My eyes become heavy.
The flames of the fire start to blur and blend together.
My tired brain begins to shut down.
I doze off with visions of Hannah Bright filling my mind. She’s dancing close to the fire. She’s dancing with danger.
* * *
I’m jerked from sleep by a cold, wet sensation on my chest and the smell of beer. Shit. I jump up from the chair, sending the now-empty bottle crashing to the wooden floor, and pull my soaked T-shirt away from my chest. The sound of rain pelting the windows soon registers in my drowsiness.
Yawning, I scoop up the bottle and set it on the hearth, then pull off my wet T-shirt and toss it in the wash basket as I head to my bedroom. But I don’t make it to my glorious bed. A noise outside stops me on the threshold, and I look toward the front door as I take a few backward steps, my movements cautious, my muscles now very awake and very tense.
My focus is trained on the front door as I walk on light feet down the corridor back into the open space of my cabin. It’s way too late for visitors, not that I get many.
I blindly feel for the axe tucked by the side of the freezer and take a firm grasp of the handle. My pace falters when I hear something again. Something loud enough to be heard over the storm. What the fuck is that?
Edging toward the window, I pull back the curtain a fraction and scan outside. Sheets of rain hamper my ability to see past the veranda, the trees swaying violently under the force of the howling wind whipping through the branches. Lightning zigzags through the sky, making the edges of the black clouds glow. “God damn you, Mother Nature,” I say quietly as a wicked crack of thunder pierces the air. Someone could have turned on a megawatt lightbulb, as everything outside is suddenly basked in a blinding light.
It’s then I see her, surrounded by empty gas canisters that she’s knocked over near the barbecue. “Hannah?” I drop the axe and rush to the front door, yanking it open and running out onto the veranda. Wearing only what she had on at the pub—a flimsy little red dress—she jogs across the lawn toward me, drenched through, her hair heavy and stuck to her face, the fabric of her dress sticking to her body.
When she reaches the foot of the steps to the veranda, she looks up and sees me and comes to an abrupt halt, still exposed to the elements. The rain continues to attack her, not that she looks aware of it. Her unbelievably big blue eyes widen, as if she’s surprised to see me. Something tells me to keep back, so I hover at the top of the steps looking at her being beaten by the downpour.
She eventually drags the back of her hand across her face, roughly wiping away the wet, for what it’s worth. “Why did you kiss me?” she calls over the deafening storm.
Her question has me automatically taking the first step down to her, though her hand quickly shooting up warns me to stop. So I do, because it feels only natural to obey. I see her swallow when she registers I’m listening to her, and she follows that up with a small nod to herself. “Come inside, Hannah,” I plead. “You’re soaked.”
“Tell me why, Ryan,” she calls, ignoring me. She’s going to catch a death, for God’s sake. Not to mention myself. I’m standing here in my jeans, nothing on my chest, my feet bare.
“I…” I fade off when something comes to me. “Wait, how did you get here?”
“I walked. Now tell me.”
She walked? In the dark and rain? The knowledge irks me no end, my urge to scold her overwhelming. Too overwhelming to hold back. “That pisses me off, Hannah.”
She smiles. She fucking smiles. It’s beyond me why, and I find myself laughing in disbelief. “Tell me why you kissed me,” she shouts.
I stare at her, my smile unsure. Where’s she going with this? And actually, why did I kiss her? It’s a silly question with a simple answer. Because I couldn’t stop myself. Because I want her.
“The constant near misses were getting ridiculous,” I call back. “The interruptions for one reason or another.” I pause for a beat, studying her gorgeously bedraggled form. “And,” I go on, this time not as loud, “more important,” I take one more step down toward her, knowing she won’t stop me this time. “I wanted you to see how good it felt.”
The weight of the rain on her lashes makes her blink of surprise slow. “How’d you know it would be good?” she whispers.
I smile. “There aren’t many things in life I’m certain of. I’m certain I love my daughter with everything I have. I’m certain I’ll live my life, and I’m certain I’ll eventually die. And after I met you, Hannah, I was certain you’d turn my world upside down when I kissed you.” One more step. “And you did.” Her gaze follows me down the remaining steps until I’m before her, now being drenched by the rain, too. “And now I’m certain I want to kiss you again.” One last step, and we’re on even ground.
