I laugh—it’s genuine—and it’s just what’s needed in this moment in time. And once again I think of my sister. She was an expert at distracting me from anything that ever made me glum, not that there was much to make me glum back then. And when there was something—many things—to make me sad, Pippa wasn’t there. Because I left her behind.
“To new beginnings and new friendships.” Molly toasts us and immediately tops us up once we’ve both finished our drinks. “Right. Up you get.”
My eyes rise with Molly, my face blank. “What?”
“We are going to show this pub how it’s done.” She grabs my spare hand and wrestles against my instant resistance.
“Oh no.” I laugh, glancing around the bar where dozens of people are drinking and chatting. They look like they’re having a great time. Best not ruin it. “Molly, I can’t sing for shit.”
“Neither can I.” She winks. “Support your sista, sister.”
Sister. I blink, seeing Pippa’s face. Her smile. Her tears from laughing at me. I so wish I could make her laugh again.
Molly stops struggling with me and starts walking back toward the makeshift stage. “What would the old Hannah do?” she asks, and I frown around my smile. That’s easy. The old Hannah would never have been in a place that hosted karaoke in the first place—oh no. But what about the Hannah before the old Hannah? The old-old Hannah? The girl who whiled her days away painting and laughing. The girl who was so messy, Mum gave up on tidying up after her. The girl who would have danced up onto that stage with her sister and showed the world just how creative she was. What would the old-old Hannah do?
I grab the bottle of wine and take it with me, having a swig from the bottle before planting it on a nearby speaker. I join Molly on the stage and take a mike from her hand. “Let’s do this.” I clear my throat and flex my neck. Old-old Hannah would own this moment. And then the intro begins and I throw a stunned glare Molly’s way. She just shrugs.
And the first words to Destiny’s Child’s “Survivor” spring up onto the screen in front of me. All attention is pointed this way.
“Fuck it,” I say, grabbing the bottle and chugging down more wine. And I sing. Molly sings. We sing like our lives depend on it, and I’m guessing it’s a damn good job they don’t. But I keep telling myself that nothing could top the ear-piercing shrieks of Mrs. Hatt and her appalling rendition of “What’s New Pussycat.” The closest I’ve come to expressing myself creatively since I arrived in town is in my painting. Quietly but messily. And privately. There’s nothing private about this.
Hi, Hampton. I’m Hannah Bright. I’m about to make your ears bleed, and I don’t give a flying fuck. Cheers.
As Molly and I inject some zest into our performance, practically the whole town is watching. But in this moment, now I’m in my stride, I’m oblivious to them all, my energy and focus set solely on the words I’m yelling at the screen with Molly and the odd twirl in between our lines.
We. Are. On. Fire.
At least, in our warped imaginations we are. I’m not sure the rest of the town thinks so—those who are here and those who aren’t, because I’m sure as hell everyone who stayed home tonight can hear us, too. I turn my attention to Molly and sing at her, bending at the waist as she laughs. And then her movements slow, and I find her face morphs into Pippa’s, and I’m thrown back fifteen years to the time she visited me at the university and we spent the night downing shots and hogging the karaoke in the local bar. We danced on that stage. She was Elton John, I was Kiki Dee. She was Gary Barlow, I was Lulu. She was Michael Jackson, I was Janet. We cleared the bar. We laughed until our bellies hurt. We wobbled home together, holding each other up. Neither of us could talk the next day. But we could still laugh, even with our killer hangovers, when we both woke up in my single bed with the microphones still in our grasps. Pippa mailed them back to the bar. I never went there again.
Soon after, I graduated. Then soon after that, I moved to London. And soon after that, it was the beginning of the end of my life.
I blink and find Molly, realizing I’m still singing as she holds my hand, facing me.
And then the applause begins, and I laugh. I place the mike down and throw my arms around my friend, silently thanking her for talking me into doing this. Yes, it brought back memories, but they’re happy memories. And they’re one of the only things I have left. “I needed that,” I say, pulling away.
“Me too, but I don’t think the rest of the town did.”
