Hold Me Close: A Cinnamon Roll Box Set

by Talia Hibbert

  Drunk Hannah, clearly, was not Sober Hannah. That was okay.

  And Dream Hannah was not Awake Hannah, either. That was okay, too.

  This was what Hannah told herself as Nate Davis sank his teeth into her shoulder.

  She gasped, stretching out on the enormous bed they shared, arching back against his erection. He was perfectly sized—big enough to make her sigh, not big enough to require gallons of lube—because she had made it so. That was the beauty of dreams, you see. He spread her arse slightly with one hand, until his rigid cock nestled between her cheeks—which would be scandalous enough to send Awake Hannah into fits, but only managed to drag a purr of satisfaction from Dream Hannah. She rocked against that thick shaft as Nate ran his tongue over the tingling bite marks on her shoulder.

  He stroked her hip, trailing silken whispers of arousal over her skin, and Hannah realised they were completely naked. Maybe they hadn’t been a second ago, but they were now. Also, their enormous bed appeared to be floating in a tropical ocean. Weird, but she’d go with it.

  “Stop thinking,” he whispered in her ear. “Look at me.”

  “No, thank you.”

  She felt him smile. His lips were pressed against her throat, soft and warm. Then he reached between her thighs with one steady, tattooed hand and touched her. Actually, touched might be too feeble a word: he ran the blunt tip of his middle finger over her folds, teasing her slick, swollen flesh. When he nudged her clit, Hannah moaned.

  His finger circled her stiffening bud, the contact too much and too little, delicate and delicious. His mouth, hot and wet and wanting, sucked at a spot just beneath her ear. She melted against him like warm chocolate and he rocked his hard dick against her arse in a rhythm that echoed her pounding heart. “Look at me,” he said again.

  “You’re very demanding,” she managed to gasp, “for a figment of my imagination.”

  “That’s not what I am,” he murmured. Before she could beg for more of the dizzying sensations he produced between her thighs, Nate’s teasing touch became a firm, fast rhythm. He flattened his fingers and massaged her clit, distributing that perfect pressure, heating her blood into molten lust.

  Hannah moaned, then rocked her hips back and spread her legs wider. “You’re not demanding?”

  “I’m not a figment of your imagination.” He pushed her onto her stomach, then dragged her hips up into the air and spread her thighs.

  “You are,” she insisted. “If you were real, I wouldn’t feel like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Good. I wouldn’t feel good.”

  “I’m real, Hannah.” He parted her folds, the fat head of his cock sliding over her slick entrance. “You know me.”

  “I don’t know you. I haven’t seen you in years.”

  “You remember me.”

  “I never knew you. No-one knew you.”

  He leaned over her, his chest covering her back, his body caging hers as his length nudged at her entrance. She felt his breath against her ear as he whispered, “You knew me. Of course you knew me. That’s why you wanted me so bad.”

  “Nate…” She closed her eyes, shuddered at the promise of satisfaction, at the kiss of his hard dick spreading her wider and threatening to fill her up. Fuck, that slick glide would be so good if he would just—

  “Look at me,” he said again.

  “No.”

  He sighed, pulling back. Away from her. What the fuck? This was her dream, for Christ’s sake!

  “Come back here,” she snapped.

  “You know what I want.”

  “What is this, a subconscious revolt?” she demanded. What the hell was going on? She had no idea—and she couldn’t ask her mother to interpret this particular dream, since it involved fucking a local hot dad on a floating bed. What was she supposed to do, Google it?

  “You know me, Hannah. You know me because we’re the same. Admit it.”

  “Oh, piss off. Jesus. I can’t even get a decent shag inside my own fucking head. Why haven’t I replaced the batteries in my vibrator yet?”

  “Because you don’t masturbate. You just have dreams like this and wake up wondering what happened. But you don’t remember, because you sleep too deeply.”

  “Great,” she said dryly. And then, a second later: “Wait, so I won’t remember this? That is pretty great.”

  “You want to forget me?” Nate asked, sounding a little offended.

