The Trouble with Temptation (19 page)

He rubbed his cheek against hers. “Your life is still your life … it’s gotten harder, but nobody ever promised life would be easy.”

“Yeah, well, if they had, I’d want my money back.” She laughed wearily and then, as a yawn cracked her jaw, she stretched.

Brannon groaned, his fingers tightening on her hip. “Do that again.”

“Do what?” Then she shivered. His cock was a firm, heavy brand against her hip. Closing her eyes, she rolled her hips and said, “You don’t mean that, do you?”

Brannon leaned his weight against hers. “You’re tired, remember? Maybe you shouldn’t be teasing me.”

“Maybe I’m not as tired as I thought.”

His knee pushed between hers, slowly.

She spread her legs to accommodate him.

“Do you remember how I told you that I’d fantasized about putting my hands on you?” he asked, the hand on her belly gliding up to cup one breast. “Here?”

Her breath hitched as he tweaked her nipple. She felt the touch arrow straight down, twisting through her sex as though he’d cupped her between her thighs. “Yes,” she said softly.

“I still fantasize about it. It’s worse now because I can remember how you felt … how you taste. I want to taste you again. All the time, every day…” He muttered the words in her ear, low and soft. “I want to stretch you out on my bed and fuck you until every time you breathe in, you taste me, you feel me on your skin. Just like I taste you, just like I feel you.”

Slowly, she turned and faced him. She curled her arms around him and pressed close. His body was hot and heavy and it felt so good. “I feel you now.” Hannah rubbed her mouth against his and hummed under her breath as his taste flooded her system. “I taste you, too.”

He caught her up in his arms and boosted her up. “Tell me you’re ready for this.”

“I’ve been ready since the moment I saw you standing in the doorway of my hospital room.” She fisted her hands in his hair. “I’ve been ready since the moment I first drew air. I was born wanting you.”

They said nothing else.

Hannah gasped as he moved between her legs.

He groaned as she curled her legs around him.

And when he sank inside, they both shuddered.

*   *   *

Her eyes were dark and blind on his, her pulse hammering in her throat. Brannon pressed his mouth to that mad, fluttering beat and slid his tongue over it.

She groaned and jerked her hips. Her pussy contracted around him, sending shivers straight up his spine.

It was enough to make his eyes cross from the pure, silken pleasure of it and he withdrew, drove in again, hard and fast. She tightened her legs and arched against him, swiveling her hips in time with his.

His name fell from her lips.

It was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard—almost.

Tangling his hand in her hair, he hauled her head back. “Open,” he muttered against her lips. Then he took her mouth. One kiss wasn’t enough. One taste wasn’t enough. One night, one week … one lifetime.

She yielded to him and when he slid his tongue into her mouth, she bit him.

It made him burn hotter.

Made him need her that much more. He
always
needed more. How had he’d ever managed to pretend otherwise?

Her nails scraped into his shoulders.

Her teeth sank into his lip.

His climaxed roared ever closer and he slid a hand between them, circled his thumb around her clit. She shivered and he did it again, harder, faster.

Hannah climaxed only moments before he did.

The strength drained out of him and for a moment, when it ended, all he could do was bury his face in her hair and struggle to hold himself together.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

He had the best damn shoulders.

Hannah tried not to be so obvious, but her eyes kept straying to him.

He had a great ass on him, too. And really, that man’s hair, did a guy need hair like that? She was too lazy to go and dedicate a few hours every six weeks to keep her hair up the way some women did, but even if she spent a few hundred every
week
, her hair would never be as pretty as Brannon McKay’s. Really, it just wasn’t fair.

When he caught her staring at him, he sent her a slow, lazy smile that sent heat rushing all the way through her. A man’s smile had never made her feel quite like that.

She loved it.

She was still picking at her meal when he disappeared into the back of the pub with Ian.

Blowing out a sigh, she looked down at her burger, now mostly cold. She really shouldn’t have come here to eat. At least not if she’d wanted to eat.

Ever since he’d spent the night in her bed, she’d found herself so obsessed with him, it was almost insane. Maybe
she
was insane. She went out of her way to find time to hunt him down, to be with him. Not that he seemed to mind.

