[Magic Sisters 05] - Safe Harbor

by Christine Feehan

  Elle moved close to Hannah and circled her waist with one arm, positioning her body just a little in front of her sister. Hannah frowned. Elle was the youngest, the quietest, and definitely the most lethal. Hannah didn't want Elle's protection anymore. If anything, it should be the other way around, but already her heart was pounding, lungs burning, and she could barely think with the buzzing in her head. A full-blown panic attack was setting in.

  "Joley, take Hannah upstairs," Ilya commanded. "Hurry."

  Joley glanced from him to Hannah's pale face. Without protesting, she grabbed Hannah's hand and took her out of the room, up the stairs. Behind them, she could hear Prakenskii opening the front door to let the mobster in.

  "I-I c-can't breathe," Hannah stammered, her breath coming in long wheezes.

  "Yes you can, honey," Joley said. "You'll be safe in your room."

  "Outside." Hannah indicated the balcony. She could breathe outside. She was safe with the wind and the sea. She groped her way along the walls to the French doors and threw them open, stepping with relief onto the tiled balcony.

  "Better?" Joley asked, pulling Hannah's chair closer.

  "Yes. I'm sorry, Joley, and I'm sorry you felt you had to go out there and protect me from that slimebag pervert. You're an amazing sister."

  "People like that make me so angry, Hannah." She was silent a moment, her hand shaking as she pushed back her hair. "I hate it that Ilya saw me like that. It made me feel cheap and dirty."

  "Oh, Joley." Distressed, Hannah reached out to her. "He didn't look at you as if you were cheap or dirty, he looked concerned and upset, and afraid for you. He made me afraid for you."

  "And I hate that he was right. It was a stupid thing to do, but I'm still glad I did it. Very few people are going to follow the Reverend after his little display."

  "Be careful, Joley. Be very careful from now on. You've made an enemy." Hannah rocked herself back and forth, trying to find balance again.

  "Jonas is going to be really upset with me, too." She brightened. "But you're going out with him tonight and that ought to mellow him right out."

  "Maybe I shouldn't go with him. I don't want him to love me like this. I want to be whole for him. Strong for him."

  "Jonas has loved you forever, Hannah, you're the only one who didn't know. He isn't going to stop loving you because you tell him to."

  "Then you think I should go?" It was a commitment if she went. She understood that, and more, she understood that if she went with him, she was going to seduce him and that would be binding as far as Jonas was concerned. Was she ready? She honestly didn't know.

  "Do you love him, Hannah? Really love him?" Joley asked.

  "With every breath in my body. Bone deep. All the way."

  "Why? Why do you love him so much, Hannah?"

  Hannah sank into the chair and put her feet on the railing, the tension slipping from her body. "He makes me feel alive. He sees me. I can't hide from him. He sees me and he loves me anyway. He makes me feel beautiful when nothing else makes me feel that way. I can see myself in his eyes and he makes me a better person than I am."

  "What else?"

  "He knows how to have fun and he's okay with me having fun. He doesn't care if I'm rich or famous. He doesn't care if I'm a huge success out in the world. He makes me feel as if the things I want to do, stay home, cook and be a wife and mother, are just as important as saving the world."

  "And?" Joley prompted with a small grin.

  Hannah grinned back. "And he's hot in bed."

  Joley laughed. "Then I say, you have your answer. The rest of it will all fall into place. Let yourself be happy, Hannah."

  "What about my panic attacks? They aren't going away."

  "You deserve to have a few panic attacks after some nutcase tried to carve you up with a knife. Jonas doesn't care. We don't care. Why should you? Be happy."

  Hannah nodded. "You're right. How'd you get to be so smart? I'm going to take my bath and get ready and then will you come in and help me with something else, something important to me?"

  "Sure. I'll be back with the 411 from whatever's happening downstairs." Joley winked and left her alone.

