Just One Spark (15 page)

Hannah rolled her eyes. That had to be a rhetorical question. Though from his silence, she wasn’t so sure. “We’re sleeping together.”

He went pale. “That’s what you think is going on?”

“Mason, that’s what
is
going on. I haven’t deluded myself into thinking there’s more to it. We’ve only known each other a month. You obviously feel the same, that’s why you want to live together. Which I’m not going to do.”

He ran his hands through his hair, which had no effect on the usual disarray. “That’s not why I want us to be together.” He stepped to her and grabbed her arms. “Hannah, I love you. You know that.”

A nervous giggle escaped her. “You love me. Tonight. The night your brother announces he just got married. Of course you’re in love with me. You have to keep up.”

“I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you.” The room started to swirl.

“You didn’t even know my name.” She shrugged him off. If this was his idea of a joke, it wasn’t funny. “Don’t worry. I won’t hold you to it. Your mother warned me you’d be upset about Derek getting married.”

“I don’t care what my mother said, and I’m not upset about Derek and Kate, you are.” He tried to touch her again but she pulled back. She couldn’t trust herself to be in control of her emotions now that he’d sent her reeling. “I’ll admit I was a little jealous, but not the way you think. I’m jealous they both trust what they feel, while you need for us to go slower.”

“If you’re in such a hurry, go ahead without me.” She’d let him off the hook, what more did he want? Complete mortification when he realized what he said tomorrow?

He captured her hands and held them firmly as she tried to pull them back. “I love you and I want to be with you forever. We’ll figure it all out. Where we live and babies and when we get married. Whatever you want. I just want to take care of you.”

“That’s not what I want. I can take care of myself.” She yanked her hands away. What she wanted was all too real right now. He’d admitted he was jealous of his brother like his mother had warned her. She would not let herself buy into his momentary lapse and be devastated later. She would not. No matter how tempting.

Mason’s expression fell as he backed away, his eyes never leaving her face. “When you figure out what you do want, you let me know. I’m tired of hitting my head against a wall with you. I’m sick of being punished for things I didn’t do.” His voice rose with every word, louder and louder until no other sound existed. “I hate that you have to be naked to communicate with me. How much of this do you expect me to take, Hannah? Every time you get scared, you rail on me. You’re just pushing me away so that you don’t risk getting hurt. But it’s not going to help. We’re already there.”

“Stop psychoanalyzing me. I don’t want to be told how I feel, what I want.” Her eyes were heavy, but she would not let the tears fall. He would not see how shredded her soul had been tonight.

“You’re killing me here. The things you accuse me of are so off-base, and you know it. So if I’m not what you want, Hannah, we’re done. No more.”

In one swift move, he picked up his laundry and was out the door. She stared at the door for a long time, until she was sure she was strong enough not to chase him up the stairs. It was late and she had to work so early tomorrow. She slowly walked back to her bedroom, her heels clicking with every step.

She plopped down on the bed she hadn’t slept in for weeks and set her alarm. Though she doubted she’d sleep tonight. It was already too late to take a sleeping pill, her vibrator and romance novels were collecting dust in Mason’s nightstand upstairs and her brain was an echoing chasm of words from tonight. Warnings that would not leave her alone. And yet she was. Alone with her laundry.

Chapter Fifteen

“Wake up, old man,” Mason said, kicking the slippers sticking out from under the shiny black GTO.

“I’m not asleep,” Mac slid out from under the car, clutching a sparkling clean crescent wrench.

“We all know you come out here to get away from Mom and nap. I’m not in the mood to argue.” Mason stalked to the fridge, pulled out two beers and handed one to his father once he righted himself.

“I have to go somewhere. Ever since she retired and started taking care of Rianna, it’s nothing but work in there.” Mac jammed his thumb towards the house. “You don’t have kids so you don’t know.”

And at this rate he never would. “Dad, they’re shopping. No one is in the house.”

