The Trouble with Temptation (18 page)

“You could have been hurt, too,” Hannah said quietly.

He tensed as he heard her approaching.

Her hand smoothed up his back and he turned, grabbing her and hauling her close.

She came willingly and he shuddered as she slid her arms around his waist.

“I was doing fine until they did the ultrasound,” he said, his voice squeezing past the knot in his throat. “Then I saw that little guy moving around in there and I got to thinking … what if I hadn’t been fast enough?”

“I’m fine, Brannon.” She turned her face toward his neck and he shuddered as she kissed his neck.

“I don’t want you alone tonight.”

She pulled back and studied his face. “I’m not going to be. You’re coming with me, remember?” She kissed his cheek. “Brannon … I can handle this, even if you can’t. But there’s no way I’m letting you hire a nurse. I’ve had it with doctors, nurses … all of it.”

CHAPTER TEN

I can handle this.
Hannah could still hear herself saying those words.

Now she was thinking …
yeah, right.

They’d spent a couple of hours in the ER and Brannon had called his sisters and Ella Sue, to let them know what had happened. She had dozed and worried and brooded and tried to pretend she wasn’t freaked the hell out.

Now that she was home, she was having a harder time of it.

She knew she ought to be exhausted, too exhausted to do anything but sleep, but as she locked the door behind them, she knew she wouldn’t sleep for hours.

“I’ll just bunk on the couch,” Brannon said, completely unaware of her thoughts.

She turned to see him dumping his bag on the floor next to the long, low couch she’d bought a few years back. The cushions were deep and flat and the couch itself was long enough to hold him. Yet …

“No,” she whispered.

He’d been in the process of tugging his wallet out of his pocket and froze.

For some reason, the sight of his wallet held her mesmerized.

She stared at it. Hard.

Slowly, she moved toward him.

“Hannah?”

Lifting out a hand, she waited.

He glanced down and then, slowly, he put his wallet into her hand.

She stroked a finger down the worn, faded edges. It looked like he’d carried it for ages.

Tightening her hand around it, she closed her eyes.

*   *   *

Slap, slap, slap—

Her shoes made a rhythmic sound on the pavement and she ground her teeth together as she rounded the corner.
I will not go up to my apartment yet. I will not go up to my apartment yet. I will not—

Her toe bumped something and she stumbled. She flailed her arms and caught herself, then she looked down.

A wallet, faded and worn, lay on the sidewalk.

Sighing, she stooped and picked it up.

Once she flipped it open, she grimaced.

Should have left it.

If anybody could afford to lose a wallet around here, it was him.

And if there was anybody she couldn’t afford to be around, it was him.

Brannon McKay—the beginning and end of all of her fantasies.

*   *   *

“Hannah?”

The sound of her name on his lips made the memory shatter.

If it were possible, Hannah would have grabbed at it, tried to clutch it to her, but it fell apart, melting like sticky threads of cotton candy under a heavy summer deluge.

“Hannah.”

The memory lodged itself in her brain, but nothing else came. Clearing her throat, she forced herself to smile at him. “Sorry … I … uh…” she pushed the wallet back into his hands. “I remembered something else. Sort of. Your wallet?”

“You…” He studied the wallet as if he’d never seen it. “You remember that?”

“Just finding it on the street. It must have been sometime during that week.”

“Yeah.” His voice was tight, strange.

She looked up to see him staring out the window toward his place. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Then he glanced back at her. “It’s just … you brought it to me. That was the day…”

His gaze dropped to her belly.

She blushed.

“Oh. We—um. We slept together that night, didn’t we?”

“That night.” He dropped the wallet down on top of his bag. He looked like he was going to say something else, but in the end, he just lapsed into silence.

“So…” Hannah frowned. “Just that one time? I thought we were…” She stopped and blew out a breath.

He came to her, one hand going to her waist, his fingers spreading out to curve over her back. She felt the imprint of his touch and couldn’t stop the slight shiver that went through her.

