The Trouble with Temptation (30 page)

And now she was out there without him. While some freaky fuck broke into her house and shoved rocks into her clothes. What the hell was that?

“She took her car. I don’t know where she was going, but I saw her pulling out from behind her apartment.”

Brannon’s gut wrenched.

*   *   *

Leaning against the stoplight, he watched as Hannah Parker drove out of town. He considered where she might go, then he considered whether he should follow.

He still had no idea if she remembered anything.

She’d spent most of the day sitting around the pub or wandering the sidewalk back and forth in front of the building where she lived, her expression tight and drawn, eyes dark.

He’d passed her by once, said hello, and she’d barely glanced at him.

Nobody was saying much of anything, so if she’d done any talking, there wasn’t any news to be had. Plenty of people had heard that she’d had some excitement at her place, but very few were talking in detail. It was all speculation. As a matter of fact, speculation was about all anybody had about Hannah. She rarely spoke of anything concrete.

Abruptly, he made up his mind and pulled his keys from his pocket.

He had an idea where she might be going.

As he moved at a quick clip to his car, he pulled out his phone to see if he’d heard back from the delightful doctor. Her husband had been in Hannah’s apartment today, but the phone calls had gone unanswered and he imagined she either wasn’t on call or she was deliberately ignoring him. She was on rotation with several other OBs in the area, so she did get her share of evenings away from the hospital, and the beautiful bitch did enjoy teasing him.

He’d once taunted her back by stretching himself out and wrapping a hand around his cock, stroking himself and capturing an image of it. Careful to make sure anything that could identify himself was cropped out, he’d sent her the picture, along with the words,
I was thinking of you
.

She had him listed simply as
F
in her contacts.

When he’d asked her about that, she’d giggled and gone down on him, wrapping her lips around his cock and sucking until he thought she might suck him dry.
Fuck … as in my fuck, as in fuck me, as in please fuck me now … fuck, lover.

He asked her how she kept all her
fucks
straight and she’d beamed at him.
You’re my only fuck, darling. There is a cock, there is a dick, there is one pussy … but you’re my only fuck
.

And what do you call your cop?

Her eyes had gone dim.

He’d never asked her about her cop again.

He decided he pitied her. Love, as he’d always believed, made a fool out of anybody.

It had certainly made a fool of Dr. Ellison Shaw.

He’d worry about Ellison later, though. Right now, he needed to focus on Hannah and see if his hunch played out.

*   *   *

A year ago, if somebody had asked him how well he knew Hannah Parker, Brannon would have scowled and said, “I don’t.”

But he would have been lying and now, he knew it.

He knew a dozen things about her—no.

More.

He knew that she loved soft, almost spring-like colors and he knew she also loved battered jeans and motorcycle books and black t-shirts. She had a leather jacket she wore in the fall and he’d actually bought himself a motorcycle without realizing that the reason was because of some subconscious fantasy to feel her tucked up against his back as they tore up and down the roads that twined through southern Mississippi.

He knew that she hated beer but loved cider and he knew that she’d drink almost any kind of cocktail that tasted sweet, but she could also throw back bourbon. She hated vodka and she loved tequila.

She loved to read, but you couldn’t catch her with a western.

She loved TV, but if you tried to talk to her about reality TV, she’d laugh in your face.

She loved children and she hated bigots.

More than once, he’d seen her get in the face of any man who was giving his girlfriend a hard time and more than once, he or Ian had thought they’d have to intervene … only to see Hannah set the son of a bitch on his ass.

Gideon had once commented that at some point, he expected he’d have to arrest her, but the whole damn town would pitch in for her bail.

He knew that every Sunday she visited her mother’s grave.

He knew that at least two weekends a month, she went down to the houseboat. He knew that because he’d find himself looking for her car as he sped past the dock as he drove into town and more than once, he’d find himself letting up on the gas so he’d have a chance to maybe see her up on the deck, or maybe even jogging along the path before she disappeared into the woods.

