“Ohhhhh…”
“It’s new,” he said. “Some cider from a local brewer we’re thinkin’ of usin’.” Ian brought it to his lips and grimaced, then shrugged. “Not bad if ya want your drink to taste like you’re eatin’ an apple.”
“I do.” Neve lifted her pilsner to her lips and took one small sip, then a bigger one as Ian plucked a page up and studied it.
“Neve, love … if this is your birth certificate, I’m afraid we’ll have to rethink this relationship.” Ian gave her a sober look.
“Ha, ha.” She smacked him and snatched the copied document back. “Yes, honey. I was born in 1912.”
“Weeeelllll…” He leaned back and tugged at his beard. After a thorough study, one that ended in a lascivious wink, he leaned in and whispered, “You’re holding up well for somebody who’s seen a century come to pass. Maybe I’ll keep you.”
She shivered at the feel of his beard tickling her skin and then she wiggled away.
The noise from the bar was at a muted roar, but it was still busy.
She glanced up. Sure enough, a few people were looking their way and grinning. She’d already been asked when the wedding would be. Ian hadn’t so much as said a thing about it. But she was kind of thinking …
“How far have you gone?”
“Huh?” Startled, she bobbled her cider and some of it splashed onto the table. Swearing, she put the drink down and in the process, sent some of her papers flying.
Documents scattered and she groaned.
Ian chuckled and leaned over, kissed her temple.
Then, the two of them slid off the bench and started picking up the pages. “You’ve been through all of these already?” he asked, glancing at a few of them as he stacked them.
“No.” She grimaced and eyed the motley assortment of information she now had. “I’ve just been filing things in my shoebox and…”
Ian cocked a brow. “Your shoebox.”
“It’s like a … file. Just for random things.” She waved a hand at him. “Don’t ask, okay? Some of the stuff is connected to my family, some might be, some isn’t. But I get too distracted when I’m just staring at things on the screen.”
She glanced at a sheet and then froze.
“What are you doing in here?” she muttered.
She crushed it in her hand and looked over to see Ian studying her with an arched brow.
“What was that all about?” he asked, voice mild.
“Nothing.” She made herself smile as she shoved the crumpled up piece of paper containing information on George Whitehall into her bag. He wasn’t worth getting mad over—history had turned him into nothing.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A cold wind came in off the Mississippi.
Fall was winding down and the bite in the air no longer promised a chill—it delivered one, cutting through to the bone and bringing to mind images of a roaring fire.
Hannah wasn’t thinking of a fire, though, even as she shivered on the deck of the houseboat, wrapped in a thick blanket. The wind was damn cold, yes, but she didn’t retreat inside. She sat and she stared into the woods while a voice echoed inside her head.
You need to remember.
Had she been in the woods?
I’ve loved you since high school.
She groaned as her own voice seemed to echo with threads of Gideon’s as he pushed her about the hours lost from those days, particularly that night, all of it tangling into a twisted skein. One single tug and it would all unravel, she thought. But the threads were all connected to those missing days. Missing nights.
I found this.…
Her breath abruptly caught and she closed her eyes, seeing herself, staring in the doorway.
No.
It wasn’t herself she saw.
It was Brannon.
He was in front of her.
Bare chested.
Sweating.
She’d … she’d been sweating, too.
“I’d been out running,” she whispered.
Do you remember …
Closing her eyes, she focused on that image—no, that specific set of images. Her, standing in front of Brannon. Holding his wallet.
* * *
“Is there a reason you’re always such an ass to me, Brannon McKay? Did I piss in your Cheerios or something?”
“Maybe I don’t like being your morning entertainment.”
“My…” Arrogant ass! Staring at him, she smiled and let her eyes roam over his hot, entirely too sexy body.
“Honey,” she drawled. “I wouldn’t call that entertainment. Scenery, maybe, but it takes more than a good-looking guy in the buff to … entertain me. Now, if you want to entertain me, I can give you a suggestion.”
Eyes locked on hers, he dipped his head.
“Well?” She swayed so close, she could have kissed him.
He said nothing.
Sighing, she murmured, “Too bad. Here.”
He didn’t even look down.
Nipples tight, aching, she went to slam the wallet down.
“Oh for crying out loud. You have a ni—”
He kissed her.
* * *
A car engine rumbled, close by, and the memory fell apart like it was made of gossamer.
Hannah jumped, startled by the sound.
Heart racing, she turned her head and stared at the car that pulled into the parking lot.
It slowed to a stop right in front of her houseboat and she stood up, watching as Brannon McKay climbed out of the car and looked up at her, his eyes unerringly seeking her out in the dark.
For the millionth time in her life, her heart gave a little leap at the sight of him.
For the first time in weeks, some other part of her whispered … this might not be a good idea.
But as he started toward the narrow walk that led to the houseboat, Hannah knew one thing for certain.
She wouldn’t turn him away.
It was Brannon, after all, and she’d loved him half her life.
* * *
It was more than a little disappointing to recognize Brannon’s car on the stretch of highway near the docks.
