This was something she hadn’t realized she missed- intimacy, closeness with another person. It sank into her skin, the comfort, the happiness. The fear that she was going to get used to it and lose it.
Because, if she was honest with herself, she knew this wasn’t going to last. There were danger signs everywhere and she was pretending to ignore them.
Elliott was a famous ladies man. He was never known to spend more than a few weeks with the same woman. He certainly wasn’t the type to settle down. And on that subject, there was Dan. Sure it was an unhappy sham of a marriage, but she was a factor for Hannah. Then there was their professional relationship. She didn’t want to risk her career, though a part of her was sure that Elliott would never fire her unless she screwed up on the job.
And, as much as she hated it, she was worried about the fallout. The absolutely inevitable fallout. Would she be prepared for it? Would it take her by surprise and send her into a downward spiral of sadness and anger? Was she going to fall apart when it ended?
Because it was going to end.
Lastly, she cringed, not wanting to think about it, the crazy stalker person.
She never had worked out a plan for that, she realized with a start. The wisest thing would be to give up or sublet her apartment- move somewhere safer with cameras or a doorman. She would get a security system. She would alternate her routes. Whatever it took. Maybe if she actually put some effort into dealing with the situation instead of pretending to ignore it, she could get on top of it and it would stop.
Shivering, she stretched her foot toward the end of the bed where the comforter had gotten bunched up. Grabbing the edge of it between her toes, she pulled it up to her hands and spread it across the two of them, trying not to wake Elliott. But as soon as the cool fabric touched his skin, he shifted his body off of hers and moved to lay on his back with one arm arched over his head on the pillow.
Hannah took a deep breath, not having noticed her shallow breathing due to his weight. She pulled herself into a seated position, her back against the headboard and looking down at Elliott. She liked being able to look at him like that, without him noticing her inspection.
There was a scar at the base of his neck, the skin slightly raised and white. It was as long as her pointer finger and she couldn’t help but wonder how he had gotten it. She reached down, lightly rubbing her fingertip over the skin finding it strangely smooth and cool.
The phone rang, making her jump back like a guilty teenager.
It was a loud, antique phone, the ring loud and shrill and she reached for it automatically so it wouldn’t wake up Elliott.
“Hello,” she whispered into the receiver.
There was a silence on the other end and she almost hung up. Then the voice spoke, an inhuman voice. The kind of voice you hear on a news interview when the witness wants to remain anonymous, dark and computer. Everyone’s voice was masculine and deep.
“Whore,” the voice hissed.
“Who is this?” she hissed back, looking at Elliott to make sure he was still asleep. He hadn’t stirred.
“You should be more worried about your conduct, slut. Stay in your small town. Quit your job. Never see him again. Or you will regret it.”
Click. Dial tone.
Hannah sat there, holding the receiver to her ear for a second, queaziness swirling in her stomach, making her genuinely wonder if she were going to be sick.
“Who was that?” Elliott’s voice asked, groggy.
Hannah jumped, her heart thudding quickly. She placed the receiver back into the cradle before turning to Elliott, biding time.
His eyes were small and puffy like he was struggling to stay awake.
“Front desk.” The lie came quickly, easily. “they were checking to see if I was staying in the room. There was a message from Emily.”
“Hmm,” Elliott hummed in agreement, his eyes closing. His arm reached out, tugging her back to a laying position and then pulling her onto his chest. She felt his fingers in her hair, stroking for a split second before stilling. And she knew he was asleep again.
It was the first time she heard a voice. Granted it was artificially manipulated, but it was a voice. And that was escalation. Whomever it was, they were getting even more angry.
With her head on Elliott’s chest, she laid awake all night, worrying.
Fourteen
She had finally fallen to sleep sometime after the sun started to break through the dark sky. She woke up a few short hours later to the sound of water running. Sitting up groggily, she scrambled for something to put on. Him seeing her nude post-sex was one thing, seeing her stark naked in the cool, harsh light of morning was a complete other. The water shut off suddenly and she grabbed for the first piece of clothing she saw- Elliott’s white dress shirt.
Hannah didn’t often think about her height. Though she knew she was slightly taller than the average woman, it never seemed to matter much. But the shirt cut her just past her hips, unlike how it did in movies, falling sexy to mid-thigh, but not actually showing any ass.
“Hannah,” she heard Elliott say and turned, her hands fumbling with the button between her breasts. He said her name a lot. It never much occurred to her that in everyday situations with friends and family and even coworkers, no one used your name much. She could go the better part of a week without hearing her name on someone else’s lips. Hearing it sounded intimate. Especially the way Elliott said it in his deep voice.
When she turned, his eyebrow quirked up as he followed the line of her body from where her hands had finally pushed the small button through the impossible hole down to her bare legs and back up again. She found herself doing the same to him. He was wrapped in a towel at his waist, clasped dangerously low on his hips. She could see the cuts of his hipbones and had a sudden urge to tear off the towel. His stomach and chest still had beads of water, one or two broke free and slid down beneath the towel as she looked.
Finally meeting his face, she noticed his hair was dripping. And he was smiling. “Like what you see?” he asked in a flirtatious tone.
