“Hannah?” I say softly, unable to stand the torment any longer.
Slowly, she looks up at me. I feel my head pulling back on my neck, my uncertainty crippling. Her face is a blank canvas. There’s no clue there for me to read, nothing to tell me what on earth is going on.
“I’m sorry,” she barely whispers, holding her hand out to me. I stare at it for a second before I gingerly reach out, taking a hold.
“For what?” Whatever it is, it can be fixed. I know it can be fixed.
She inhales, as if building strength to say what needs to be said. I fear the worst. “Ryan.” Her eyes zero in on mine. I hate the resoluteness I see there. I find myself moving back, as if my instinct is trying to pull me away from the danger.
“What?” I reply quietly. Fuck me, have I ever been so nervous?
She’s suddenly moving, so fast I don’t have time to even blink my vision clear. What the fuck? She crashes into me, her palms meeting my shoulders and launching me back onto the mattress. I land with a thud, blinking, looking around, confused. My wrists are grabbed. They’re thrust above my head. My waist is straddled. And a face appears, floating above me, the grin splashed across it smug.
“Your turn.” She blows the words across my skin.
And I get mad. I can’t help it. “For Christ’s sake, Hannah. I was worried!”
“Good.” She wrestles my arm down to my side and secures it with her knee before repeating on the other side. My eyebrow cocks as I watch her. This is ridiculous. We both know I’d break free with one flex of a muscle. But I let her have her moment. She deserves it, the sneaky little fucker. My heart feels like it’s been through the wringer a million times. But now it’s lowering to a more stable beat that’s not likely to kill me on the spot, I relax, happy to watch her think she has control. It’s endearing.
She bends over, her face coming closer until her lips are virtually touching my chin. She plants a light kiss on my bristle.
“I thought this was supposed to be torture?” I say, humming my contentment and sinking farther into the softness of my bed. This is more like heaven. “Carry on.” I close my eyes on a smile, but they flip open immediately when I feel her teeth sink into my nipple. I inwardly curse to high heaven, but outwardly I won’t give her that satisfaction. “Oh yeah, baby,” I mumble through my teeth, rolling my hips up and catching her exactly where I intended. Her little gulp makes me smile, and it only widens when I feel her shift to escape my tactical move. Don’t mess with me, gorgeous. “More,” I urge her, flexing my chest up, pushing it closer to her mouth.
I’m annoying her. It’s evident in the restrained huff of breath as she snatches up the tub of ice cream from the mattress. I open one eye and find her digging out the remnants, the melted cream trickling down her arm. “Damn, are we out?”
Her scowl is worthy of instant death, and I recoil, feigning fear. “You’re going to regret you ever met me, Ryan Willis.” She tosses the tub aside and slaps her palms into my pecs, but her attempt to spread the ice cream is really quite pathetic.
I peek down at her hands working circles into my muscles. “You know, Hannah,” I say, returning my eyes to hers. She stills. My smile slowly falls away. All of a sudden, the mood is serious. “I don’t think I am,” I murmur, and she visibly softens above me, every part of her loosening.
I gently pull one arm free from under her knee, and then the other. She doesn’t fight me on it. I sit up, slide my arm around her back, and turn her, taking her down to her back. Leveling up our mouths so she’ll feel my words as well as hear them, I scan her eyes for a while, examining every fleck of blue. “I’ll never regret anything where you’re concerned.”
Her lip wobbles. “Promise me,” she orders, taking her hands to my head and pulling me onto her mouth.
“I promise you.” I whisper my vow into her mouth and pray it reaches her heart, her soul, and deep into her mind.
Because never before have I said something and meant it so much.
Chapter Seventeen
HANNAH
They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. As I stand at the freezer eyeing the endless tubs of Ben & Jerry’s, I conclude that the way to Ryan Willis’s heart is through his Chunky Monkey, which, I guess, is ultimately through his stomach. Depending on whether he chooses to spread it on my boobs first. There’s not much left to land in his stomach after it’s melted all over me.
I smile as I reach forward and take a tub, digging my spoon in as soon as I’ve removed the lid.
