Her eyes narrowed further. He wondered how she could even see, at this point. “I’m not being weird.”
Sure you’re not. “Honey, it’s okay if you don’t want to have sex. We don’t have to have sex all the time.”
“But we do,” she said.
“We do?”
“Have sex all the time, I mean. Usually.”
Nate shrugged. “Well, yeah. But we don’t have to. If you’re not in the mood, it’s fine. We can sit in the garden. Or watch that baking thing on Netflix. Whatever you want.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “What if I never really wanted to have sex again? Like… what if I just… didn’t… you know.”
He didn’t know, exactly, but he kind of got what she was saying. With a sigh, Nate tugged gently at her hand. “Will you come over here?”
“Why?”
“Because I feel like you’re pulling away from me and it’s stressing me out.”
He hadn’t meant to say that, exactly. He’d meant to give her some sanitised version of the truth, but the words slipped out. And as soon as they did, some of the hardness in her expression faded. She frowned slightly, biting her lip. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I’m not trying to stress you out. I just—”
“I know,” he said. “Don’t worry. It’s okay.” When he pulled at her hand again, she crawled over the cushions and into his lap. The minute she settled against his chest, the deafening rush of blood in his ears quieted. His rampaging heart slowed. He kissed her temple and held her in silence for a moment, waiting for the last of his panic to fade.
Finally, he trusted himself to speak. “Hannah, I don’t care if you never want to have sex again.”
She snorted. “Sure.”
“I don’t. I’d have to masturbate a hell of a lot more…” She huffed out a laugh, bringing a smile to his lips. “But I can handle that. Sex isn’t as important as being close to you. I just want to make you happy.” He tilted her chin up with one finger, making sure she met his eyes. “If that means I never fuck anything but my hand, I’ll deal.”
She held his gaze for a moment before looking away. “Okay.”
Did she believe him? For once, he had no idea. But if she didn’t yet, she would. Eventually.
“Are you alright?” he asked. “Are you having a hard time?” He’d been through difficult patches himself; times when he felt disconnected from his body. When the idea of anyone touching him like that made him nauseous. It wasn’t a bad sign for everyone, but it usually was for him. It might be for her, too.
But she shook her head. “No. I’m fine. Really.”
“You sure?”
“It was just theoretical. I remembered that sometimes I have phases where I don’t want to, and I wondered…” She trailed off, giving him an odd, tight smile that slowly softened into something real. After a beat, he felt her whole body relax. She ran a hand through his hair and said lightly, “You need another trim.”
The casual touch felt like a blessing. “Whatever you say. You’re in charge of my hair, after all.”
“Oh, I’m in charge?”
“You didn’t know?” He kissed her cheek. “It’s your call.”
Everything is your call. Trust me. I love you.
She studied him for a moment, her dark eyes fathomless. “Are you sure about that?”
“Well,” he teased, “I don’t like any of the barbers around here, so…”
There was only the slightest pause, a fraction of a breath, before she laughed. And then she changed the subject. She asked him about his day, and the kids, and the party plans, and she seemed fine. Perfectly fine.
But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d said the wrong thing.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rae: I think I saw the kids with their dad on Sunday. Is he tall, kinda pale, heavily tattooed, extremely hot?
Hannah: I don’t know about that last part.
Rae: ??? Is your vision okay?
Hannah: He has really bad breath.
Rae: Huh. That’s a shame.
“Where’s Zach?”
“Late,” Hannah said, her voice rising over the chatter of guests. “He texted me. Work stuff.”
Nate scowled. His little brother was a blacksmith. Blacksmiths shouldn’t have regular nine-to-fives, never mind all this overtime. Blacksmiths should take time off whenever they wanted and pound iron in ye olde forge by the dark of night, or whatever. Right? That would be better for everyone, to be honest. But Zach seemed to work for some kind of tyrant, so here he was, late for his own surprise party.
About thirty people milled around the house and a soft rock playlist hummed along in the background. The patio doors were open to let in the summer night air, and Hannah had made a shit ton of food, and most people seemed to be having a good time. Ma had already fallen asleep, so he’d put her upstairs with the kids—but he was trying not to worry too much about that. Hannah kept telling him, “Worry doesn’t pay bills or raise children, and it certainly never healed anyone.”
He wasn’t sure if the words themselves were helping, or if it was just the source. In the end, it didn’t really matter. Last week he’d managed to sleep for five hours at a time, so he wouldn’t question his newfound relaxation too closely.
Once Hannah answered his question, she floated casually away from him without another word. She’d been doing that ever since the party started. Maybe she was nervous around all these people, or maybe it had something to do with her little sister glowering at everyone from the corner of the room, but Hannah seemed… jumpy. Eager to jump away from him, at least.
She’d been acting weird for a few days, in fact, but he told himself not to overthink it. It was probably stress—plus paranoia about hiding their relationship tonight, since they’d never had to pretend in front of so many people. It definitely couldn’t be a problem between the two of them, could it? No. No. Recently she’d been trusting him more than ever, sharing her emotions and everything. Like last week, when she’d looked across the kitchen with narrowed eyes and said thoughtfully, “Kind of weird how you never get on my nerves.”
