The Trouble with Temptation

by Shiloh Walker

  One of the aides came rushing up, her face drawn tight. “Mr. McKay, I would advise you to—”

  Brannon cut her off with a look. “You do not want to fuck with me right now. You think your boss is the only one with reach in this fucking state?” He leaned in and warned, “Try me.”

  Tank whistled under his breath as the woman went white. “Gotta be nice to be one of the most powerful men in the state, McKay.”

  Brannon gave him a withering stare, ignoring the woman who continued to stand there, a few feet away, all but frozen. “Do you want to hear this or just watch it on social media?”

  Tank waved a hand.

  “He wanted to host a party there and we assume—or at least Moira assumed—make it seem as though we supported his platform. We don’t,” Brannon said, emphasizing the we. Then, deliberately raising his voice, he continued. “As a matter of fact, we hate the pompous fuck’s platform in general and don’t care for the man.”

  Gideon reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  Brannon continued. “Since then, we’ve had…” He ran his tongue across his teeth as he considered his words. “Well, you could call them interesting little issues. First, even though I’d already received the go-ahead here at the winery, I get a call that I might not be able to open as planned and I need to have another, more in-depth inspection.”

  “I hadn’t heard about that.” Tank lifted a brow.

  “I made a few phone calls … including one to the governor.” Brannon shot a thin-lipped smile toward the senator. “The governor was very confused. It was resolved within a few days. Then Moira starts getting calls about items in her museum—she had to verify the authenticity and prove that the family owns them, even though they’ve been in the family for years. Her building permits were inspected—three times. The pub’s liquor license keeps getting tagged. I’m getting calls from the food inspectors. Oh, and Ian is getting hassled about his green card.”

  The senator was studiously not looking at them.

  The aide seemed to find her tongue. Jabbing a finger at Brannon, she said, “If you are trying to claim that the senator is responsible for any of this, you will find yourself—”

  “Save it.” Brannon braced his hands on the surface of the bar and leaned forward. “We all know he’s responsible … don’t we?”

  She sucked in a breath.

  “I don’t have to claim shit, because we know the truth.” He smiled then and said, “He fucked up, though. He picked the wrong family to try and take on, ma’am. If any of you were worth jack shit, you would have warned him he was wasting his time.”

  He checked his watch and looked up. “Hannah’s got a doctor’s appointment, soon. Can we speed this up?”

  * * *

  “I’m not going to ask you how your day went.” Hannah met Brannon on the sidewalk.

  He had his hands jammed into his pockets and his shoulders were tight, braced as though he was ready to carry the weight of the world.

  Impulsively, she reached up and cupped his face in her hands.

  He looked startled as she rose onto her toes and pressed her lips to his mouth.

  It was a quick kiss, light and soft.

  She wanted more already. She wanted a whole hell of a lot more, but things between them were still … strange. Not on her part. If she had her way, she would have jumped him five times over. Okay, five times a week. Five times a day. But Brannon seemed content to take things slow, like they were in a courting relationship from a time long gone.

  They went on dates.

  They had lunch.

  He took his time kissing her each time he saw her.

  But when she pushed for more … well. She thought he was trying to drive her crazy, and if that was his goal, he was succeeding. Still, there was something about the way he was … courting her that made her heart melt. And courting her was the only word to describe it. He brought her flowers he picked from the gardens out at Ferry and once or twice a week, there was a wildflower tucked under the windshield wiper of the ambulance she drove with J.P. He sent her sweet, silly little texts and called just to say hello.

  Even if she didn’t remember loving him, she’d would have fallen for him all over again.

  She sighed against his lips and whispered his name.

  He cupped her cheek as she eased back and rubbed his thumb over her lower lip.

  Then he caught her hand and they started to walk. “I guess you saw,” he said, voice grim. He automatically adjusted his long strides to match hers.

  “Is there anybody who hasn’t?” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Hmmm. Maybe people on the other side of the globe who aren’t awake yet and those who don’t believe in technology. If they don’t believe in technology, they’ll know by tomorrow, when it hits the newspapers.”