  “Of course I do. This is atrocious. I don’t know what my subconscious was playing at, bringing you here. Frankly, I only allowed it because I like your tattoos.”

  “But you don’t like me.”

  “Not like that. I’m not fifteen anymore.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice unnervingly dark.

  “That I’m not fifteen?”

  “Hannah,” he growled.

  Oh, fine. She knew what he meant. “Yes! Okay? Yes, I’m sure. I’m very sure.” While sitting on a dreamy, floating bed, butt-naked, with her own arousal sliding down her thighs and a desperate need for Nate’s phantom dick, she said firmly: “Nathaniel Davis, I am not into you.”

  “In that case,” he said, “you’d better wake up.”

  Nate’s house, Hannah discovered the next day, was east of the train tracks, close to the town centre, and on the smaller side. It was also painfully charming—or at least it looked that way from the pavement. Instead of brick, it was made of those old cobble stones, and the front garden was alive with… flowers. Yellow ones and purple ones. That was the best Hannah could do in terms of identifying plant life. The whole thing was adorable.

  She approached it with as much trepidation as she would Dracula’s mansion.

  “You’ve got this,” she murmured under her breath. “You are in control. Base emotions do not rule you. Attraction does not necessitate action.”

  The positive affirmations didn’t help.

  She didn’t know why, exactly, but Hannah had woken up that morning convinced that she was being haunted by the ghost of her old crush. Except it had turned poltergeist, and it would not give her a minute to breathe. This was all Nate’s fault, obviously, for running around looking like a modern-day Danny Zuko, but the consequences of that irresponsible sexiness would inevitably be heaped on Hannah’s shoulders.

  A crush, she knew, was a powerful thing. A dangerous thing. Her crush on Nate had been the first she’d ever had, and she’d hated every damned minute of it. The inappropriate thoughts, the inappropriate dreams (which were probably more puberty-related than Nate-related, but whatever), the sweaty palms and pounding heart…

  Good Lord, it had all been quite sickening. And the threat of sliding back into that messy existence was making Hannah teeter on the edge of hysteria. She was slightly concerned that, if he opened the door looking a little too handsome, she might do something disturbing. Like slap him. And slapping the poor man wouldn’t help her plot to secure employment, now, would it?

  Hannah cleared her throat, adjusted her braids, and smoothed down her floor-length skirt. Although she’d ironed it twice before leaving the house, she checked studiously for any embarrassing creases. Really, you could never be too careful. Once, she’d wandered about for hours in a skirt that had an odd V-shaped furrow right over her vulva. She’d gotten so many strange looks that day.

  Satisfied that all was in order, she stepped through the pretty little gate, strode up the pretty garden path, and rapped smartly on Nate’s pretty front door.

  Almost immediately, a shadow fell behind its frosted glass. A very large shadow. Hannah swallowed as she heard locks and latches clatter, and then the door swung slowly, ominously open… to reveal Zach’s smiling face.

  The anti-climax almost killed her.

  “Hey,” he grinned. “You’re here.”

  Hannah winced. “Am I early? Am I late?” She couldn’t be late, could she? She’d timed it so perfectly—

  “Stop that. You’re completely, precisely on time.” Zach grabbed her arm and d
ragged her into the house, as if he somehow knew she needed the extra push. “We’re in the garden.”

  “We being…”

  “Me and Nate and the kids. And Ma. Literally all of us. Surprise!”

  “Oh,” Hannah said faintly. “Great, that’s… that’s great…” She tapped her palms against her legs. Christ, it was hot. Why had she worn a skirt? Her thighs were chafing. Chafing was not conducive to social perfection. The skirt had definitely been a miscalculation, but—

  “Nervous?”

  She looked up to find Zach giving her the kind of arch, cocky look that had made him Ravenswood’s most successful man-slut. “No,” she said. It wasn’t a lie; it was positive self-talk. “Stop trying to psych me out.”

  “I’m not! I swear. I’ve just never seen you like this before. You’re always so cool. Which I like, by the way.” He flashed one of his trademark, lazy-sexy smiles.

  “Not now, Zachary.”

  “But later?”

