Folded at one end of the hammock was a red, white, and blue afghan. She ran her palm over the soft, crocheted threads, then sat down beside it and pushed against the ground with her feet to start a gentle sway.
A salty-scented breeze scattered the warmth of the sunshine, and she picked up the afghan—she noticed now it was styled like an American flag—and wrapped it around her shoulders. Then she closed her eyes and tried to breathe in the moment. For so long she'd lived for some future date when Duncan came home, or she'd lived in the past trying to make herself in Deborah's image. But now, in Tanner's secret garden, she just wanted to be herself.
"There you are."
She turned her head to see him coming toward her, walking through sunshine and shade, one minute his hair a blaze of gold, the next his face hidden by shadows. She didn't need to read his expression to feel the dark moodiness radiating from him. It had been brooding since they'd left the Mexican restaurant, and she suspected that one of those memories she was supposed to be guarding him against had already taken hold.
Now she remembered her first thoughts about him at the bar on New Year's Eve. Now she understood the source of that unfriendly, maybe even angry, chip on his shoulder.
It had been with him for the last year, she suspected, a constant reminder of his impotence on the night when so much had happened: the death of a Secret Service comrade-in-arms, the loss of his best friend Finn's eye.
The demise of his own career.
He stopped a few feet away from her and shook his head. "You're doing that patriotic thing again. I'm never going to be able to recite the Pledge of Allegiance after this without thinking of you."
She tried to smile at that, but there was no amusement in Tanner's voice.
He took a step closer. "Take off your clothes, Hannah."
Her whole body twitched, shocked by the grim, urgent note in his voice.
"Please, Hannah." But there was only command in his voice, no plea. "I need you."
There was no doubting that. Her glance flicked down and she couldn't miss the thick ridge underneath his jeans.
His hand went to the first button, popping it open. "I need you right now."
Goose bumps washed over Hannah's skin, followed by a flush of heat. No man had ever needed her. Obviously not Duncan.
"I have to have you." Tanner had released the buttons of his fly, and she could see the jut of his sex pushing against his boxers through the open vee of fabric. He stripped off his T-shirt and threw it down, then gestured toward her. "Take off your clothes," he said again. "I have to have you now, Hannah."
Hannah. He had to have Hannah, he said. There it was again. Before Tanner, no one had ever desired her like this. Desired her without family pressure or approval, without a future to be thinking about or plan for. This was a man wanting her for nothing more (and nothing less) than herself.
For right now, in this moment.
It was an aphrodisiac to surpass all others, slowing her pulse to a heavy, primitive beat.
Holding the afghan around her with one fist, she managed to undress one-handed. Her clothes made a pile at her feet on top of her kitten-heeled sandals, and then she stood, bare soles tickled by the cool grass.
"Come here," he ordered again, his voice as hard as the agate-blue of his eyes.
Still blanketed by the flag afghan, she approached, shivering with breathless excitement. God, he was beautiful. His golden hair, his lean face, the etched muscles of his arms and torso. His nostrils flared, and she saw his fingers curl into fists, as if he dared himself not to reach for her.
As if his need for her was something he was fighting himself against.
Ah. But that made her so much stronger. No longer passive, pleaser Hannah. But Hannah who could own her own desire and who was not afraid to inflame his. She knew, now, that she had it in her to make him forget everything but the two of them like this, together.
Toes to Tanner's, she dropped the afghan. Then dropped to her knees.
He made a choked sound, and she ignored it, focusing instead on releasing his erection from the silky confines of his boxers. She pushed the elastic to his thighs and slid her palms to cup the hard, round muscles of his butt. A little pressure there brought him to her mouth.
He made that choked-off sound again, and from the periphery of her vision she saw his fists clench as she ran her tongue over the head of his hot flesh. Another burning flush wafted over her skin and she gloried in the new spike of desire and took him deeper into her mouth.