  Hannah went back into her room, carefully closing the French doors and drawing the blinds. She stood in her room waiting for her heart to stop pounding. Hadn't she promised she would be true to herself? What did she want to happen tonight with Jonas? She was the one trying to hold off being with him physically because she was ashamed of her body, yet she wanted him with such intensity it shook her. As night fell, the tightness in her body seemed only to increase. She wanted to be lying under him, over him, with him, his body taking hers over and over. And God help her, she wanted to see that fierce, possessive look on his face again and again.

  Every single thing she had said to Joley was the truth. She loved Jonas. There had been no one before him and there would be no one after him. If she wanted him, she needed to stand up and take him.

  She walked slowly to the mirror and stared at her face. To her, the injuries were all she could see, her face carved into a wreck, pieces, like Frankenstein, but when she took a deep breath and forced herself to analyze her wounds, it was clear they were already well past the raw stage and into fading. The lines were red, but not inflamed. The skin looked healthy and soft again. The bruising and swelling was long gone. Her sisters really had accomplished a miracle, along with a brilliant plastic surgeon who had taken his time to ensure that he had meticulously seamed her face back together.

  Slowly, Hannah removed her clothes, still staring at the mirror. Her throat, breasts and ribs looked far better, just as her face did. The deeper injuries were a little redder, but still, even those had healed so much faster, thanks to her sisters. She frowned as she tried to see what others saw—what Jonas saw. Was she beautiful like everyone said? She wanted to be for Jonas. And maybe in the end, all that mattered was the way he saw her. If Jonas thought her body was beautiful and he enjoyed it…

  She blushed, thinking of how much he had enjoyed touching her. He took command of her, almost as if he meant it when he said her body belonged to him. She filled the bathtub and poured scented salts into it, wanting to give him more pleasure than he'd ever known. She wanted her body to belong to him, she wanted to see that same look of absolute possession and fierce hunger on his face and in his eyes.

  Hannah took special care with her appearance, soaking herself in her favorite fragrance so her skin would have the light scent of peaches. She used lotion to make her skin soft and washed her hair with the same scented shampoo. Her makeup was applied with care, a professional's touch—using just enough to enhance her natural looks, play up her eyes and mouth without overdoing it.

  She stood for a long time in her underwear, a lacy bra and matching thong of shimmering blue. What had been his fantasy? She reached for the flowing skirt, the soft sea blue swirled with midnight, and sprinkled with silver stars. She loved the feel of the soft, sensual material sliding over her hips and brushing her ankles. She wrapped a chain of silver stars around her left ankle and another around her hips. Staring into the bathroom mirror, she cursed herself for breaking her full-length one. She wanted to see if she could get away with no panties.

  Her breath caught in her throat and her heart thundered at the idea of being so daring. Just to see how it would feel, Hannah slipped off her underwear and walked across the room. Only she would know. She'd be so aware that she was naked and ready for him. Would he see it in her eyes? She made a small twirl and watched her skirt flow out. There was no hint, not even when she walked and the folds settled along the vee at the junction of her legs, but she felt sexy.

  She reached up and unhooked her bra. In the mirror, she caught sight of her bare breasts swaying as she turned slowly around. Dragging the peasant blouse Jonas loved so much over her full breasts, she took another look. She was covered completely, no hint that she was bare beneath her clothes, waiting for his touch.

  "Hannah?" Joley stuck her head in
to the room. "Elle gave me this file for you. She said it's the one you asked for on all the nutcases writing to you. Are you certain you want to read it?"

  She had been certain when she'd first woken up in the morning, but now she was not so sure. "Just put it on the dresser. I'll think about it."

  "Well? Are you going to turn around so I can see you?"

  Hannah nodded, holding her breath as she did so, waiting to see if Joley noticed anything different about her.

  "You look beautiful. Jonas will love that outfit."

  No sly teasing. Only Hannah was aware of her own daring. For some reason, that secret knowledge gave her courage. She picked up the scissors she'd set out and extended them toward her sister. "I want you to cut my hair."

  Joley stared at the scissors without moving. "What are you talking about?"

  "I want to cut my hair."

  "You have beautiful hair, Hannah."