Mac raised his beer. “But they’ll be back.” The old man smiled, a lone dimple appearing in his left cheek.

Mason took a long draw from his beer and got down to business. “Did Mom tell you what she said to Hannah?”

Mac took a swallow and reached across his workbench, found a pot of wax and a rag. “Why don’t you ask your mother?”

Mason leaned his elbows on the workbench and watched his father begin to polish what could only be dust from the fender. “She’s not here, and you are. And don’t bother telling me to wait for her. I’m asking you.”

Mac peered at the paint on the fender as if it held the meaning of life. “MJ doesn’t think Hannah knows you very well.”

Neither did Hannah, but he disagreed. “Hannah didn’t know your marital history, but she obviously knows me better than Mom. What did she say exactly?”

“Hannah won’t tell you?” Mac replaced the wax and grabbed a few cotton swabs.

“She won’t tell me what Mom said to upset her.” Not that he’d asked. And now he couldn’t. He had to give her some breathing room, even if it killed him.

“MJ means well, son. She’s just worried you’re taking things more seriously than Hannah is. She simply said that if Hannah wasn’t in love with you she should tell you.”

Mason lowered his eyes and shook his head. Hannah barely trusted her instincts as it was, to openly have them challenged must have been a real blow. No wonder she’d been so upset.

“So did she?” Mac asked as he wiped a cotton swab across an immaculate wheel.

“Hannah loves me, Dad. I’m not worried about that.” And he wasn’t, though he realized for the first time she hadn’t said it back, hadn’t said it at all.

“So now what?” Mac turned his attention to the headlamp.

Mason shrugged. “Now I wait for her to figure out what she wants.”

“This girl of yours sure spooks easy. She’ll have to get used to MJ. The woman won’t put on kid gloves for anyone.”

“She’ll be fine once she realizes she can trust herself. I just have to be patient.”

Mac turned to look at him and arched an eyebrow. “Can you do that?”

He wasn’t so sure. Last night he had wanted to throw her to the floor and illustrate the difference between having sex and making love. Prove his point and move on with the conversation. But one look in her pale eyes and he’d known he had to tread carefully. She needed to choose him for herself even more than he needed to be chosen.

“I’m giving her a week.”

He wasn’t imagining it. Someone was definitely moving around downstairs in Hannah’s apartment. He sat up on the bed and listened closer. At first he thought he’d been dreaming, hallucinating a reason to go downstairs and apologize, though he’d meant every word he’d said. But then he looked at the clock and realized there was no way she’d be home.

His bare feet slipped onto the floor in silence. He’d changed to sweatpants and a T-shirt when he’d come back from his volunteer shift this morning. Not that his mind had slowed enough for him to sleep.

His breath caught as he heard something again. A door slamming maybe? He checked the clock again. It was only three in the afternoon, the earliest she’d be home was eight, though ten was more likely. And Kate was still in Klamath Falls.

Maybe she was sick, a cold, the flu, or just feeling awful about the ugliness that had gone on between them. He walked to the kitchen and opened a cupboard to grab her jasmine tea and the cocoa mix she liked but then stopped. She needed some reason to come back upstairs.

On his way out the door, he spied the tiny black box sitting on a stack of magazines on the coffee table. His palms were suddenly damp. Hannah might not know what she wanted, but Mason was sure. Maybe if she knew how serious he was about them. He shoved the box in his pocket and tried to pretend he hadn’t broken out in a cold sweat.

He crept out of his apartment and down the stairs. He wished he had a key. Then he could just walk in and surprise Hannah, or the burglar. He rapped softly on the door and listened, but no response came.

What if it wasn’t Hannah moving about? He slowly twisted the knob until it caught. Locked. With all the fireproofing tape he’d jammed in the doorframe it would hurt like hell to break it in. Plus, that would really piss her off. He let out an angry huff of breath and settled for spooking the cat burglar out a window. He’d wait for Hannah to come home and scope the place out then.

