Not Another New Year’s (16 page)

Clearing his throat, he tried to clear his head of thoughts of her mouth, breath, kissing. Sex.

“I mean, just answer this. Hannah Davis, what do you want to do right now? Right this moment?”

She stilled. Then that little smile curved the corners of her lips again and her gaze dropped. “That’s easy, Tanner. Right now I want to take care of some unfinished business. I want to make love with you.”

Things I Hate about New year’s

Subjecting self to Uncle Simon’s surefire hangover cure taste test.

T
anner decided he would have to distract Hannah from the whole idea. What was she thinking? Why didn’t she realize, as he did, that the two of them making love was a very bad idea?

There was his future and the deal he’d made with Geoff Brooks and that whole “worthy of trust and confidence” thing to remember, but more, more, was just how easy she was to like, to laugh with, to want to lay out on a deserted stretch of sand somewhere. The image was damn hard to deflate, and it continued to hover like a bubble on the edges of his mind. Hannah, her clothes melting away with the heat of his thoughts. Tanner, pressing open her thighs, thumbing open her sex, discovering her every secret while she wore that crown and patriotic songs played in the background.

But he was just days away from getting his life
back, and it would be pure dumbass stupidity to risk that for sex. Even sex with Hannah.

Of course, the easiest solution would be to drive her back to Coronado and drop her back at the Del, but there were those photographers on the hunt. Which gave him an inspiration.

He drove Hannah toward the San Diego Zoo. Yeah. He’d wear her out with animals, he decided. And with hiking its hills and canyons. And with telling her every story he’d ever heard or could make up about the place.

Hah. It worked.

She loved it. She loved everything from the pink flamingos at the entrance to the goofy polar bears playing like big dogs in their deep pool. He took her to see the orangutans and watched her amazement when one of the mature females sauntered close to the glass and made clear with stares and hand gestures she wanted to see what Hannah had inside her purse. Encouraged by the other spectators and the animal’s clear fascination, Hannah lifted things out, one item at a time, displaying her new wallet, a wide-toothed comb, a lipstick.

The event made Hannah laugh all the way to the bonobos, where Tanner showed her how the little chimps would respond if you put your palm on the glass and repeatedly tapped it, creating a low vibration. One ran over and presented his shoulders to her, obviously as happy as if she was giving him a two-hundred-dollar-an-hour spa massage.

At the pygmy hippos she did what all the children were doing: She put her face against the glass that looked into their clear lagoon. The pygmy hippo
didn’t resist her. He swam over to place his whiskered snout right against her turned-up nose.

That’s when Tanner realized he couldn’t resist her either. With her hair breeze-blown, that nose and her cheeks showing signs of sunburn, her hand in his as she walked backward, towing him uphill to the next exhibit, he gave up listening to sense or conscience. One minute he was walking along, the next he yanked on her hand, tumbling her against his chest to kiss her silly. The meerkat sentinels watched with wide-eyed interest from their enclosure, those nosy, furry voyeurs, but he didn’t care.

As winter dark descended, they left the zoo. He fed her, ushering her into a place he remembered from some long ago date, a narrow dark bistro that smelled like rosemary and apples. Once seated, she shivered a little in the air-conditioning, and beneath the table he captured her bare legs between his jeaned ones. She stilled, then her gaze flew to his and he knew she understood where she’d be spending the night.

They ate their dinner like that, his legs clasping hers, and it might as well have been double desserts or, for that matter, dirt. He didn’t taste anything. They said little more.

After paying the bill, he steered them back across the bridge to Coronado. As the concrete roadway lowered them onto the island, Hannah straightened in her seat. “Those photographers…”

“Have most likely gone back to Hollywood. I don’t think Dez and I are much of a draw after all this time, so I assume some other poor celebrity schmuck was sighted in the area and they were hoping to get
a twofer. Believe it or not, they pay employees at the best hotels and restaurants in town to rat out the customers.”

That was the extent of the conversation until he pulled into the single car garage at his place. As the automatic door lowered, he looked over at her in the dim light. Maybe she’d thought better of all this.

Maybe she’d say no.

Hannah licked her lips. Those red lips. Juicy now. Wet like her mouth, wet like he wanted to make her between her legs so it would be an easy, smooth slide inside. He’d slip right into her heat, her need, her soul.