I giggle as I carefully follow Molly to the edge of the stage, my gaze naturally following the line of the bar to the end. Ryan’s there, but unlike everyone else in the pub, he’s still seated and he’s not smiling. But he is looking at me, and I sense annoyance. Or is it disapproval?
He doesn’t like that I’ve made a show of myself. Well, I guess that’s probably best. Screw him. This is who I am.
“That was epic!” Molly falls to her seat and wipes her brow, and I join her, slightly out of breath.
“I don’t know about epic.” I reach up to clench my head. I need to go before I pass the point of tipsiness and fall into the realms of full-on drunkenness. Pushing my hands into the table, I get myself up. “All that singing has gone to my head.” Along with the alcohol, and it’s mixing with my emotions.
Ryan looked at me in disapproval. No one has that right. I’m a second away from marching over there and telling him where to stick his disapproval.
“I’m going to stay and have one more with Mrs. Hatt,” Molly says. “We’ll wobble home together.”
“Don’t walk on your own.”
“I won’t,” Molly singsongs, linking my arm with hers. “I’ll walk you across the road.”
“You can literally see my front door from the window. Just watch me.” I unlink us and point, and Molly takes up position on an agreeable nod. I make my way through the pub saying my goodbyes and eventually make it outside into the fresh air. There’s a chill, and I fold my arms tightly across my chest as I hurry across the road.
I slip my key into the lock, then pause before turning it, looking over my shoulder to the window of the pub. I see Molly there, watching me, and she waves before disappearing from view.
“Hannah?”
I startle on a fast inhale but quickly see Ryan by his truck across the street. “Jesus, Ryan, you scared me.”
“I never want you to be scared of me.”
I straighten my lips as he hovers by the driver’s door, pulling his keys from his jean pocket. “I’m not,” I retort softly, turning back to my door and turning the key. “Good night.”
“Good night, Hannah,” he says quietly, and a few seconds later I hear his truck door open and close. I push my way into my store, looking across the road.
But Ryan’s not in his truck. He’s pacing toward me with purpose, and the streetlights illuminate his face, his expression as determined as his stride. I hold my breath, waiting…for what?
I step back as he gets closer, my focus glued to him. His pace doesn’t falter, and he enters the store, leaving the door open behind him. He grabs me with a gentle but possessive force, one hand on my nape, the other on my hip. And he looks me straight in the eye, breathes deeply.
Then he drops his mouth to mine and gives me the tenderest of kisses. No tongue. No moans. No movement anywhere, except for his lips gently traveling across mine. My useless hands remain by my sides. I forget my name, who I am. The world as I know it ceases to exist, and it is so welcomed. So…unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s the smallest of gestures, yet it’s also colossal. Does Ryan know that? Does he realize what he’s doing? He’s making no attempt to deepen the kiss; his hands aren’t moving or exploring. He’s just dotting my lips with his, over and over, lazily and softly. It’s dizzying. And despite his apparent lack of desire to push it to the next level, there is passion pouring from him, the air surrounding us electric.
My mind blanks and I remain still in his hold, my eyes closed, my senses hijacked,
as I savor the light pressure moving across my mouth. I can only ever remember my heart racing with fear and apprehension, yet since I’ve met Ryan it’s pounded with life and anticipation. Every near kiss we’ve had. Every moment of silence when we’re looking into each other’s eyes and the sexual tension between us ramps up another level.
Every time we’re in physical contact.
Every reason to avoid him is suddenly negated by my hunger for him. And then he breaks our kiss, breathing shallowly, as he keeps me in his hold. I stare at him, lost for words, and he drops one final, lingering peck on the corner of my mouth before he moves back. I quickly feel so very lost. His fingertip draws a delicate line down the bridge of my nose, slowing when he passes over the small bump. Then he turns on an inhale and leaves, pulling the door closed behind him.
And I stare forward at nothing for a long time. I’ve been kissed into a trance. I move across my store to sit in the wicker chair in the corner, the pads of my fingers resting on my lips as I stare at the door. I hear his truck start. I hear it pull away. And then…silence.
He just kissed me, and then he just left. Seriously, what the fucking hell?
He said nothing.
But everything I needed to hear.