As she drew closer to take more, her nipples rubbed against his jean-covered thighs. She gasped at the delicious friction, drawing cool air against his wet flesh, and he grunted, then grunted again as she deliberately moved to chafe the peaks of her aching breasts against the denim while she tasted and tongue-stroked the hard muscle that proved Tanner wanted her.
Needed her.
"God. Hannah. Oh, God." His head dropped back and his fists uncurled to bury in her hair. He guided her movements on him and she reveled in the trembling of his body and the bite of his fingers against his scalp.
He was helpless against her touch.
She was strong in their mutual desire.
"Sweetheart, no, stop. Christ, Hannah. Stop. Stop."
Closing her ears to his groans, she sucked him deeper, trying to take him into herself so she would never forget this man, this moment, this chance to play out her desires.
One second she had her eyes squeezed shut, the next he lifted her up. "No," she protested. "I want—"
"I want. I want. I want. I want you."
She'd thought she was strong, but he proved himself powerful too, gently manhandling her down to the grass, stretching them out on the afghan she'd dropped. He came down between her thighs and cradled her head in his hands.
"Mine," he said to her mouth, then took it. Closing her eyes, she opened for the deep thrust of his tongue and pressed up against his weight, rubbing her breasts against his chest, grinding her hips against his pelvis, feeling the heaviness of his erection against her belly.
On New Year's morning she'd imagined herself melting into Tanner's mattress, but now she wanted to melt into Tanner himself, and to take him into her as well. She opened her eyes, and the hard glitter in his made her shiver with another jolt of desire. He bit her bottom lip and she jerked in his arms, the sting making the desire only sharper, sweeter, more intense.
He groaned again and flipped her over, his mouth roaming the skin of her shoulders, her spine, sucking hard on the small of her back. She moaned, half rising on her knees to arch into the exciting sensation. Tanner slid his arm beneath her hips and dragged her up all the way, getting behind her so he could run his palms along the curve of her bottom.
"I'm an ass man," he said. "And yours is so damned beautiful."
The harsh tone in his voice pierced the fog of lust swirling through her head and pulsing thickly through her veins. She looked over her shoulder at him, her heartbeat quickening at the intractable expression on his face.
"You said that about my legs."
"Yeah." His palms slid down to caress the back of her thighs. "And about your breasts." He continued his strokes up, then curled his hands inside to cover her breasts.
His knees came between hers, pushing them outward. He caressed her nipples and she arched her back, her bottom meeting his arousal. He pressed the length of himself against her there, and she gasped.
"I'm a Hannah man."
A Hannah man.
Then he dipped, and slid his erection between her thighs. She was slick—always so ready for him —and he squeezed her nipples as he pressed into her.
Deep. Slow. Sure.
Her head dropped back and she moaned. Tanner fisted one hand in the long strands of her hair and pushed even deeper. His chest dropped over her back and he tugged on her hair, urging her to turn her head so their mouths could fuse like their bodies.
Her arms trembled, sun heated one hip, and she smelled Tanner and the scent
of green grass as she sucked on his tongue. He filled her deeper, filled her to overflowing, as her senses banked every nuance of the raw, beautiful act.
Heat. Strength. Weakness. Take. Give. Sun. Darkness. Gold. Shadow. Man.
Woman. Sex.
Wanton sex.
Shameless desire. Wanton.
Shameless. Love.
Tanner broke the kiss to lay his cheek against her back. His hand released her hair to drag her hips tighter to his, then he reached lower and circled, stroked, coaxed with a gentle finger that was delicious counterpoint to the heavy, aggressive thrusts that drove deeper into her. Harder. Drove her on.
Until she shattered.
She writhed against him as she climaxed and he straightened on his knees, holding tight to her hips as he pumped to his release. His weight fell against her again and they both collapsed on the afghan.
Tanner rolled to his side and took Hannah with him. Sated in every way, he sighed. Everything was going his way, right? She'd just let him fuck his brains out, and mindlessness was what he needed more than anything else today.
One year ago.
