The blank look in her eyes told him that Hannah probably wasn’t familiar with what was to him a very old cliché. “It means that there are some things you just don’t forget how to do once you learn how, no matter how much time goes by,” he explained.
“Oh, I see,” she said.
Finished, he removed the towel from around her neck. He couldn’t take his eyes off what was at least partially his creation. “I still have it,” he murmured, pleased with himself.
“It?” she questioned. She had no idea what he was referring to.
“It,” he repeated, then added a definition for her benefit. “A knack.” Tate could see that the explanation still didn’t clarify anything for Hannah. She appeared to be more in the dark than ever. “In this case, the ability to cut and style hair.”
She still wasn’t looking at herself, he noted. That had to change.
“Go ahead,” he coaxed, indicating the mirror. “Take a look. Tell me what you think.”
Rather than wait for her to look up, he gently turned her head, raising it up so that it was impossible for her not to look into the mirror. Impossible for her to avoid looking at herself any longer.
Chapter 11
Bracing herself for her first look, Hannah was prepared to say something nice no matter how she felt about the image she saw looking back at her in the bathroom mirror. She was not about to hurt this man’s feelings for the world and he was only thinking of her safety when he told her that she had to have her hair color changed, as well as cut.
What she actually wasn’t prepared for was to like what she saw.
But she did.
She blinked, more than a little surprised by the appearance of the woman she saw in the mirror. It took her a few moments to take in the change, to reconcile it with what she knew she’d looked like before this extreme shift in her life.
For a minute, she couldn’t take her eyes off the image looking back at her.
“Is that truly me?” she asked in a hushed whisper, as if afraid that if she spoke any louder, the image she was looking at would dissolve and just fade away.
She wasn’t freaked out. Thank God, Tate thought with more than a little relief.
He stood behind her, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders, the smile on his lips spreading to his eyes and crinkling them.
“It’s you, all right,” he assured her. “So you don’t mind what I did?” To ask her if she liked what he’d done might have been pushing it a little, and he didn’t want her to feel he was pressuring her in any way to voice her approval. It was enough that she wasn’t upset or disappointed.
“I’m pretty,” Hannah said, as if she was stunned at the discovery.
Could she really be this free of any trace of vanity? He would have found it hard to believe—except for the fact that this was Hannah and he’d already come to know her.
“You were always pretty, Hannah,” he told her. “I just gave you a different look, but your being pretty was something I had absolutely nothing to do with. It was just something I worked with.”
She raised her eyes from her new reflection and looked at his instead. There was something exceedingly comforting about seeing him standing there, literally having her back—that was the correct phrase for watching over her, wasn’t it? Having her back? She recalled hearing it before he’d rescued her from that terrible place. One of those awful men who was guarding them had complained that the other man “didn’t have his back.”
Her mouth curved in a shy smile then bloomed into one that displayed a shade more confidence—and more than a little additional happiness.
“You are very kind, Tate.”
Tate was never very comfortable about accepting gratitude. He shrugged away the words. “Just doing my job, that’s all.”
“It is your job to say nice things to me?” she asked as she turned around to face him. With the sink at her back and Tate standing less than a full breath away, there was precious little space for her as she turned. So she wound up brushing against him as she did so.
Tiny shock waves shot through her at all the points where her body made contact with his. Hannah drew her breath in sharply, even as her heart began to beat a little faster.
The urge to kiss her shot straight out of no-man’s-land, infiltrating his system with a vengeance and making Tate acutely aware of just how attracted he was to her. It wasn’t the kind of attraction a man could easily walk away from, even when common sense demanded it.
Or at least demanded that he not act on that attraction.
For one long, drawn-out moment, Tate struggled against the attraction that only seemed to send him further into this impossible situation. And then he forced himself to take a step back, even though everything in him begged him to do otherwise.
“Let’s see about getting you something decent to wear,” he said suddenly.
She held out the bottom of the shirt—she could just faintly catch the scent of his cologne on it and she liked that.
“I like this shirt,” she told him in defense of her attire. “It feels comfortable. Roomy,” she tacked on—as if she really had to.
He laughed. “It’s roomy, all right. You could probably take in a family of five and hide them in that shirt,” he quipped, exaggerating—but, in his opinion, not by much. And then he grinned. “I never knew a woman who didn’t like to go shopping.” But then, he added silently, he’d never known a woman quite like Hannah before and that made all the difference in the world. “C’mon,” he beckoned, heading for the door. “Let’s go.”
“As you wish,” she said agreeably, donning the oversize jacket he’d given her to ward off the cold when they’d escaped from his apartment.
* * *
“Give me a minute,” Tate said to her once they were downstairs and about to walk past the clerk at the front desk.
Hannah nodded and wordlessly stepped off to the side as Tate exchanged a few words with the reservations clerk. The latter in turn nodded and smiled broadly.
“Thank you, sir,” he said with feeling as Tate pressed something into the bald man’s hand just before he rejoined her.