And now I’m left alone with just my screaming thoughts. Stay away from him. Run to him. I know what I want to do, but should I? Can I? I stand up and start to pace my shop, wringing my hands. I stop, feeling my lips, and then my nose. I look at the door. I hear his words.
I don’t ever want to scare you. I’m not scared of him, not like that. I’m scared because he leaves me completely breathless.
Chapter Nine
FIVE YEARS AGO
Katrina could hear him showering in the adjoining bathroom from where she was curled up on the bed. She knew he’d be finished soon. She knew he’d return any moment, wondering why she wasn’t up. And she knew he’d be disappointed. Yet her energy was depleted completely after their day traveling to the Bahamas, where their yacht was anchored offshore. She felt sick, and she was certain the seafood they’d eaten for lunch was responsible. With every slight move she made, her tummy twisted, threatening to spill the contents far and wide. She was sweating, too. Bottom line, she felt like death warmed up.
When the sound of the shower spray stopped, she tried in vain to push herself up on the bed, to at least show some willingness to get herself ready for their sunset dinner on deck with friends. But after a few seconds struggling against her uncooperative body, she gave up and flopped back to the mattress on a groan.
“Why aren’t you ready?”
Katrina looked up to the bathroom door where her husband stood, rubbing at his wet black hair with a towel. His well-honed body seemed to shimmer under the moody lighting of the bedroom on their yacht. “I feel terrible.” Her words were meek, quiet, and loaded with a plea that she knew he could hear.
Jarrad pouted in sympathy and wandered over to the bed, lowering to the edge and reaching for his wife’s forehead. One brush of his palm across her damp flesh confirmed that her body was a furnace. “Oh, darling,” he murmured, reaching for the bottle of Evian on the bedside table. “Some water will help.” Unscrewing the cap, he handed it to her. “Here, drink up.”
Forcing herself to sit up with his help, she accepted the bottle with a small smile and brought it to her lips. And the second she swallowed just the tiniest drop, her stomach revolted, and she flew up off the bed, darting to the bathroom. She made it just in time to throw up, emptying her stomach of all the seafood she’d indulged in. “Oh God,” she breathed, feeling blindly for some toilet paper as she dropped to her arse in front of the toilet.
“Katrina, darling,” Jarrad whispered with concern as he crouched beside her and rubbed at her back. “Get it all up.”
“I think I need a doctor.” Drops of sweat poured from her forehead as Jarrad took her arm and pulled her to her feet. He walked her to the mirror and stood behind her, studying her in the reflection as he flipped the tap on and wetted a washcloth. “You don’t need a doctor.” Patting her face with the cool material, he held her firmly in place as he watched himself tend to her. “You just need me.” Dropping a gentle kiss on her shoulder, he smiled across her flesh as he raised his eyes to her in the mirror.
Her lips curved naturally in response. “Just you, Jarrad.”
This pleased him. His mouth stretched wider, his happiness genuine. She knew how happy she made her husband. “Feel better?”
“Much, thank you.” She rested her palm on his forearm where it was wrapped around her stomach. “I should get ready. I don’t want to keep our guests waiting.” The show must go on, no matter how sick she felt, and she felt as sick as a damn dog. But it was all about image. They were the perfect couple.
Jarrad grinned and reached for the hairbrush on the vanity unit, taking it to Katrina’s hair and brushing meticulously through her long, dark waves. She let him do his thing in peace for a few minutes, the silence comfortable. He only stopped when her scalp started to numb with the constant strokes. “Perfect,” he murmured, setting the brush down. “I don’t know why you wanted to cut it all off.”
It didn’t matter what she wanted. She rarely got what she wanted, but she’d long ago learned that if her husband was happy, then so was she. “I’ll be twenty minutes,” she said quietly.
“Good girl.” Reaching for her hand, he lifted her arm to his mouth and kissed the fading bruise just past her elbow. She could see the despair in his eyes, as well as the anger. She’d been reckless with her well-being, and he still wasn’t happy about it. “I wish you’d stop being so damn clumsy, Katrina. You know how it upsets me. I hate seeing you injured like this.”
