Clambering out of the bed, she grabbed the shirt he’d left on the foot of the bed and jerked it on. “No.”
He made no response and she turned around, jerked up her chin to glare at him. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
His eyes were closed.
While she stood there shaking on the inside, he sat in the bed, looking relaxed and he had his eyes closed like he wanted to grab another five minutes of sleep.
“What am I to say, Neve?” he asked softly. “If you’re not ready for that, then you’re not ready. I can’t push you.”
“But you are!”
“No.” He opened his eyes and climbed out of the bed, staring at her from across the room. “I asked you. That’s not pushing.”
“But you asked me too soon! I barely know you!”
A muscle pulsed in his jaw, his eyes glinting.
Even saying that felt like a lie, but Neve didn’t take it back. She didn’t know him.
“What’s this about, Neve?” Ian asked.
He could see her throat working as she swallowed but she didn’t answer him. Sighing, he turned and grabbed the clothes he’d piled haphazardly on a chair near the door. He’d have time to shower, if he hurried, and get back down to the pub. He’d been an idiot, asking her so soon. Wasn’t like he’d asked her to move in with him, but maybe he had pushed.
He’d wanted to. Did it amount to the same thing?
“I knew William for months before I slept with him. Dated him for months before I moved in with him. And that was still a disaster.”
Temper snapped out of him and whirled to face her. “I’m nothing like him.”
Neve blinked hard and he watched one hand curl into a fist, so tight her knuckles went bloodless.
“Neve—”
“I’m sorry.” She spun on her heel and ducked into the other room.
Ian stood there, rubbing his hands up and down his face. Calm down, lad. Just calm down …
He gave himself thirty seconds before he went after her, using the time to pull something on over his naked arse. The door to the hall bath closed with a soft but firm click.
He’d bungled this. Rushed her. No, he didn’t think he’d pushed but he had rushed and now he’d have to fix it.
He was gone over on her, near stupid with want and need, and lately, he was having thoughts of forever.
It wasn’t something he’d ever entertained and it made him nervous.
But he could fix this.
The door opened and he looked up, saw Neve hesitate there before she came out, an empty smile on her pretty face. “I need to get going,” she said, the words too forced, too loud.
“Neve, wait. We should talk.”
“We will.” The smile she shot him then was almost blinding in its intensity and so blatantly fake, it ripped his heart right out. “I just remembered there are things I’ve got to get done before the weekend gets here. This job Brannon dumped on me, I swear, I’m so not prepared for it and I don’t want to let him down.”
She continued to babble as she hunted down her shoes and shoved her feet into them.
Ian folded his arms over his chest and let her keep right on.
When she paused for a breath, he said, “We’re talking. Tonight.”
“Of course.”
She continued to talk, as though she feared silence would be an invitation for him to say something else she wouldn’t want to hear. When at last she left, he walked to the window and made sure she got into the car. Only once she was driving down the street did he give into the anger.
He slammed a fist into the wall.
Skin split, but he barely noticed.
Sinking to the ground, he stared listlessly at nothing.
He’d fucked that up, good and proper.
* * *
She ran.
Neve had told herself she’d stop running from her problems, but she ran.
And what made it so much worse was the fact that she didn’t even understand why she was running. She just knew she had to get away. For a brief, brief moment, she’d thought … wow.
But then panic had grabbed her and now it wouldn’t let go. It tangled her in sticky threads, like a spiderweb and the more she struggled, the harder it was to get free.
Leave some things at Ian’s. So simple … right?
But that made it seem more permanent and what if … what if …
Thoughts whirled in a useless tumble in her head as she drove home. She managed to pull into the garage, but only because she didn’t want Ella Sue or anybody else to see her because she knew she was a few steps shy of falling apart.
She half screamed as she slammed the car into park and climbed out. She closed the door shut with all the force she could muster and that didn’t do anything to help, so she kicked the tire.
And still, she felt trapped. Scared …
Stupid.
I’m nothing like him.
No. Ian was nothing like William. Had she made him think he was? A sob welled out of her and she clapped her hand over her mouth, struggling to hold it back.
How could she have done that?
Ian made her feel … amazing. She felt strong and beautiful and …
Loved.
“Oh, shit,” she whispered.
Numb, she dropped to the hard concrete.
The brilliant lights of the huge garage shone down on her and her voice echoed back to her from the depths of the cavernous space. No wonder she couldn’t understand how she felt.
But just as soon as that realization came over her, she pushed it away.
Too soon.
It was just …
“Too soon.”
She left the garage, hurrying toward the house like hell itself chased after her.
She couldn’t think about this now.
Couldn’t think about the misery she’d caught in his eyes, for the briefest moment.
* * *
Moira had to fight the urge to hang up the phone.
Even as she resisted, though, she made the mental note to get a new one—Monday.
Maybe even today. A new phone, a new phone number and she’d kill the person who passed on her personal number to this asshole.
“Senator Roberts, what a surprise,” she said.
