He bunched his fingers in her thick, dark hair—shorter now, and curlier. Angling her mouth so he could go deeper, he walked her back toward the wood island that dominated the center of the kitchen. It was lower than the counters and would work for what he had in mind.
He kept kissing her—Hannah loved lots of kissing—as he covered one full breast with his palm, feeling the nipple bud against his palm.
“Damn, I missed this,” he muttered against her lips, tweaking the hard bud between his fingers and catching her gasp with another deep kiss.
She was wearing jeans, and he slid his hand down, working the snap with one hand. Slipping his hand inside, his fingertips brushed her soft curls. He laid his palm flat against her lower belly.
She murmured something against his mouth, but he continued the kiss, tasting more. He was hard, getting harder. He hadn’t felt this alive in some time.
This was what it had been like between them since the first time they’d met: spontaneous combustion.
He slipped his hand between her legs and swallowed her responding sigh. She tried to move against his hand.
“Not yet,” he whispered against her ear.
He used his other hand to push her shirt up, moving the lace of her bra out of the way at the same time.
Hannah had the prettiest breasts he’d ever seen. Full and perfectly shaped, the pert, peachy nipples were like dessert to him, and he savored each one in turn.
She cried out, and he saw her grip the edge of the island tight. His back was starting to ache, so he removed his hand and got onto his knees, working her jeans down her legs as he went.
Then he spotted it—the small racing flag tattoo that he’d talked her into, right beneath her belly button. He leaned in, kissed it and looked up to find her watching him.
“You kept it.”
“Of course I kept it.”
He smiled, remembering the day when she’d gotten the tat, and how they’d celebrated after, made him even hotter.
He nearly lost control then, as he kept looking into her eyes. Hannah, who was so cool, collected and composed most of the time. His responsible, serious Hannah, who wore boring suits and talked about accounting, now looked back at him with wild hair, flushed cheeks and eyes glittering with desire.
But there was more than desire there. There was warmth, need and...affection? Expectation? Concern?
He’d seen that soft look before, and wondered if they had more between them. That was a problem—then and now—because they couldn’t have more than sex. Sex was all he wanted. All he needed.
That was an even better reason for her to go.
He couldn’t do this, use her to entertain himself, to take his mind off his life for a little while. Brody backed off, his breathing heavy, shaking his head.
“I’m sorry, Hannah. This shouldn’t have happened,” he said stiffly, closing his jeans as he walked to the sink, washed his hands, his face. Washed the past few minutes away.
“Brody?”
“Just leave, Hannah. Please.”
Hannah fixed her clothes, straightened her hair. She still looked amazing and turned on. Brody peered out the window, fighting for control.
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s happening.”
“There’s nothing to talk about, can’t you get that? I’m fine. I don’t need you here. Despite what you might think, you mean nothing to me.”
He heard her sharp intake of breath. It was low for him to speak to her like that, but he needed her to go. If he had to insult her to get her to do it, fine. It was better than insulting her even more by letting her stay under false pretenses. By taking her here in his kitchen, with no plans for anything more than that.
He didn’t warrant her concern, and he certainly didn’t want her pity.
“Listen, whether you like it or not, I’m your friend. I want to help, whatever the problem is.”
He watched incredulously as she stormed over to the small dinette, sat down and looked at him. He’d never seen such a stubborn, determined woman.
There was only one thing to do.
“Fine, I’ll go, then,” he muttered, grabbing his hat and keys. He walked out the back door, letting it slam, hating himself in about a dozen ways.
He felt like dirt. He wanted to apologize, to beg her forgiveness or to go back and finish what they started.
But he couldn’t do any of those things.
Climbing up in his Charger, he wasn’t even sure where he was going. All he could think about was Hannah and all the memories of their time together.
As for why she was here—it didn’t really matter. He’d still have had to turn her away rather than lie to her. Brody wondered how long it would take before she’d give up on him and take off. He hoped it was sooner rather than later, because he wasn’t sure how well he could hold up if he saw her again.
3
HANNAH WOKE UP on a strange sofa, not knowing where she was for a moment, but the faint irritation left by Brody’s stubble on her skin brought back the events of the morning, quickly reminding her of her surroundings.
It was midafternoon the same day, Friday. The house was quiet, and she stood, stretching and then looking out the window. Hers was still the only vehicle in the driveway.
Brody was no doubt waiting her out, but in truth, she was waiting him out, too. She had her own stubborn streak, and... Well, she was worried. She didn’t want to be, but she was.
Her stomach growled again, and she caught sight of her hair in a mirror on the opposite side of the room. She looked as though she’d crawled out from under the couch, and she seriously needed a shower. Heading out to her car, she grabbed her bag, and then went in search of the main bathroom.
As she undressed and stepped under the hot water, she firmed up her resolve. Hopefully, she’d have a chance to talk to Brody again, but if he wasn’t home by breakfast the next morning, she’d go. She could leave him a note with her phone number and an invitation to call her if he needed her—in a purely platonic way, of course—which would put the ball in his court.