  His heavy sigh had her shooting him a look. “You sound glum. I wouldn’t think you’d worry so much about a YouTube video.”

  “It’s not the video. It’s the prick on the video and the grief he’s going to give Tag, Alison, Marc, Ian…” He stopped then and jammed his hands into his pockets. “This time, the prick even mentioned you.”

  “Me?” She jerked her head around and stared at him. Brannon was staring straight ahead, his jaw tight.

  “Yeah. He mentioned you. I wanted to rip him apart.” He shrugged restlessly. “The prick has messed with every fucking body, Hannah. He’s already jerking Moira and me around. Neve, too, to some extent, but not as much since she wasn’t the one who pissed him off. That was Moira and me. But he’s going there. Ian’s being hassled about his green card. Now Tag and Alison and Marc are involved. He mentioned you for a reason. Maybe just to piss me off, but who the hell knows?”

  “He’s going to be pretty busy juggling everything that’s come up today. Maybe he’ll leave you alone.”

  “Yeah.” Brannon’s voice was thick with derision. “Maybe…”

  He went silent, his steps coming to a halt. Hannah’s did as well and they watched as three cars came cruising down the street.

  They stopped in front of the municipal building. Hannah squeezed Brannon’s hand. He rubbed his thumb across the inside of her wrist.

  The senator was a distinguished looking man. Even now, after the debacle that had happened, he looked like the sort of man who could command the attention of an entire room—or all of Main Street. As he climbed out of his car, he smoothed a hand down his tie and looked around. He had a look on his face. It was cleverly hidden, but Hannah recognized that look.

  Ruler of all I survey.

  Her stepdad had looked around his house like that.

  Some men had rule of only a small piece of territory.

  Others claimed a larger slice.

  The senator looked like he wanted to claim everything his eyes touched and when he slid a look toward Brannon, there was clearly the look of a pissed-off monarch.

  Brannon let go of Hannah’s hand and took a small step forward.

  “Apparently he hasn’t figured out Treasure already has a monarchy,” she murmured.

  The silent standoff lasted long enough that Hannah wouldn’t have been surprised to see a tumbleweed roll between them. “Okay, Wyatt Earp. I think this showdown’s lasted long enough.” She caught his hand and tugged. “Besides, Doc Holiday and your brothers aren’t showing.”

  A smile cracked Brannon’s face as he glanced at her.

  The staredown broken, Senator Henry Roberts turned and moved toward the municipal offices, his aides, assistants, and bodyguards trailing along behind him like a cloud.

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “Yeah?” Brannon crooked a brow. “About what?”

  “He’s not a man who’s going to forget this.” She tried to brush aside the uneasiness that gripped her gut. “He’s also a man who hates your guts, Bran. You can feel it.”

  “Let him hate me.” Brannon shrugged. “If he’s focusing on me, then I’m not worried.”

  She glanced at him. “He can�
��t really cause problems for Ian, could he?”

  “Probably not. I’ve already got a lawyer handling things.” Brannon shoved a hand through his hair and turned back to her. “But he’s doing it just to prove he can get under my skin.”

  “Then don’t let him.” She moved in and hugged him. “Come on. Let’s get to the doctor. We get to hear the heartbeat today.”

  * * *

  “Hear that?”

  Brannon stood to the side, hands fisted in his pockets, a knot in his throat as he listened to the rapid-fire beat of his baby’s heart.

  Try as he might, he couldn’t quit staring at Hannah’s face.

  I love you …

  His head was a mess.

  It wasn’t just because of the senator, although that wasn’t helping.

  It wasn’t even because Hannah had given him the soft kiss or that quick hug she’d given him on the street earlier.

  I love you …

  “Brannon, do you hear?” she asked again.

  He stroked her hair back. The sight of her bright eyes and the smile on her lips added to the funny little ache in his chest.

