not the end of the world. I’ll be fine. Really. I’m just sore and stiff, but mostly better now.”
“Oh, I didn’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?” he said, pinning her with a look. She could see faint circles around his eyes, a tightness around his lips.
“Are you saying I’m lying?” she challenged him, but now she was worried. She’d never seen Brody like this, and maybe Reece had been concerned for a reason.
He looked away. And then he began to tap his fingertips on the table as if he was holding something back.
“I never knew you had horses,” she said, changing the subject.
“There’s a lot you never knew about me, sugar,” he drawled as he roughly pushed his chair back and returned to the kitchen, apparently done with the conversation.
This wasn’t the Brody she’d known. Not by a long shot. Brody had always been a wild man, a partier and to a certain degree, a player—which was how she’d met him in the first place. But he wasn’t ever a jerk about it.
His eyes were bleary, and she noticed now that his gait was off, his walk more hesitant than usual. He held himself stiffly, his legs moving only with concentrated effort, as if each step was painful.
She followed him.
“If you’re fine, why is this place such a mess? Are you too hurt to pick up things? Maybe you need a cleaning service to give you a hand?”
He turned on her, eyes narrow, as if his patience was worn out.
“Listen, I don’t need help. Just because you and I had some fun together doesn’t mean I’m going to spill my guts to you or anyone else. So if that was the plan, forget it.”
Hannah took a steadying breath. “Something is wrong. Tell me.”
“You don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
Ouch. Hannah straightened, held her chin high.
“Maybe not. But I’m telling the truth, Brody. No one sent me. But since I’m here, I’m not going away until you tell me what’s going on.”
Her blog problems fell by the wayside. Hannah knew firsthand that people didn’t care as much about their health or their surroundings, or even people they loved when they were depressed. Brody was no dummy; he had to know that she could see this.
Her mother had reacted similarly after Hannah’s dad had died, until her mom had gotten some help. Hannah, though only ten, had been the one to take care of the house, the food and her mom in the meanwhile. Brody didn’t have anyone, from what she could tell.
She stepped forward, putting a hand on his arm. He flinched, and she pulled back.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Brody, I didn’t mean to—”
His eyes were fierce as they looked down into hers. They were so close, the heat of him burned right through her. She stared at his mouth, her mind drifting back to the kiss at the front door. Hannah had always loved his mouth. She’d enjoyed his smile, his kisses, and many other wonderful things he did with those lips.
“You think you know me, Hannah? You want to help?”
She was unsure, not knowing what to do with Brody in this mood.
His gaze was intoxicating, his body hard and solid. Brody could always turn her inside out with merely a look. Even now, even when he was acting so strangely, that still held true.
“Then help,” he said, intention clear in his eyes.
She started to speak, but he stopped her with another kiss. All Hannah could do was hold on.
* * *
BRODY’S BODY WAS going to suffer for this later, but he didn’t care. Hannah was here.
She was possibly the last person he’d expected to see at the door. When he looked into her sweet face and had her back in his arms, at least one thing about the world seemed right.
He hadn’t meant to kiss her again. He was going to send her on her way, but now here they were, and she was making those soft sounds she tended to make when she was turned on.
Even as he deepened the kiss, he tried to tell himself to back off. Hannah didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve his lies or to be the answer for his frustration and restlessness. She didn’t need to be part of this sham he was involved in.
Any minute now, he would cut her loose and show her the door.
Or to his bed.
There’d never been anyone like Hannah, and all he wanted was to have her again. To lose himself in her body and forget about everything for a while. Being with her was the last time he could remember anything really good, and he wanted that back more than he could say.
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