It took practice, walking away, making boundaries, but she was getting better at it.
Abby always said she was overly responsible. Hannah never really understood that before; a person was either responsible or not. You either did the things you were expected to and made sure you kept your promises and were there for the people who needed you, or you weren’t. How could someone be overly responsible? It was like saying rain could be too wet. Impossible.
But Hannah knew when she’d returned from her month with Brody that Abby was right.
Her employer treated her like crap because Hannah was so dependable. So responsible. When her father died, Hannah had tried to take his place from a very early age. She worked as soon as she could, helped her mother in any way possible. She never wanted to disappoint.
Content to let her hair air dry in the Florida heat, she hung her towel neatly, then threw on a sundress and sandals. She packed up her supplies and went downstairs in time to hear the doorbell ring.
That couldn’t possibly be Brody—why would he ring his own bell? Struggling with whether she should answer the door, she did, and found a very pretty young woman in a very scanty cotton summer dress on the other side, holding a pie.
Her pretty smile collapsed when she saw Hannah. She pushed up on her tiptoes, looking over Hannah’s shoulder.
“Is Brody here?”
“No, I’m sorry, he’s not.”
The woman narrowed her eyes for a second, as if trying to assess whether Hannah was being honest.
“I brought him a pie.”
“That’s nice. I can put it on the counter and let him know, if you’d like me to.”
“Oh, I’d rather do that myself,” the woman replied, tak
ing a step forward, but Hannah gently blocked her path.
“I’ll be happy to take it for you, or I’m sure Brody will be back later if you want to return.”
“Well, I suppose I could leave it. Tell him it’s from Jenna, J-e-n-n-a. And I’ll be sure to make sure he got it,” she warned Hannah in an overly cute Southern accent.
As if what? Did she think Hannah was going to eat the pie herself? Or pretend that she’d made the pie instead?
Hannah met Jenna’s fake smile with a super sweet one of her own as she closed the door, inhaling the scent of the buttery crust and...cherries. Oh, yum.
Maybe she would eat it.
Though after muffins for breakfast, she needed some real food, and pie didn’t quite fit the bill. Hannah doubted Brody had anything edible in his kitchen, given all of the takeout bags. Surprisingly, she found the refrigerator fairly well stocked and the cupboards, as well. Someone had gone grocery shopping. One of his many female admirers?
The bigger problem was the kitchen itself, she thought as she took note of the mess. She couldn’t cook in this chaos; she could barely find a clear spot where she could put the pie down.
She tried to resist it, but as she started straightening up, her compulsive side took over. It was part of her nature. She cleared clutter and bounced back and forth between that and putting a pot of meat sauce on the stove to go with some pasta she found in a cupboard.
As she worked, the phone rang twice—two women left syrupy messages for Brody, then a third female caller left one that was rather X-rated.
Hannah huffed a laugh. She wasn’t completely surprised. Brody’s reputation as a ladies’ man—and that was the polite term for it—was quite well established when she met him. It was part of what attracted her to him, actually. He was wild, different and very, very experienced.
She’d wanted to be with someone like that to create a few memories she could carry into old age once she settled down. She hadn’t been disappointed. When they’d been together, she and Brody were exclusive, even though he’d had offers rolling in steadily, and Hannah had been the recipient of many bitter female glares. Not unlike the one she’d received from J-e-n-n-a.
After a while, the place was looking better, homier, and the sauce smelled amazing. Hannah felt much calmer. She was looking forward to her dinner in the now-tidy kitchen when someone walked in the back door.
It definitely wasn’t Brody. Instead, a slim, petite honey-blonde stood gaping at Hannah.
Wow, this one had nerve, waltzing right in.
“Can I help you?” Hannah said, offering a cool glance that she hoped cautioned the woman about entering any farther.
“Yeah, is my brother here? I need to talk to him.”
“Brody... Um, no, he isn’t here. He left this morning, hasn’t been back. I don’t know where he went.”
The woman regarded Hannah with open suspicion.
“Who are you, then, and what are you doing cooking dinner if he’s not here or coming home soon?”
“We had an argument, and he took off. I’m waiting him out,” Hannah answered matter-of-factly. “But I needed to eat in the meanwhile. And the place was a mess, so I cleaned up a bit.”
“Okay. That’s either really admirable or really scary.”
Hannah realized that she sounded like a stalker.
“I’m sorry,” she said, rushing to explain. “I’m a friend. Brody and I know each other through Reece Winston and his wife, Abby? I’m Abby’s best friend. I don’t know if you know—”
“I do. I know Reece pretty well, though I only met Abby once.”
“Brody and I spent some time together last year, at the track, and I was in the area, so—”
The other woman’s eyes suddenly widened. “Oh, wait, you’re Hannah? The Hannah?”
“I guess. Is there more than one?”
“Could be. Anyway, I’m Brandi.”
“Nice to meet you. So...Brody mentioned me?”