  Why hadn’t he …

  Can’t think about that right now. No way could he think about it now. Hannah held out her hand and he reached out, folding his fingers tight around hers before she could change her mind.

  “Do you hear it?” she whispered.

  “Yeah.” He smiled, although what he wanted to do was go to his knees and pull her to him. Beg her … beg her to what? He didn’t even know. But he wanted to beg her for something. Anything. Everything. “Hard not to hear. Boy’s got a heart like a racecar.”

  “Boy?” She sniffed. “I bet it’s a girl.”

  He cocked a brow. “Easy enough to find out.”

  “No.” She made a face at him. “I like surprises.”

  “Then you can let me find out and I won’t tell you,” he offered.

  Dr. Ellison Shaw laughed. “That never works out.” She glanced up at them. “The heartbeat is good and strong. Sounds like you two have a healthy baby in there, Hannah.”

  Hannah’s hand tightened on his. Judging by the way his heart constricted, Brannon would have thought she’d been squeezing it, not his hand. He kept waiting for her to pull away, but she kept their fingers linked up until the doctor pulled the tool away that let her listen to the heartbeat. “You can sit up now,” she said.

  Hannah smoothed her shirt down and Brannon moved in, taking the opportunity to help her—and keep touching her.

  She shot him a look, her cheeks flushing pink.

  The scent of her flooded his head.

  The feel of her so close went straight to his cock.

  * * *

  Memory stirred.

  Hannah gasped at the feel of his hand on her lower back.

  “I’ll be right back,” Dr. Shaw said.

  Hannah barely heard her over the sound of blood roaring in her ears.

  “Hannah?”

  Slowly, she lifted her head and met Brannon’s eyes.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. The soft, gentle note in his voice was so unlike him.

  He brushed his fingers down her neck and she looked away. A shiver raced down her spine and she had to fight the urge to lean into his touch, lean into him.

  His lips slid across her temple and she caught her breath, need stirring inside her. Need, love … so many emotions.

  In the back of her mind, she heard the echo of his voice … wake up, come back to me … I’m sorry.

  She knew he’d come to see her in the hospital. People told her that he’d been there. Every day. One of the nurses, Ginny, said he’d read to her. He’d read Jude Deveraux’s Velvet Song to her. The first romance Hannah had ever read and she was on her third copy of it. He’d found her dog-eared copy and brought it to her, read it to her while a cop stood on duty outside her room.

  A crazy urge drove her and before he could pull back, she turned her face toward his, lifting her mouth before he moved away. Twisting her head around, she reached for him, fisting her hand in the collar of his shirt and dragging him closer. He didn’t move as she pressed her mouth to his.

  “You’re going to drive me crazy, Brannon,” she said against his lips.

  When she kissed him again, a harsh sigh escaped him. He stood there, his hands braced on the table, one near her hip, the other precariously perched between her knees. She wondered what he’d do if she wiggled closer and rubbed against him.

  Then she stopped thinking at all, because he’d broken the kiss.

  The interruption might have lasted mere seconds. He moved from his position at the foot of the table to standing in front of her. One hand went to either of her knees and she sucked in a breath as he pushed them wide and moved to stand between splayed thighs.

  Then he reached up, tangling his hands in her hair. “Open your mouth,” he said, his voice a low rasp, scraping against her senses like raw silk over bare flesh.

  She parted her lips and his tongue swept in.

  The taste.

  She shuddered and reached up, grasping at his arms, her nails sinking into his biceps.

  She whimpered when he cupped her breast, the heat of his hand apparent even through her bra and shirt.

  I’ve probably fantasized about getting my hands on your tits about a hundred times now.

  Hannah tore her mouth away, shoving him back.

  “Hannah?”

  Panting, she stared at him.

  Cool air kissed her flesh and she looked down, dismayed to find her shirt open.

  How had he managed that? He’d had his hands on her maybe thirty seconds.

  “Hannah, what’s wrong?” Brannon asked, taking a step toward her.