“Boo!” Ryan grabs me from behind, and I jump out of my frigging skin, being spun around a few dizzying times before I’m set back on my feet. “Morning.” He slams a hard kiss on my forehead and swipes the ice cream from my grasp before getting a spoon and strolling casually to the front door.
I look down at my own spoon, surprised to see the ice cream still there. I shrug as I slip it into my mouth and watch him go, my lips pouting around my spoon. His boxer shorts are tight. His thighs are…I cock my head in silent contemplation, the spoon sliding slowly out of my mouth. Edible. I roll the ice cream around, licking my lips when a small piece dribbles out. His hair is tugged to death. I swallow slowly, grin lazily, and go after him.
“What’s for breakfast?” he asks as he takes the stairs and wedges his spoon into the tub.
“You’re eating it.” I rush down and join him. “Don’t you get sick of it?” I ask as I shove another spoonful in my mouth.
Reaching for my nape, he tugs me forward onto his lips and forces my mouth open with his tongue, stealing the ice cream I’ve just put there. He swallows. Smiles at my surprise. And lands a smacker of a kiss on my lips. “I’m finding new ways to enjoy it these days.” Slowly turning, he wanders casually over to the outside shower and flips it on. Lord, he looks so good moseying around the wilderness in his boxers. I look down my front, to the shirt I snatched off his floor and threw on this morning. Navy-and-gray plaid. It’s perfectly Ryan, therefore perfectly me.
Catching my breath, I pad over to his hammock by the tree and climb in, getting comfortable and swinging in the light morning breeze as I stare up at the cloud-dotted sky. I don’t know what time it is. I don’t care what time it is. I’m not ready to leave this heaven just yet. I bring the spoon to my bottom lip and tap lightly, thinking. This never ends. What a wonderful notion.
Ryan Willis is the epitome of peace and freedom. To me, he is the cure, and I love the idea that the cause can’t touch me so long as I’m with him. Can this be my new life forever? I smile and close my eyes, the gentle swing of the hammock hypnotizing. He is an unexpected gift after living amid so much ugly for so long. I’m safe here in Hampton. And I’m safe here with Ryan. So I should stay…right?
The hammock suddenly jerks, and my eyes flip open as Ryan dives in to join me. “Whoa!” I cry, tossing the spoon aside and grabbing the fabric on both sides. He laughs as he settles at the other end, his feet by either side of my head. I shift my own legs to mirror him. “You’ve ruined my peace,” I grumble playfully, placing my hands on his thighs and stroking in wide circles.
“I am your peace,” he replies without hesitation, grinning knowingly around his spoon. My hands pause in their strokes, one eye narrowing on him. This only encourages a bigger, more satisfied smile from Ryan. Maybe I should be concerned that he’s so very right. Yet I’m not. It doesn’t mean he has to know the gory details as to why I feel that way. Last night, he pressed me too hard. The way he looks at me, the way he is with me. I don’t want that to change. If he knows my story, he will treat me differently. I don’t want to be some kind of victim to him.
“I want to paint your lake,” I declare, poking at his cheek with my big toe.
“I know,” he replies simply, turning his face into my foot and gnashing his teeth playfully. “Like I said, it’s all yours.” Our smiles collide. “Just let me know when, and I’ll pick you up. You can put all your equipment on the back of my truck.”
“Maybe I’ll close
the store early one day, if that’s okay with you.”
“I’d have you here every minute of the day if I could,” he says, the statement breezing out effortlessly and naturally. I study him, searching for any clue that his declaration has surprised him as much as it has me. I find nothing; he just flashes me a half smile, as if he’s aware of what I’m doing and he’s further reinforcing his declaration. I’m about to yell, You can! because I’d love nothing more than passing the days away here with him—painting, cuddling, eating his ice cream, making swings, showering outside, and painting bridges. But this isn’t just about him and me.
“Have you spoken to Alex this morning?” Ryan’s daughter is his priority. Not me. She’s been so accepting and encouraging, but I don’t want to overstep the mark. First and foremost, Ryan belongs to her. I respect that.
“I’m picking her up from her mother’s later this morning.” He digs deep into the tub and licks the spoon before tossing them aside. “Until then”—he struggles up from his back, making the hammock swing precariously—“you’re all mine.”
