Leave Me Breathless

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  “Don’t be all blasé with me,” she says as she pats at her face. “What was he doing in there?”

  “Collecting his daughter,” I say casually. “She’d wandered in and we got sidetracked with some accidental painting.” The frown that pops up onto Molly’s head prompts me to go on. “Accidental painting. It’s when—”

  “Sod accidental painting. Tell me more.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.” No friction. No playful banter. No meltdown when the poor man said something quite innocent. “Really, nothing to tell,” I reiterate when Molly gives me a dubious look. “Really.”

  “Fine.”

  “What’s the deal with him, anyway?” God damn my motor mouth. I scowl to myself and sip.

  “Ryan Willis.” She sighs. “I think he was a spy or something.”

  “MI5,” I say without thought. And scowl again, this time at Molly when she points high, interested eyebrows my way. I shrug.

  “Nothing to tell,” she muses. “Except you’ve clearly had a nice little get-to-know-you chat with him.”

  “It was brief,” I say quietly, turning away from her as Mrs. Hatt takes a bow. I can feel my new friend’s eyes drilling holes into me, and such a huge part of me wants to indulge her curiosity. Like girls do. Like I would have with Pippa. On that thought…“We had an…encounter.”

  Molly’s instantly intrigued, moving closer still, even though the dulcet tones of Mrs. Hatt have ceased. “Hannah, please, put a woman out of her misery.”

  “It’s your fault, anyway,” I mumble, finishing off another glass and immediately topping it up.

  “I take full responsibility. Now tell me how it’s my fault.”

  Staring at my glass, I think for a few moments. And think. This is what my sister would have done. Prodded and prodded me until I gave in and fed her need for information. Maybe it’s the drink, or maybe it’s just the natural need of a woman wanting to share. After all, having a true girlfriend is alien to me. I should utilize the only one I have. Lucky Molly. Or maybe it’s because I miss my sister and our never-ending chats and banter.

  I face Molly and shuffle in closer. “I met him a few nights ago when he ran me off my bike on the lane that leads to his cabin.”

  “What were you doing on that lane? Wait, he ran you over?” Her eyes drop to my legs. “Is that how you got—”

  “Yes. And I was on that road looking for your cottage to deliver the paint. Which ended up spilled all over me. That’s why I was late delivering it. I had to make it all over again.” Oh my God, it feels so good to talk. To share. To blurt all this out and feel the weight lifting from my shoulders.

  “Shit,” Molly says. “It really is all my fault. But, God, what a dick for running you over.”

  “He didn’t mean to. And actually, he was very sorry.” I take a deep breath and jump in feetfirst. “He almost kissed me.”

  “Oh my God!”

  “I know.”

  “But almost?”

  “I stopped it.”

  Her outrage is obvious, and probably warranted. “Seriously, why?”

  That I can’t share. “I don’t know. I was caught off guard. Surprised. Anyway, that was that, and then his daughter came in the store. We talked a bit more, and we almost kissed again.”

  “Oh my God!”

  “I know.”

  “But almost, again?”

  “His daughter interrupted us.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

  I nod my agreement, and wonder for the first time if I would have bailed on him again had his daughter not gotten in first. I want to say no. I was adamant at the time that I wouldn’t. I want to think I would have kissed the daylights out of him, would have been the best kiss he’d ever had. I also want to think it would have been the best kiss I’d ever had. One that would have wiped away all previous kisses. One that would have consumed me so much, there would be no room left for anything other than that feeling. “More wine?” I hold up the bottle on a lazy grin.

  Molly presents her glass to me. “This is the juiciest gossip I’ve ever heard in Hampton. No, wait. Darcy Hampton and what she did to Ryan can’t be beaten. Not by two almost kisses, anyway.”

  Oh? “What happened?”

  “Now, that was a scandal like no other.” Our faces are so close, we both have to pull back to take our drinks. “Long story short, Ryan had a drunken one-night stand with the daughter of Lord and Lady Hampton, he went his way and she went hers, she met some rich older man, found out she was pregnant, and told the world it was his.”

  I flinch. “Ouch.”