“I’m certain I want you to.” She walks into me, her head tilted back in invitation. Then she places her hands on my bare, wet chest. “And I’m certain it’ll be as incredible as our first.”
My head dips, catching her lips, unwilling and unable to delay myself. I taste rain. I taste acceptance. I taste Hannah. It’s mind bending, and like nothing I’ve experienced in my thirty-nine years. I hold my mouth still on hers but slowly slide my hands onto her lower back and pull her closer. And then she tilts her head a fraction, her lips parting, and I groan quietly, following her lead. The second our tongues touch, my upside-down world starts to spin, the rain pelting down on us, the thunder rumbling, and the lightning cracking, all drowned out by the sweet feeling of acquiescence.
My God. By a million miles, this is unquestionably the most consumed I have ever felt. There’s no motive behind my kiss. I have no urge to rip her clothes off. My only wish in this moment, when I’m being swallowed whole by this sweet, unexpected woman, is to make sure she feels comfortable in my arms. And she does. All my senses are screaming at me that she does.
The loudest rumble of thunder shakes the ground beneath our feet, but Hannah doesn’t react, too lost in me, and that’s beyond satisfying. It surpasses bliss.
Through my utter drunkenness on her, I manage to convince my legs to move and get us inside. But I don’t stop kissing her. Nothing would make me stop kissing her, and if her firm hold of my head is a measure, she doesn’t want me to. Our lips continue to slip, and our tongues continue to softly tussle as I move my hold and lift her, opening my eyes to find the first step and take them without any hurry. I’m quickly lost in the vision of her so clearly lost herself.
I kick the door closed behind us and set her gently down. Her eyes remain closed. Her mouth stays sealed against mine. She’s soaked to the bone, and now that we’re in the warmth, I can feel how cold she is. She’ll get ill.
It’s without doubt one of the hardest things I have ever had to do, but I break our kiss, and her eyes flip open. She smiles a smile that can only be defined as serene as she looks down at her hands that are back on my chest.
“You’re cold,” I say quietly. “Let me get you something dry and warm.” Reluctantly, she surrenders her hold. I immediately miss it. “The fire’s still warm.” I turn her by her shoulders and walk her over. “You want a hot chocolate or something?” I have never in my life offered a woman a hot chocolate. My hospitality has only ever stretched to a beer, a screw, and an offer of a ride home in the morning. I’m not an arsehole, but I’m certainly no gentleman. Women have only ever been a form of company on lonely nights away from home to kill time until I can pick up my life with Alex.
“I’m good, thanks.” Hannah gingerly lowers to the chair by the fire, her hands going straight between her knees. She looks small and awkward all of a sudden, and she’s peering around my cabin, chewing her lip. I don’t like it. I shouldn’t have stopped our kiss. Is she wondering why she came? Does she like my home?
I turn and stride to my bedroom before the questions fall out of my mouth. I grab a towel and rub it over my chest, then tug off my jeans and boxers, replacing them with some gray sweats. I fetch a fresh towel
for Hannah and stare at the contents of my wardrobe. What can I give her to wear? On a shrug, I snatch down one of my button-front shirts for work because isn’t a white shirt what every woman wants to prance around a man’s place in?
When I make it back to her, she’s moved from the chair and is sitting on the rug by the fire, her hands held out in front of her to warm. I can see the goose bumps on her skin from here. “I got you something dry to change into.”
She looks over her bare shoulder to the shirt in my hand, and I immediately see something in her expression change before she quickly corrects it. What was that? “I’m fine in this.”
Is she for real? My arm drops to my side. “Hannah, you’re freezing and wet.”
“No, honestly, I’m fine.”
I don’t like the thought of being firm with her, but I can’t let this slide. If she doesn’t want to wear the white shirt, that’s fine, and I don’t care why, but she’s not staying in that saturated dress. “You’ll catch a chill.” I move across to the couch and pull a throw off the back. “How about this?”
