Joan Hohl - A Man Apart

“Justin.” Maggie unlocked then flung open the door and ushered her inside.

Who would ever have guessed? Hannah thought, resigned to hearing more negative tidbits about Justin’s character, or lack of same. She sighed, might as well get it over with. “What about Justin?”

“Well…” Now, after having given Hannah the bum’s rush from the reception room, Maggie hesitated.

“He’s a wanted felon?” Hannah asked, facetiously.

“No, of course not.” Maggie tossed an impatient look at her. “Apparently, he’s something of a…uh…philanderer. You know, the no-strings, love-’em-and-leave-’em type.”

Big shocker. Hannah had figured that one out for herself. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have been about to bid good-night to Maggie and Mitch, wish them happiness, give them both a congratulatory hug and head for the nearest exit.

“I suspected as much,” Hannah said, with self-imposed equanimity, walking around Maggie to unhook and pull the waist-length zipper on her dress.

“You did?” Maggie swung around to face her. “How?”

Hannah actually contrived a reasonable-sounding chuckle. “Dearest friend, Justin has been making…shall I say…explicit suggestions to me since the rehearsal supper last night.”

“Aha,” Maggie crowed. “Mitch was right. He said he thought Justin was hitting on you. That’s why he asked me to clue you in.”

“I appreciate the concern.” In point of fact, even though she had figured Justin wasn’t looking for a real relationship, Hannah wasn’t at all sure she did appreciate the concern, or the information. She gave a frowning Maggie a serene smile. “Where is your bridegroom, by the way?”

“Oh my gosh,” Maggie yelped. “He’ll be here any minute. If you don’t mind,” she said, stepping out of the dress, “I’m going to toss this into the bag and toss you out of here so I can get ready for him.”

Laughing with genuine amusement, Hannah retrieved the long, heavy plastic dress bag and held it open while Maggie slipped it onto a padded hanger and beneath the garment bag.

“Okay, I’m outta here.”

“Wait,” Maggie ordered, stopping Hannah as she turned toward the door. Bending to a low table, she scooped up her bouquet and shoved it into Hannah’s free hand.

“What are you doing?” Hannah demanded. “You’re supposed to toss that to the single women downstairs.” She tried to hand it back to Maggie, who refused to take it.

“What single woman?” Maggie backed away. “As far as I’m concerned, you are the only single woman here…which means, you’ll be the next bride.”

“But, Maggie, you know there is no-”

“I know, I know, but who knows what’s in the future? Mr. Right might be just around the corner.” Laughing at Hannah’s skeptical expression, Maggie backed up another step. “Will you just take it and get out of here?”

Hannah heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, you win. But only because I don’t want to be here to cramp his style when Mitch arrives.”

“Thanks, love,” Maggie fervently said, rushing to Hannah to give her a hug. “For everything, especially being my friend. I’ll call you after Mitch and I get back.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Hannah said, holding the bag up from the floor as she moved to the door. “Be happy.” She smiled, opened the door, then turned back to murmur, “Love you.”

Maggie’s return smile was misty. “Back at you.”

Avoiding Justin as she made her escape, Hannah didn’t breathe fully until she locked the door behind her in Maggie’s cozy attic flat.

Nervous, edgy, both afraid-and secretly hopeful-that she’d hear Justin rap at the door any second, she carefully hung Maggie’s dress away before removing her own dress. After a quick shower, Hannah slipped into her nightshirt and robe, then proceeded to collect her stuff. She was leaving, going back to Philly, first thing in the morning.

She was not running from Justin, Hannah kept telling herself, knowing all the while she was lying. She knew, without a shred of doubt, Justin would not force any issues or hurt her in any way. Why she was convinced he would honor her decision, whatever that might be, she didn’t know, but she felt certain she was right.

So, if she was not running from fear of Justin, what was she running from? She was attracted to Justin, fiercely attracted. She had never, ever wanted a man, his touch, his kiss, his possession as much as she wanted Justin Grainger.

It scared the hell out of her.

He scared the hell out of her.

Not physically. Emotionally.

As sure as Hannah was that Justin would never physically harm her, she was equally sure he could devastate her emotionally.

She had been warned. Justin himself had told her he was the family “bad boy,” and to protect her, Mitch had instructed Maggie to inform her of his brother’s love-’em-and-leave-’em reputation with women.

Perhaps, Mitch had had a heart-to-heart with his wayward brother because, by 2 a.m. he had neither rapped on the door nor rung Maggie’s phone.

Hannah knew the exact time, because by 2 a.m., she had not slept, had not so much as closed her eyes. Her restless, wakeful state had nothing to do with not having heard from him, she assured herself. She absolutely did not feel let down, disappointed…damn near bereft.

Sigh. She had done a lot of sighing.

Somewhere around 4 a.m., well, actually, 4:14 to be exact, Hannah faced the cold hard fact that Justin had been amusing himself by teasing her, stringing her along. For all she knew, he simply might have been deliberately coming on to her to rile his brother Mitch.

If that had been Justin’s aim, he had scored a direct hit. Problem for Hannah was his barb had scored a direct hit on her, as well.

Her own fault. She had walked fully conscious into the cross-hairs. Served her right if she was feeling the sting of his arrow. She deserved the piercing stab in her chest. She had known full well that his make on her was all about sex, anyway.

So, the hell with Justin Grainger. She’d forget him in no time once she was back in Philly, back to her real life of work and friends.

But first she had to get some rest. She had a lot of driving in the morning to get to the airport in time for her flight. Sleep, stupid, Hannah scathingly told herself. Clenching her body against the aching emptiness inside, she shut her eyes tight, denying the sting burning her eyelids, and concentrated on the word sleep.

Her alarm went off at seven, approximately one hour and twenty minutes after she had finally drifted off.

Groaning, Hannah levered herself off the cot and stumbled into the bathroom. Even though she had showered last night, to get an early start this morning, she pulled off her nightshirt and stepped under a spray of tepid, wake-up water.

It helped, but not a helluva lot. Heaving a deep sigh, followed by a wide yawn, she brushed her teeth, applied a layer of concealer on the dark half-moons beneath her eyes, and finished with a light application of tinted moisturizer and blush to each cheek.

Frowning at her image in the mirror above the sink, Hannah left the bathroom, made up the cot. Deciding to grab something to eat in the terminal concourse, she skipped breakfast for a fast getaway. Quickly dressing, she stomped into foul-weather boots, pulled on her coat, gathered her baggage and sent a final glance around the cozy flat, checking that everything was in order.

Swallowing another sigh, which she adamantly refused to admit was of regret, Hannah left the apartment and clattered down the stairs to the second-floor doorway. Yanking open the door, she stepped into the hallway and practically into the arms of Justin Grainger.