Ayesha had lost her life. Finn had lost an eye. He'd lost his job.
He stroked his palm from Hannah's shoulder, down her arm, and along her warm, perfect flank. She shuddered, and he curled his arm around her waist to spoon her deeper against the curve of his body. "Cold?" he whispered in her ear.
She shook her head, but he could see a trail of goose bumps rush down her neck, her skin reacting to his breath.
His cock twitched and he thought of what had just happened between them. All else was pushed from his mind as he thought of her kneeling in front of him, of the soft weight of her breasts in his palms, of the tender softness of her mouth opening to the thrust of his tongue.
Yeah, that's right. Think of sex. Nothing less, nothing more.
He ran his hand along that pretty set of Hannah's curves, shoulder, hip, thigh. All was right with his world.
"Are you still in love?" he heard himself ask.
She stiffened. "Wh-What?"
He had no idea where the question had come from. One moment he was basking in afterglow, and the next,,, "Duncan." Damn deceiving, war hero Duncan. "Are you still in love with Duncan?"
"Why are you asking?"
Did he need a reason? Because he didn't have one to offer up. He felt his mood darken all over again and start to smolder around the edges. "It's a simple question, Hannah."
"Tanner, you don't understand…"
"Then explain it to me. I want to understand." Why? Why the hell was he giving her this line?
Because it was true. Because each time he and Hannah were naked and doing the wild thing, it felt less wild and more intense. Less a "thing" than a...something more intimate. So intimate that he felt as if he was losing layers of himself each time. Soon she'd be able to see right through the thin skin that was the only protection he had left.
Turnabout was fair play.
He needed to be able to see inside her in order to keep the balance. Keep him balanced.
Brushing away her hair, he kissed the side of her neck. "Is your heart broken, sweetheart?" He hated the idea.
He heard her let out a breath. Then, still turned away from him, she spoke. "Sometimes I wonder if our parents forced us to get engaged."
"What?" He blinked, going up on one elbow to try and make out her expression. "Did we travel back in time? Are you telling me this still isn't the twenty-first century?"
"Oh, forget about it." She tried to roll away, but he slid his arm around her waist again. Her mouth turned down as he confined her against him. "I knew you wouldn't understand family pressure."
"I wanted to enlist after 9/11. My mother cried, because my brothers were already serving in the military and she couldn't bear the idea of all of us in harm's way like that at one time."
"So you didn't join because of your mom?"
"No. I didn't join because your uncle convinced me that what I was doing in the Secret Service was an important job for our nation too. But the pressure thing, I do get that. I'm just not clear on why you'd marry some guy because of it."
"But we didn't get married, remember?"
"Engaged, then. Why'd you go along, Hannah?" He didn't know what he'd expected to hear, but he still couldn't swallow his surprise.
"He was my childhood sweetheart, remember? I…I had a love for him. And he was going off to war and I think his parents thought it would give him another layer of support and my parents thought...thought..."
He tried to hold out against the ensuing silence, but he was a man used to answers. "Your parents thought what?"
"I don't know." Then her eyes squeezed shut. "Oh, I'm lying. I do know. They were thinking about Deborah. They're always thinking about Deborah. I don't blame them for it, but I can always see it going through their minds. 'Deborah would have married a man like Duncan.' So then it seemed like a good idea for me too."
Which sounded to him as if Hannah had waited years for a man who had never held her heart.
Tanner was a nice guy, when all was said and done. He had his dark moods and his frustrated desires, but in the end he was capable of sympathy for others. Now, looking at Hannah's pretty, pensive face, he waited for it to fill him.
After a few moments he amended his expectations and waited for a trickle. Okay, he'd settle for a drop.
Finally he gave up, pushed her flat on her back and applied himself to kissing her into his same, mindless state.
Because he wasn't thinking of unpleasant things again.
All was right with his world. Things were still going his way.
