Joan Hohl - A Man Apart

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, not meaning one yeah.

Ten minutes later Justin found himself hanging the damp towels on the mounted wall racks in the bathroom. “You know, this could have waited till morning, as well,” he called to Hannah, who was busy neatly folding their clothing.

“Yeah, yeah,” she mimicked his agreement. “But you’ll be thanking me tomorrow.”

In truth, Justin did thank Hannah in the morning, but not for remaining resolute about picking up their stuff. He thanked her with words and caresses and deep, searing kisses for what he swore was the most fantastic night of his life.

“What about Beth?” The gleam in his eyes grew brighter. “Didn’t you like her?”

It took a few minutes for Hannah to make the connection. She and Justin were in the middle of breakfast. This time he had cooked oatmeal, served with brown sugar. He was watching her, waiting for the dawn of comprehension to break over her sleep-and sex-fogged mind.

“Oh, your sister, Beth.” Hannah felt like a dull wit. At least she hadn’t said, “huh?” “I like her, very much. She stopped by Maggie’s apartment a few days ago. We had a nice chat. Besides being warm and friendly, she’s a gorgeous woman, a striking combination of your mother and father.”

“Yeah, she is,” Justin agreed, popping another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. After swallowing the oatmeal, he downed half the orange in his glass. “Adam’s wife, Sunny, is no slouch either.”

Nodding, Hannah took a ladylike sip of her juice. “She’s lovely, and their daughter, Becky, is absolutely adorable. I immediately fell in love with her.”

He chuckled around the last of his cereal. “She has that effect on everybody.” He arched a quizzical dark eyebrow. “You like kids?”

“Very much.” Finished eating, she dabbed her mouth with the paper napkin she had spread over her lap, and gave him a teasing smile. “Some of my best friends have kids.”

“So,” he said, getting up to fetch the coffee carafe to fill their cups. “What about you?”

Frowning, Hannah gave him a blank look. “What about me?”

“Don’t dodge, sweet Hannah,” he chided. “I’ve told you about myself. Now it’s your turn.”

Her mind may have been a little slow that morning-apparently a wild night of unbelievably fantastic sex had that effect on her-but it hadn’t come to a complete stop. “You did no such thing,” she retorted. “You quizzed me about my opinion of your family.”

“Well, I sure couldn’t give you my opinion of your family, since I haven’t met them.”

“Now who’s dodging, Mr. Thinks-He’s-So-Clever Grainger?” She grinned as she mimicked his one eyebrow lift.

He took a careful sip of his steaming coffee and grinned back at her. “Okay, what do you want to know…all my deep, dark secrets?”

“Do you have any?”

“No.”

Hannah laughed, she couldn’t help it. She just loved… Whoa, hold it. Loved? Don’t go there, Hannah, she cautioned herself. Avoid that word like the plague.

“Are you really the bad boy your mother called you?” she asked. Not that she believed he’d confess to her all about his philandering ways.

“Of course not. I’m worse.”

“Indeed. In what way?”

“You know,” he drawled, “I don’t know what you do for a living, but you should be in police interrogation.”

“I’m in marketing,” she said wryly. “And don’t try changing the subject. It won’t work. I want to hear all the lascivious details.”

“Lascivious?” Justin tilted back his head and laughed. “You are really something, woman.”

Woman. Again? Time to drag the knuckle-dragger into the twenty-first century. “Yes, actually, I am something. And don’t call me woman. My name is Hannah.”

He looked astounded. “You’re not a woman? Damn, you could have fooled me. Yesterday morning and last night. Mostly last night. And I’ll call you woman whenever I want to.”

“Okay.” Hannah pushed back her chair and stood. “I’m out of here.” Turning away, she walked to the phone mounted on the kitchen wall.

“Wait a minute.” His hand covered hers on the telephone receiver, holding it still.

She hadn’t even heard him move.

“Hannah, sweetheart,” he crooned into her ear. “I was only kidding. What are you doing?”

“Precisely what I said I was going to do today,” she said. “I’m going to phone the airline to book another flight, hopefully for tonight or tomorrow morning.”

“Hannah,” he murmured, his voice a low, coaxing siren song. Releasing her hand to cup her shoulder, he turned her into his arms. “Don’t go.”

She raised her eyes and dropped her guard. His gaze was shadowed, compelling. Oh, heavens, she had to get out of there, away from him, because if she stayed with him…she could wind up being hurt. Hannah knew her thinking was right and yet. And yet…

“Hannah.” Justin slowly lowered his head, to brush her mouth with his. “Don’t go. Stay here, with me, for a week, or at least a few more days.”

His tongue outlined her lips, and Hannah was a goner. Against her better judgment. Against everything she had believed about the folly of a rushed relationship, she knew it was too late to stop, too soon to bolt.

She wanted more of him. It was as simple and frightening as that. Surrendering more to her own needs and desires than to Justin’s plea, Hannah raised her arms, curling them around his strong neck to draw his lips to her hungry mouth.

“You said you had been married.”

“Hmm,” said Justin.

Hannah couldn’t see his face, since she lay tightly against him, her cheek resting on his chest. Justin’s angled body was curled almost protectively around her. The fingers of his one hand played with a strand of her long hair. The protective position of his long body sparked a memory of the night of the wedding reception.

After leaving Maggie in the bridal suite, Hannah had returned to the hotel lobby and gone straight to the coat-check counter. Draping the garment bag containing Maggie’s gown over the counter, she exchanged her high heels for the boots she had worn earlier. Shrugging into her coat and toting the garment bag and the shoe bag, she considered slipping away, before Justin began looking for her.

She started for the lobby doors, but with a sigh, changed direction to go to the banquet hall where the reception was being held. Hannah had been brought up the old-fashioned way. Good manners dictated she say goodbye to Justin’s family, thank his parents-whom she had learned had footed the bill for both the rehearsal dinner and the reception-for a lovely time at both events.

Peeking inside the hall, Hannah’s determination faltered. Justin was standing next to the table, talking and laughing with his father and Adam, and looking far too tempting.

She was on the point of turning to leave when little Becky had come up to tug at his pant leg. Gazing down at her, his laughter changed to a tender smile, and instead of kneeling to talk to her, he bent down, his body curved protectively over her. With her pretty little face turned up to her uncle, Hannah saw her mouth move, saw Justin’s move in reply before, with a laugh, he swept her up into his arms and headed for the edge of the crowded dance floor.

Hovering in the doorway, Hannah had watched, expecting Justin to whirl Becky around the floor. He hadn’t. Setting her on her feet, he’d bowed like a proper gentleman, taken her tiny hands in his and danced her onto the floor.

For some ridiculous reason the sight of Justin, so careful and caring of his niece, had brought a lump to Hannah’s throat and a hot sting to her eyes.

With a firm shake of her head, a stiffening of her spine-and her resolve-Hannah had used those few precious seconds while the music played to pay her respects to the Grainger family, then steal away from the hotel, and Justin.