Hannah felt silly asking, but the words slipped out before she could stop them.
Brandi’s lips twitched as she looped her thumbs in her jeans. “Oh, you could say that. When he was under the influence of the drugs they gave him at the hospital when he fell off the horse, you were a very frequent topic. But I won’t share details since he wouldn’t have, either, except that he was pretty out of it.”
Hannah’s jaw dropped, her face heating as she tried not to imagine what Brody might have said about her. After a few seconds, she saw the humor in it and started to laugh. Brandi joined in.
Soon, a more serious thought occurred to her. “Can I ask, is everything okay with Brody? He didn’t seem like himself.”
“I agree. He hasn’t wanted to talk about much since he retired from the circuit. He just sort of sticks around here and works on the ranch, but doesn’t say anything about what he’s doing next. Believe me, we’ve tried, but it’s like poking a bear most of the time. Our parents think he just needs time and space to adjust, but I’m not sure.”
Hannah nodded. “I was surprised to hear about his accident, though he seems to be recovering. Still, he does seem...off.”
“He is. Anyway, I’m sorry I thought you were another, well, you know...”
“Oh, I know. Believe me. There was someone here this morning, then that pie was dropped off by another young woman, and a few phone messages since... I thought you were, um, a female friend, as well.”
Brandi rolled her eyes. “It’s as though they come out of the walls. You’d think they would lose interest since he retired, but it’s been even worse. I guess they all want to be the one who finally snags him. The one who brings Wild Brody Palmer to heel. It didn’t help that one of the reporters let leak something about him wanting to settle down.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that.”
Brandi grinned. “Believe me, if there’s anyone less likely to settle down on this earth, it’s Brody. I don’t even know why he retired. At first we were glad. It was getting hard on my parents, watching him take his life in his hands every day. Whenever there’s a crash, we all hold our breath, you know?”
Hannah did know. Being at the track was exciting, but it had also been frightening, watching what he did for a living.
“But he’s not happy, especially since his accident,” Brandi added with a sigh. “Maybe you’ll have better luck at getting him to say what’s been bothering him.”
“It is hard to imagine him no longer racing. Didn’t he and Reece talk about owning their own car, having their own driver?”
Brandi shrugged. “Maybe, but Reece has settled into the winery, and Brody’s never been one to sit back and watch.”
That sounded exactly like Brody, and it made Hannah wonder, too: Why had he retired? He’d never talked about it when they were together, except to say “in the future” or “in time.” Retirement had been forced on Reece because of a horrific accident on the track. That hadn’t been the case for Brody.
Unless there was something none of them knew. Was he keeping a secret? Was he sick? Worse?
Hannah’s mind reeled with new, awful possibilities. Something so serious that he wouldn’t want to tell his family or friends? And that was why he was so surly?
“Anyway, whatever you have on the stove there smells great.”
“Thanks. Just some sauce and pasta,” Hannah responded, still distracted—and even more worried—by her dire thoughts. “Would you like some?”
“It’s nice of you to offer—Brody said you were nice—but I have to get home to my son. I’ll catch up with Brody tomorrow. Good to have met you, Hannah.”
“Same here.”
Brandi left through the back door and Hannah had her dinner alone. She distracted herself by working on her writing and enjoying a bottle of wine. By the end of the evening, she was deflated by
the fact that no one was responding to the blog. She hadn’t taken any pictures that day, and Brody was nowhere to be found. For the first time since being in New York, she didn’t have anything new to post.
Brody said you were nice.
Nice. Bland. Boring.
Like her photos.
Maybe she should call her blog Hannah’s Lack of Adventure.
As she stood and paced, she noticed a display case on the far side of the room. There were trophies and awards, of course, from his racing, and pictures of Brody with various celebrities, friends, and even one with a US president. A scale model of almost every car he’d raced sat on a shelf.
There was a section of the wall devoted to these shelves. Mostly family pictures and personal items. Brody, she assumed, as a boy with his father, holding up a huge fish. His enormous, toothy grin made her chuckle. He must have been around seven, she guessed.
Hannah had been ten when her father died, and she still felt a slight, dull pain when she thought about it. He’d been a good man and the moon and the stars to her. Her dad had been the kind of solid, dependable man she’d hoped to find for herself. He’d farmed his land, provided for them and worked part-time at the local feed store in summer to earn extra income.
She remembered him as always being happy and laughing, telling her to work hard and do what was right. Those words had stood by her when he’d had a fatal heart attack, and there was no way she and her mother could keep the farm. So Hannah had done the right thing and worked diligently to support herself and her mother as soon as she was able.
She reached out, touching the picture of Brody with his dad. He’d never said anything about his family, which made sense. Theirs was a particular kind of relationship.
Not a relationship at all, really.
There were also some scouting badges—another surprise—and several sports awards, including high school baseball and college swimming trophies. On a table near that display were pictures of Brody in mountain-climbing gear with a group of people all clearly celebrating some sort of victory, and one of him...surfing?
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