I yelp as we’re rocked, my hands clinging tightly to the sides. “What about the shower?” I say on a laugh, steam now billowing up from the concrete tiles in the stall.
“The shower can wait.” The sight of his big, strong, manly frame negotiating the hammock as he crawls toward me is really quite amusing. He moves forward a few inches gingerly, gasps and stills when we wobble dangerously, waits for us to stabilize, and then moves forward again. And repeat. More than once, I’m certain we’re going to be flipped and tossed to the ground, my whole body tense.
When he’s halfway to me, he obviously decides he’s going about it all wrong and launches himself the rest of the way, landing on me with a grunt. I laugh hard, grabbing at his shoulders to stop him toppling out. It doesn’t work. The sky flips up on me, and my laugh turns into a squeal as the sense of falling takes over, the speed and gravity making my stomach cartwheel. “Ryan!” I close my eyes and wait for impact, our tangled bodies seeming to take forever to reach the ground.
“I got you,” he says calmly, performing some kind of stealth shoulder turn that has him landing on his back and me splatting onto his chest. He grunts on impact. “That didn’t quite go as I planned,” he chuckles, helping me to untangle my limbs from his.
“You clumsy oaf.” I wedge my palms into his chest and push myself up. “I was quite happy relaxing in the hammock.”
“But I wanted a cuddle,” he whines, seizing my shoulders and hauling me down again. I’m engulfed in his arms, to the point I can’t breathe. But still it’s heaven.
“Happy now?” I ask quietly, turning a kiss onto his pec.
“You’ll never know,” he sighs, returning my gesture and pushing his lips into my hair. “Let’s go back to bed.”
Wouldn’t that be wonderful? But I have a store to open, a fete to prepare for, and he has a daughter to collect. “I need to shower and get all this sticky ice cream off.” I sit up, straddling him, and point to various parts of my body where the evidence of his little game last night remains.
“I think you’ll find I cleaned you up pretty well with my tongue.” Quickly he sits up and unbuttons my shirt. “See?” He smiles at my chest and reclines, using his arms as a rest, all relaxed.
“You’re incorrigible.”
“I love your boobs.” He shrugs, like it’s nothing. Like it’s a given. Eyeing him as I slowly rise, standing over him, one foot on either side of his hips, I wonder if he realizes that to me, it’s everything. To Ryan, I am perfect, and I’ve never been perfect to anyone. Not even myself.
I step over him. “You can play with them again tomorrow.” I jerk to a stop when his palm wraps around my ankle, and I look down to find he’s rolled onto his side to stretch and reach me as I walk away. His face is a picture of cuteness.
“Come back.”
“I have to get showered. And you need to pick up Alex. I don’t want you to be late.” I try to shake off his hold with no success. “Ryan, come on.” I can’t lie, I’d love nothing more than to disappear in his bed for all eternity, but it’s both unrealistic and unfair. If he doesn’t take those puppy-dog eyes off me now, I can’t promise I won’t test how unrealistic and unfair I can be. “Let go,” I say, shaking my leg.
“You won’t regret it.” His voice is low and rough and entirely meant to be.
He’s set for a win. I put up some resistance when I feel him pulling against my ankle, and I try to avoid his lazy gaze. I’ll be doomed. Alex will hate me. My store will be closed all day.
“No.” I kick out my leg more aggressively than I mean to, and as a result a plume of dirt and leaves wafts up into his face, making him cough and splutter. Oops. I use his distraction, while he’s brushing at his nose and mouth, coughing, to claim back my leg. “Sorry,” I say meekly, smiling nervously when he slowly casts his eyes my way, his chest pulsing as a result of his deep, patience-gathering breaths. “Well, you should have let go,” I argue and take a step back when he slowly starts to rise to his feet. Oh boy. He looks mad, but I know otherwise. I’m in for it. I’m thrilled.
Nothing Ryan Willis does or says scares me. I don’t second-guess his motives. I know where I stand. And I know he’d never, ever intentionally hurt me.