  She shook her head and hopped off the table, moving to stare outside.

  I’ve probably fantasized about getting my hands on your tits about a hundred times now.

  It was Brannon’s voice she heard in the back of her head, clear as day. She knew what was happening. It was another one of those memories, trying to slip free from whatever held it trapped. It had started like that at first—Brannon had been the one to make all those blocks come down to begin with. He’d sat with her in the room in the hospital, along with Neve. Neve had been talking about school and Hannah had listened, but with despair.

  “You hit me in the head with a rock once,” he’d told her.

  Those words, so easily delivered, had startled her out of her misery. He hadn’t even been looking at her as he said it. He’d been busy staring at his phone, tapping away at it, like there was nothing going on outside that screen that interested him.

  He’d paused for a moment and looked up at her. In an almost bored tone, he said, “There I was thinking I’d need stitches and bleeding all over the place and you told me to stop being a baby so you could clean it up.”

  “Head wounds bleed, Brannon, now stop whining and let me see it.”

  She hadn’t meant to hit him.

  She’d been over to see Neve, upset about her stepfather and she’d been throwing rocks into one of the elegantly landscaped ponds. Brannon came around from behind a tree at the exact wrong minute.

  Now, from behind her, he quietly said, “You remembered something, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.” With awkward, stiff fingers, she finished buttoning her shirt and then looked back at him. “You … um. You were touching me. You said something about touching me.”

  A hot, hungry look lit his eyes.

  It was gone just as quickly as it had appeared, but his voice was rougher than normal as he said, “If I recall correctly, I said a great many things about touching you, Hannah.”

  She was saved from having to respond to that by the doctor. Dr. Shaw came in, but her normally cheerful smile faltered as she looked between them. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” Hannah managed a taut smile. She waved a hand in front of her face. “I’m just…”

  Brannon cut her off. “Tired. I guess you hear tha
t a lot.”

  Hannah narrowed her eyes at him, but Dr. Shaw was already talking. “Oh, yes. It will get better, Hannah.” Then she laughed. “In maybe twenty years. Assuming you don’t have any other kids.”

  * * *

  He was ready for it.

  The spark of temper in her eyes had flared in the office, but Hannah seemed to prefer having her battles in private.

  As they left, she jerked her head down the road. “You got a few minutes?”

  “Sure.”

  She didn’t say anything else, she turned on one foot and started down the road toward her apartment.

  He was left to catch up with her and it was a good thing he wasn’t any kind of slouch, because the way she was moving, anybody who didn’t have long legs and a fast gait would have a hard time keeping up.

  She didn’t say a single word on the five-minute walk to her place.

  Brannon spent those minutes deliberating on the best approach to take.

  In the end, though, he didn’t have to take one.

  Hannah barely waited until he’d shut the door behind them before she took the bull by horns. She whirled on him and drove a finger into his shirt. “You don’t get to speak for me, Brannon McKay. If somebody asks me how I’m doing, I can answer just fine on my own.” She enunciated her words by driving the tip of her finger into his chest.

  He felt like she was trying to skewer him on her short, neatly rounded nail. But he still let her poke him a few more times before he caught her wrist. “Enough,” he said. “I know you can answer just fine on your own. I just didn’t want you doing it.”

  She twisted her hand away. “Obviously.” She curled her nose at him in prissy little sneer. It made him want to bite her.

  Bite later. Talk now.

  “Hannah, think about it,” he said softly. He went to reach for her, but she pulled away and moved into the small kitchen of her apartment. She’d been left alone for the past couple of months. She’d had a few prank calls—and he knew the source of almost every single one. The town itself couldn’t afford to trace her calls, but he could. Gideon had tap-danced his way around it, but the end result was the same. Hannah had consented to letting her phone calls be traced and it had resulted in a whole lot of jack shit.

  As a matter of fact, a whole lot of jack shit pretty much summed up exactly what had happened since her release. Gideon and Brannon believed it was because she didn’t remember anything.