  "Everyone else loves my hair, but I don't. I want you to cut it. You do all kinds of things to your hair. I'm not asking you to dye it pink or anything, just to cut it."

  Joley took the scissors reluctantly. "Are you certain?"

  "Absolutely. And while you're at it, tell me what happened when Nikitin showed up." She led the way to the balcony. The birds would appreciate her hair for their nests.

  "Sarah said Nikitin really turned on the charm. He asked about you and said how sorry he was about what happened. He said he was glad he and Ilya were on hand to stop the madman."

  "Ilya did the stopping. Was Nikitin anywhere close?"

  "I'm just repeating what Sarah said. He wanted to see me. Libby told him I was resting, that I was shaken up by what had happened."

  "Did he buy that?"

  "I don't think he had a choice. He told Sarah that he wanted me to be careful because the coast was filling up with Russians."

  "What does that mean?"

  "I have no idea, neither did Sarah. Apparently Prakenskii didn't say one word with Nikitin in the room. At least now I know how to shut him up. If I have to talk to him, I'll make sure his boss is around." She stepped back to admire her work. "This is really sexy. Sexy and sassy and more you than ever. Check it out in the mirror. See if you like the way I shaped it."

  Hannah held her breath until she looked. The heavy fall of hair was gone, leaving her curls falling to her shoulder and feathering around her face. It felt light and Joley was right. She did look different and she felt different, too.

  "I love it, thanks, Joley."

  "Well, I'm heading downstairs to eat. Jonas should be here any minute," Joley said as Hannah trailed her to the door to take the scissors. "Sarah thinks she's going to put me on restriction or something. She's afraid for me to go out for a while until we know the Reverend's reaction."

  Hannah stiffened, one hand on the closed door as she stared down at the sharp scissors in her hand. Someone hated her enough to try to destroy her. The realization hit her hard and she felt sick—panicked—her newfound courage turning to dust. She swallowed hard and looked over at the file sitting on her dresser. It was a lot thicker than she had ever conceived it of being. Did all those people hate her and want her dead? How could she have ignored it all the years she'd modeled? How many were there? And what had she done to make them feel that way about her?

  Chapter Seventeen

  SOMEONE hated her enough to want to kill her. They had already made three attempts and would make another. What had she ever done to make someone loathe her so much?

  Hannah shivered, feeling the black hatred sliding into her room. Desperate to get outside, where the wind would protect her, would wrap her up and keep her safe, she snatched up her blanket, drew it around her and hurried out to the balcony to sit in her chair. She'd have to refuse to go with poor Jonas. Oh, Lord, what had she done? She was naked under her skirt and blouse and she'd cut off her hair. She was an absolute idiot to think she could blithely go out for the evening and seduce Jonas. She felt like a fool. Thank God he didn't know what she'd been thinking all evening, getting ready for him. If he saw her in her skirt and blouse, he'd know what had been on her mind. It would be so humiliating to have to refuse him and… She buried her face in her hands. He'd know she was falling apart again.

  JONAS swore and stared for a moment at the locked door. He'd spent hours going through suspect files and working to find out who was trying to harm Hannah. All day he'd thought about nothing else but getting back to Hannah. He'd worked out the steps of escaping safely with her, paying attention to the smallest detail so she wouldn't have to feel a prisoner in her own home—so she could be empowered. And now—once again—she'd locked him out.

  The sweep of anger shaking him was definitely out of proportion, but he'd had enough of locked doors. Hannah knew him better than that. Resisting the idea of breaking it down, he picked the lock and let himself in.

  The French doors leading to the balcony overlooking the sea were open as usual. White lacy drapes billowed into the room, bringing in the mist and tang of sea salt. She was wrapped in a blanket and sitting in a chair, staring down at the turbulent water, stubbornly refusing to look at him. He leaned one hip lazily against the doorjamb and studied her averted face.

  The blanket slipped as she leaned forward to throw something over the railing. The wind blew some of it back toward him. A long spiral curl landed on his chest.

  "What the hell, Hannah?" he demanded, balancing a mug of tea in one hand and catching platinum strands in the other. "What have you done?"