He beat the door with the side of his fist. “Hannah! Kate!” Maybe it was that jerk of a brother-in-law. “Whoever is in there, open the door!” He’d like to get a few swings at that guy.

He listened as footsteps approached. He thought about covering the peephole with his thumb but crossed his arms across his chest instead. The door swung open and Mason cringed.

Hannah’s father leveled his gaze. “I wish I could say it’s nice to see you again, Mason, but given the circumstances I’m sure you’ll understand. What are you doing banging on my daughter’s door?”

Mason wished he’d spent more time schmoozing her father and less time charming her mother. “I live right upstairs and I heard you moving around. Kate is out of town and Hannah won’t be home until at least eight. I thought someone might have broken in.”

“You routinely listen to the happenings in Hannah’s apartment?”

Mason reminded himself her father had every right to be concerned. “No, sir. I’ve just been on edge because of the cards and the incident in the parking lot.”

The older man narrowed his gaze. “The cards you’re sending her.”

Mason fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I didn’t drop the cards. They upset me more than Hannah anyway. She’s convinced it’s just a neighbor playing a prank.”

“But you disagree?”

“I don’t want to take any chances with Hannah.”

“Me either.” The older man stepped out of the doorway and motioned Mason inside. “Call me John. I’d offer you something to drink but her fridge is pretty bare.”

“That’s good. It means she’s eating something that doesn’t come out of a vending machine. She’s almost finished the oranges I left.”

Her father watched intently as Mason checked the citrus and tossed a soft one in the garbage.

“You don’t mind doing her grocery shopping?”

So this is where she got it from. “I like cooking, she likes eating. It works out great.”

“Hannah always hated cooking. She was always more interested in my business magazines than her mother’s recipe books.”

Mason smiled. He could see that. “Hannah told me she used to wake up early just to talk to you about business.”

“She remembers that?” The man’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “She was so little. That stopped when she was about ten and I started staying in town during the week.” John shook his head. “She was always such a smart girl. I don’t know how she got stuck working at a mall.”

Mason took a deep breath. Yes, this is definitely where she got it. “She manages a multi-million-dollar department store. It takes a lot of intelligence to juggle all she does. She has to manage the staff, the freight, the merchandising, the sales volume and a million other things I only pretend to understand.”

John knit his brows together. Mason hoped he finally realized how hard Hannah worked. “We have reservations at
Chez Nous
for dinner on Hannah’s birthday. You should come.”

Mason nodded, unsure what to say. When they’d played twenty questions, Hannah had gone on and on about how she hated it. “French food?”

John nodded. “My wife read a write-up in one of her magazines.”

Mason bit his lip and then decided to risk it. It was Hannah’s birthday after all. “Hannah doesn’t like French food. She likes spicy ethnic or comfort food.”

The older man raised an eyebrow. “We went to a French restaurant last year for her birthday.”

“Did she eat?” Mason was willing to bet a year’s salary on the answer. Hannah thought a chef was trying to hide something if he covered food in a heavy sauce or decorated the plate.

John shook his head. “Actually, she said she wasn’t feeling well and Kate took her home early.”

Mason nodded as both men fought smiles. “I have an idea of what she’d like, but there is something I need to talk to you about first.”

No tea. Hannah slammed the cupboard door with all the strength she could muster after eight hours of sleep in the last three days. She closed tonight so didn’t have to be at work for another hour and a half. All she wanted was to sit and sip a nice cup of tea before she got ready. And even that was too much to ask.

She plopped her butt on the couch. She knew where her tea was. It was upstairs in Mason’s apartment. She still had a key. He’d given it to her when he’d asked her to stay. Just last week. And she knew without looking at the schedule he’d left that he wouldn’t be off until seven and it was only six.

The entire procedure would probably take all of ninety seconds. She could even leave his key on the counter. The thought sat in her belly like lead. It would be easier to give it back than have him ask for it. But giving it back would be an opportunity to talk to him, to talk him into giving them another shot.