  “Yes, can you believe that? The witch was never going to tell Ryan he had a kid.”

  “So how did he find out?”

  “He hadn’t been in town for months. I think he was working overseas or something, I don’t know. Anyway, he saw Darcy Hampton in the store.” Molly blows her cheeks out. “Heavily pregnant. Did the math, I guess.”

  “Wow. Many men would’ve run a mile.”

  “Ryan’s not like that. His mother was a wonderful human. She would have made sure he did the right thing, even if he didn’t want to.”

  “His mother lives here?”

  Molly’s face drops, and I sit back, wary of her sadness. “She did live here. She died the day Ryan found out the baby was his after a yearlong court battle. A stroke.”

  “Oh my God, so she never got to meet Alex?”

  Molly shakes her head. “It’s so sad. He lost his mum the day he won his daughter.”

  My heart sinks for him. “That’s terrible.”

  “I know. So you can understand why Ryan hates Darcy Hampton with a vengeance. First she deceived him, then she fought him over the paternity test, obviously because she knew what the result would be. And by doing that, Ryan lost out on the first year of his daughter’s life. His mum would have been an amazing grandmother.”

  “What a bitch.” I don’t know the woman, but I hate her already.

  “Yeah, but to be fair, she’s bound by her parents. If Darcy doesn’t play ball, she gets cut off by the lord and lady. She’s too materialistic to say goodbye to that kind of money and status.”

  I scoff. What kind of human being is she? Who does that? I pause for thought. Why the hell am I asking myself such questions? I know what people are capable of. “Still a bitch,” I murmur meekly. “No one should be kept away from their child.” And no daughter should be kept away from her father. Jesus, I feel my nice hazy tipsiness being replaced with something far less appealing. Pain. No daughter should be kept from her mother, either. “More wine?” I ask, jumping up clumsily and smacking my knee on the table. “Shit!”

  “Careful,” Molly cries, hissing when she sees I’ve knocked my healing wound. More blood. Great. “Bob!” she yells. “We have an injury!” And the whole pub freezes and looks my way.

  I smile, small and awkward, and start hobbling past the crowd to the ladies’. “Some tissue will be fine,” I assure them all. “Back in a flick.” I fall through the doors and blink back the sudden onset of wooziness. “Oh boy,” I mumble, heading for the sink. I have to close one eye to focus on myself, and when I do, I look as drunk as I suddenly feel. A quiet drink, she said. “You’re a bad influence, Molly.” And I love her for it.

  “It didn’t look like you needed much arm twisting from where I was sitting.”

  I whirl around and make a sharp grab for the sink to steady myself. “You’re in the ladies’,” I shriek in shock. “Wait, from where you were sitting? Where were you sitting?”

  “At the end of the bar.” Ryan looks me up and down, a rather disapproving look on his face. “You chug down wine quicker than any woman I’ve known.”

  Well, maybe because it’s a novelty to drink at my own pace, when I like, and without worrying I might get myself into trouble. “How many women have you known?” I say instead, startling at the sound of my own question. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

  “No?” he asks, his head tilting. “Then what did you
mean to say?”

  I cringe all over the ladies’ bathroom. “Got a bandage?”

  He smiles that crooked smile and comes over. “Let me see.”

  “Still feeling guilty?” I ask lightly.

  “Something like that.” Without warning, he takes me under my armpits and lifts me onto the nearby old table where Bob has an expansive display of female cosmetics set out, as well as lollipops and chewing gum. I try so hard not to stiffen, but when a man like Ryan lifts you from your feet like you’re nothing, I would challenge any woman not to come over a bit…tense. Without thought, I reach over and snag a piece of gum, popping it in and chewing. Ryan looks up at me. My chewing slows. And he smiles a very small smile as he slowly casts his eyes down to my knee. “You knocked the scab off.”

  “Damn it. I like picking scabs.”

  He looks up at me from his bent position. “You’re gross, you know that?”

  “I’ve been called worse.” Like whore. Tart. Bitch. An embarrassment. Useless. Stupid. And I laugh, for what reason, I do not know. Maybe because now I can. Though my life is anything but funny. My life is a poor excuse for a life. But at least it’s still a life. And at least I’m safe.

