Brooklyn Flame (A Bridge & Tunnel Romance #1) Read Online Free

gorgeous.
    But not by any standard that could be measured and agreed upon across the board. Admittedly, this fact was probably why he felt drawn to her.
    A brutal gust of wind swept down the avenue, stinging the back of his neck where his skullcap and jacket collar failed to meet, and causing him to round his shoulders not that it preserved what little warmth he felt.
    It wasn’t lost on him that he was standing in the shadows and waiting for another glimpse of her like a fucking psychopath, but he was curious about where she might go next. Logic prevailed that she was probably normal and focused and responsible and most likely going to head home when she finally stepped out of Haven, but she had awoken in him a primal urge he knew he wouldn’t be able to control, the part of him that drove his own art.
    Hunter had to know the secrets she might be keeping, the ones that only came out at night.
    But seriously, he wasn’t a stalker, he told himself, but had to wonder if having the thought in the first place was evidence he might be. It didn’t bode well, so he shook the notion from his mind and let the memory of Greer's shape wash over him.
    In a word, she was slinky.
    She had the kind of lean figure that clothes seemed to drip off of, even thoroughly layered garments, bundled and wrapped tight to ward off the dead of autumn, its rigid and deceiving temperatures. Her hair was light brown and spilled over her shoulders in a way that made it easy to envision those shoulders bare, and he nearly let himself go there, but the front door of the gallery banged open. Excited, he locked his eyes on it, eager to watch her tumble out with her girlfriends, but he only saw a tipsy guy in a bow-tie stumbling onto the sidewalk with two friends, who had made even worse fashion mistakes - one in a seersucker suit and his less fortunate friend wearing a fedora.
    Hunter blew on his numbing fingers and wondered if she had skirted out the back.
    He had not pegged her as the type to carry a gun, and he was creative, he had pegged her as a lot of things - soft, bossy in bed, and all the more alluring because of it. He’d gone so far as to imagine her noises, the particular brand of moan she’d let out, enjoying all the things he’d do to her, the degree to which she might arch her back or angle her chin in response to his thrusting. But never had he thought her the sort to venture out and buy a weapon hot off the street. It worried him, yet in the same breath he felt aroused.
    The fashion-don’ts wandered up the street, vanishing into the fog that was rolling in off the East River, and Hunter almost called his invested time a lost cause, but then the gallery door sprang open again, and the subject of his interest stepped onto the street like a gazelle breaking out into a clearing. Following Greer was a cackling Asian woman, whose name was on the tip of his tongue but not nagging enough to wrack his brain for, and a black woman, Tasha Buckley, who he already knew he would not want to mess with.
    Hunter kept to the shadows, watching Greer smile through a parting exchange with her friends, who seemed to be coaxing her to come along, indicating a bar across the street. But she declined, glancing over her shoulder in the direction Hunter figured she planned on heading towards.
    Finally, her girlfriends gave up on her and started off towards the bar. Hanging back and keeping her eye on them, Greer fished around inside her hobo bag and when she pulled her hand out, he half expected to see the gun, but it was only her cell phone.
    She took off along Wythe, walking briskly, her cell in hand. Before she could slip away, jaywalking diagonally across the avenue and tucking down N. 5th, he quickly followed, keeping his gaze trained on the sway in her step, her hips being the central focus of his attention.
    When he had offered her scarf back, he hadn’t placed who she was. He only sensed his own magnetic interest in her. In the gallery, talking to other