“I’ve spent half my life avoiding what I felt for you, Hannah. That night, amazing as it was … hell, all it did was scare me. And you were smart. You knew it, so you ignored me. That got to me, got under my skin.” He dipped his head and rubbed his mouth against hers.

That caress made her breath catch and for a moment, she forgot what they were talking about. “If I was ignoring you, then how did we end up together?”

“Because I never did like being ignored. I went out looking for you.” He rubbed his thumb along the underside of her breast, kissed the sensitive skin behind her ear.

She curled closer to him, a hundred questions burning inside her, but in the end, she didn’t ask any of them. She’d spent months trying to uncover those lost days and all it had done was frustrate and infuriate her. She wasn’t going to go down that road again. Maybe that memory fragment would lead to more. She hoped it would.

She went to ask him a question, but a yawn interrupted her, one that left her feeling like it would split her head in two. Grimacing at him, she stepped back. “I’m more tired than I thought.”

“I’m worn out myself. You’ve got to be exhausted. I’m going to use the bathroom then you can show me where I can grab some blankets or something to make up the couch.”

She didn’t say anything as he turned away and her gaze slid down his back, lingered on the narrow waist, his butt. He was almost completely down the hall when she spoke. Hannah barely recognized the rough whisper that came from her.

But Brannon stopped.

“I don’t want you sleeping on the couch, Brannon. I’m tired of the two of us dancing around the fact that we want each other, tired of dancing around the fact that you remember what happened and I don’t.”

*   *   *

Her voice was husky, smooth as aged whiskey, and twice as potent. Standing in the hall, he reached out and braced a hand on the smooth surface of the wall, closing his eyes as he told himself to be smart, to stay in control.

“I think we both know we want each other, Hannah. Neither of us have tried to pretend otherwise.”

“Maybe not.”

He slid a look at her. She stared at him, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy, bright with a hunger that made him want to grab her and kiss her until they were both breathless. Not that it would take much on his account.

There was a world of emotion on her face. Not just the hunger, either. There was need and lust and longing and … love. Emotions he recognized easily enough because they mirrored what he felt for her.

“Maybe we’re not pretending, but you sure as hell seemed determined to dance around it and act like nothing ever happened.” She lifted her chin, staring him down.

He thought he just might grab that stubborn chin and do exactly what he was tempted to do—kiss her until they were both too drunk on each other to care about anything else. As she continued to watch him with a challenge in her eyes, he reversed direction and moved back to her, his battered tennis shoes all but soundless on the scuffed hardwood floor.

Hannah’s chest rose and fell erratically but when he came to a halt in front of her, she seemed to stop breathing. Reaching up, he fisted a hand in her hair and tugged on her ponytail until she was looking up at him. Her mouth parted and a gasping little puff of air fell from her lips.

“You think I’m acting like nothing happened, sugar?” he asked, leaning in until nothing more than a memory separated them—the memory that he was trying to do the right thing, to treat her better.

“I think you’re dancing on eggshells, Brannon McKay.” She lifted a brow at him, an amused smile on her lips. “And that’s so not you. Why don’t you just stop?”

“Just stop,” he murmured. “And do what?”

Her tongue slid out and he could have groaned as the pink tip touched her lips.

Judging by the glint in her eyes, she seemed to know exactly what she was doing to him, too. That knowing, female look made him want to bite her—bite her pretty lips, her pretty breasts, bite her anywhere and everywhere.

But he just stood there and waited.

“What do you think you should do?”

“That, sugar,” he said, lowering his head to murmur in her ear. “Is a loaded question.”

She turned her head so that their lips ended up brushing. He didn’t move and when she spoke, her reply was spoken directly against his mouth. “No, it’s not. It’s a very simple question … sugar. What do you think you should do? What do you
want
to do?”

*   *   *

At some point, they’d left the living room.

Hannah was on her bed, naked with Brannon McKay sprawled between her thighs.

If she’d had the presence of mind, she might have been more than a little pleased with herself.