She nods, agreeing to the blanket easily, no fuss at all, and now I suddenly do care why the shirt is such a problem. Then it dawns on me. Does she think other women have worn it? Shit, have they? I look down at the shirt in my hand and cringe. Yes, they have.
“Thanks,” she says as she unfolds herself from the floor and comes to me. Her smile is perturbed, and I don’t like it at all. A few minutes ago, we were completely at ease. Now it’s difficult. Horrible.
She reaches for the blanket, but she doesn’t take it, just holds it, and I don’t release it. She looks up at me, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. And the atmosphere shifts again.
I understand her unspoken demand.
I drop the shirt and release my hold on the blanket, then take my hands to the hem of her dress and pull it up her thighs and over her waist. The blanket falls to the floor, her arms lifting, her eyes never straying from mine. I don’t look down. I don’t surrender to the part of me that’s desperate to take in the rest of her. Because there’s a bigger part of me that’s content with my current view of her face. And then she’s only in her underwear, and the tides change. I have to squeeze my eyes shut to stop them from straying, and for the first time I acknowledge the demand pounding behind my sweatpants. The blood flowing there is fierce. Hot. I try to shake off my wandering thoughts, try to tamp down my growing need. My jaw tenses along with my muscles, and I dip, blindly feeling the floor for the blanket. Cover her. Just cover her up. I find the throw and rise. And stupidly open my eyes before I’m back to standing, coming face-to-face with her tummy. I freeze. Get hotter. The need in me intensifies.
No.
I blink away my temptation and stand, taking the blanket over her shoulders and wrapping her up. But as soon as I step back, she rolls her shoulders and it falls back to the floor, my eyes following it down. And while I stare at the pile of fabric, something else lands on top of it. My stomach flips. Her bra. God help me. I breathe in, just as her leg flicks out and her knickers join the heap. “Hannah,” I warn on a swallow, daring to look at her.
“Don’t you want me?” she asks timidly, definite uncertainty threaded through her words.
Her question is ridiculous, but it also prompts me to take in every piece of her body for the first time. Shapely legs, a seamless, smooth curve from her hip to the small of her waist. Boobs the perfect size. Flawless skin, elegant collarbones. A long, slender neck. Do I want her? Jesus, I’ve never wanted anything more.
A rush of blood zooms south, and a low, broken moan vibrates at the back of my throat. For a second, I wonder why I’m punishing myself, why I’m fighting this, why I’m reluctant to take what Hannah’s making clear she’s willing to give. The revelation is daunting: I don’t want sex with her to be like all the other women I’ve slept with. Rushed. Meaningless. I need Hannah to know how much I want her, beyond the physical signs my body is radiating. My sole purpose isn’t to get her off and then myself. I actually just want to be as close to her as I can. Not just physically, either. Fucking hell.
But what will happen after, because I’m sure as shit this woman doesn’t sleep with just anyone? What will she expect from me? A future? A relationship? Of course she will. Am I capable? It’s always just been me and Alex. My priority since my daughter was born was to be a father. To bring her up as best I can. Women have only ever been a pastime. A bit of fun.
Alex’s words from the other day stampede through my mind: You need someone to love other than me.
Could Hannah be that someone? My game changer? And what would Alex really say? Does she appreciate the meaning of another woman in my life? She’s used to having me to herself.
Pain sears my head, and I reach up to push the ball of my hand into my temple.
How did this happen?
Hannah quickly crouches and collects the blanket, throwing it around herself. She says nothing and makes a mad dash for the door, slamming it behind her, leaving me a little lost and confused by the fire. My mind takes too long to catch up. My muscles take too long to engage. What just happened?
“Hannah.” I run after her, nearly taking the door off its hinges when I haul it open. “Hannah!” I dart down the steps and across the lawn, wondering how the fuck she got so far away in the few seconds I was a zombie. She’s made it to the lane already, the blanket billowing behind her. Rain is still hammering down, the storm still raging. “Hannah, for fuck’s sake!” I yell over the wind and rain. “Hannah, will you stop running?” I’m sure she actually speeds up. “Jesus Christ,” I pant, blowing out of my fucking arse as I build up to a sprint. I gain on her quickly, and the moment she’s in reach I grab her arm, desperation getting the better of me. “Hannah, please.”