  Aware that Ryan is studying me, I wriggle my way off the table, avoiding his gaze. He doesn’t make it easy, not moving back to give me space. Which means a brush of contact between us that has us both inhaling audibly. “Tissue will be fine,” I murmur.

  “Tissue will stick to it.”

  I ignore him, even though I know he’s right, and pull some off the roll in the nearest cubicle. Anything to put space between us. Things just get weird when he’s around. My mind isn’t my own. My thoughts are out of control. My body behaves as it pleases. Never once during the planning of my time in Hampton did I consider a man being part of it. Frankly, Mr. Ryan all-hot-and-outdoorsy-and-without-doubt-an-incredible-lay Willis has knocked me off balance. He should have left me to crawl home after he ran me down, not be all attentive and nice and concerned. It doesn’t suit him. Or…is it me who doesn’t suit that kind of devotion? Do I repel it because it’s unfamiliar? Because I’ve forgotten what genuine caring feels like?

  I huff to myself. Is it any wonder? I turn and walk smack bang into the door. “Oh!” My hands fly up automatically, and it’s only when they come to rest that I realize it’s not a door, but a chest. And then the heat hits me, and I virtually melt where I stand.

  I don’t jump back.

  I don’t stiffen.

  I don’t gasp.

  Instead, I soften. Every part of me softens. I have no apprehension plaguing me whatsoever. I watch my fingers as they flex against his T-shirt, slowly exploring the feel of him. And he feels good. Strange but good. Unfamiliar but good.

  Ryan remains silent and still except for the steady rise and fall of his chest. I stare at the collar of his T-shirt, studying the direction of the thread and the slight fade of the navy color at the edge. And then I’m examining the dense covering of scruffy but even stubble on his neck. Perfect stubble. A perfect neck. He swallows, prompting me to look up farther. His lips. Right now, they’re straight and pressed tightly together, the scar on the top right corner faint.

  “A few more inches and you’ll be looking me in the eye,” he whispers, his mouth moving slowly. Then his hands on my lower back shift a fraction, applying a light pressure that gently pushes me closer to him. “Do you think you can handle that, Hannah? Do you think you can deal with what you might read there? Or will you run again?”

  I squeeze my eyes closed. “I won’t run.”

  “Then look at me.” He moves one hand to between us and settles the pad of his finger under my chin. But he does no more than that. He just places it there, and I lift my face of my own free will. It’s as if he senses I need that. To take my time. To be in control.

  I open my eyes, and the second I find his lazy gaze, I feel like I’m sucked into a vortex of craving. The rush of desire makes me dizzy, my body rolling with the most incredible feelings. “I’m not who you think I am.” My mind’s scrambled, words coming that I don’t mean to say.

  “I don’t care who you are.”

  “Then kiss me.”

  I expect him to follow my order without hesitation. I can feel his want thrumming against me, yet he holds back, the weight of his scrutinizing stare becoming too much. I’m a heartbeat away from surrendering to the force trying to close the space between our mouths, but Ryan surrenders first, leisurely dropping his face, searching my eyes for…what?

  The heat of his breath warms my face, my heart is beating a mile a minute, and my fingers claw into the material of his T-shirt and cling on.

  So close.

  I can almost taste him.

  Nearly there.

  And that first tiny brush of our lips hits me like a lightning bolt. I jerk in his arms, my hands flying up to his head as he tugs me into him.

  Bang!

  “Hannah, are you okay?” Molly’s loud slur cuts through the atmosphere like a knife, and I shoot back into the stall in a daze as Ryan steps out, making his presence known to Molly. “Oh,” she says abruptly. “Where’s Hannah?”

  He clears his throat and looks at me, and a few seconds later Molly’s bumped him out of the way to find me.

  “I was just helping clean up her knee,” Ryan says, moving to the sink and grabbing a washcloth.

  I know I look like I’ve seen a ghost, and I know it hasn’t escaped Molly’s notice, though she appears more concerned than intrigued. You okay? she mouths, and I nod.

  “I’ll be out in a moment.” I somehow walk out of the stall steadily, despite being a hot mess—trembling, struggling for breath.