She stood behind at the window that faced out over the museum but instead of the swell of pride she normally had, she just felt aggravation. She wanted to be out there working, checking on the exhibits, following up on the invites—yeah, she had a manager, and a good one.
Colleen Messer was a godsend and Moira didn’t know what she’d do without the woman, but at the same time, Moira had to be involved in everything.
Instead, she was talking to the senator. She should have just told his aides and assistants and everybody else flat-out no. Maybe that wasn’t something most people would think of doing, but hell, she could buy and sell the senator two times over—assuming she wanted a politician in her pocket, and she didn’t.
But since she hadn’t shut him down, he must have decided to try his hand at cajoling her himself.
She knew the man.
She should have expected this.
“Moira, darling. I hope I’m not disturbing you. I know how busy you must be,” he said, his voice smooth and warm, open and inviting.
It was like an icepick in her ear, because it just sounded fake.
“The life of a businesswoman,” she said glibly, refusing to lie to the man and tell him he wasn’t disturbing her. “Always busy. Is there something I can do for you, sir? I’ve got a pretty cramped schedule today.”
“Well, Moira, you see, we’ve been trying to pin you down for that party we’d like to have at that quaint little museum you’ve put together for your family,” the senator said. “As you know, I grew up in Treasure myself, still have a family home there and everything. It would mean a great deal to me—and my constituents, I’m sure, to be able to have one of my fund-raisers there.”
Moira gritted her t
eeth together as she stared out over her place.
Quaint?
It managed to combine the McKay family’s Scottish roots with the elegance of the Old South. Every single thing had been carefully and painstakingly thought-out.
And he was calling it quaint?
Decision made, she said, “Did you have a particular time in mind?”
“Well, it’s so late now, I’ve only got two dates that are open.” He named one.
Moira resisted the urge to pump her fist in the air. “That will not work for me, I’m afraid. That’s the grand opening for the museum and it’s a town function. I can’t change all the information that’s already going out or disappoint all the people who’ve been looking forward to it—these, after all, are some of your constituents as well. You wouldn’t want to tell them that we have to delay the opening because of a fund-raiser many of them can’t even begin to consider affording.”
“Hmmm. Of course, of course.”
She smiled, satisfied that was off the plate.
“So the other date we were looking at is closer to the end of my campaign,” Senator Roberts said and his voice took on a harder note. “I’m hoping you can accommodate me this time, Moira.”
She lifted a brow. Really.
He named the date.
She lied through her teeth.
When he hung up the phone a few minutes later, using just a little too much force, she made a face.
Then she grabbed the phone.
No piece-of-shit politician was going to try and bully her into doing what he wanted.
Period.
* * *
“You’re having a party.”
Brannon closed his eyes.
“No. I’m not.”
“Yes,” Moira said slowly, her voice like steel. “You are. At my museum.”
She named the date and Brannon blew out a breath before grabbing a pen. “Just why am I having a party?”
“Because you asked me about three days ago and I promised. You thought it would be a great way to have a community open-house sort of thing for your winery—and another draw for the museum. Since your in-town store isn’t as big as the museum, this was a great fit. Really, Brannon, you’re brilliant.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and out of habit, glanced across the street to Hannah’s. The balcony had been empty for going on a week. He never would have thought he’d miss a Peeping Tom—or Peeping Hannah—so much, but he did. He missed her.
Pushing her out of his head for a moment, he focused back on his sister. “Okay, again … why am I suddenly deciding to have this party?”
“Because Senator Roberts tried to steamroll me into hosting his fund-raiser here and I’m not going to be steamrolled by anybody.”
“Of course not,” Brannon said sourly. “You’re just going to steamroll me.”
Moira sounded like she wanted to argue and then abruptly, she laughed. “Okay, look. Brannon, do you really want that guy coming into our museum with his baby-kissing smile and pressing palms, and using our name on his campaign?”
“Nope.” He didn’t even have to think about that. “Fine. I guess I’m having a party.”
There was a minute pause and then Moira said, “He … um. Well, he grumbled about how it would be a shame if things got held up with your place. Stay on top of things, Brannon.”
He narrowed his eyes. “If that pompous piece of shit tries to bog things down for me, he’s going to have more to handle than kissing babies and shaking hands, sis.”
They disconnected and he took a minute to call his manager out at the winery. Tag would take care of notifying the rest of the group. And Brannon, slick, brilliant genius that he was, made sure to let them know he’d talked it over with Moira a few days ago, but just hadn’t gotten around to making up his mind until today.
Tag, of course, thought it was a brilliant idea.
Brannon would pass the compliment on to the real genius.
Then he went back to brooding and staring out the window at the empty balcony.
How could he miss her this much?
Hannah’s sly smile in the morning and her unabashed boldness had done something to him and he didn’t know what.
But he knew what it was doing to him now to look up there and not see her.
It was pissing him off and he was tired of it.
So he was going to do something about it.
