Joan Hohl - A Man Apart

Laughing with him, in a sure sign of her surrender, she tickled his ear with the tip of her tongue. “I have never heard of dessert for breakfast.”

Justin’s body nearly exploded at the moist glide of her tongue into his ear. “Errr…Hannah,” he said in a rough croak, “You’d better lead me to your bedroom before I lose control and take you right here and now.”

“As if,” she retorted, grinning as she pulled away from him, grabbed his hand and started through the living room to a short hallway. “You’ve never lost control.”

“There’s always a first time, sweetheart,” he said, raising her hand to his mouth to press his lips to her fingers. “And I’d sure hate to embarrass myself in front of you.”

Entering her bedroom, Hannah turned her head to give him a wry glance. “That…or are you possibly afraid your loss of control would give me a sense of womanly power?”

“Oh, sweet Hannah, you have no worries in that department,” Justin said, shutting the door behind him and twirling her around into a tight embrace, letting her feel her power in his hard body. “You’ve got womanly power to spare.”

Minutes later, their clothing tossed in all directions of the room, Hannah lay naked, eager, in the center of the queen-size bed that had felt so large, cold and empty for weeks. Also naked, Justin stood next to the bed, tall and proud and magnificent, his turbulent gray eyes watching her as she watched him sheathe himself in delicate protection.

The image would haunt her after he was gone. She knew it, would pay for it, but for now, Hannah could think of nothing except having him beside her, inside her, loving her…if only for this one more night.

She held her arms up to him in invitation. He came to her, stretching his long body next to her own. His mouth hot on hers, his hands implements of exquisite torture.

He couldn’t wait, and with a murmur of need he slid his body over hers, settling between the thighs she parted for him. She couldn’t wait, either. Wrapping her long legs around his waist, she raised her hips in a silent plea.

Justin’s possession of her was fast and hard, exactly as she needed it to be. Their zenith was reached in shuddering, spectacular unison. Though Hannah wouldn’t have believed it possible, the climax was more intense, more thrilling than any previous one she had experienced with him.

She loved him, loved him with every living cell within her, as she would love his child, their child, after Justin was gone. For then, weeping silently, Hannah decided she would never again be a receptacle for his convenience. She just couldn’t bear to be one of the women “the bad boy” visited every so often.

Holding him to her, inside her utterly satisfied body, Hannah drifted into the deepest sleep she had known since leaving him in Deadwood.

Hannah woke up at her usual time. A creature of habit, she needed no alarm. She was still tired. She really hadn’t slept very much. She ached, but pleasantly so. Twice more during the night, she and Justin had made love.

It had been wonderful. No, it had been more than wonderful. It had been heavenly. Between periods of short naps and long, slow indulgences of each other, they never found time to venture out of the bedroom to clear away the dinner clutter.

Yawning, Hannah pushed back the covers Justin had haphazardly drawn over them after their last romp, and moved to get up. A long arm snaked out to curl around waist, anchoring her to his side.

“Let me up, Justin,” she said, trying to pull back. “I still have to clear the kitchen table, eat something and get ready to go to work.”

His arm held firm, and he rested his cheek on the top of her head. “Take the day off.” His voice was low. “Stay with me until I have to leave for Baltimore.”

Hannah was tempted. Lord was she tempted. But mindful of the vow she had made to herself after their first frantic bout of sex-for that’s all it had been, at least for him, she reminded herself-she steeled herself against his alluring suggestion. “I can’t.” She shook her head and pushed his arm away. “I can’t leave my assistant on her own today.”

“Why not?” His sleepy voice threatened to undermine her resistance. “You did when you went to Deadwood.”

Taking advantage of the momentary easing of his hold, she slipped out from under his arm. “I know, but then I had laid out all the upcoming projects, explained my ideas in detail. There are things pending that need my personal attention.” While speaking, she had collected her clothes as she made her way to the connecting bathroom.

“Hannah, wait.” Justin jumped from the bed, attractive as sin in his nakedness. He reached for her.

Dodging his hand, she stepped into the bathroom, locking the door before calling out to him, “You can have the shower when I’m done.” She turned on the water full blast to drown out the sound of his muttered curses.

Exhausting every curse word he knew, Justin stood stock-still next to the bed, staring at the locked bathroom door. Hannah was closing him out, exactly as she had tried to do last evening. Frustration, anger and an emotion too similar to fear to be acknowledged burned inside him.

He didn’t get it. He just didn’t get it…or her. One minute she was cool and remote, the next sensual and hungry for him. During the night Hannah had freely displayed how badly she wanted him, again and again.

So what happened between the last time they made love and this morning? And, dammit, they had made love, not merely had sex, whether or not she wanted to admit it, either to him or herself.

Shaking his head in bewilderment, he moved around the room picking up his clothes. They’d have to talk about it, about their relationship, for, like it or not, that’s what it was shaping up to be, not a one-night stand, not a slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am, but an honest to God relationship.

It scared the hell out of him. Nevertheless, an in-depth discussion was definitely called for here. He would have to make another stab at convincing her to take the day off.

Hannah had never showered and dressed so fast in her life. Her hair still damp, she twirled it all into a loose twist at the back of her head and anchored it with a few well-placed hairpins. Sighing in longing and regret for what might have been, she turned with steadfast determination and went to the kitchen. Justin stood by the kitchen table, and with a nod she indicated that the shower was all his.

She had the table cleared and wiped, dishes stacked in the dishwasher, the coffee brewing, the tea steeping, bacon sizzling and eggs whipped, ready to pour into a warming frying pan by the time Justin walked into the room.

“We forgot to say good morning.” His soft voice crept across the kitchen to slither up her spine.

Gritting her teeth against a shiver, Hannah returned his greeting. “You’re just in time,” she said with calm detachment, dumping the egg mixture into the pan. “If you want to help, you can set the table.” Without turning to look at him, she dropped four slices of bread into the toaster. She jumped when he plucked the spatula from her hand.

“I’ll do the eggs,” he said, his voice and his body too close for her comfort. “Since you know where everything is, it’s better if you set the table.”

“Okay.” Hannah was glad to escape, if only to the wall cabinet a few feet from him. After setting two places at the table, she went to the fridge for orange juice and milk. “Do you want jam for your toast?”

“Do you have peanut butter?”

“Yes,” she said, surprised that he also liked the spread on his morning toast.

“Natural or sweetened? I don’t like the sweetened stuff.”