Nate was choosing to take that, rightly or wrongly, as an admission of eternal devotion.
Of course, she had no idea that certain plans of his were coming together, plans that would free them from all these complications so they could just… be. Once he told her, and everything was wrapped up neatly, he could shout from the rooftops that Hannah Kabbah belonged to him. Until then, she could be as cautious as she wanted, even if it hurt. He was a patient man. So, so patient. Really fucking…
He watched as Hannah slipped through the crowd and wandered, alone, into the hallway.
Ah, screw it.
He followed.
She was hovering by the window beside the front door, peeking out between the curtains. Nate smiled as he watched her, then grinned wider when she turned around and jumped at the sight of him.
“Oh,” she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “Jesus, Nate!”
“Sorry. Looking for your friend?”
“Who, Rae?” She bit her lip. “She keeps texting me reasons why she’s late. But I don’t think she’s coming. I think she’s shy. No, I was looking for Zach.”
“Ah. Well, maybe she’ll turn up eventually.” He reached out and caught her hand. She let him, a reluctant smile teasing her lips—so he pushed his luck and twined their fingers together, pulling her closer.
“Bad idea,” she whispered.
He raised her knuckles to his lips. “I know. But I have something to tell you.”
“Now?”
“No, not now. I wish. Later. I’m just getting ahead of myself.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her, letting her feel his adoration with every slow glide of their lips. I hope I’m not alone in this. I hope I’m not wrong about the way you look at me.
When he pulled back, the expression on her face was sweet enough to melt him completely. She smiled hazily, her gaze warm and soft, and Nate’s h
eart bounded around his chest like an excitable puppy.
Then a knock came at the door and she practically leapt away from him.
There was no logical reason for that to sting. They were a secret. They had to be a secret, for now. But that reality didn’t quite fit with his need to kiss the tension out of her whenever and wherever he damn well pleased.
Hannah opened the front door to reveal Zach standing with his hands in his pockets, his hair still damp. “Let me guess,” he said dryly. “You threw me a party.”
She gave a mock-gasp. “How did you know?”
“I’m psychic. Or I just saw thirty-odd people and a shit ton of balloons through the window.”
“Well, that’s what happens when you’re late to your own surprise,” Nate winked, stepping forward to pull his brother into a hug. “Happy birthday, man.”
Nate didn’t get a second with Hannah for the next two hours. Not a single second. Every time he caught her eye, she looked away. Every time he manoeuvred past chattering guests to reach her, she disappeared like smoke. At one point he caught her in the kitchen eating a spring roll, which confirmed what he’d already suspected: she was freaking out about something. Because Hannah didn’t even like spring rolls, but she’d probably eat a tree branch if she was stressed enough.
As soon as he asked her what was wrong, though, that bloody sister of hers appeared. Ruth Kabbah looked exactly like Hannah, except for her permanent glare—Hannah’s was only semi-permanent—and the fact that she seemed to be wearing pyjamas. For some reason, whenever she was around, Hannah got as uptight about ‘unnecessary familiarity’ as she did in front of the kids. Like Ruth was still five, or something. So he had to let her go. And he didn’t miss the way Ruth eyed him suspiciously as she and Hannah wandered off arm in arm.
Nate couldn’t shake the oddest feeling that something was slipping through his fingers.
Maybe that was why, the next time he saw Hannah alone, he didn’t give her a chance to get away.
Hannah was searching through the fridge for a snack—the party food had depleted tragically over the course of the evening—when Nate appeared behind her. He put his hands on her waist, the brief contact lighting her up, and murmured, “Come outside.”
She stiffened, and not just because anyone could walk into the kitchen and see them. She’d been trying so desperately to cut back the uncontrollable, overgrown weed that her feelings towards him had become—but they still sprawled over the garden of her mind like some kind of dandelion infestation. All it took was a touch from him and she forgot to be sensible.
It was making her nervous.
“Why?” she asked, staring into the fridge as if it could save her from the inevitable.
“I want to talk to you.” He’d said that earlier—that he had something to tell her. And ever since, anxiety had been bubbling up inside her like something in a witch’s cauldron.
“About what?”
“Nothing bad.” He kissed her neck. “It’s a surprise.”
The words made her relax, which just stressed Hannah out even more. She didn’t want to trust him like this. She didn’t want this urge to melt into his touch. She didn’t want this feeling of calm and safety that fell over her like a warm blanket whenever he was around.
She didn’t want to love him.
But it was becoming painfully clear that she did. She loved Nate. She was secretly fucking the man who paid her wages, and she’d managed to fall in love with him on top of it all. Her mother had been right, in the end. Hannah wasn’t strong enough for this.
She wasn’t strong at all. Because when he took her hand, she let him. When he pulled her out into the dark heat of the garden, she let him. When he pressed her against the house’s rough cobblestones and ran a finger over her cheek, she let him.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he murmured, a smile softening his features.