He straightens, rolls his shoulders threateningly, and even flexes his head from side to side, cricking his neck. I flash him a knowing smile, and he fights his natural instinct to return it. Then I pivot and make a mad dash for it, circling around the back of his cabin. I hear his feet thumping the ground, and I laugh uncontrollably, my adrenaline thundering through my veins. Looking over my shoulder, I see him gaining on me, his smile rampant. I zoom around the back of his truck and skid to a stop, panting. Ryan stops on the other side, his eyes narrowed, his attempt to look ominous absolutely wasted on me.
“You know I’ll catch you,” he says, not even a little bit out of breath.
Me, on the other hand…I’m already bloody knackered. It’s the anticipation. Must be, since I’ve barely run fifty yards. “Probably,” I admit. “You’re ex-MI5, after all.”
“Then why are you running?” He circles one way, and I circle the other.
“Because I like you chasing me,” I say coyly, reversing my direction when Ryan does. He stops. I stop.
“I already caught you, though.”
Oh, he did. Fair and square. “Have you ever caught anyone else before?”
His head cocks. “Are you talking about my job or my personal life?”
“Personal life.” I press my lips together, holding back my grin as he watches me with playful narrow eyes.
“No, because I’ve never chased anyone.”
My grin breaks, my satisfaction clear. I believe him. “And for work?”
“I’ve chased loads of people for work.”
“And caught them?”
“Yes.”
“And killed them?”
“No.”
“I don’t believe you,” I whisper. He’s lying. I don’t know how I know, yet I know. Maybe it was his instant answer or his suddenly straight face. Or the warning look in his icy stare. He has killed people.
“You should believe me,” he says quietly.
I bite my bottom lip, assessing him. Everything is telling me not to push further—his expression, his body language. “Okay,” I say, an understanding seeming to pass between us.
“But it doesn’t mean to say that I wouldn’t.”
“Kill someone?”
He nods. “If I had to, yes.”
My inhale is quick, my eyes nailed to his. Is he trying to tell me something? “Okay,” I say again, and he nods, satisfied.
“Let’s stop with the fun and games.” His voice is pure gravel. “Come to me.”
I shake my head, and he breathes in. “Hannah,” he warns.
“Ryan,” I counter sweetly.
He chuckles, looking down his bare chest and taking the waistband of his boxers, fixing them. Natura
lly, my eyes follow his hands. His stomach. An artist couldn’t paint a more perfect stomach. His muscles, his physique. He’s a warrior. My warrior.
He’s suddenly moving, and I yelp, bombing off around the cabin. I don’t make it very far, feeling his big arm hook around my waist and lift me from my feet, stopping my escape dead in its tracks. I laugh wildly as he mauls at my neck, walking back around to the front of his cabin with my back pinned to his front, my legs flailing, my hands wrestling with his arm across my stomach. “Accept your fate,” he mumbles into my flesh. The vibrations of him talking against my throat create a heaviness between my thighs, and I immediately quit fighting him, letting my head roll back, giving him better access.
“What’s my fate?” I ask, reaching back to his hair and combing through the strands with my fingers. He detaches his mouth from my neck and turns me in his hold.
“Me,” he says, cupping my head with both big hands and kissing me into oblivion. I’m instantly short of breath, instantly consumed, instantly all his again. I’m completely and utterly wrapped up in him, in more ways than one. I hum around his mouth, wanting him to hear just how content I am with his conclusion. If Ryan’s my fate, then I wouldn’t dream of challenging it. And if he’s my fate, then surely I am his.
So his fate is to be fooled into falling for someone who isn’t the woman he thinks she is?
His fate is to be deceived and lied to?
I squeeze my eyes closed. I can’t think like that. His fate is me as I am now. I sigh into his mouth despondently and break our kiss, going in for a hug, clinging to him like he’s life. If he senses my sudden melancholy, he doesn’t acknowledge it, but instead picks me up in that easy way he does, just lifting me from my feet with a flex of one arm around my back, and carries me back toward the cabin.
“Wait,” I say abruptly, pulling him to a stop. I zero in by the shed and slowly break away from him, rounding his body and wandering over to what’s caught my eye. I approach, if cautiously, and rest my hand on the seat. “My bike,” I murmur, looking up at him.
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