That overly phallic, ridiculously tawdry Bugatti was good for one thing, though. Nobody else in the damn county had one and once you saw it, you couldn’t mistake it for anything else.
He’d seen it coming and he’d known he wouldn’t be visiting Hannah tonight.
But he had other things he could do.
He’d made her uneasy and for the first time, he was seeing shadows in her eyes.
Maybe it was time to up the stakes a little more. After he made certain they weren’t planning on leaving, of course. He didn’t want to be interrupted.
* * *
Hannah had a pale, bruised look to her.
Brannon wanted to find whatever had hurt her and tear it apart.
She stood in the doorway, staring at him and he reached up, cupped her face in his hands.
Slowly, he brushed his thumb across her lower lip.
A slow shudder wracked her body.
“What’s happened?” he asked. “What’s hurt you?”
Clouds entered her eyes. “Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m just…”
She backed up and turned. “Come on in, Brannon.”
Outside, the wind started to howl and she moved over to the window, staring outside. “Rain’s coming.”
After closing and locking the door behind him, he crossed the floor to her.
He had the oddest feeling he was walking on eggshells.
“Unless you’re upset over the weather report, then I don’t care.” He curved his hands over her shoulders and pulled her back against him. “Now if you are upset by the weather … well, I can’t do anything about it. I can’t beat up the meteorologists and Mother Nature never returns my calls.”
“She’s a bitch, isn’t she?” Hannah laughed weakly. Then she dropped her head back against his chest. “Don’t … it’s nothing,
Brannon.”
He rubbed his cheek against hers. “That look on your face isn’t nothing.”
“Maybe. But there’s nothing you can do about it.” She turned and slid her arms around his waist. “How is Marc doing?”
He wanted to push it, but figured now wasn’t the time. “Okay. I guess.” Tucking her up snug against him, he rubbed his cheek against her hair. “He’s busying himself with some blends for next year and going crazy about a fungus that he thinks could hit our crops.”
“A fungus.” Hannah wrinkled her nose as she looked up at him. “What, like a grape fungus?”
Brannon flashed her a grin. “The exciting life of a vintner, Hannah.”
“Hmmm. I bet.” She reached up, almost absently, and scraped her fingers against his jaw. “Neve was telling me something about how she’s getting schooled in winemaking—you roped her into helping write copy for the brochures.” A faint grin came and went. “I’ve got to admit, I like my wine, but my eyes glazed over after she started explaining there are like five hundred chemical compounds—”
“Fifteen hundred.”
Hannah blinked and then her eyes really started to glaze. “Ah … whoa. Are you serious?”
“Yeah.” Grinning, he hugged her. “But don’t worry. I won’t bore you with the details and specifics, or tell you why you only find wines like muscadines down south.”
“Gee. Thanks.” She rubbed the mound of her belly and went back to staring outside. Rain was starting to come down. It was those hard, slow drops that were a prelude to a heavy storm. “I really don’t want to talk about muscadine wine anyway. Seeing as how I can’t have any for a few more months.”
A heavy sigh escaped her. “I could really use a glass of wine, too.”
“Why don’t you talk to me instead?”
For a moment, he thought she would.
But then she turned to him and placed her hands on his chest.
His heart made a hard leap when she covered it with her palm. “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you distract me?”
Brannon suspected it wasn’t smart.
Whatever was bothering her, she really did need to talk about it. And he needed to be the guy she was able to talk to. He needed to be the guy period, because he was shit-faced in love with her and had been for … hell. He didn’t even know when it had started.
But then she trailed that hand down lower and cupped him through his jeans.
His eyes started to roll back in his head as she freed him from his jeans and briefs in short order. She closed her hand around him, moving with quick, rough strokes that would have had him coming all over her if she wasn’t careful.
He caught her wrist.
“Stop,” he rasped, backing her up against the window.
“I don’t want to.” She lifted her face to his, staring into his eyes. “I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to think. I just … want.”
“Hannah…” His heart broke a little.
“Make love to me, Brannon.” There was both plea and demand in her voice.
He was completely her slave, because he couldn’t deny her.
“I will.” He went to strip her shirt away, but she shoved him back and yanked it off.
“I don’t want slow.” She stared at him, a challenge in her eyes. “I don’t want sweet and I don’t want you to stroke me and pat me and try to make me feel better.”
She caught the lapels of his shirt and jerked him back to her.
“Then what do you want?”
“I want you to fuck me.” She stared at him, her gaze unapologetic. “I want you to make me forget all the things I’m starting to remember … and all the things I can’t.”
There, he realized.
That’s where the hurt was. Right there. But he couldn’t fix it. All he could do was be there … and this. He could do exactly what she’d just asked and he’d enjoy it. He’d enjoy it and pretend the twist and rub of guilt didn’t exist. He could ignore the guilt.
Staring into her eyes, he freed the front clasp of her bra and watched as her breasts swung free. They were big and full—she’d always had the most amazing breasts, but now they were enough to make his mouth water.