  “Put your head in the freezer or something.” She ignored his answering burst of laughter, casting a sharp eye over the hall. There were boxes stacked precariously by the stairs, and the living room she saw through a nearby doorway looked disorganised, to say the least.

  But her mind was distracted from its mental tidying as childish shouts danced on the air. The sound filled her chest with a familiar peace, a feeling she’d sorely missed over the years. All at once, her nerves faded like the last bright sparks of a firework, until she was cool and composed, a blank night sky again. There was no need to panic.

  Yes, she might be rusty after two years, and yes, Nate triggered some sort of minor nostalgic lust in her, but that didn’t matter. She was here to work, and work was one thing Hannah could do, no matter what. She had skills and experience and qualifications coming out of her ears, and most importantly…

  Kids loved her. Kids really, really loved her. They were the only people who did, and that was her superpower. So, she’d re-meet Bethany and Joshua, and they’d have fun playing in the garden, and everything would be fine, and then—then—she’d actually, finally, be working in childcare again. For now.

  That was enough to make her heart sing.

  She took a deep breath and gave Zach her best smile. “Lead the way.”

  5

  “When you're fatter than complete strangers with boundary issues prefer, those complete strangers with boundary issues make sure to tell you so. In explicit detail. They do this because they hate happiness.”

  - Hannah Kabbah, The Kabbah Code

  “Grandma, would you like an apple smoothie?”

  “Oh, yes, please!” Nate watched as his mother widened her eyes and licked her lips, holding out one eager hand for a cup of pond scum and mushed-up leaves.

  Beth passed it over with a giggle, then turned to Josh and ordered, “Another one! For Uncle Zach!”

  Josh nodded so hard, Nate was surprised he didn’t fall over. Smoothie making in the garden was clearly a serious business.

  It was nice, having a garden. Very nice. He’d forgotten that part of living in Ravenswood; all the greenery. The kids were having the time of their lives. Maybe they’d forgive him for the move soon.

  He raised his camera and lined up a shot of Beth, mud smudged over her snub little nose, kneeling by their shallow pond. She looked up, caught him, and gave a glare more suited to a teenager than a seven-year-old.

  “Don’t take pictures of me, Daddy,” she commanded.

  He didn’t blame the poor kid. He’d been photographing her nonstop from the minute she was born. “Don’t worry, I won’t. I’m just looking at you.”

  She sniffed dubiously. Nate chuckled and turned the camera elsewhere, zooming in on Josh’s chubby fingers snatching at leaves on a rhododendron bush; then on Ma, who was lounging on the quilted garden swing, ‘apple smoothie’ in hand. She winked at him, lifting her plastic cup, and he snapped a picture.

  Finally, as if by instinct, he looked toward the patio doors, camera still raised to his face…

  And saw Hannah.

  He’d been expecting her. Of course he had. But the sight of her still felt like a surprise. Maybe it was because of her smile—the kind of breathtaking, sunshine-bright grin he could never have predicted from a woman so tightly contained. Of course, she was aiming that elusive expression at his little brother, since they were friends. And she was talking to him, too, without any of the self-consciousness she’d shown Nate.

  Because she had been self-conscious, during their odd little interview, despite how bold she seemed. He could sense it, somehow, every time she hesitated, every time she bit back words or swallowed feelings. It made him want to bring all the shadowy parts of her into the light. He’d had this odd certainty that she needed it, like she was a plant that could do with re-potting and a sprinkle of water. But it turned out that she didn’t need that at all, from him or anyone, because she had no trouble shining with Zach.

  Which would teach Nate to think about adults the way he thought about his kids.

  Nate lowered the camera and called, “Josh. Beth. Come over here, please.” For once, they did as he asked. Reluctantly, sure, but he’d take what he could get.

  When they drew closer, Nate crouched down in the grass and put a hand on both their shoulders. “Okay; you remember I said someone would start living with us soon, to watch you guys while I’m not here?”

  They stared like beady-eyed birds, which he decided to take as a yes.

  “Do you also remember the lady we bumped into in the meadow that one night? The one who gave you marshmallows?”