  “Take your time,” Molly replies coyly, and I dip to inspect my knee to avoid the increasing questions in her eyes. I stay there until I hear the door close behind her.

  I feel the atmosphere thicken the second we’re alone again. “I’m so clumsy,” I blather to fill the difficult silence. “I can sort it myself. I don’t want to keep you.”

  Ryan’s kneeling in front of me a second later, dabbing around my wound with the cloth. “You’re not keeping me from anything.” He sounds sharp now, almost pissed off, and the wretched quiet descends once more.

  It’s uncomfortable, and I’m suddenly itching to remove myself from the awkward vibes bouncing around the small space. “I can do it—”

  “What did you mean when you said you’re not who I think you are?” He looks up at me, and I stiffen from top to toe, immobilized by the raging wonder looking back at me. How could I have been so stupid? To give him a scrap of a clue like that and not expect him to press me? Or maybe I wanted him to press me in that moment, when my mind wasn’t my own. Maybe a desperation I didn’t know I had was unearthed by his tenderness. Maybe I wanted to spill all my secrets to him and let him wrap me up and tell me he’ll keep me safe. How stupid of me.

  I need to avoid him in the future. Ignore the pull, because it’ll only get me in too deep. I must have lost my mind. I’ll be moving on from Hampton soon. I’m already getting attached to the quaint little town. Best not get attached to its residents as well.

  I look away and skirt past him, leaving him kneeling behind me. I wash my hands, dry them, and make my escape, just catching him in the mirror as I turn. He’s slowly rising from his knees. Still watching me. I hate to think what he is thinking. I need to get away.

  I tug the door open, but his hand appears over my shoulder, quickly slamming it shut again. I stare at the wood. “Let me go,” I order, my voice shaking terribly.

  Ryan removes his hold in an instant, and I rush out, hearing him curse as I go. Molly is looking for me when I round the corner into the bar, and I brace myself for the interrogation I’m about to be hit with. I don’t know what I’m going to say, so I lose myself in my wine, stalling. I shouldn’t have shared anything with her. I should have kept my stupid mouth shut. Because now I’m seeing sense, and getting involved with a man is completely impossible. It would al
so be selfish. And irresponsible. And cruel. I look at Molly. My new friend. I shouldn’t get attached to her, either. My new, safe life away from London doesn’t seem so freeing in this moment. It suddenly feels very lonely. I can’t get attached to anyone. I can’t ever share my secrets and my woes with anyone. All I can do is pretend to be Hannah Bright.

  “Are you really just going to sit there and say nothing?” Molly finally says.

  My mind is a tangled mess, but before I can unravel my thoughts, something catches my attention out the corner of my eye, and I glance past her to see Ryan walking through the pub. He doesn’t look this way, and I don’t know why that bothers me. I peer down into my wineglass. The still, calm liquid is a stark contrast with the swirling, chaotic feelings inside me. “There’s something odd that pulls me toward him, and I can’t stop it.” I peek out the corner of my eye and find Molly rapt. “But I kind of want to stop it.” I must stop it.

  “Why?”

  I’ve said too much. I can’t very well tell Molly that I don’t plan on staying in town forever. That this is just a temporary home for me until I have to leave. “I came here to get away.” A lie. I came here to get closer to someone. My mum.

  “After your breakup?” Molly lays her hand over mine.

  I nod and drink to drown my guilt. “It’s too soon for me to move on from that. I have a lot more work to do on myself first.” I smile, though I know it’s sad, and Molly mirrors it. That wasn’t a lie at all. “I can’t depend on someone else to fix me.” The wobble in my voice isn’t avoidable, and I really hate not being able to talk about my history, albeit vaguely, without emotion controlling my words. I shouldn’t be so hard on myself, yet I can’t help feeling resentful that I’m still held prisoner by my past. Because it’s just hit me hard that the mental scars will prevent me from ever being happy and relaxed in a relationship with a good man. I’m ruined. It’s ironic, really. I’m free, but far from it.

  “Time is an amazing healer.” Molly takes my hand and pushes my glass to my lips. “And so is wine. Drink.”