Hanover House: Kickoff to the Hanover House Chronicles

by Brenda Novak

  She didn’t answer. Curving her lips into a sweet smile, she slipped her arms around his neck as if she wanted to dance with him.

  “You suck,” Ken grumbled in his ear as he passed them in search of another partner.

  Amarok ignored Ken. At the moment, he had other things on his mind, like how surprised he was that Evelyn had wanted to dance with him when she wouldn’t dance with anyone else. “Just say the word when you want to stop,” he told her.

  “Okay.”

  They moved in silence for a few seconds. Then she said, “So how am I doing? Do you think they like me?”

  He could see a number of men standing along the periphery, waiting impatiently to replace him. “There’s no question the men do. I can’t imagine their wives will, though.”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  “Never mind. It was a joke.”

  “You said they like me, right?” Her head dropped back as she gazed up at him, and he realized by her dreamy expression that she was more inebriated than he’d expected. She hadn’t had that much to drink, but she also didn’t weigh a lot, and, suddenly, the alcohol seemed to be hitting her hard. “I told you I’m not stuck up,” she said. “I’m a nice person.”

  “A nice person who’s had enough to drink.” He fought the impulse to bring her closer, if only to offer her some support. She was no longer all that steady on her feet. But he made sure they had at least six inches of space between them, in spite of that. “I’m going to have Shorty cut you off.”

  “Why? I’m not drunk.”

  “You are definitely drunk.”

  “Maybe I am,” she conceded. “But at least I’m more sus-susceptible.”

  “Susceptible to what?” he asked wryly.

  She giggled, which was something else he’d never expected to come out of such a sophisticated woman. “That wasn’t what I meant to say. I mean...ax...ac-ces-ses-si-ble.”

  Even when she found the right word she couldn’t say it in her current state. “True. You might be more susceptible, too, but I’m keeping an eye out like I promised,” he teased.

  Ken flipped him off from a place at the edge of the dance floor where Evelyn wouldn’t be able to see him. Amarok offered him a benign smile. Then he glanced down to check on his partner again. He thought she might be growing anxious; they were dancing much closer than before.

  But she didn’t seem anxious so much as...preoccupied with... his neck? “What are you looking at?” he asked.

  She didn’t hesitate. “That spot right there beneath your jaw.”

  “Why?”

  “It looks delicious.”

  He stiffened in surprise. Personally, he preferred lips to necks and couldn’t help wishing she’d take more of an interest in his. But a neck was about as nonthreatening as a body part could be, so he could understand why she might feel safer admiring an area that couldn’t demonstrate any desire.

  “That’s the booze talking,” he said.

  “No, it’s not.” She slanted a flirty gaze up at him. “Even a sober woman would want to taste all that smooth, warm skin, Sergeant.”

  He told himself to leave that comment right there. She couldn’t mean what she’d just said. But then she closed her eyes and ran her nose up under his ear. “And you smell good too.”

  Amarok’s plan to get her to loosen up had worked a little too well. Not only had the alcohol relaxed her, it’d stolen her inhibitions. The buffer of space between them had all but disappeared, to the point that he could feel her breasts smashed up against his chest. They weren’t dancing any closer than anyone else, but it felt more provocative—maybe because he knew it was rare that she’d even let a man hold her.

  Fortunately for his peace of mind, the song was ending. He figured they’d better sit down as soon as possible, before he had a raging hard on. But she didn’t let go of him. She kept her arms locked around his neck and continued to sway against him as if she still heard the music in her head.

  She was in her own little world, and yet he could tell she was very aware that he was there with her, especially when he felt her lips brush over that spot under his jaw that had become such a fascination for her. He tried to convince himself that she’d just been turning her head. But he was glad he’d maneuvered them into the shadows, where Ken and the others could no longer see them so clearly when she proved him wrong about that contact being incidental and began kissing his neck in earnest.

  The movement of her tongue, and the wetness of it, turned Amarok’s heart into a jackhammer. His natural inclination was to palm the back of her head while he nuzzled her neck in return. But he was afraid if he made any move it would spook the hell out her. So he closed his eyes and let her have her fun. After what she’d been through, she deserved to be able to act on the desire she felt. But she evoked such a powerful response in him, it wasn’t easy to resist the temptation to show her that a man’s touch didn’t have to hurt.

  He almost slid his hands up her back before he gained control and ordered them to remain at her waist. If he gave her the chance, maybe she’d feel safe enough to invite him to participate, to get him involved. Surely, at some point, even she’d have to admit that it would be more fun...

  But the movement of her mouth on his neck was making him rock hard—and he hated to think what would happen if a woman who’d been raped, and at such a young age, felt a boner pressed up against her abdomen. He didn’t want her to feel intimidated, rushed or overwhelmed; he hadn’t even had a chance to jump in yet. So he put some space between them—but that was all it took to break the spell.

  Dropping her hands, she stepped back, as if he’d shoved her away instead of adjusting their respective positions by only a few inches.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, looking completely abashed. “I can’t believe I did that. I swear I...I thought I was only thinking about tasting your neck. I never dreamed I’d really do it.”