  She jumped, a small squeak of fear tangling in her throat. She drew the blanket closer around her like a hood, covering most of her face. "A locked door usually means someone wants to be alone." Her voice was that husky whisper of sound he found sexy as hell. It played up and down his spine and gave him one hell of a hard-on. He shifted a little to try to ease the continual ache centered in his groin.

  "I don't like being locked out."

  She flinched under his steady gaze. "It's called privacy."

  "You've had enough of privacy. You can be angry with me, Hannah, and yell and tell me to go to hell, but you don't fucking lock the door against me. It just pisses me off more. If you're having a difficult time, say so."

  "Locking the door is saying so."

  "It's the two of us together, not you alone anymore. We aren't going to have one of those lame, half-assed relationships."

  She frowned. "What exactly does that mean?"

  "It means you don't lock the damn door on me."

  "Sheesh. All right. Fine." She sighed and capitulated. "In all honesty, I didn't realize the door was locked."

  "Then why didn't you just say so?"

  "Because you yelled at me."

  "Well, just don't lock the door again." He handed her the mug of tea and snagged another chair, dragging it beside hers.

  She immediately wrapped her hands around the warmth of the cup. "Thanks, Jonas."

  "You're welcome. I put honey in it for you. Are you ready to go?" She didn't look ready, not the way she was clutching the blanket so desperately and hiding in its folds. He couldn't see her hair, but there were several long strands on the balcony floor.

  She started to speak, to tell him she wasn't going, he was certain, but she stopped and took a small sip of tea as if gathering courage. When the silence stretched, she sighed. "I want to go, Jonas. It's just that…" She trailed off.

  "Baby." He said it softly. "Let's just get it over. Let me see your hair."

  Her long lashes fluttered. She reached up a hand and touched the springy curls beneath the blanket. "I did it for me."

  He let his breath out. "That's good, honey. Let me see."

  She glanced at him as if trying to gauge his true emotion. "I have so much hair and it weighs on me, you know? I just wanted to get rid of some of the weight. And it was such a burden to always be so perfect."

  His answering laughter was soft. "People always did write about your perfect hair," he agreed.

  "They're not the ones who had
to put a zillion gallons of product in it to keep it from poofing out everywhere. I wanted to do something that was my decision alone." She wanted him to understand. And she wanted him to like it, not to be disappointed.

  "Has anyone seen it?" He knew the answer before she said it.

  "Joley did it for me, but she promised not to tell."

  "She didn't dye it some outrageous color, did she? You don't have purple curls under the blanket, do you?" He reached over and took the mug out of her hand, taking a drink, allowing the liquid to warm his insides.

  A small smile curved her soft mouth, drawing attention to her full lower lip. He wanted to spend some time nibbling at her lip again, but Hannah wasn't giving him any help.

  "No color. Joley says the style is sassy and sexy. But everything is sexy to her."

  "Are you going to let me see or do I have to wrestle the blanket off of you?"

  "A couple of reporters hired boats and tried to get pictures this afternoon while you were gone. And Joley went crazy and confronted the Reverend. She basically had him confessing his sins on national television."

  "So I heard. It was a crazy thing to do." She was stalling. He knew she was and considered calling her on it, but there was more going on here than a new shorter hairstyle. He needed to let her work her way around to telling him the real problem.

  Hannah took the tea back, swallowing hard, once again not looking at him. "I thought this story would just die down and everyone would go away, but it isn't going to happen, is it?"

  "Not for a while."

  "And Joley could have made herself a target as well, right?"

  She looked young and vulnerable and so fragile he ached for her. "I'm sorry, baby, I want to tell you different, but the truth is, Joley made herself a target a long time ago just by stepping out into the public eye."

  His voice was gentle and grief hit her hard, making her throat raw and her chest tight. "Like I did." She swallowed hard and shook her head, tears spilling over when she'd tried so hard to hold them back. "Jonas." She couldn't say anything else. As it was, his name was choked out of her, ripped from somewhere so deep it left an open wound. "Why do they hate me so much?"