You’re doing the right thing.
“I’m going to change out of this dress, too,” she muttered, half to herself.
Oh, but he heard it. And definitely pictured her stepping out of the turquoise material in nothing but a G-string and heels. Definitely imagined his mouth on her skin and, Christ, that utterly perfect coming-home feeling only Hannah gave him.
Piper rang the bell again, and the bar lights flashed.
“I guess we better go,” Hannah said, breezing past him.
Worried he might very well be walking to his doom, Fox was helpless to do anything but follow.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Hannah’s heart was breaking.
He’d done it. He’d really done it.
She’d been concerned, of course. That Fox would return from his trip, having been duped by his best friend, and strain under the pressure of simultaneous shifts in his career and personal life. But she’d hung on to her faith, positive he wouldn’t be able to look her in the eye and put a stop-work order on what they were building together. He’d done it, though. He’d really, actually done it, and as she clipped up the stairs to his apartment, her heart bumped along behind her, bruised and bloody.
God. The disobedient organ had almost burst free from her chest when he walked into Cross and Daughters, she’d been so happy to see him.
Stupid. So naive and stupid.
Get your bag and leave.
Just go.
Kissing him would only make the pain ten times worse, anyway. She’d kept the good-bye kiss in her back pocket as a last resort, knowing it would break down any defenses he’d built up over the last five days, but now . . . now she didn’t want to fall back on last resorts. She wanted to find a dark place to crawl into and cry.
Part of her knew that wasn’t fair. If Fox didn’t want to be in a relationship, she should respect that, be a big girl, and wish him well. After all, she’d known about his cemented bachelor status since the beginning. This wasn’t breaking news. But tell that to her heart.
Hannah unlocked the door and went inside, heels clicking as she traversed the apartment, Fox entering slowly behind her. The scent of his shower still hung in the air, and she breathed it in, making her way to the bedroom, where she’d left her suitcase packed and ready to go, some sixth sense telling her being prepared was wise. She’d hoped to unpack it again tomorrow, however. To stay in Westport. That he wouldn’t let her leave without figuring out where they stood.
As was her routine, she tapped on the pink Himalayan salt lamp, forgoing the overhead light, casting the dark room in a blushing glow. Heaving the case up onto the bed and unzipping it, she took out a pair of cotton panties, jeans, and a Johnny Cash T-shirt. Laid the outfit on the bed and went to close the guest-room door so she could change. But she drew up short when she found Fox standing in the doorway, outlined in pink, watching her with a forearm propped high on the jamb, expression torn and tortured.
“I need to change.”
He didn’t move.
Frustrated with him, with everything, she marched over and shoved at the center of his chest to try to get him out of the room, her annoyance only increasing when his sturdy fisherman frame didn’t budge an inch. “Let me change so I can go.”
“I don’t want you to leave like this.”
“We don’t always get what we want.”
Still, he stayed put, grinding glass with that square jaw.
And she’d had enough.
Hannah couldn’t remember a single time in her life she’d wanted to lash out so badly. By nature, she was not a lasher. She was a helper. A mediator. A solver. He didn’t want her to stay but wouldn’t let her change so she could leave, either? Who the hell did he think he was? Her hands itched to push him again. Harder. She had a more effective weapon, though, and she’d learned from the best how to use it. She’d be hurting herself in the process, sure, but at least she’d have her pride.
Show him what he’ll be missing.
On her way back to the bed, she stripped the turquoise dress over her head, getting an immense amount of satisfaction from his shaky hiss of breath. Slowly, she folded the borrowed garment, bending forward slightly to tuck it into her suitcase, and Fox’s guttural curse filled the room.
“Christ, Hannah. You look hot as fuck.”
Every last one of her nerve endings popped like champagne corks as his warmth materialized behind her. When she straightened and her bare back landed flush against his heaving chest, she could only compare it to that breathless moment on a Ferris wheel when you hit the top the first time and the world spreads out in front of you, huge and wondrous. Hot shivers traveled up her arms, starting at her fingertips, her nipples tingling and tightening—and he hadn’t even touched her yet.
A notch in Hannah’s throat made her want to turn around, press her face into his chest, and beg him not to walk away from them. She almost did it. Until he placed his open mouth beneath her ear and murmured, “Time for that good-bye kiss yet?”
And her determination to show him what he was giving up renewed itself.
Not only that, but she wanted to take a sledgehammer to his walls and walk away while the rubble smoked. Those desires belonged to a stranger. Then again, so did the love and heartbreak she’d experienced with this man. None of it was familiar and all of it hurt, so she’d indulge her impulses and deal with the fallout later. It was going to be painful no matter what, right?
Hannah turned, the smooth movement of her hands climbing his chest derailed by the tortured look on his face. She recovered quickly, however, taking tight hold of his collar and turning them, urging Fox into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. His eager blue eyes landed everywhere, her pouting breasts, her mouth, the place between her legs, his hands raking up and down the thighs of his jeans, throat muscles working roughly.
“Just one kiss,” Hannah whispered against his mouth. “Our last.”
He made a jagged sound that shifted a spike inside her. Made her want to hold him, but the hurt urged her on. Overrode the impulse.
Slowly, she straddled his lap and sat down, scooting until she met the proof of what he really wanted, the stiffness, the generous length of it. And she pressed down with her hips, letting her tongue tease into his mouth at the same time, soft lips writhing gently on top of hard ones, his stubble grazing her chin. Just as the pace started to pick up, his hands closing around her butt cheeks to draw her closer, closer, Hannah pulled her mouth away, both of them breathing erratically.
Fox’s fist wound in her hair, his hips shifting beneath her. “You didn’t strip for me just to be kissed, Hannah.”
He yanked her lower body tighter against his lap, dragging the valley of her sex over the ridge of his erection, rocking her once, twice, making her whimper loudly. “What else were y-you thinking?”
Fox huffed a pained laugh. “Whatever act you’re putting on, please knock it off,” he growled, grinding their foreheads together. “Just be my Hannah.”
The spike in her chest dug deeper. “I’m not your Hannah.”
A possessive light came on in his eyes, though conflicted. As if he knew he’d forfeited the right to call her that but wasn’t ready to relinquish the claim on his novelty just yet. Because that’s what she’d been to him, right? A novelty. A temporary diversion. As badly as she’d wanted to be different, she’d gotten the same outcome as everyone else.