He locked up and headed out of town. He’d tried knocking on the door earlier, before his sister had called. Hannah wasn’t home. He’d knocked a good five minutes before he gave up.
He’d decided—after the five wasted minutes at her door—to see if her car was parked around back. It wasn’t and that just made him feel that much more idiotic.
But he knew where to find her.
He’d worked damn hard to avoid Hannah Parker, true, but he’d still learned things.
And Hannah spent a fair amount of time down at the houseboat her grandmother had left her when she’d passed away a few years ago, a sudden heart attack in the middle of the night.
* * *
He found her parked car and strode up the narrow strip that served to connect the dock to the houseboat. Music was blasting.
Again, his knock went unanswered, but he had no doubt she was here.
Undeterred by the lack of response, he eyed the distance between him and the boat. And then he jumped it. Clearing it easily, he started to search.
It didn’t take long to find her.
And when he did, all of the oxygen squeezed out of his lungs.
* * *
Hannah sighed and stretched her arms high overhead. The brilliance of the sun shining down on her and the warmth of the late afternoon had her feeling lazy.
Lazy, and almost relaxed.
If she worked hard enough at keeping her mind empty, she could forget about the sneering looks she’d gotten in town that morning from Lloyd, and as long as she was careful, she could even pretend she wasn’t thinking about Brannon every other hour.
That was an improvement, really.
She’d been thinking about him on the hour for most of the past week, telling herself she had to get over him, and her stupid, juvenile fantasy.
She’d spent the past week telling herself to get over him.
She’d spent the past week telling herself she’d tried.
But the truth was, she hadn’t tried hard enough. Ever since he’d come home from England, she’d felt like she was waiting for him. She’d been young, yes, but even before he’d left Treasure, she’d felt something for him.
A girl’s first crush, she’d wanted to believe.
But it was more and it always had been.
And it was just as useless as a girl’s first crush, too.
Hannah was nothing if not pragmatic.
It was useless and now, on top of the memories of that night together, it hurt.
So she’d just stop.
It wouldn’t be as easy as that, no, but she’d find a way to get over him.
Today, for the first time, she’d almost come to grips with the decision. Lying under the sun, feeling the heat of the day, she came to peace with the foolishness of what she felt. Maybe it even had something to do with what she’d seen in Joanie’s eyes when she saw her with Lloyd. Oh, not that Brannon was anything like Lloyd—they were about as far apart as the North and South Poles.
But Lloyd had an unhealthy hold on his wife.
And Hannah had let herself develop an unhealthy fixation on Brannon, the man who only barely let himself realize she existed.
Yeah, it was time to let it go, move on.
Decision made, she pushed up onto her elbows. Opening her eyes, she went to squint up at the sun to try and guess the time.
Her heart froze in her chest.
It took a full thirty seconds before it started to beat again.
Brannon McKay stood on the deck of her houseboat and he was staring at her with an almost dazed expression on his face.
/> Fear made her voice sharp as she snapped, “What in the hell are you doing here?”
The sound of her voice seemed to rouse him and he blinked, looking like a man coming out of a fugue. With a curl of his lips, he shrugged. “Paybacks.”
She gaped at him.
He didn’t seem to notice. His gaze had slid down, running all over her and the heat in that look made the day seem cool by comparison. Snatching a towel up, she held it in front of her breasts.
“Okay, yeah. So I sunbathe naked. But that doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.” She glared at him, fumbling the towel into place. It took more effort than it should because her hands were shaking.
“I wanted to talk to you. Heard the music.” He slid his gaze back up to hers and took a step closer.
Hannah backed up.
Brannon cocked his head, studying her. “You didn’t answer.”
“I didn’t hear you.” Folding her arms over her chest, she turned away and moved to the music, hitting the power button.
It went abruptly silent.
Hannah fought the urge to hunch her shoulders. He was staring at her. She could feel the heat of his gaze, could feel him all but willing her to look at him. Her ice water sat on the towel she’d spread out and she moved back to it, bending over to pick it up.
“You know, if you’re trying to distract me, that’s an excellent way to do it.”
A blush bloomed up her neck, the heat of it scalding her. In what she hoped was a casual move, she took a sip of her water as she turned to face him. The icy water eased her parched throat, but did nothing to cool the flames on her face—or in her belly. It licked at her, adding to the heat already building inside. Heat she’d ignore this time.
She was done with this.
Done hoping, done wishing, done waiting.
He didn’t even realize.
You never told him.
No.
She hadn’t. Gripping the glass, she focused on his face. “What do you want, Brannon?”
His lashes drooped and the heavy-lidded look on his face brought vivid memories swimming back.
“You’re mad at me,” he said bluntly. “And I think I know why.”
She started to tap her foot, masking the nerves and misery she felt with impatience. When it came to hiding how she felt, Hannah was a pro. She’d learned the value of keeping her true emotions concealed and the lessons had been ugly, painful ones.
Headed for Trouble (The McKay Family #1) Page 29