  His skin tingled where her mouth had brought the blood to the surface. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You owe it to yourself to do something out of character every once in a while.”

  “But that kind of behavior is...is sexual harassment.”

  He shouldn’t have let her have that last drink. How much alcohol had Shorty put in the damn thing? “I think you’re getting your words mixed up again. It’s not sexual harassment. We don’t work together. We’re just two people dancing at a bar.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “We’re professional associates! And you’re a lot younger than I am, which makes it kind of creepy on top of everything else.”

  He caught her face, lifting it so that she had to look at him. “Creepy? Who gives a shit about the age difference between us? We’re both plenty old enough to do what we want.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I was doing good, being nice, dancing with everyone and then”—she seemed to have trouble figuring out how she’d even wound up in his arms—“I guess I went too far in the other direction. All I could think about was you, and the way you look in those jeans, and that smile—God, that smile does crazy things to me.”

  “If you’re trying to turn me on, you’re doing a damn fine job,” he said.

  She scowled. “Don’t joke around like that.”

  He wasn’t joking!

  “What I did is completely not acceptable or professional or—”

  “Stop making a big deal out of it,” he broke in, to let her know she was being ridiculous. He hated the pain he saw in her eyes. In so many words, she’d told him at the prison she was broken. And now she was frustrated that she couldn’t seem to get it right even when she tried to be more trusting and friendly. “You’re human like the rest of us.”

  The careless way he spoke finally seemed to get through to her. At least, she managed to gain control of her emotions and stanch the tears that were about to fall. “Right. I’m only human.”

  Movement in his peripheral vision caused Amarok to look to the side. “Ken’s already
making his way over,” he said. “We’d better go.”

  “That’s a good idea. I need to get some sleep. I’m not thinking straight. I—I’ll start over tomorrow.”

  “You’re fine. Everything’s fine. Tell him we’re leaving. No more dances with anyone. Then wait at the bar with Shorty until I come get you.”

  Her eyes widened. “Where are you going?”

  He couldn’t tell her the truth, that he needed to give his erection time to go away, so he simply gestured at the restroom.

  “Oh.” She acted slightly embarrassed that she’d reacted with a bit of panic, but then she grabbed his arm. “You won’t leave me here without a way to get home, right? I promise I won’t...you know...come on to you again. I’m sobering up.”

  “For the last time, you didn’t do anything wrong. Just wait with Shorty. I’ll be right there,” he said and turned away. Obviously, she could tell he was shaken up by what’d just happened, but she’d completely misjudged the reason. He could still feel the pull of her mouth at his neck. The memory alone sent a fresh shot of testosterone to his groin. She was starving, he decided. Starving for a little male attention. And he wanted to give it to her.

  But he couldn’t. That was the very thing that frightened her most.

  Once he entered the bathroom, he breathed a sigh of relief to find himself alone. He splashed some cold water on his face. Then he pulled his collar back.

  Holy shit. She’d given him a hickey. Dr. Evelyn Talbot, the driven but remote, highly educated psychiatrist who was bringing the worst psychopaths in America to Hilltop had put more fire and passion in the way she’d kissed his neck than he’d ever imagined she possessed.

  This was the woman he’d heard the mayor call an “ice princess”—and yet she’d just brought him to his knees.

  And she’d done it so innocently too.

  ***

  There was a gun on the nightstand, and it was too big to be hers.

  Squinting to clear her vision, Evelyn leaned up on one elbow to get a better look. Then she fell back because her head felt like it was about to explode. Where was she?

  Immediately, visions of the shack where she’d been held captive twenty years ago rose up. Since Jasper had never been caught, the possibility of being taken somewhere similar felt like fate at times.

  She was just about to panic when the memory of the night before came tumbling back to her.

  She was in Alaska, in her bungalow. She’d gone drinking with Amarok. And then...

  She was no longer frightened—she was mortified, because then she’d embarrassed herself by falling all over him on the dance floor, letting him know she wanted him. (Had she really told him he tasted good?) And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, she’d thrown up in his truck on the way home, which had to have been such a wonderful way to cap off the evening.

  Squeezing her eyes closed, she pulled her extra pillow over her head. She remembered telling him she could let herself into the house, that he should leave, but he wouldn’t go. He’d helped her inside, cleaned her up as best he could without actually seeing her naked and put her to bed, which explained why she had towels wrapped around her. He’d been too afraid it would freak her out if he took them off so he could dress her once she’d managed to get her wet clothes off—since he’d put her in the shower with them on.

  He’d told her he was going to stay, just to be sure she was okay, but she’d argued with him. In her altered state, she’d needed a gun to feel safe, since she didn’t have hers. So he’d finally relinquished his to get her to settle down and sleep.

  Was he still in the house? He had to be, didn’t he? Surely, if he were going to leave, he’d get his gun...

  She threw off the pillow she’d used to cover her head. If she had company, she was going to shower so that she could face him with a little dignity. Whatever had possessed her to go to The Moosehead last night, she didn’t know. Maybe she’d scored a few points with the locals, but she’d humiliated herself in front of Amarok.

  Now she wished she never had to see him again...

  “I guess he’ll know better than to go drinking with me,” she muttered.