That path connected the docks to the town, a good five mile stretch. It was that path where Hannah had been running when she came across Shayla’s murdered body.

Did he know her?

Yeah.

He knew her.

He knew her better than he knew just about anybody and looking back, he realized he was the biggest idiot in town. Half the town had probably seen the truth long before he had.

But that was fine.

Brannon could live with being an idiot.

As long as he had her.

He slowed as he drew near to the turnoff for the dock where several people kept their houseboats, Hannah included.

His headlights fell across the bumpers of two cars. One was Hannah’s. He hit his turn signal and pulled into the parking lot just as another car drove past him. Absently, he glanced over and saw the long, sleek lines, his brain mentally cataloging the car, then filing it away.

He had other things on his mind.

He had Hannah on his mind.

In his head.

In his heart.

Down in his gut and in his soul where he didn’t think he’d ever be free of her.

*   *   *

Bent over the table, Neve focused on the genealogy records she’d printed out from Ancestry.com. She wasn’t being very green and she felt kind of guilty about it—but hey, it was all recycled paper, so that was good, right?

But she thought better when everything was printed out.

“What’s all this?”

Ian sat down next to her and she looked up at him with a smile. The smile turned greedy when she saw the pints he put down in front of them.

“Ohhhhh…”

“It’s new,” he said. “Some cider from a local brewer we’re thinkin’ of usin’.” Ian brought it to his lips and grimaced, then shrugged. “Not bad if ya want your drink to taste like you’re eatin’ an apple.”

“I do.” Neve lifted her pilsner to her lips and took one small sip, then a bigger one as Ian plucked a page up and studied it.

“Neve, love … if this is your birth certificate, I’m afraid we’ll have to rethink this relationship.” Ian gave her a sober look.

“Ha, ha.” She smacked him and snatched the copied document back. “Yes, honey. I was born in 1912.”

“Weeeelllll…” He leaned back and tugged at his beard. After a thorough study, one that ended in a lascivious wink, he leaned in and whispered, “You’re holding up well for somebody who’s seen a century come to pass. Maybe I’ll keep you.”

She shivered at the feel of his beard tickling her skin and then she wiggled away.

The noise from the bar was at a muted roar, but it was still busy.

She glanced up. Sure enough, a few people were looking their way and grinning. She’d already been asked when the wedding would be. Ian hadn’t so much as said a thing about it. But she was kind of thinking …

“How far have you gone?”

“Huh?” Startled, she bobbled her cider and some of it splashed onto the table. Swearing, she put the drink down and in the process, sent some of her papers flying.

Documents scattered and she groaned.

Ian chuckled and leaned over, kissed her temple.

Then, the two of them slid off the bench and started picking up the pages. “You’ve been through all of these already?” he asked, glancing at a few of them as he stacked them.

“No.” She grimaced and eyed the motley assortment of information she now had. “I’ve just been filing things in my shoebox and…”

Ian cocked a brow. “Your shoebox.”

“It’s like a … file. Just for random things.” She waved a hand at him. “Don’t ask, okay? Some of the stuff is connected to my family, some might be, some isn’t. But I get too distracted when I’m just staring at things on the screen.”

She glanced at a sheet and then froze.

“What are
you
doing in here?” she muttered.

She crushed it in her hand and looked over to see Ian studying her with an arched brow.

“What was that all about?” he asked, voice mild.

“Nothing.” She made herself smile as she shoved the crumpled up piece of paper containing information on George Whitehall into her bag. He wasn’t worth getting mad over—history had turned him into nothing.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

A cold wind came in off the Mississippi.

Fall was winding down and the bite in the air no longer promised a chill—it delivered one, cutting through to the bone and bringing to mind images of a roaring fire.

Hannah wasn’t thinking of a fire, though, even as she shivered on the deck of the houseboat, wrapped in a thick blanket. The wind was damn cold, yes, but she didn’t retreat inside. She sat and she stared into the woods while a voice echoed inside her head.