“Okay, let’s go,” Tate urged her, taking hold of her arm and guiding her across the lobby.
“Another tip?” she asked. When he looked at her quizzically, she indicated the desk clerk just before they went through the revolving door that led out to the sidewalk. “You put something in his hand and he looked very happy. I was just wondering if you gave him a tip like you did the man who brought those things to you from the store.”
Tate smiled. “You’re very observant,” he commented, neither agreeing with nor denying her assessment of the situation.
It hadn’t been a tip that he’d pressed into the man’s palm. It was a cash payment for the hotel suite for another two full days. That way, it looked as if they intended to return—something he was not about to do at the end of this little impromptu shopping spree.
But he decided that now wasn’t the time to go into detail about that—in case the conversation wound up being caught on camera. Although the surveillance camera might not capture sound, getting someone to watch it who had the ability to read lips was not out of the question. The Philadelphia P.D. had just such a person and there was no reason to believe that Maddox couldn’t avail himself of someone with similar skills.
The whole purpose of making it look as if they were returning to the hotel was a deliberate precaution to throw Maddox and his henchmen off their trail should they have succeeded in following them this far.
Hannah said nothing in response. She might be very observant, as he said, but she was equally intuitive and her intuition told her that something was afoot again. She was just going to have to remain patient in order to determine what that “something” was.
Besides, Tate had been nothing but kind to her and she had no reason not to trust him now.
* * *
Rather than a high-end department store, like Saks or Bloomingdale’s, or another s
hop that only carried incredibly expensive designer clothing, Tate went with his instincts and took her to Macy’s on 34th Street.
He might as well have decided to take Hannah to a magic kingdom. She was utterly enchanted, not to mention somewhat overwhelmed, by the wealth of shoes, coats, dresses and other items of clothing she saw at every turn. She was accustomed to a single store commonly thought of as a general store or an emporium. For her, shopping for clothes was an endeavor that involved practicality. It wasn’t undertaken to buy something “pretty.” At least, not until today.
What she discovered, holding tightly on to Tate’s arm as he took her from one floor to another, was such an abundance of different things to look at that she was completely mystified as to where to look first—or second or third. Her head was fairly spinning and she had to admit that part of her was convinced she was dreaming.
This was a whole new world to her. An enchanting, colorful, lovely world.
“And all this is for sale?” she asked him, finding it difficult to comprehend how there could be so many choices available. Everything came in an array of colors, styles and sizes. How did the sales personnel keep track of everything? From her point of view, it seemed like a Herculean task.
The wonder in her eyes delighted him. He could all but read her mind. “Yes, everything’s for sale.”
She regarded the merchandise with unabashed awe. How could she make a decision as to what to choose when each thing she picked up was even lovelier than the last? It seemed almost impossible.
“All this,” she breathed almost worshipfully.
He found it difficult to suppress his grin—so he didn’t.
“All this,” he echoed. “C’mon,” he urged her. “Let’s stop looking and let’s start buying you some things.”
Her arm still linked through Tate’s, Hannah followed him through the maze of clothing racks and beautifully dressed mannequins that were on display.
Eventually, Tate helped her select several outfits, making sure she had more than just a couple changes of clothing. It took a while, but they amassed a wardrobe for her. After having bought her two pairs of shoes, a pair of jeans that gracefully fit her curves—unlike the jeans he’d lent her—as well as tops to go with it, plus a few skirts and dresses, he noticed Hannah fingering an ankle-length, baby-blue nightgown spun out of a light, frothy material that seemed utterly inappropriate for surviving a cold night.
But then, he mused, it was the kind of nightgown that easily created its own heat.
“Like it?” he asked her. Hannah seemed startled that he’d even noticed her looking at it. She nodded her head shyly. The next thing she knew, he gently moved her out of the way. “All right, we’ll add that to the pile,” he told her, removing the nightgown from its hanger. Turning around, he handed it to the saleswoman who had been discreetly hovering close by, patiently waiting for him to give some sort of sign that her services were needed.
“Oh, no,” Hannah protested, a light pink color beginning to climb up her cheeks. “I couldn’t let you buy that for me. It’s much too...” She couldn’t find the right word to explain why she couldn’t accept this from him.
Watching her, Tate couldn’t help getting a kick out of the fact that, after all she’d been subjected to and been through, Hannah could still blush.
He found it refreshing, compelling and—if he was being honest with himself—very sexy and alluring at the same time.
“Every woman should have something soft and feminine in her arsenal,” the saleswoman told her with a confidential wink.
Somehow the wink only made her blush that much more. Flustered, Hannah looked to him, waiting for his final say in the matter. Despite the way she’d been made to dress when those men had held her and her friends captive, she thought that the nightgown was incredibly lovely, not provocative.
Did that make her a terrible person? Something inside her said no, but there were still mixed feelings warring inside of her.
Tate merely nodded at her. “It’s okay,” he assured her before turning toward the saleswoman. “Just pack it all up in shopping bags.”