The chair across from her scraped over wood as it was pulled out.

Hannah flinched at the sound, unable to suppress it in time.

The tired, drawn face of Roger Hardee chilled the warm, comfortable heat that had pooled inside her as she watched Brannon and it chased away whatever appetite she had left.

“Roger,” she said quietly.

He nodded at her, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. He smiled, or tried to. It wobbled and fell away before it really formed. “Looks like you have about as much trouble eating these days as I do.”

“Um.” She looked down at her half-eaten meal and shrugged. “I was thinking about … stuff.” She couldn’t really go and say she was distracted by the sight of the sexy beast that was Brannon McKay, now could she? “My appetite kind of comes and goes these days still.”

He jerked his head in an erratic nod. “I guess the baby?” He didn’t even give her a chance to answer before he continued. “I guess … well, you haven’t remembered anything new.”

Hannah shook her head, aching for him.

“You will, though.” Roger leaned forward, his eyes dark, almost fanatical. “You’re going to remember, Hannah. You have to.”

Guilt was an ugly, nasty monster. “I hope I will, Roger. I do, but I…” She looked away, tears burning her eyes. “I don’t want to give you false hope.”

“I need that hope.”

His hand shot across the table, and she gasped when he closed his fingers around her wrist. Roger was a big man. Older than her by ten years, he’d played football in high school. That big, heavy layer of muscle had mostly gone to fat, but the strength was still there. His fingers dug in—not in an attempt to hurt. She knew that. She could see it in his eyes, the desperation written there was plain to see.

“I need that hope. Don’t you get it?” he said, his voice growing louder. “It’s all I’ve got.”

“Oi!” Ian’s voice cut through the noise in the air.

Hannah flushed, tugging on her hand. “Let me go,” she said, keeping her voice calm. From the corner of her eye, she could see Ian coming out from behind the bar.

“Why can’t you remember?” he demanded, as though he hadn’t heard her. “It’s been months. You were able to go back to work and you’ve remembered other things. Why can’t you remember
that
, Hannah? Why—”

“That’s enough, mate.”

Roger flinched as a hand clamped down on his shoulder. He let go in the next instant.

“Are you alright, Ms. Parker?”

She looked up and met the cool eyes of Charles Hurst. “I’m fine,” she said, forcing a smile.

Moira McKay stood next to him, her moss green eyes firing as she looked at Roger. Charles spoke softly to the man as Moira moved in closer to Hannah. “Sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Hannah said again, feeling her cheeks heat. A hundred people—or it felt that way—were staring at her.

She resisted the urge to rub her wrist—and was doubly glad of that when Brannon appeared like a living, breathing storm cloud in the doorway at the back of the pub.

“Damn it,” Moira said.

“This will be pleasant,” Charles murmured.

Moira cocked a brow and nodded toward her brother. “Wanna see if you can handle him Hannah? Charles and I will take care of this.”

Hannah glanced at Roger. He was staring despondently at the table now. There didn’t seem to be much left to handle. “Yeah. Um … yeah. Thanks.”

She slid out of her chair, just as much to get away and catch her breath as anything else.

Brannon went to go around her.

She caught him around the waist.

“Move, Hannah,” he said, biting each word off.

“Stay, Brannon.” She pressed a kiss to his chin.

“He had his hands on you.”

“He had my wrist and trust me, if I had needed to,
I
could have handled it. You know that.”

Her words had no impact so she moved in closer, tightening her arms. He finally looked down at her and the blaze in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. “Brannon … he’s just hurting.”

“That doesn’t give him a right to hurt you.”

“He didn’t.” And he hadn’t, not really. The guilt got to her more than anything. “He’s hurting, Bran. He lost his wife and they’re not having any luck finding who killed her. And I’m…”

The tension in Brannon’s body drained away and she watched as his face softened.

“Baby, it’s not your fault.”