You need to remember.

Had she been in the woods?

I’ve loved you since high school
.

She groaned as her own voice seemed to echo with threads of Gideon’s as he pushed her about the hours lost from those days, particularly that night, all of it tangling into a twisted skein. One single tug and it would all unravel, she thought. But the threads were all connected to those missing days. Missing nights.

I found this.…

Her breath abruptly caught and she closed her eyes, seeing herself, staring in the doorway.

No.

It wasn’t her
self
she saw.

It was Brannon.

He was in front of her.

Bare chested.

Sweating.

She’d … she’d been sweating, too.

“I’d been out running,” she whispered.

Do you remember
 …

Closing her eyes, she focused on that image—no, that specific set of images. Her, standing in front of Brannon. Holding his wallet.

*   *   *

“Is there a reason you’re always such an ass to me, Brannon McKay? Did I piss in your Cheerios or something?”

“Maybe I don’t like being your morning entertainment.”

“My…” Arrogant
ass!
Staring at him, she smiled and let her eyes roam over his hot, entirely too sexy body.

“Honey,” she drawled. “I wouldn’t call that entertainment. Scenery, maybe, but it takes more than a good-looking guy in the buff to … entertain me. Now, if you want to entertain me, I can give you a suggestion.”

Eyes locked on hers, he dipped his head.

“Well?” She swayed so close, she could have kissed him.

He said nothing.

Sighing, she murmured, “Too bad. Here.”

He didn’t even look down.

Nipples tight, aching, she went to slam the wallet down.

“Oh for crying out loud. You have a ni—”

He kissed her.

*   *   *

A car engine rumbled, close by, and the memory fell apart like it was made of gossamer.

Hannah jumped, startled by the sound.

Heart racing, she turned her head and stared at the car that pulled into the parking lot.

It slowed to a stop right in front of her houseboat and she stood up, watching as Brannon McKay climbed out of the car and looked up at her, his eyes unerringly seeking her out in the dark.

For the millionth time in her life, her heart gave a little leap at the sight of him.

For the first time in weeks, some other part of her whispered …
this might not be a good idea.

But as he started toward the narrow walk that led to the houseboat, Hannah knew one thing for certain.

She wouldn’t turn him away.

It was Brannon, after all, and she’d loved him half her life.

*   *   *

It was more than a little disappointing to recognize Brannon’s car on the stretch of highway near the docks.

That overly phallic, ridiculously tawdry Bugatti was good for one thing, though. Nobody else in the damn county had one and once you saw it, you couldn’t mistake it for anything else.

He’d seen it coming and he’d known he wouldn’t be visiting Hannah tonight.

But he had other things he could do.

He’d made her uneasy and for the first time, he was seeing shadows in her eyes.

Maybe it was time to up the stakes a little more. After he made certain they weren’t planning on leaving, of course. He didn’t want to be interrupted.

*   *   *

Hannah had a pale, bruised look to her.

Brannon wanted to find whatever had hurt her and tear it apart.

She stood in the doorway, staring at him and he reached up, cupped her face in his hands.

Slowly, he brushed his thumb across her lower lip.

A slow shudder wracked her body.

“What’s happened?” he asked. “What’s hurt you?”

Clouds entered her eyes. “Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m just…”

She backed up and turned. “Come on in, Brannon.”

Outside, the wind started to howl and she moved over to the window, staring outside. “Rain’s coming.”

After closing and locking the door behind him, he crossed the floor to her.

He had the oddest feeling he was walking on eggshells.

“Unless you’re upset over the weather report, then I don’t care.” He curved his hands over her shoulders and pulled her back against him. “Now if you are upset by the weather … well, I can’t do anything about it. I can’t beat up the meteorologists and Mother Nature never returns my calls.”

“She’s a bitch, isn’t she?” Hannah laughed weakly. Then she dropped her head back against his chest. “Don’t … it’s nothing, Brannon.”