“Maybe,” she answered, just as teasing and wondered where it had come from. She had never been good at flirting.
“Maybe huh?” he said, stepping closer to her, reaching out with his long hands and grabbing her ass. Finding no panties and nearly growling. Before she realized what he was doing, he pulled the towel off in one swift motion, revealing his manhood, hard and waiting for her. “Is this better?” he asked, his eyes fixed on hers.
Hannah saw the side of his lips turn upward, an amused quirk she noticed he used a lot. She shrugged one shoulder slowly. “Maybe a little,” she said, her voice sounding wholly unimpressed and girly. She tried to keep her grin from turning into a full smile, but slightly uncomfortable with her own boldness, she felt it stretch across her face.
Elliott chuckled. A quick, rumbling sound in his chest as he put an arm around her hips and dragged her against him. Due to the ridiculous length of the shirt on her, she felt his cock push up under the fabric and settle, a hard throbbing mass against her heat.
She had expected him to reach and pull her legs apart. To penetrate her quickly and have fast, hard sex with her. The look in his eyes said that was what he wanted to do. But he stood there, still, looking down at her.
Desire built in her quickly. She didn’t know it was possible to want someone so quickly and so much just standing with them. Impatient, needy, she allowed her legs to open slightly and she inched her hips closer to him, making his cock part her folds and push against hard against her wetness. Her mouth opened on a sigh and she saw his eyes close for a second.
But he made no move. Hannah brought a hand up to his shoulder, holding herself more steady as she rubbed her self slowly forward and back across his hard length. Over and over. Her head fell against his chest as her breath came out in sighs.
Then he was finally moving, pulling her toward the bed. He sat on the edge, his feet
on the floor, and pulled her onto his lap. He grabbed her face and kissed her, long and hard and passionate. She reached between them as his tongue filled her mouth, and guided him inside her. She pushed herself down his shaft, and groaned against his lips. There was something to be said for hard, fast sex. But there was also something to this, this slow, lazy penetration that forced her body to feel him fill her impossibly full.
When she had lowered herself down to the base, she pulled her lips from his, looking into his eyes as she moved her hips away from him and then leisurely let him fill her again. The pace was painfully slow and intoxicating. She felt her thighs object, shaking from both desire and strain. But she refused to go any faster. Elliott’s hand remained around her hips, his fingers now digging into the soft flesh. His other hand went up her back, grabbing at the base of her skull and holding on as if his life depended on it.
Elliott’s jaw was tight, his muscles in his arms and shoulders tense like desire to delay his climax was taking every last bit of control.
Hannah felt her orgasm building up in a leisurely pace then nudging over the edge, culminating in one powerful throb and slowly easing, leaving her collapsed against Elliott’s neck, struggling to find the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She felt Elliott find his release, his body tensing and shaking once beneath her, his hands at her hips and neck grabbing in a punishing grip.
Hannah only stayed there a moment, worridly wondering what you were supposed to say to each other post-sex, realizing the other few times had resulted in exhausted sleep. But given they were both fully rested, that seemed unlikely. Hannah pulled herself upward, her thighs at once objecting to being in the awkward position as well as her trying to move from it.
She avoided meeting his eyes, walking over to her bag and rummaging for an outfit. Finding black jeans, a white peasant blouse, panties and a bra, she finally turned around. To bump right into Elliott who apparently had the footsteps of a cat and had come up right behind her. He plucked the bra out of her pile of clothes and hooked it onto his pointer finger.
“You wont be needing this,” he informed her, a smile playing at his lips.
“My shirt is white,” she informed him, marveling at seeing the famously serious Elliott Michaels twirling a white bra around his finger. She almost wanted to laugh, if she wasn’t about to blush. “I need it.”
“That didn’t stop you yesterday,” he informed. When she reached for it, he pulled it up higher.
“Different material,” she objected, going up onto her tippy toes to retrieve the bra in question. Her fingers had just touched the material when he rose it up over his head. A shocked smile spreading across her face. “Really? We’re really going to do this?” she asked, amused.
“Yup,” he said, smiling himself as he watched her jump up once and miss it.
“Fine,” she said, her smile becoming wicked. Before he had a chance to wonder what she had planned, she reached between them, grabbed his chest hair and pulled savagely. His hand dropped a few inches, surprised. But it was enough and she snatched the material out of his fingers with a satisfied grin. “I win,” she informed him, retreating into the bathroom, hearing his laugh even through the closed door.
She checked her reflection in the ornate bathroom mirror, a big round thing with a huge gold frame. Her face looked strange to her, her skin rosy and her eyes bright. She looked happy, she realized with a start. When was the last time she could honestly say she looked happy?
Refusing to give that much thought, she tried running a brush through her hair but nothing but a wash and condition was going to fix the tangled mess. She put the water on, waiting an impossibly long time for it to warm up. She stepped under the spray, her body achy in strange places, her hips, her thighs. She reached for the shampoo and conditioner, small sizes of spa-quality products. Emily had kicked and screamed until she got that one small concession for the guest rooms. People from the busy cities weren’t going to be happy with the dollar store variteies, she had argued. Hannah silently thanked her as she slathered on the slimy conditioner. Her hair was unmanageable without the right products.
