That little red dress, though.
He loved it—and he hated it with every fiber of his being.
Because she didn’t wear it for him. She wasn’t even kissing him for him.
Before Fox left for the trip, Hannah had mused about a way to make the director jealous. Letting the man think she and Fox were more than friends. Fox had spotted the son of a bitch the second he walked into the room, not twenty yards from where Hannah was dancing so adorably. He was watching them kiss right now. She’d obviously ignored Fox’s warning about comingling their reputations, and now . . . Damn.
He couldn’t stop for the life of him. They were already kissing, and selling his authentic enjoyment wasn’t exactly difficult. Not at all.
Jesus Christ, she tasted incredible. Fruity and feminine and grounding.
Even though he’d stepped off the Della Ray earlier, he was only now back on solid ground.
Did he push her up against the entryway too forcefully? He’d never needed to get his tongue inside a woman’s mouth so badly. He’d never been gripped by urgency or jealousy or a thousand other unnamed emotions that had him pulling down her chin with his thumb to get deeper. God. God.
She’s not temporary in any way, okay? Hands off.
Brendan’s voice in his head forced Fox’s eyes open, only to find Hannah’s shut tightly. So tightly. He traced his thumb down to her throat and felt the moan building there, would have died to taste it. He could probably keep this up—bring her home from this party and take her to bed, orgasm her into a stupor—because seducing women was an effortless skill.
Yeah, a little more of this and she’d spend the night underneath him, but did she truly want that? No. No, she had her cap set at another man. They were giving the impression that sex was definitely happening, but actually sleeping with Fox when she wanted Sergei? That wasn’t Hannah’s style. She was too loyal. Too principled. And he wouldn’t take that away from her, no matter how insane she tasted. No matter how hard she was making his cock with those committed strokes of her tongue, her hands pulling at his shirt.
Bottom line was, Brendan was right.
Hannah was the furthest thing from temporary, and Fox only did short-term. Very short-term. That personal rule kept him from getting his hopes up, from thinking he could be one half of a relationship again. Women didn’t bring Fox home to meet their parents. He was more of the side-piece type. He’d been told his whole life that he’d turn out exactly like his father, and he’d confirmed a long time ago that he shared more than a pretty face with the man. He was perfect for making Hannah’s director envious.
Yeah. A ruse was all this could be. A friend helping a friend. Unfortunately, he knew enough about women to know Hannah wasn’t faking her enjoyment. Those breathy whimpers were for his ears alone. It was on Fox to make sure they didn’t take this too far. As in, all the way back to his bed.
Despite the effort it cost him, Fox broke the kiss, pressing their foreheads together as they both struggled to catch their breath. “All right, Freckles,” he said. “I think we convinced him.”
Her eyes met his in a daze. “What? Who?”
For the first time, Fox felt his heart speed up into a sprint while off the water. Had Hannah just kissed him . . . to kiss him? Because she wanted to? He thought of the way she’d stopped dancing when he walked in, the way she’d moved in his direction as if drawn by a magnet. Had he misread everything? Was this not about making the director jealous? “Hannah, I . . . thought you were trying to show Sergei what he’s missing?”
She blinked at him several times. “Oh. Oh. Yeah, I know,” she said in a rushed whisper, shaking her head a couple of times. “I knew what you meant. S-sorry.” Why wouldn’t she look at him? “Thank you for . . . being so convincing.”
Fox couldn’t account for the ripple of pain in his stomach when she glanced sideways at Sergei to see if he’d been watching.
Oh yeah, the guy was looking, all right.
This plan was already working.
He suddenly ached to bury his fist in the wall.
When Hannah shifted, Fox realized he still had her flattened against the entryway and backed off before she felt his erection.
“How, um”—she cupped the base of her throat, as if to hide the pink skin there—“how did you know I was here?”
“I followed the trail of drunk people.” He remembered the red cup in her hand when he’d arrived and concern drew his brows together. “You’re not one of them, are you? I didn’t realize—”
“Stop, I haven’t had enough to drink that you took advantage of me, Fox. Only enough to dance to electronica.” She puffed a laugh. “Anyway, I kissed you, remember?”
“I remember, Hannah,” he assured her in a low voice, unable to keep his gaze from dropping to her swollen lips. “Do you want to stay awhile?”
She shook her head. Stopped. A smile bloomed across her face, and all he could do was watch it happen, dazed. “I did it,” she murmured. “I asked to assist with the musical score and they said yes. And I didn’t fall and nearly crack my head open this time.”
Dumb heart. Dumb, pointless heart, please stop turning over.
The problem was, Hannah was extra cute after a few drinks and happy with her good news. All Fox could think about was kissing her again, and he couldn’t. He’d done his job; now he needed to move back into friend territory fast. She seemed to have no problem putting him back there, right? He treasured this friendship, so he needed to follow suit. Pronto.
“Congratulations,” he said, returning her smile. “That’s amazing. You’re going to be great at it.”
“Yeah . . .” A little line formed between her brows. “Yeah. I will. I’ll wake up tomorrow and the songs will be back.”
Songs were the way she communicated her moods and feelings. How she interpreted everything. He’d known it last summer, and that knowledge of her had only grown over seven months of text messages. Knowing exactly what she meant made him feel . . . special. “Where did the songs go?”
“I don’t know.” Her lips twitched. “Maybe some ice cream would help?”
“We’ll have to stop on the way home. Only the vanilla side is left.”
“The not-chocolate side, you mean?” She surveyed the room. “I guess I should say good-bye. Or . . .” An odd look crossed her face. Something like reluctance, but he couldn’t be sure. “Or I could introduce you to, um . . . There were some interested parties . . .”
It took him a minute to realize what she was getting at. “You mean the girls who called dibs on me when I walked into the room?” He kissed her forehead so she wouldn’t see how much that bothered him. It shouldn’t. He’d embraced the way people saw him. “Hard pass, Freckles. Let’s go get ice cream.”
* * *
The first three times Hannah teetered in her heels, Fox started to worry that she was, in fact, shit-faced. Had she really wanted that kiss? At the very least, if he’d known she’d had a lot to drink, he wouldn’t have let it go on so long.
The clear quality of her speech put most of his fears to rest—all except the one about Hannah breaking her neck in those heels. So on their way out of the convenience store, he stepped in front of her, gesturing impatiently so she wouldn’t suspect that he wanted to carry her. “This is not the kind of ride I usually offer women.” He bent his knees a little to accommodate their height difference. “But the ice cream is going to melt if we have to take a trip to the ER, so hop on.”