  “Yeeeees,” Beth sighed. “That was only the other day, Dad.”

  And Josh, taking his cue from his older sister, echoed, “Yeaaaah, Daddy.” He tried to roll his eyes, but it looked more like he was being momentarily possessed.

  Nate bit back a smile. He didn’t want to disrupt the gravity of their disdain. “Right. Well, she’s here, and her name is Hannah, and we’re gonna go and say hello to her. Very politely. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Beth huffed.

  Josh bit his lip.

  “She’s really nice,” Nate said. “I promise. Look, she’s just over there. She’s your Uncle Zach’s friend.”

  Both kids turned to stare at Hannah, who was currently saying hi to Shirley. Hopefully the fact that she was standing by their idol and hero, Cool Uncle Zach, giver of sweets and toys, would get Hannah points.

  Nate straightened and led his kids over the grass. His heart swelled when he felt first Josh, and then Beth, take his hand, their palms soft and plump and sweaty. Never got old.

  Hannah smiled as they approached, all soft and closed-lipped and oddly sweet. Her lipstick was kind of red today, kind of orange. Like she’d painted her mouth with pure heat. “Hello,” she said, all her focus on the kids.

  “Hannah,” he said, “this is Beth and Josh. Kids, this is Hannah. Say hello.”

  Beth did a little wiggle on the spot, which meant she was nervous. But she still lifted her chin and said, “Hello Hannah.” He squeezed her hand and smiled down at her—and, miracle of miracles, she actually smiled back, sticking her tongue through the hole left by her missing front tooth.

  Then he heard Josh say hello too, just like his sister. Always, just like his sister.

  And then Hannah shocked Nate completely by kneeling down on the grass in her pristine white skirt. She folded her hands on her lap, posture perfect as always, and said, “Your grandmother tells me that the two of you have a very important secret.” Her voice dropped to a whisper on secret in a way that somehow seemed perfectly natural and genuine. Her expression was grave, lips pursed, brows slightly raised.

  Both kids leaned toward her. “Secret?” Beth echoed.

  Hannah nodded, looking at one child, then the other, very slowly. Somehow, the same earthy gaze that tore people down so effortlessly became a spotlight, a round of applause, and a gold star, all at once. She looked so thoroughly interested in the kids, he could see them blo
oming before her like flowers before the sun.

  “She says,” Hannah murmured, “that you have a top-secret recipe for the best apple smoothies in the world. Is that true? Or is she mistaken?”

  “It’s true!” Josh whispered back.

  Beth glared at him. “Shh!” Then, looking at Hannah, she muttered. “It’s not a secret. It’s just leaves.”

  Hannah cocked her head to the side. Just like she used to, in class, when she was listening. She nodded toward the swing, where his mum was watching them all with a smile on her face. “If it’s not a secret, will you show me how you did it? You see, I would like to make someone as happy as you made your grandmother.”

  Beth blinked. She puffed up her cheeks. Then she shrugged and said, “If you reeeally want…”

  That space was supposed to be filled by more eager requests, but Hannah simply sat back and watched, pure interest all over her face.

  And finally, Beth said, “Okay. Okay. You can come and look.”

  Hannah smiled. “Wonderful.” Then she stood, far too gracefully in his opinion, and held out both her hands.

  To Nate’s utter astonishment, his children released him without hesitation and took hold of Hannah like a pair of limpets. They skirted around him as if he were a particularly inconvenient garden gnome, heading for the pond and chattering over each other. He stood alone and slightly alarmed, blinking rapidly.

  Zach came over to him with a grin. “See? She’s great. She’s like magic. You just accidentally love her.”

  Nate decided not to answer that. He turned away from his brother just in time to watch his son spill a cup of algae all over Hannah’s skirt. Oh, shit. Josh and Beth both had their little hands over their mouths in the universal child expression for Oops.

  “Sorry!” Josh squeaked.

  Nate wasn’t surprised when Hannah said, “It’s okay, Josh. Accidents happen.” He’d expected that, actually. Despite her pristine exterior, she had years of experience working with kids. She wouldn’t have gotten far if she got upset over dirty clothes.