The Beach.
Jane's gaze dipped lower, her eyes wide with deliberate awe.
"Are all Asian n... built like this?" she murmured, her voice husky. "You're significantly... larger than my husband."
She dragged her eyes back up to his face, her red lips parting in a tease. "Is there any man on this beach more handso than you?"
Hunter shrugged, playing along. "Probably not. You have excellent taste, ma'am."
"Call Jane."
She extended her hand, bold and inviting.
Hunter took it. Imdiately, his eyes landed on her ring finger. A wedding band.
He smirked.
In his previous life, he knew the stereotype. In this life, with a face that transcended borders and race, he knew the reality: a wedding ring was rarely a stop sign. It was often an invitation.
Since crossing over, Hunter had been approached by married won more tis than he could count. Lonely housewives, bored trophy wives—he never let them down. His [Breeding LV5] skill (less than 1,000 XP from LV6) was proof of his diligence.
But this woman was different.
If she didn't have the face of Angelina Jolie, Hunter would have assud she was just another cougar looking for a thrill.
But her na was Jane. And she looked like that.
Mrs. Smith, Hunter thought. The beautiful, lethal assassin wife.
"Jane," Hunter repeated, testing the na on his tongue. He smiled, squeezing her hand gently. "I'm Hunter."
His fingers brushed her palm. Smooth. Soft.
Hunter frowned internally. No calluses?
A shooter like her—soone who could snipe from 400 ters—should have hardened skin on her trigger finger and palm. She must be using high-end treatnts or skin grafts to hide the evidence of her trade. Professional.
"Your surfing is amazing," Jane said, leaning in close. "Could you teach ?"
"No problem," Hunter agreed instantly. "Follow . Surfing is all about conquering the waves... and finding your balance."
He patted his surfboard. He was supposed to return it ten minutes ago, but who cared about a late fee when Mrs. Smith was offering herself up on a silver platter?
He led her back into the ocean.
The Lesson.
"Okay, stand like this. Knees bent. Center of gravity low."
Hunter guided her, his hands firm on her waist.
He was "teaching" her, yes. But his hands were wandering.
A touch on the hip to "correct her stance." A hand on her lower back to "steady her." Fingers brushing against the curve of her bikini bottom as he helped her up.
Jane kept smiling, her laughter tinkling like bells over the roar of the surf. But her eyes were growing colder.
Bold little bastard, Jane thought. He's groping .
She felt his hands sliding over her skin, his touch practiced and confident. He wasn't shy. He was escalating.
Normally, she would have broken his wrist. But she needed to get closer. She needed to know what he was made of.
She deliberately lost her balance, tumbling into the water with a splash.
"Help!" she laughed, flailing.
Hunter waded over and scooped her up, his arms strong and secure.
Jane wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging to him. Under the water, her hands road over his back, his shoulders, his chest.
Muscle density is off the charts, she analyzed. This isn't gym muscle. This is combat muscle. Like steel cables under silk.
She felt the power in his arms as he lifted her effortlessly.
Damn, she thought, a flush rising to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the sun. The company intel was garbage. This kid is dangerous.
She had a poisoned needle hidden in her bikini top. She could have jabbed him right then.
But every ti the thought crossed her mind, a primal alarm bell rang in her head. Don't do it. He'll kill you before you draw blood.
Her instincts were never wrong.
So she waited. And she let him touch her.
"You're a fast learner," Hunter whispered in her ear, his breath hot against her neck. "But surfing takes ti."
He pulled her closer, the friction of their bodies unmistakable in the cool water.
"I know a great restaurant nearby," Hunter said, his voice dropping an octave. "Would you do the honor of having dinner with , Jane?"
Jane looked up at him, her smile widening into sothing genuinely predatory.
"I thought you'd never ask."
Got him, she thought. My killer move never fails.
Hunter smiled back.
She's patient, he thought. Either she really wants ... or she really wants to kill . Either way, dinner is going to be interesting.
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