Oh, hell. Now he hoped to God she wouldn’t say no.

“Please, Tanner. Please.”

Then it was he who hesitated. For more than eleven months he’d been waiting for his life to restart…For more than eleven months he’d thought abstinence from the job he’d loved and from the pleasures of his body would dissolve the guilt he felt about the death of Ayesha Spencer, the agent who had died while he was babysitting the poor little rich girl in the ballroom.

He cupped Hannah’s warm cheek in his palm. “I’m not sure I deserve this,” he admitted. There’d been some hope inside him all these months that there would be an electrifying moment of absolution, but if he took Hannah to bed, then there would be no forgiveness for him, would there? He’d be taking his plea sure without finding his pardon first.

Without completing his penance.

“I know
I
deserve this,” she said. “So you let me worry about you.”

And of course, it was so much easier to dismiss the larger, philosophical issues when a man had those words echoing in his head. Not to mention the whole wild underwear thing to think about. And a math problem, too: 365 times four years minus two orgasms sat right there in his very own front seat. There was a whole lotta lovin’ stored up from the top of Hannah’s silky dark head to the bottom of her slim, female toes.

Three hundred sixty-five times four years minus two that were all his.

Yeah, he was going to focus on that and forget all the rest.

She had her own agenda, though. While he would have been perfectly content to walk to his bedroom like a half-civilized sex hound, she barely waited for the door from the garage to the kitchen to shut behind them before she pushed his back against the wood and climbed him like one of the monkeys they’d seen at the zoo.

A model-long leg wound around his hip. Her arms twined his neck and pulled down his head so she could kiss him as if he was the treat she’d given up for Lent. He went down for the count, hitting the proverbial mat as lust punched him in the gut and fanned outward in waves of heat.

Already his balls were tightening, pulling upward, getting everything primed for the big event.

Her hips pressed closer to his, her mound pressing against his raging-hard dick, and shit! the big
event almost happened before the opening curtain. He gripped her waist and held her a couple of inches away, trying to cope with a new spike of murderous want even as her tongue surged into his mouth on a search and destroy mission.

Her heart beat hard against his chest as she kissed his cheek, his upper lip, his chin, frantic little kisses that confessed she was coping with her own clamoring desire. Her leg hitched higher on his hip, trying to bring him close again.

He ran his hand along her bare thigh until it was under her skirt.

She froze, her lashes drifting over her eyes as he palmed one perfect cheek of her perfect ass. He could feel her scrap of underwear and started making bets with himself as to style and color. Green? No. Passion purple.

“Tanner…”

“Mmm.” He squeezed her little butt and ran his tongue over her bottom lip. “What is it? What is it you want, sweetheart?”

“Can we…” Her head fell back as he kissed the soft skin between her jaw and her ear. “I want to use kitchen products.”

He jerked, yanking his head back so it thwonked against the door. “Ouch.” Kitchen products? His lust pumped higher.

“Poor you.” One of her hands speared through his hair to rub the pain.

Breathing hard, he gazed at her through narrowed eyes. “When you say ‘kitchen products,’ I hope you don’t mean things like silicon baking pans or fire
proof oven mitts because that’s way too kinky for a simple guy like me.”

Confusion clouded her face. He could see the gears turning in her schoolmarm gray matter as she tried to figure out how such things figured in with sex. Not that he thought they did either, he’d just pulled them out of the air. When he couldn’t sleep he had this bad habit of turning on the two
A.M.
Hot Cooking Hour
of the GetTV shopping network.

“I’ve just missed out on so much.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He’d been doing the math, right? Three hundred sixty-five times four years minus two orgasms. “But don’t you think we could work up to the honey and whipped cream?” Just saying the words with his hand on her sleek skin made his cock jerk against his belly.

“Does that mean bondage and blindfolds come first?”

His cock jerked again. His temperature spiked. Man, he was going to need a doctor if this continued. His fingers tightened on her ass. “You know that Van Halen song ‘Hot for Teacher’?”

She pulled his mouth closer to hers. “You think I’m hot?” she whispered against his mouth.

“Oh, yeah. Oh,
yeah.
” And as she melted against him in another kiss, he managed to melt the skirt off her. His fingers found the zipper without a stumble, then he pressed down on her bent knee. When she straightened her leg, the fabric slid with a plop to the kitchen floor.