As it was, she was too busy whimpering out his name as he twisted two fingers and screwed them inside her. Then he flicked his tongue against her clit and she choked on a scream as she came.

Again.

She wasn’t certain, but she thought that might have been the third time he’d made her climax.

And he was still dressed.

Or at least half-dressed.

He went to nuzzle her clit with his tongue. The sensation jolted through her over-sensitized flesh like lightning. She attempted to smack him. Her hand bounced off one sweat-slicked shoulder. Snorting with laughter, she said, “No more.”

He lifted his head. “Why not?”

“I gotta catch my breath.”

Stroking one hand up her thigh, he skimmed his lips across her belly. “Breathing is overrated, baby.”

“
Noooo
…” She groaned. She wiggled and went to twist away. “I need…”

She blinked, the words she’d been about to say fading from her mind.

They’d been right there.

Brannon, unaware, went to rub his cheek against her thigh.

The words continued to elude her and she twisted away. “Stop, Brannon.”

“What’s going on?” he asked.

She sat up and he drew up next to her, one leg lifted up. “What’s wrong, Hannah?”

“I wanted something. I can’t remember…” She shook her head, misery in her voice. Then she sighed, stopped, and focused. “Tired. I wanted … I’m tired. That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

Her voice cracked.

“Okay.” He stretched out next to her, but he moved slowly with it, as though asking permission. She turned into his body and curled up against him. Some of the tension drained out of him and he draped an arm around her. “You’re tired.”

“This pisses me off,” she said. “I didn’t ask you in here so you could go down on me and then have me fall asleep on you.”

“Hannah…” He chuckled and then pressed a kiss to her brow. “You’re pregnant. I think getting tired is part of it. And FYI, even if you
did
ask me in here just to go down on you? Well … I’m not complaining.”

She made a noise that was half laugh, half sob.

Sighing, she snuggled in closer. After a minute, she said, “This pisses me off.”

“Being tired? Why?”

“No.” With her head buried against his chest, she mumbled, “No. It’s not being
tired
that pisses me off. It’s…”

The exhaustion drained away under the aggravation and she sat up. “It’s not being able to think of the things I need to say. Forgetting. The other day, I was almost late to work because I couldn’t find my shirt and it was hanging right on the bathroom door where I’ve always put it.”

Brannon stroked a hand up her back. “You’ve got to give it time.”

“Time.” She bowed her head. She could feel him toying with the ends of her hair and it made her smile. “How much time do I wait, Brannon? What … damn it, what if I end up having this baby and have to write her name just to remember it?”

“That’s not going to happen.”

She looked at him. “How do you know?”

“Because you haven’t forgotten anything important.” As he sat up, the muscles in his belly worked.

It was a beautiful sight and she had to fight the urge to stroke her fingers across that heavy, washboard display. She could have slid her hands across his body for ages and not gotten bored. Giving into the urge, she put her hand on his thigh. The light growth of hair tickled her palm. His muscles jumped under her touch and she smoothed her hand up and down. “I forgot us.”

A rough noise escaped him and he covered her hand with his, holding it in place. “I meant the new things. As for us … you might get that week back, you might not. You’re moving on anyway. But you’re not going to forget your baby’s name, Hannah. Even the things you have trouble remembering, you get it back within a few seconds, a few minutes most of the time. When you don’t?” He shrugged. “That’s why you make notes and keep lists. You’re making it work.”

“I’m tired of making it work, though.” Glumly, she looked past him out the window. The sheer curtains were enough to offer some privacy, but not enough to keep the light out. She could hear the noise coming from the town. This late at night, it was muted. Rising, she moved to the window and braced a hand on the wall next to it, staring down into the street. “I just want my life back, Brannon.”

He came up behind her.

When he slid his arms around her, she rested against him. One big hand curved over her belly and she shivered at the intimacy of it—at the tenderness of it.

“You’ve got your life, Hannah. You’re missing one week of it,” he said softly. “And now things are harder, but think about how much worse it could be. Shayla Hardee is dead and you could have been killed in that wreck.”