She stood under the hot water until, despite the ceiling fan being on and the window cracked, the whole room was a blanket of steam. With a sigh, she dried and stepped out, reaching for her panties and bra. To find her bra was missing. He had actually snuck in and stolen her bra, she realized, utterly shocked.
With a sign of resignation, she quickly dressed and ran a brush through her hair. When she walked back into the bedroom, Elliott looked up, his face a mask of false ignorance.
“You could look for it,” he said, his voice teasing. He had dressed in grey slacks and a white button-down shirt. It looked both casual and professional and she wondered if the man even owned a pair of jeans. “but then we would miss breakfast,” he said, tying his shoes.
“That’s okay,” she said, glancing around but knowing she wasn’t going to find it. Knowing him, he probably threw it away. “we don’t have to do breakfast.”
Elliott looked up with a raised brow. “You need to eat,” he said in a tone that almost sounded chastising.
Hannah shrugged, slipping into a pair of black flats. “Alright then,” she said, grabbing her purse and opening the door, leaving him to rush to catch up.
He met her at the bottom of the staircase, coming up behind and placing a hand at her lower back. She wondered fleetingly if it was an act of possession or just a casual thing men did with all women they were with.
When they stepped into the dining room, Hannah noticed the eyes of at least a dozen townspeople she knew. They gave her a friendly smile which she returned, feeling self-conscious. Elliott led her to a table by the windows and pulled out the chair for her. She never realized before how nice of a gesture that was. Apparently Mr. Michaels had been raised with very good manners.
The waitor came over, offering no greeting as he handed the menus to them and poured two coffee cups. Hannah had a raised brow that Elliott shrugged at. When she looked up, she felt a jolt of recognition.
“Tristan Thomas,” she said in the tone of a cross math teacher. Tristan looked up, surprised. “I know it’s been a while,” she said, noticing Elliott had put down the menu and was looking at her. “but I used to babysit you. And I’m sure Michelle would not be happy to hear about how rude you are to customers.”
A look of recognition dawned on Tristan’s face, a smile pulling at his lips. “Aww, come on, Hanny,” he said in a fake five-year old voice. “don’t tell mama I was bad.”
Hannah laughed. A real, genuine unexpected laugh. “You were always a little terror,” she remembered, making the staid Tristan grin.
“Some things never change,” he winked, then gesturing to Elliot said, “he seemed to like my tableside manner.”
“Yes well… that hardly recommends you,” she said and Elliot chuckled.
“We’ll have two of the deluxe breakfasts and orange juice,” Elliott ordered and Hannah felt her spine stiffen. She wasn’t a fan of being ordered for.
Hannah sipped her coffee as Elliott handed back the menus and looked around. “So how many people in this room hate me for defiling the town babysitter,” he asked and Hannah choked on her coffee.
“Defintely not my mother…” she said, noticing Moira had conveniently decided to have brunch with a few friends at the inn that morning. She had winked at Hannah as they sat down and then nodded at Elliott’s back with an appreciative grin.
Elliott’s eyebrows shot up. “Your mother is here,” he asked and there was real male terror in his voice.
Hannah wanted to laugh but took pity on him instead. “It’s not like that. My mother is…”
“A free-love hippie. And by ‘free love’ I mean she had really enjoyed her share of men before settling down,” Emily said, pulling up a chair at the side of them, not caring that she was completely blocking the aisle for the servers.
“Way to make mom sound like a sl
ut, Emmy,” Hannah said, smiling.
“Hey I’m just helping ease this guys nerves,” Emily said, her eyes piercing into Elliott. “You have nothing to worry about with Moira. She is probably thinking it was about damn time Hannah got herself some… male company.”
“Em,” Hannah rolled her eyes.
“Hey that was tame. My original phrase rhymed with duck… and muddy.”
“Oh my god shut up,” Hannah said, her cheeks turning read.
Elliott sat back, enjoying the banter at his table. He and Hannah had made some progress in the linguistic department, but they were still utterly awkward together. Having a third party was making the morning easier. And watching Emily tease Hannah in an older-sister kind of was was amusing and telling. Hannah’s blush was ridiculous and adorable.
He casually glanced around, trying to spot Moira. His eyes found her easily, a gorgeous older version of Hannah at a table of four other women. Her head shot up as soon as his eyes landed on her. She looked different with her hair down and a lack of paint on her delicate white dress. She smiled at him widely, a warm genuine smile. He smiled back, his chin lifting in acknowledgment.
He never had to deal with the strangeness of seeing women’s parents much. Dan being the exception, but that was all very formal and expected as though Dan and her father had talked about it many times before.
It felt odd for him to see a woman who clearly understood that he was having sex, casually, with her daughter.
He shook back as Emily’s chair scraped back. The food had arrived and she was excusing herself.
They ate in relative silence, both lost in their own thoughts.
“You’re coming back with me today,” Elliott’s voice said, firm, final.
Hannah put her fork down. “I have my car here,” she said as way of an excuse. She wasn’t ready to head back into that snake den again.
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