from my face so fast the room tilts. We agreed. No names. No numbers. No sad stories. I never told him who I am.

"How do you know my name?"

"Sit down. Please."

The please catches me off guard. It doesn't match the controlled flatness of everything else coming out of his mouth. I grab a nearby stool across from him, leaving the counter between us. Frankly, it is the only thing keeping my composure intact.

"Your stepmother paid to have you killed."

My gut wrenches and for a very long second my lungs forget how to work.

“You don’t look surprised.”

“I am a lot of things, stranger, but naive when it comes to that woman is not one of them.” I can’t help but sigh. I knew the woman hated me, but wanting me dead? “How do you know?”

He stares dead ahead for all of two seconds before his eyes move off the shelves of pastries behind me to meet mine. Without flinching he says, "I have a lot of friends in this city. A contract went through Club Genesis. They are offering ten point five million for your soul. Not to sound poetic about it. Someone was assigned to end your life within two days." His whiskey eyes hold mine without blinking. "I'm the reason that hasn't happened yet. But I can’t hold them off long."

The bakery is warm. Cinnamon and vanilla saturate the walls, the counters, my skin. The last tray of apple tarts sits cooling on the rack behind me and the scent of baked apples fills the air with the same comforting sweetness that has grounded me every morning since my father died.