Hannah had never thought she’d be one to care for endearments. But there she was, melting because he’d called her
baby
. Then there were the times he’d called her
sugar
in that low, rough raspy voice as he touched her.…

Not the time,
she told herself. Really not the time. All Brannon had to do was
look
at her and she melted. He cupped her cheek in his hand, his thumb stroking along her lower lip.

The gentleness in his eyes undid her.

“Look, I know it’s not my fault,” she said, managing a smile. Then, to her horror, a knot tightened her throat and tears stung her eyes.

Stupid hormones
.

Brannon went to shift away but she didn’t let go. “Come on,” he said, sighing. “I’m not going to hurt him. We’re just going up to the office.”

He shot Roger one last look but the fury had drained from his features.

She let go of his waist and he caught her hand in his.

A few minutes later, sitting on the couch, she watched as he poured her some water.

“You can tell this isn’t your office,” she said absently, looking around the almost ruthlessly organized space.

“Yeah?” He crossed over to crouch in front of her. After he’d pushed the water into her hands, he brushed her hair back from her face. “How can you tell?”

“It’s too organized. Too neat.”

“I’ll have you know I’m very neat.” He tapped the water. “Drink.”

She made a face at him. “I don’t need you mothering me.” But she took a drink, mostly because her throat was dry and the knot still lodged there made it hard to talk. “You’re only neat because you worry Ella Sue will come by and do spot-checks on you.”

“I’m thirty-four years old,” he said mildly. “Do you really think I’m afraid of Ella Sue?”

She pursed her lips and thought it over. Then she said simply, “Yes.”

“Damn straight.” But he shrugged. “No, it’s not my office … anymore. It’s Ian’s and he’s freakish about staying organized. That’s not me. You saw my…”

He trailed off and looked away.

“I saw your apartment,” she finished for him. She had, although the only memories she had of it were recent ones. It was clean, yes. But not neat. Clothes were put away and dishes were washed, but there was clutter in odd places, the kind of clutter a person would have if he didn’t know exactly where or how he wanted things—or maybe he just didn’t care.

“We slept there, didn’t we?” She took another drink and then reached over, putting the glass of water down on the table. Studying him, she added, “That first night.”

He nodded and reached up, rubbing at the back of his neck. It was a gesture she was familiar with, something he did when he was upset or nervous. “Turn around,” she said.

Brannon cocked a brow.

She nudged at his shoulder and said it again.

He relented and sat with his back to her. She settled her hands on his shoulders, her thumbs at his neck. His muscles were tense, taut under her touch and he groaned as she started to dig in. “You’re stiff as a board,” she said softly.

“That hurts.”

“That’s because you’re stiff as a board,” she said. “Give me a few minutes.”

He lapsed into silence and after maybe two minutes, she felt the muscles give. He made a grumbling noise deep in his chest. “Now I don’t ever want you to stop.”

Hannah laughed. “You ought to start getting deep tissue massages. Every week for a while, then maybe once a month. It would do wonders for you, I bet.” She hesitated and then said, “I want to … ah … I need you to tell me what happened. With us, I mean. I’m tired of not knowing and it’s not coming back on its own.”

For the longest time, he didn’t speak and then finally, he reached up, stilled her hands. He shifted on his knees, turning to face her. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“How is it going to hurt me to know what happened when we slept together?”

Brannon cupped her face in his hands and pressed his brow to hers. “It’s not that that’s got me worried. It’s … everything else.”

“You mean the night Shayla died.” Even saying the words made a cold shiver of fear burst through her and she squirmed closer. Brannon responded by wrapping his arms around her and she tucked her head into the crook of his neck. Here, she felt safe and warm. Here, she didn’t worry about the darkness of her memories or whatever happened that night.

But she couldn’t stay here forever and more importantly, she knew she
shouldn’t
.

Those memories shouldn’t stay buried.

“Brannon, Roger was right. If I know something…”

“Fuck Roger.”

*   *   *

Brannon knew the minute he said it, he’d regret it.

But he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t pull back the words.

He couldn’t even regret it, because while he felt bad for both Shayla and Roger, his concern was Hannah … and their baby.

But Hannah stiffened against him, and bit by bit, he felt her curling away from him.