“I want to bite and suck on your nipples every time I see you,” he said.
Her eyes went dark and opaque.
“I’m fine with that idea.”
He braced his hands on the window by her head and said, “This is your show, Hannah. If that’s what you want … then show me.”
“My show?” She licked her lips and then a slow smile curled her lips and she reached up, curled her hands around the back of his head. “Come here, then. I want to feel your mouth on me.”
Her nipples were already swollen and when he sucked on one, she gasped, arching closer, her fingers tightening in his hair.
Brannon slid one hand down between her thighs, stroking his thumb against the crease there. Her breath caught—he heard it and sensed the anticipation building in her. But he didn’t do anything.
Yet.
“Your show, Hannah.”
She caught his wrist and guided it between her thighs. “Touch me.”
Touch her … it was like being given the keys to the kingdom … or a sweet car that had been specially designed just for him. There was a faint tremor to his limbs as he pressed the heel of his hand lightly against her mound and rubbed.
Hannah’s head fell back, a low humming sound of a moan building in her throat.
Her cheeks were flushed, her lashes lying low over her eyes.
She rocked against him.
He pressed harder.
She moved with more determination, riding his hand and as he bent over her, her lashes lifting until she was staring into his eyes with burning intensity.
“I want you naked,” he said.
“Okay.” Her lips bowed up in a smile.
He eased back. Eyes still on her face, he went to his knees in front of her, but after a moment, he looked down, gaze locking on the faint swell of her waist.
Her belly was getting thicker and the sight of it, the knowledge that his baby grew within her filled him with a crazy, burning need. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her navel.
“I want to see you holding our baby,” he whispered against her skin. “I want to watch her sleeping in your arms.”
A soft, shaking little moan escaped her and he looked up in time to see the glint of something bright in her eyes. But then that familiar, cocky smile returned and she said, “What … you think she’s a girl now, too?”
“Girl. Boy.” He rubbed his cheek against her belly. “It doesn’t matter. I just want her healthy … and I want to hold both of you.”
Her hands came up and cradled the back of his head. “Damn it, Brannon. I’m wanting hot and crazy monkey sex and you’re making me weepy.”
He chuckled and slid his hands up, cupping the ripe curve of her ass. “Can’t have that.”
Through her thin cotton pants, he nuzzled her. She was already wet. He could feel it and the thought of stripping her bare, taking her here, like this, was now a pulse in his brain.
But he forced himself to move slow, to tease and stroke.
But she wasn’t feeling that—she twisted her fingers in his hair and hooked one leg over his shoulders. “Stop teasing,” she bit off.
“Is this teasing?” He ran his thumb over her and he’d swear her body temperature shot up five degrees. Even through the yoga pants and panties, he could feel her getting wetter and his cock gave a demanding jerk as he thought about sinking inside her.
Right here.
With her back against the wide, dark pane of glass as the rain pounded down outside …
Thunder boomed and it was like it started to pulse inside him as well, adding to the frenzy of the moment.
He swore and stood up, impatient now. Shoving his hands inside her pants, he cupped her ass, pulled her close. He could feel the wet warmth of her clear through his jeans and he moved deliber
ately against her, watching her eyes widen, as her throat worked.
A moan shuddered out of her and he did it again, circling his hips in the cradle of hers as he kissed her mouth, licking at her parted lips, feeling her hungry moan.
Again and again, he moved, feeling how close she was to coming, just from that lazy, teasing movement, his cock abrading her through their clothes.
He didn’t want that, though. He wanted to feel her coming around him, hot and wet.
But when he went to pull away, she clung to him, whimpering low in her throat and bringing one knee up, opening herself more fully.
Brannon shuddered.
“Please…”
Swearing, he spun her around and began to pump his hips against her ass. She whimpered and then cried out as he shoved one hand down the front of her pants, seeking out the honeyed depths between her thighs. Slick heat greeted him and the moment he touched her, she started to ride his hand.
He screwed two fingers inside her pussy and bit her ear.
She came—hard and fast. She clung to the arm he’d wrapped around her waist as she rode the hand between her thighs.
When she turned her head around and up, he pressed his lips to hers, desperate and hungry for more. He pushed his tongue into her mouth.
She bit, then sucked on him and his cock gave a hard, hungry jerk, practically yowling at him.
Impatient now, he shoved her pants down. They tangled around her ankles and she kicked them out of the way before he had a chance to deal with them.
He tried to crowd her up against the window sill, but she wiggled free and braced her hands against his chest, staring boldly up at him. “My game, remember?”
“You’re trying to kill me.” Bending his head to hers, he scraped his teeth down her neck.
She reached for the buttons on his shirt. “You spent half your life completely oblivious to the fact that I wanted you … needed you. You can suffer a little now.”
She stared at him through her lashes as she slowly freed each button. “Off.”
He shrugged out of it.
But she wasn’t done.
She scraped her nails down his chest, circled them around his nipples.
He swore and moved against her, rocking his cock against her thigh.
The Trouble with Temptation Page 24