She dropped her eyes, ashamed. “I know. It was impulsive and stupid, I’m sorry.” She certainly wouldn’t be pulling a stunt like that again. What was she thinking?
Jarrad gripped her jaw gently but firmly and directed her face up again so she faced him in the mirror. “You know how precious you are to me,” he said softly, and she nodded, prompting a smile from him before his eyes dropped to her wrist again. He frowned. “Where’s your watch?”
His question had her feeling at her wrist. The diamond-encrusted platinum piece he’d bought her for their fifth wedding anniversary hadn’t been on her wrist since they’d left their home in Belgrade. She panicked. “I think I left it at home.” She bit her lip nervously. “On the vanity unit in the en suite.”
“You think?”
“I’m certain.” She corrected herself quickly.
“We should call the housekeeper and have her check.” He made to turn toward the bedroom to get his phone, and Katrina was quick to stop him. Jarrad stilled, and she smiled, small and apologetically. “I’m sure it’s there. Let’s not keep our guests waiting, darling.”
Jarrad relented easily, his wife’s soft smile melting him as it always did. “You’re right,” he murmured, taking her in a hug. “It would be rude, forgive me.”
“Nothing to forgive.”
“Ever so thoughtful.” Resting his lips in her hair, he breathed her in on a contented sigh. “You should wear long sleeves tonight,” he said, stroking down her arm. “It’s chilly. And black, yes?” Turning her back toward the mirror without waiting for her confirmation, Jarrad left Katrina to get ready for their sunset dinner.
Chapter Ten
RYAN
I drive slowly up the high street away from her store, completely lost in my thoughts. Unusually of late, though, my mind isn’t swirling with questions about Hannah, it’s spinning with questions I’m asking myself. Why did I do that? And how the hell did I keep myself from taking it further? I never knew I had it in me. Maybe it was because I know she’s had a lot to drink tonight. I hate the thought of her waking up feeling regretful or thinking I took advantage. Or maybe it’s because I’ve sensed she needs handling with care. Or maybe it’s a bit of both.
“Fucking hell,” I breathe, shifting in my seat, my head beginning to ache from the weigh
t of my questions. “What have you gotten yourself into, Ryan?” I indicate right when I approach the road that leads to my cabin. “And now you’re talking to yourself.” Laughing under my breath, I take the turn, but something by the roadside catches my eye, and I pull to a stop. “What the hell?”
I leave the engine running and hop out, pacing a few yards into the overgrowth that’s lit by my headlights. I stare down at the wheel of a bike. A bike I recognize. On a frown, I pull the mangled thing from the bushes and look it over, before scanning the darkness around me. These woods are familiar to me. The sounds, the trees, every species of animal that lives here. The owl currently calling and the bats currently flapping through the air above me never usually cost me a thought. Yet tonight, they cause an odd lick of uneasiness to work its way down my spine.
Picking up Hannah’s bike by the crossbar, I back away, instinctively scanning the darkness as I head to my truck and load the bike in the back. When I slam the tailgate shut, the noise echoes, bouncing off the trees around me. “Kids,” I say, getting back in my truck and continuing on my way to the cabin, my eyes watchful the rest of the way.
When I pull up outside, the detector lights spring on, basking my place in bright light. I jump out and put Hannah’s bike by the shed before making my way inside. The emptiness that hits me is palpable. No Cabbage.
I grab a beer from the fridge, kick off my boots, and flick on the lamp before I light the open fire and slump down in the armchair. My bottle rests on the chair’s arm, and I study the flames dancing before me. A woman has never had me in such a tangle. I want her. I can’t explain it, but it’s troubling, because I have a horrible feeling that Hannah isn’t available. Not just to me, but to any man. Though I would bet my life on the fact that no man wants her more than I do.
I groan to myself and slurp my beer, uncomfortable with my train of thought. I’ve never met a woman so fascinating. She’s determined, but that resolve is edged with a vulnerability that makes her even more attractive. She’s kind. Sweet. Funny in her own witty little way. “Jesus.” I rub at my forehead with the tips of my fingers and rest my head back. I’m fucking exhausted.
Leave Me Breathless Page 11