He sailed through the remainder of the afternoon. A shower, fresh clothes, and some food later, he and Hannah unlocked the door to Hart's. Pumping music through the speakers, smelling the oil starting to heat in the deep fryer, watching Hannah do what she could to help out before opening time, Tanner relaxed into the rhythm of work.
He didn't think about what day it was or what happened a year ago on this same date. All was right with his world.
They'd advertised a special on draft beer, so the place was crowded. That helped too, keeping him, Hannah, and the rest of the staff running ragged.
Longtime friends showed up, and if he'd had the time, he might have been more suspicious—or grateful—about that. As it was, he had his hands full keeping everyone in beers and what ever else.
As closing time neared, the place started to clear out. Hannah took a break on the last stool at the bar, moaning something about her sore feet while Tanner took over from Bartender Jack, who had a late night/early morning date. He slid a glass of chardonnay in front of the dark-haired babe who was going home with him that night. She took a grateful sip and then he took it away from her again to take a swallow himself, turning the glass so his lips touched the same place as hers.
Her eyes widened.
His probably did too. It was an unpremeditated, gag-him-if-some-other-guy-had-done-it gesture, and totally out of character. Except anniversary night was almost over, and he was still floating on a tide of well-being.
Or mind-blowing sex. Take your pick.
A half hour before they were scheduled to lock the front door, Finn and Bailey walked in. His one-eyed buddy was walking loose-hipped and wearing a smug smile, so Tanner figured Bailey had worked a little girl magic on him too.
They plopped onto the stools next to Hannah's and he passed around drinks and baskets of pretzels. Then the front door opened again and Geoff Brooks hobbled in on crutches.
Hannah rushed over to help him, looking as surprised as the rest of them. "What are you doing here?" she asked, settling him at a table and propping his casted leg on a second chair.
Finn and Bailey moved from the bar to the table, and after Tanner brought over a whiskey for his old boss, he joined the rest of them. The group quieted as Geoff lifted his drink.
Finn raised his coffee cup. Bailey her wineglass. Hannah handed off her goblet to Tanner
.
He squeezed the stem, his stomach starting to churn, then found himself distracted as Hannah folded her fingers over his free hand. Glancing over at her, he saw her knuckle away a tear.
Finn's face was hard as a mask.
Bailey's eyes were big, and trained on her man's face. Geoff cleared his throat.
A year ago they'd lost a comrade, Finn had lost his eye and his ability to do his job, Tanner had lost hope that he'd ever measure up to the rest of his family.
"To missing friends, old friends, and a new year of new beginnings," Geoff said.
Glasses met, clacked, and they all sipped. Then silence fell over them like a shroud.
Awkward glances chased around the table. What had happened to Finn's confident swagger? Tanner wondered. Or his own unflagging feeling of well-being?
He looked over at Hannah, desperate to fight clear of the dark, descending mood. She scooted closer and rubbed his forearm with her free hand. "It's going to be all right," she whispered.
His chest loosened. It would be all right. To night, with her in bed next to him, it was going to be all right again.
She stood up, releasing his hand to pat his shoulder. "I'll get Finn some more coffee," she said, and started to walk behind her uncle in the direction of the bar. One foot caught on something—probably a sticky spill on the linoleum—and she bent down to adjust the back strap of her black high heel.
Geoff flicked his wrist and polished off the rest of his whiskey. The empty glass landed with a hollow click against the tabletop.
"Well, Hart," he said, shifting his gaze toward Tanner. "It looks as if being my niece's tour guide didn't do you any harm."
Oh, hell, Tanner thought, his sixth sense suddenly smelling trouble. He sat straight in his chair and his eyes darted to Hannah who was rising out of her crouch just a few feet away. "Sir—"
"And since she looks happy, I'm happy."
Hannah stood behind her uncle, frozen in place.
"Sir—"
"I consider our deal done. Your ten days of TLC places you back on the team. I know you've been chomping at the bit to return, so as soon as you get Hannah on a plane back home, then get your butt back into the San Diego office."
Not Another New Year's (Holiday Duet Book 2) Page 21