Leading the way back to the register where she’d rung up the other sales for him, the woman suggested something more convenient.
“We could have all of this delivered to your home,” she told him.
For that to happen, the saleswoman was going to need an address and that was something he wasn’t about to divulge. The woman was pleasant-enough looking and most likely completely innocent as well, but he was not about to take a chance. Hannah’s very life was at stake. He couldn’t afford to be lax or trusting. That was a luxury for another time.
“That’s all right,” he assured her, taking out a wad of cash to pay for the items he’d just bought, “we’ll just take all of it with us.”
The saleswoman nodded. “Of course,” she agreed, then cheerfully invoked the classic, age-old cliché. “The customer’s always right.”
Hannah regarded all the things Tate had bought for her as the woman was folding the items and dividing them up between a number of shopping bags. “This is too much,” Hannah protested.
“It’s what you need,” he countered. He picked up three shopping bags in each hand while she quickly took two more. He led the way to the down escalator. “How do you feel about walking?” he asked as they got on.
She wasn’t sure what he was asking her. “I should have feelings about walking?” To her, that was just a natural part of life.
No doubt about it, Hannah was adorably charming and uncomplicated. “Let me put it another way. Are you up to walking for a while?”
She was surprised he felt the need to ask. “Yes, of course.” Walking from one place to another was nothing new for her. Getting around by any other means, such as in a car, was what she wasn’t accustomed to, although, she had to secretly admit, she was becoming fond of that mode of transportation.
They had reached the ground floor and he forged a path out for them. The city, always packed with people, was even more crowded with holiday shoppers trying to complete their lists.
“Good,” he acknowledged. “Then we’d better get a move on. We have a bit of a trek before us.”
Hannah was not quite sure what a trek was, but she knew that her heart told her she could follow this man anywhere and still be safe. So she nodded and walked beside him. When he tried to take her two shopping bags from her to carry himself, she refused to allow it.
“I can at least carry some of my things,” she told him. After all, the shopping bags were all filled with things he’d bought for her. Not a single item in any of them was for him.
* * *
The journey through the long city blocks to their destination was slow and at times became even slower. That was because Hannah’s attention would suddenly be sidetracked by the various window displays that had been deliberately decorated with an eye toward celebrating the holiday season—and to snare passing customers’ attention. All the major department stores—Saks, Macy’s, Bloomingdale’s—were vying for sales and doing their creative best to draw people to their store.
Time and again Tate would realize that Hannah had suddenly stopped walking beside him and was now staring, delighted, into yet another artfully decorated window displaying another imaginative holiday scene.
Rather than being annoyed that she was throwing them off schedule, Tate found himself utterly charmed. At thirty-two, he was being granted the gift of seeing everything during the busiest time of the year for the first time because he was seeing it through Hannah’s eyes. And suddenly, just like that, the cold, impersonal city had been transformed into a place of warmth and magic, because Hannah saw it that way.
It didn’t mean that he lowered his guard or ceased to be alert. Tate was first and foremost a cop and thus was still very vigilant. But Hannah’s joy over the different displays, each depicting some part of the holidays, was infectious and, for once, he gave no thought to resisting. She made him remember a happier time, whe
n his parents were still alive and Christmas was spent with people who had come to mean so much to him.
“Come,” Hannah coaxed as she beckoned him over to yet another window. The shopping bags looped over her wrists, she grabbed one of his hands and pulled him to the display that had caught her attention this time.
“It’s snowing inside,” she marveled, then turned to him as if he could unravel all the mysteries of the world for her. She regarded him as being extremely intelligent. “How are they doing that?” she wanted to know, pointing at the snow that was gently falling to the floor behind the glass that separated her from the person inside.
There was a machine high above the display that was responsible for the light “snowfall,” but to point it out to Hannah seemed a bit harsh, not to mention that the explanation came across as very mundane. Tate tapped into his imagination and said, “They squeezed a little snow cloud into the store window.”
For the tiniest second, she was tempted to believe him. But she didn’t. Instead, Hannah gave him a tolerant look. “You are yanking my leg.”
“Pulling,” he corrected, trying hard not to laugh at her phrasing. “You’re pulling my leg.”
Her brow furrowed as she tried to reconcile what he was saying to what he’d already done. “No, you are pulling mine.”
Tickled, he began to laugh. And then he discovered he couldn’t help himself. Still laughing, Tate dropped the shopping bags, leaving them huddled on either side of him as he abruptly bracketed Hannah’s shoulders with his hands, leaned down and kissed her.
It was meant to be only a fleeting kiss, the most innocent of contacts. Hardly any at all. Just two pairs of lips briefly touching, simply grazing one another in quick passing.
That was all it was intended to be.
But that wasn’t the way it turned out.
The kiss rocked Tate’s world without warning and rocked it right down to its very core.
Chapter 12
Someone from within the crowded streets called out, “Get a room!” A high-pitched, gleeful laugh accompanied the jeer.
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