  It wasn’t until she was gingerly making her way over to the bathroom that she saw the note on her bedroom door. “Don’t shoot me,” it said. “I’m one of the good guys.”

  She chuckled despite her hangover. She was pretty sure he was one of the good guys.

  But once upon a time, Jasper had seemed like a good guy too.

  Chapter 7

  Amarok was sacked out on her couch with nothing but her small lap quilt for a blanket. His head and bare chest stuck out on one end, his bare feet stuck out on the other, but she could tell he was still wearing his jeans. Where he’d put his shirt, she couldn’t fathom—it wasn’t lying on the floor or the furniture.

  But then she remembered. She’d tripped when he was trying to help her into the house, and he’d muttered something about the fact that she already had stitches and swung her up into his arms, which meant he’d gotten vomit on him. He’d taken off his shirt when he’d been trying to clean her up.

  Maybe he’d even thrown it away...

  Should she go on about her business and let him sleep? Or should she cook him breakfast, apologize for her behavior last night and send him on his way?

  She was about to slip out and save herself the humiliation of having to face him. With any luck, they could go the next few months without having to bump into each other. She liked that idea—the idea that maybe he’d forget about the worst of last night, the most embarrassing parts. But he opened those startling blue eyes of his and looked up at her before she could peel her gaze away from the mark she’d left on his neck.

  “Hey,” he said. “I see you’re in another suit. That’s a good sign. You must be feeling more like yourself.”

  “I have a terrible hangover, but I deserve that and more.”

  He covered a yawn. “I think you got the ‘more’ part last night.”

  “True. And, sadly, you paid a price too, even though you were mostly an innocent bystander.” She took a deep breath, preparing to deliver the apology she owed him. “I’m really sorry about—”

  With a grimace, he lifted a hand. “Please don’t apologize again. Humans aren’t always perfect, Evelyn. I asked you to be real, asked you to come down off your high horse and visit the people of Hilltop where they like to hang out. And you did. I respect that and can understand the rest. You don’t normally drink, didn’t know exactly what was in those fruity concoctions Shorty kept shoving at you, and you wound up overdoing it. It’s not a crime.”

  She liked his dark five o’clock shadow, loved how his hair was going every which way. Somehow seeing him fresh out of “bed” made him even sexier, which was rather...unsettling, since such thoughts were so unusual for her. “Okay, I appreciate your generosity. So why don’t I go out and clean your truck, and then we can agree to forget about it?”

  “Since I’ve already cleaned my truck, we can forget about it even sooner.” He gave her a grudging smile. “I didn’t think the smell would get better with time.”

  She returned that smile simply because it was hard not to smile at a man who looked so good. “I can’t fault your logic, and of course I’ll pay to have it professionally detailed.”

  “Like I said, I took care of it. It’s not the first time I’ve encountered someone who’s gotten sick.”

  “Well, it’s the first time I’ve ever humiliated myself in that way.” And if she had to do such a thing, why couldn’t she have done it with someone else?

  “I can’t say that’s anything to pride yourself on,” he said. “It’s hard to humiliate yourself in front of others if you never hang out with anyone to begin with.”

  “I have friends!”

  “That you go out and have a good time with? Or are we talking about an occasional intellectual discussion—an intellectual discussion about, wait for it, deviant behavior. I’m sure that’s just what you need. More exam
ples of men who have raped, murdered and maimed.”

  She fisted her hands on her hips. “I’m not sure you can use last night as an example to show me what I’ve been missing all these years.”

  “You could be more cautious next time—now that you’re aware of your limits. Most people figure that out when they’re teenagers, but...”

  “But I didn’t go through my teen years the way most everyone else did. Yes, I know.”

  He tossed her lap quilt aside and sat up. “You did great last night, by the way. Everyone liked you.”

  She couldn’t help feeling gratified by that comment. “Do you think I won over the people who damaged Hanover House?”

  “Tough to tell, but in this small of a town, I’m sure word will spread that you’re not as bad as you seem. It was a step in the right direction.”

  Although it required some effort, she lifted her eyes from his chest where they tended to drift without her express permission. “Would you like some coffee—and maybe some oatmeal?”

  “Oatmeal?” He grimaced. “How about eggs and bacon? Or biscuits and gravy?”

  “I don’t have any eggs and bacon or—or biscuits and gravy.”

  “Figures. You’re even uptight when it comes to food.”

  She blinked at him. “Is there something wrong with oatmeal?”

  “It’s just so...healthy.” He looked around as if he wanted to put on his shirt but couldn’t find it.

  “You must’ve thrown it away,” she said.

  “Thrown it away?”

  “Aren’t you looking for your shirt?”

  “I was. But now that I remember, I put it in the washer along with your jacket.”

  Her jacket? Oh no! It would be ruined! It needed to be dry-cleaned, but she didn’t say anything about that. “I’ll move it to the dryer for you.”

  “Great. While we wait for it to dry, and you make me that delicious oatmeal you promised, can I use your shower?”

  Her heart skipped a beat at the prospect of Amarok stripping off those jeans. He looked amazing in them, but she had no doubt he’d look even better without them—which was another scary thought, at least for her.