“Thanks,” Hannah managed. It was hard to concentrate on a conversation when her brain was kind of collapsing. She’d decided that, whatever he had to say, it couldn’t possibly be good. Yes, he’d claimed it was a ‘surprise’, but what did that even mean? Hannah hated surprises. What if it was something terrible, but he didn’t want her to make a fuss? What if he was just letting her down gently? The ticking in the back of her mind was louder than ever, every obnoxious little click reminding her that this was the real world and happy endings did not exist. Or, if they did, they simply weren’t for her.
And yet… she didn’t say anything. Not a damned thing. She should be demanding answers, but she just stared up at him like a love-sick cow. Hannah was considering putting up posters around town. Clearly, she had misplaced her backbone. Perhaps some kindly older person had come across it on a morning walk?
“Are you okay?” he asked. “You seem down.”
“I’m fine,” she lied. “Just panicking about… party stuff.”
“Don’t worry about all that, love. Everything’s perfect.” He tipped up her chin and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “Just like you. Listen, I meant to save this until later, but—”
“Wait,” she said, the word leaping out of her mouth without permission. Now, why had she said that? There must be a reason—a reason other than the unexplainable fear running icily through her veins, the fear that had stalked her like a predator ever since that talk with Mum on Sunday. Right?
Nope. There was no logical reason for her to cut him off. Just the fear.
She looked up and found Nate’s brow furrowed, his eyes cautious. He was worried about her. Like he didn’t have enough to worry about. She was fucking around, letting all her Ominous Despair overflow willy-nilly, and he was paying the price. Which was reason number 763 why Romance Was Not for Hannah.
Not that she’d been counting.
“Kiss me,” she said finally. She didn’t even know why. Maybe because her mind was sinking into a mire of stormy, indescribable feelings and kissing Nate felt like the only way out.
“Are you sure?” he whispered. For heaven’s sake. Why couldn’t he be like other men and slobber all over her without a moment’s consideration?
Before either of them could think too hard about it, Hannah grabbed his face with both hands and dragged him down to her level.
He held her tight. Their lips met. It felt like drinking down devotion.
Flames ripped through her body, trying their best to burn away the thick, rubbery dread that squatted heavy in her chest. And still, it wasn’t enough. It should be—she wanted it to be—but it wasn’t enough. Because no matter how good this felt, how much she needed him, how much she loved him, that edgy, formless, almost-terror refused to fade.
And then a familiar voice cut into the moment, sharp and horrified. “What the fuck is going on here?”
Hannah jerked away from Nate so hard, she hit her head against the wall. It was more of a glancing blow than anything else, but a second later she felt Nate’s hands in her hair, pulling her close, running over scalp. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low. “Look at me.”
“I’m fine.”
“Just look at me, would you?”
She ignored him and looked at Evan instead. It was Evan who’d spoken, he and Zach standing a few feet away with bottles of beer and twin expressions of astonishment.
Muttering a curse, Nate yanked his phone out of his pocket and switched on the torch, shining it in her eyes.
“Would you stop that?” she snapped. “You’re not a fucking doctor.”
“I know how to check for a concussion,” he gritted back, “and I’m checking whether you like it or not. So keep still.”
“Hate to interrupt,” Zach said slowly, “but, Nate, I have to ask. Did you just have your tongue down Hannah’s throat? Because it kind of looked like you did.”
Barely sparing his brother a glance, Nate said calmly, “Fuck off.”
How the hell was his voice so steady? How were his hands so sure as they ran through her hair? Because Hannah felt as if her body and her so
ul were shaking at different frequencies, like she could fall out of her own flesh at any moment. Her heart pounded so hard, she was worried it might actually come loose. That didn’t sound medically possible, but anxiety could be a real bitch sometimes.
“Hannah,” Evan murmured, “you should come over here.”
She wanted to ask why, but she already knew her voice would be humiliatingly shaky. In the end, it didn’t matter, because Nate carried the conversation for her. “Why? She’s fine here.”
“With you?” She’d never seen Evan angry before. It had never really occurred to her that he could be angry. He was so eternally cheerful, so self-assured and utterly implacable. But right now he seemed absolutely furious, his voice hard. “Forgive me if I don’t trust the guy who runs around grabbing his employees.”
Nate flinched as if the words were a blow. She wanted to take his hand. She wanted to say something. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t move. She felt cold sweat dripping down her spine, followed by the icy finger of self-doubt and a white-hot blade that felt a lot like pain.
And then, through it all, resignation. Cold, heavy, unavoidable.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” Nate said, “but this is not whatever the hell you’re thinking.”
“Well what the fuck is it?” Zach snapped. “Because it looks pretty fucking bad, Nate.”
“Hannah and I—”
For some reason, those were the words that unlocked Hannah’s stiff jaw and watered her dry throat. Those were the words that allowed her lungs to function again. Those were the words that inspired her to step in front of Nate and voice her deepest fear as if it were the truth. “It’s nothing, Zach. This is nothing.” Her laugh sounded so real, so genuine—a touch of embarrassment, a dash of self-deprecation. “An experiment, I suppose. Nate was just humouring me. Honestly, I’d rather not explain.” She rolled her eyes at her own strange ways. “It’s complicated. But nothing to worry about.” Her gaze focused on Evan. “Really. I swear. It’s nothing.”
Untouchable: A Small Town Romance (Ravenswood Book 2) Page 23