She jolts to a stop, heaving from her exertion. “Let go of me, Ryan.”
Something in the tone of her voice refuses to let me ignore her, so I release her, giving her space. “Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“No, you’re not. It’s dark, it’s raining. Come back inside.” I motion back to the cabin. “You’re all wet again.” I look down the drenched blanket to her bare feet. This is ridiculous. “God damn it, Hannah, I should just pick you up and carry you inside.”
Her perfect jawline pulses. She’s angry. Frustrated. Good. Me fucking too.
“Why did you do that?” she asks, tugging the throw tighter, like it’s a shield between us. Right now, it is, which makes me hate the fucking thing. “You walked in my shop tonight, kissed me like you did, and then walked away. Do you know how much courage it took me to come here? To acknowledge that you’ve woken up my heart? To admit to myself that I’m madly attracted to you, and actually, yes, I really like you.” She throws her hand out toward my cabin while I stand like a lifeless fool before her. “And then that kiss. I offered myself to you, Ryan. Laid myself bare, and you couldn’t even look at me.”
“Hannah, it wasn’t that—”
“I’m so stupid,” she rants on, her wet cheeks shining red with her growing anger. Is it bad of me to think how much more attracted to her I am when she’s got fire in her? “I should never have come.” Pivoting fast, she marches away. “Don’t ever try to kiss me again.”
Whoa. I recoil, everything she’s shouted at me sinking in. I’ve woken up her heart? And now she’s running away. Again. “Fuck’s sake,” I mumble, jogging after her, rounding her huddled form and blocking her. “Will you shut the hell up for a second?”
It’s Hannah’s turn to recoil, and God love her cuteness, her little nostrils flare dangerously at me. “No, I won’t shut—”
I lunge forward and attack her mouth before she can attack me with her acid tongue again, this time my claiming of her anything but gentle and careful. I don’t have time to tread carefully. Or the patience, for that matter. And I can’t risk her trying to run again. I’m knackered.
My fingers weave through her hair, getting caught in the tangled wet tresses as I kiss her
hard and with purpose. If this kiss doesn’t say it all, then I’ll happily tell her. But the sound of her whimper and the equal force of her tongue dueling with mine tells me she understands. She gets it. She’s letting me in, and as I languidly roll my tongue through her mouth and feel her hands move to my hair, I get the first taste of her secrets. She’s completely relaxed in my arms, and I just know she’s not used to surrendering to a man like this. Willingly. Uninhibitedly. Comfortably.
I heave as I break away, pushing my forehead to hers. “Clear enough?” I ask as she blinks herself back to life. I wait until I have her full attention before I go on. “I wasn’t torn about taking you to bed, Hannah. I was wondering how I would meet your expectations.” And that wonder has only increased with her admission. She’s wary. Of me? Or of men in general? I’m dealing with something fragile. She’s revealed a piece of herself now. A weakness. It’s suddenly so obvious that everything she is, all her wonderful, attractive traits, is driven by something ugly. Fear. Or her fierce determination not to let that fear hold her back. My instinct to protect is as powerful as my ability to sense fear. I’ve seen it in too many eyes just before I’ve pulled the trigger. And now I see it in Hannah.
“What?” she asks quietly, confused.
I close my eyes and take a breath. “You’re not the kind of woman a man fucks, Hannah.” I look at her so she sees my struggle. My shame. “And all I’ve ever done is screw women.”
Her eyes go unfathomably wide. I can’t be sure if she’s shocked or thrilled. Both? “Wow,” she breathes, and I conclude it’s the former.
“Yeah,” I say, a little shyly. “It’s very unlike me.” Good God, I’m saying plenty, but all the wrong words. I inhale and search for some way to untangle my thoughts before they fall past my lips and she’s running again. I look up to the sky, welcoming the fat drops of rain hitting my face. “From the moment I watched you crawl out of the bushes covered in paint, I’ve had the unrelenting urge to kiss you every time I’ve seen you.”
Leave Me Breathless Page 12
