Hunted: Epilogue

The aircraft taxied, trundling from our landing at the tiny Highlands airport to close in on the terminal.

Elation had me bouncing in my seat.

I might have missed my bestie’s freedom celebration, well, my sister, as I could now call her, but finally I was paying Elise the visit we both needed.

And Max.

I’d come to see the redheaded Scot, too.

He and I had messaged each other often. Jokey, flirtatious exchanges that led me to question my first impressions of him. At the festival, I’d felt no pull. No chemistry at all, though on paper he was perfect for me.

Hella good-looking.

Funny as fuck.

Kind of moody, and dangerous, too.

Rory: Landed. Max McRae, I’m coming for you.

Inside the airport, Elise waited at arrivals, her boyfriend at her side. I squeaked and bolted for them, hugging the hell out of them both.

The whole journey back, we talked non-stop, catching up despite barely being out of contact for a matter of hours while I’d been high over the Atlantic.

At Cameron’s home, I was shown around then set up in a guest bedroom.

There, I took a breath for the first time in a while.

With alarm, I forced myself to perform the check I’d made multiple times now.

Logging on to my bank, I squinted at my checking account balance.

Yup. Still there.

The insanely high figure didn’t lie, though where the fuck that much money had come from was anyone’s guess. I had no rich secret relatives, beyond Elise who’d lost her fortune. No billionaire admirers. No one at all who could’ve had the cash to gift to me.

Which only made it a mistake.

Except the bank disagreed.

My phone pinged.

Max: Come and meet me. Say you’re going for a walk and I’ll intercept ye.

He gave me directions, and I made my excuses about needing ten minutes of fresh air and set out.

Down a rutted path I travelled, my focus jumping from the glorious mountain views to a dense forest. Elise had sent me pictures of the Highlands in autumn, but this was insanely pretty. Wild and compelling, like I needed to keep walking to explore.

Then there he was.

In a jumpsuit, Max strode out of the woods. He didn’t glance my way.

“Hey!” I waved.

He stopped, but no smile appeared, almost as if he’d forgotten me in such a short space of time.

No way. We’d messaged incessantly. He’d led the flirting. I wasn’t having this.

I jogged the distance and threw myself at him, launching myself like a kitten at a grouchy wolf. He caught me, and I wound my legs around his waist.

Max’s brows pulled together.

“How about hello, Rory. Nice to see you, Rory,” I quipped.

“Wait,” he said.

No time for waiting.

“I know what you’re going to say,” I said fast. “In this respect, we’re strangers. But I want to change that. I’m here, and so are you, and I’m just going to do this.”

I kissed him.

A fast press of lips to his.

The strangest thing, the exact thing I’d hoped for, happened.

All the lust and desire I’d wanted hit me in a rush. My whole body warmed through, and a whomp of sexy had me closing my eyes and sinking into the kiss.

I’d needed this to happen now or we’d be stuck in the friendzone. My recent history was not a happy story, and I wanted something good. A vacay fuckfest. Max’s hot body on mine, in mine, owning mine.

Yet he didn’t kiss me back.

I broke the one-sided kiss.

“Rory?” he asked.

Still, no recognition dawned in his eyes. No relief at seeing me. Confusion alongside the undeniable reflection of the lust that flittered on my skin.

A less-than-comfortable sensation followed. Panicked, I yanked at his collar, seeking his robin tattoo, the match to mine.

“Let me see it. Did yours heal quickly? Mine itched like crazy for two weeks.”

Only bare skin met the reveal. I yanked the zip of his jumpsuit open further, but only a honed chest showed, the ink of a different tattoo curling lower down.

“Rory?” another voice came.

I swung my head around to find another Max approaching.

There were two of them.

I blinked, but the illusion didn’t change. Two men. Same height. Identical features. Exact same shade of auburn hair.

The Max holding me dropped me to my sandals. “Fuck. Is that why ye kissed me?”

“She kissed ye?” the new Max spat.

“Aye, but—”

“Ye have to kidding me, Maddock. Not again. Every time I… Ye know, fuck this. I’m done.”

His lip curled, and he marched away, hopping onto a motorbike I hadn’t noticed.

I pressed my fingers to my mouth. Despite the one-sided nature of the kiss, it had boosted my already insta-horny state and left me trembling.

“Max,” not-Max called.

“Who are you?” I managed.

Not-Max kept his gaze on the retreating motorbike, the roar of the engine breaking up the peaceful rural landscape.

“Maddock. And ye, Rory, just kissed the wrong twin.”

Twin?

I stared between the disappearing man and his identical twin brother—a fact no one had thought to mention. But all that whirled inside my head was the insistent sense of dayum yes, perfect connection, he’s the one.

I’d stolen a kiss from the man of my dreams. Even if he was entirely wrong.