Joan Hohl - A Man Apart

Hannah hesitated, puzzled by the oddness of the situation. The bell rang again.

Hannah went into the living room and looked through the peephole. She went absolutely still.

Justin.

The bell rang once more, quick, sharp, as if punched by an impatient or angry person.

Drawing a deep, steadying breath, Hannah disengaged the lock and pulled the door open. She backed up as he aggressively stepped forward.

“Justin…” She had to swallow to moisten her bone-dry throat. “What are you doing here?”

Dropping the same bag he had carried before, he walked right up to her and caught her face in his hands, holding her still.

“Dammit, woman,” Justin said, his voice rough. “I love you, that’s what I’m doing here. I didn’t want to love you. I didn’t want to love any woman, ever again. But I do love you.” His voice softened to a gentle purr. “Oh, sweet Hannah, I love you. I want to marry you.” His stormy gray eyes grew bright with that heart-melting devil light. “And if you don’t say you love me, too, want to marry me, live with me and have my babies, I’m going to curl into a ball of misery on the floor and cry for a week.”

“Only a measly week?” Hannah was already crying, and laughing.

“Well, maybe two,” he conceded, lowering his head to hers. “But I’d rather not. Hannah, sweetheart, say it. Say you love me before I go completely crazy.”

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” Tears poured down her face. “Oh, Justin, I love you so much I could die from it.”

“Don’t you dare. We’ve got a lot of living and loving before us. And there’s no better time than now to get started.”

Holding her tightly to him-as if he’d never let her go-he kissed her, deeply, lovingly, reverently.

Pure joy bursting inside her, Hannah flung her arms around his neck and kissed him back with all the love and longing she had tried so hard to reject. She moaned in soft protest when Justin lifted his mouth from hers.

“We’ll get back to that in a minute,” he murmured, gliding his tongue over her lower lip in silent promise. “But I have to ask you something.”

Hannah reluctantly opened her eyes. “What?”

“Will…you…marry…me?” Justin asked.

“Oh.” Hannah felt a tingle do a tango down her spine. “Well, yes, of course. Was there any doubt?”

“Oh, boy,” he groaned, in feigned dismay. “I have a feeling I’m in for trouble with you.”

“Yes, you are,” Hannah replied happily. “And I with you, but…won’t it be fun?” She pulled slightly away before saying, “I said I’d marry you, Justin, and I will. But there is one possible problem.”

He arched a brow. “Like…what?”

“Like…you run a ranch in Montana,” she said. “And I run a business in Philadelphia.”

He shook his head. “No problem.”

“But…” she began in protest, afraid he’d ask her to give up the business she had worked so hard to get up and running, and even more afraid she’d agree to do so.

“Honey, let me explain,” he interjected. “When I was here a few weeks ago, I didn’t just stop in to visit you for a quick bout of sex at the end of my business trip.”

“You didn’t? Tell me more. Spill your guts, Grainger.”

He laughed. “You’re something else, sweetheart, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Hannah flicked a hand at him. “Get on with the explanation.”

“The idea of our company buying a horse farm in the East wasn’t Adam’s, it was mine.”

“Really?” She frowned. “Is that important?”

“I think so.” Justin smiled, pulling her over to the sofa where they both sat. “At my suggestion, the company bought the farm in the Oley Valley. We made settlement yesterday.” He paused.

“Go on.” Having an inkling of what was coming, she held her breath.

“I’m going to manage it.”

“Oh…oh,” she cried, almost afraid to believe it. “You’re relocating?”

“Yes.”

“I can keep my business? Commute?”

“Yes, sweet Hannah.” His smile grew a bit shaky. “You can keep me, too, if you want.”

“If? If?” Hannah exclaimed, moving into his waiting arms. “Try to get out of being kept.”

Holding her tight, as if afraid to set her free, he pressed his forehead to hers. “Oh, sweet Hannah, I love you so much, so very much.”

“Oh, Justin. I…I have something I must tell you, something I think is wonderful. I’m pregnant.”

“You’re pregnant?” Justin asked, his gray eyes starting to gleam. “You’re pregnant!” He whooped, laughing. “I’m going to be a father!”

“You’re not angry?” Hannah asked.

“Of course I’m not angry. I’m thrilled.” He frowned. “Did you know about this when I was here before?”

She nodded. “I knew how you felt about marriage,” Hannah defended herself. “I was afraid to tell you, afraid you wouldn’t care or that you would think I was trying to trap you.”

“Wouldn’t care?” Justin appeared stunned, as though he’d taken a blow to the head.

“I…I did finally call you,” she said softly, trying to placate him. “You weren’t there.”

“No one said I had missed a call,” Justin said. “When did you call?”

Hannah wet her lips and lowered her eyes. “A couple of minutes before you rang the bell.”

“A couple of-” Justin broke off, shaking his head. “You know, sweetheart, I don’t know whether to kiss you senseless or shake you senseless.”

“You’d better kiss me,” she advised demurely. “You can’t shake me in my delicate condition.”

“Okay.” Lowering his head, he took possession of her lips…and her heart.

Joan Hohl was born on June 13, 1935. For as long as she can remember, Joan has always wanted to be a writer. Her mother said Joan had her head in the clouds, always daydreaming. The only thing was, Joan's daydreams had plots! Thinking herself audacious for even considering joining the ranks of her heroes – the authors – she never put her ideas, or dreams, into words, never made notes or wrote anything down.

Joan worked at several jobs – nothing remotely close to a career – some sales clerking, but primarily factory work, because that paid better. She married with Marv and had two daugthers, Lori and Amy.

Then when she turned 40, Joan experienced a definite turning point in her life. Deciding that at her advanced age she could handle rejection, had nothing to lose and by some miracle, possibly much to gain if only in self satisfaction, she quit her job. With no employment, but her decision firm, she sat down at her kitchen table with pencils and a spiral notebook and let her imagination take wing.

Joan achieved her impossible dream three years, and many rejections, after she began writing. Her first book sale was to Vivian Stephens at Dell Publishing. A few weeks later she received a call from an editor at Leisure Books, with an offer for a manuscript she had previously submitted to other houses…and believed was dead-in-the-publishing-waters, so to speak. The second sale was the first one to be published, in 1979 as Paula Roberts, later she used the pseudonym Amii Lorin, one combination of her daughters names: Amy and Lori. Her first ten books were written longhand at her kitchen table. As she wasn't a typist, she paid one to transcribe her handwritten manuscripts before biting the bullet and going to the typewriter herself to hunt and pick her way through future stories. Some years later, Joan sold a formally rejected, completed manuscript to Silhouette Books… and found a home. She is considered by many in the business a trailblazer in sensuous romance writing, and having been one of the first, if not the first, author to write male point of view in category romance novels. Many of her books are set in her beloved Pennsylvania, by an ocean, any ocean, but usually along the South Jersey coast or the West, with its mythic Western heroes.