Hannah glanced down at herself.

He took his own time looking. Oh, gone was the
red Merry Widow. And in its place wasn’t green or purple. Between the strappy sandals and the T-shirt she was still wearing was a tiny pair of white lace bikini underwear that tied with two perfect little bows on each side of her hips.

They were girly and sexy,
she
was girly and sexy, and without a second thought Tanner reached out for those little bows and tugged them loose.

Hannah gasped as her pan ties hit the ground.

He took his time looking at what was revealed. There wasn’t much else he
could
do but look at the moment, because the view had hit him like an anvil to the head. God, his tongue had gone dry along with the rest of his mouth.

Her feet were still in those sexy sandals, and then there were the miles of skin that were ankles, calves, knees, thighs. And then, and then…

Why did women have to be so pretty there? Why did
Hannah
have to be so pretty there? Such an enticing little triangle she presented a man, with a siren’s arrow of curls pointing him straight toward heaven.

Hannah made a little sound and he looked up to see her clutching the hem of the waist-length T-shirt she still wore, as if preparing to tug it down to her knees.

He smiled at her, trying to keep the wolf out of it, and pried her fingers from the cotton cloth. “Did I tell you I’m a leg man?” he asked, flicking his glance southward to take in the long, lovely sight once again.

A frown wrinkled her forehead. “You said you were a breast man.”

“That too.” He slid his hands under her shirt to trace the sweet curve of her waist as he drew the fabric up, then over her head. With a flick of his wrist, it sailed to the counter.

Hannah’s breasts quivered over the little lace cups of her matching white bra. He released the front clasp and then swept that bit of fabric away too.

Tanner went down on his knees in pure appreciation for the sight of her uncovered skin. Then he leaned forward and put his mouth on her. She jolted, and he reached up to cup her ass again and hold her against his face so he could sample the flavor he’d been craving.

Oh, God. He groaned at the perfect balance of salty and sweet, loving the taste of her on his tongue. Shifting one hand to her inner thigh to widen her stance, lust nearly knocked him over again. His Hannah was slick here too, already so ready she was overflowing.

His tongue delved deeper, driven by his escalating hunger. It bumped over her hard button and he stroked her clitoris a happy hello.

“T-Tanner?” Her voice broke in a breathless hitch. “T-Tanner?”

He looked up, licked once, twice, and watched the orgasm break across her face just as it broke over his tongue.

Three hundred sixty-five times four minus three.

Somehow he found the strength to stand. She was pliable, her mouth tender and soft, and when he took it she immediately opened to him, not shying away from the taste of herself on his lips.

Yeah. Good. Excellent.

He didn’t want Hannah shying away from anything.

He wanted her loving everything they could share. Every taste, every touch, every intimate act that he could think of and others he was sure that would come to mind.

The kiss lasted them all the way to his bedroom. When he lifted his mouth from hers, she blinked, looking around as if not remembering their short walk from the kitchen. Then she focused on him.

“You’re wearing too many clothes.”

“Uh-huh.” He reached behind him to grab his T-shirt between the shoulder blades. As he yanked it off, he felt her fingers at the snap on his jeans.

It both froze him and set him on fire, and he stood under the onslaught of sensations, stupid with need. He heard his zipper slide down with a hiss, and then her warm hand was under his boxers and on him, warm and gentle.

Not gentle enough. He stripped off his shirt and threw it to the floor. “Hannah. God, Hannah.” His hand covered hers, and he couldn’t help but guide it in a couple of torturous strokes before he plucked it away.

“I’ll never make it if you touch me like that, sweetheart,” he said, trying to smile.

She could smile, sweet and hot, like the way she’d tasted. God, just like that he wanted her in his mouth again, pulsing against his tongue, her orgasm flowing into him like a magic potion that could keep him hard all night long.

“I want you again,” he said, dragging her toward
his bed. It was unmade as usual, but he didn’t care this time, he only cared to get her on the sheets, on her back, his head between those beautiful silken thighs, where he belonged.

This time he held her open with his thumbs and went straight for the goods, ignoring the way her head thrashed against his pillow and the way she cried his name, over and over, all girly and shaken, and then…