She’d been pushing him away from the moment they’d met. Only he was stronger, pulling her closer each time. Until she’d finally pushed so hard he had no choice but to let go.

Everything about the way he made her feel terrified her. You were supposed to fall in love slowly, to ease into it. But Mason McNally had hit her full force from the first second. Even when she’d thought he was all wrong.

She hadn’t spoken to him since he’d dropped her off on Thanksgiving. They’d both worked the next day, so it was easy to write off the silence. And she had no idea what to say or do.

He was right. It was much easier for her to communicate with him when they were naked, when she felt his response. Her eyes felt heavy, full of tears. But she wasn’t going to cry about this again. Not when there was still hope. Her birthday was tomorrow. Maybe he’d let her apologize then.

Hannah pushed off the couch and propelled herself into the bathroom. She’d feel better after a shower. She went through her morning routine on autopilot. She shouldered her bag, locked the door and set off for the coffee shop, focusing on the reward. Piping-hot tea and a fresh bagel.

She intended to take her breakfast with her and hop the train to work. Once she was at the store, she’d have no time for this self-indulgent pity party. But she recognized the writing group at their perch in the corner and decided to take a seat in the velvet armchair. Five minutes to eat her bagel and lose herself in someone else’s problems.

“They won’t stop having sex.” Hannah cringed at the overheard comment from the perky brunette she’d met before. Once she’d slept with Mason, he’d become like a drug. She just couldn’t get her fill of him. “I set out to write romance, but I’ve ended up with erotica.”

“Maybe it’s romantica. There are entire e-book sites devoted to the genre.” Hannah made a mental note to Google romantica later and shoved a chunk of bagel in her mouth to keep herself from asking for the web address.

“What I have is a hefty pile of sludge and smut. Not publishable. But it got my word count to fifty thousand before midnight. A National Novel Writers Month winner. I finished a novel, and that’s what’s important.”

Hannah smiled and leaned back in the overstuffed chair. She was proud of these ladies for seeing something through to completion. It took dedication not to run scared when things got too tough.

“I want us all to keep in touch, even though the project is over. My address and phone number is in the cards this time. I want to know how everyone fares editing their work.” There was a collective gasp from the group. Hannah stuffed her cheeks with the last of her bagel to keep herself from turning around. Enough snooping.

“You’re so bad.” Hannah recognized the brunette’s voice. “I love that about you. Silk stockings by the chimney. Too funny.”

“This one is good, but I still like the Santa-hat one the best. Or the man wearing it.” Hannah’s heart stalled in her chest. She knew that card. She tried to chew, to swallow. But her mouth had gone dry, turning the bagel to glue in her mouth.

“I thought the handcuffed Christmas tree was the best. Shackled to the commercialism of the season.”

Oh, God. The same cards. Hannah swigged some tea into her mouth to help get the paste down. Even with the bagel stuck in her mouth, the tea scalded her tongue.

“I’m glad you liked them,” the older woman carrying her dog in a papoose said. “I have one last errand to run. Same time next year?”

Hannah almost choked, but she swallowed the brick and rose from her chair just in time to see the woman walk out the door. Hannah followed, trying to think of just what to do, what to say when she caught up with her. The woman looked about as menacing as a fruit fly.

Hannah halted her pursuit as she watched the woman punch the code and enter a building, her building. Would she drop another card? Hannah wanted catch her red-handed. Ask her just what she thought she was doing.

Hannah stomped up to the door, punched the code and marched up the stairs. One flight, two. The woman was fast.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Hannah called out as a red envelope fluttered to the ground in front of her door.

“I was just…oh, you’re the one.”

“Yes, I’m the one who’s been getting your anonymous cards.” Hannah stepped closer and snatched the envelope.

“You? You’re living with him already? That was quick. Not that I blame you.”