The Trouble with Temptation (15 page)

“Yeah.” With awkward, stiff fingers, she finished buttoning her shirt and then looked back at him. “You … um. You were touching me. You said something about touching me.”

A hot, hungry look lit his eyes.

It was gone just as quickly as it had appeared, but his voice was rougher than normal as he said, “If I recall correctly, I said a great many things about touching you, Hannah.”

She was saved from having to respond to that by the doctor. Dr. Shaw came in, but her normally cheerful smile faltered as she looked between them. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Hannah managed a taut smile. She waved a hand in front of her face. “I’m just…”

Brannon cut her off. “Tired. I guess you hear that a lot.”

Hannah narrowed her eyes at him, but Dr. Shaw was already talking. “Oh, yes. It will get better, Hannah.” Then she laughed. “In maybe twenty years. Assuming you don’t have any other kids.”

*   *   *

He was ready for it.

The spark of temper in her eyes had flared in the office, but Hannah seemed to prefer having her battles in private.

As they left, she jerked her head down the road. “You got a few minutes?”

“Sure.”

She didn’t say anything else, she turned on one foot and started down the road toward her apartment.

He was left to catch up with her and it was a good thing he wasn’t any kind of slouch, because the way she was moving, anybody who didn’t have long legs and a fast gait would have a hard time keeping up.

She didn’t say a single word on the five-minute walk to her place.

Brannon spent those minutes deliberating on the best approach to take.

In the end, though, he didn’t have to take one.

Hannah barely waited until he’d shut the door behind them before she took the bull by horns. She whirled on him and drove a finger into his shirt. “You don’t get to speak for me, Brannon McKay. If somebody asks me how I’m doing, I can answer just fine on my own.” She enunciated her words by driving the tip of her finger into his chest.

He felt like she was trying to skewer him on her short, neatly rounded nail. But he still let her poke him a few more times before he caught her wrist. “Enough,” he said. “I know you can answer just fine on your own. I just didn’t want you doing it.”

She twisted her hand away. “Obviously.” She curled her nose at him in prissy little sneer. It made him want to bite her.

Bite later. Talk now
.

“Hannah, think about it,” he said softly. He went to reach for her, but she pulled away and moved into the small kitchen of her apartment. She’d been left alone for the past couple of months. She’d had a few prank calls—and he knew the source of almost every single one. The town itself couldn’t afford to trace her calls, but he could. Gideon had tap-danced his way around it, but the end result was the same. Hannah had consented to letting her phone calls be traced and it had resulted in a whole lot of jack shit.

As a matter of fact, a whole lot of jack shit pretty much summed up
exactly
what had happened since her release. Gideon and Brannon believed it was because she didn’t remember anything.

If there was reason to believe that had changed …

“Whatever happened to Shayla, whatever you might have seen, you’ve been safe because you don’t remember,” he said. “If somebody thinks you’re starting to remember, then what happens?”

“But…” Hannah stopped abruptly, blowing out a sharp breath of air through her nostrils. “Don’t go making sense, Brannon. It will just piss me off.”

“Okay.” He waited until she lifted her gaze heavenward, watched as she took a couple of deep breaths. Seeing that the tension was draining out of her, he took a chance. “How about you tell
me
what you remembered, though? Maybe I can help … stir some memories.”

She turned on her heel and strode into the kitchen. Over her shoulder, she said, “No, thanks.”

But he caught sight of the flush on her cheeks.

He thought of the way she’d whispered,
You’re driving me crazy.…

The kitchen of her apartment was neat and efficient—not too dissimilar from the kitchen where he’d hassled Ella Sue off and on for almost half of his life. But it was small, so small that with both him and Hannah in it, it was a tight squeeze. Brannon decided the word
intimate
suited.

As she opened a cabinet, he came up behind her and put his hands on the counter, effectively caging her in.

She tensed.

“What are you doing?”

He turned his face into her hair.

The scent of it was something that haunted him. That delicate fragrance had lingered on his pillow for days and out of desperation, he’d washed everything on his bed, determined to forget about the woman who’d been driving him crazy. Only days later, she was in a wreck and he would have given anything
—anything
—to have her back in his bed, that long, golden brown hair spilled out over his pillow again.

“I’m just standing here,” he said easily. “I love the way you smell, Hannah. I think it’s become my drug.”

A soft, shaky little breath escaped her.

Since he was already there, he decided to go for broke and he slid a hand around her, curving his palm around the hard mound where his baby rested.

“If it’s a girl, what do you want to name her?” he asked softly.

Her breath hitched. He watched as her fingers tightened convulsively on the edge of the cabinet and then slowly, she closed it. “My mother’s name was Lily. I know it’s old-fashioned, but…”

He rubbed his cheek against her hair. “My mom’s name was Sandra. Some people think that’s old-fashioned now.” Then he laughed. “Her middle name was Rose. That’s really old, I guess. But it suited her. Dad called her his Rose. She smelled like roses, too. Was always out working in the gardens.”

“Rose.”

He thought he heard a smile in her voice. “Lily Rose.”

She couldn’t have had a deeper effect on him if she’d just reached right inside his chest and wrenched his heart out, squeezed it. His arm tightened on her waist and he buried his face in her hair, all but knocked to his knees by the emotion that swamped him. “I like it.”

“I think I do, too.” She turned around in his arms slowly and looked up at him. “I think maybe I could tell you what I remembered. In exchange for something.”

“Really.” The blood in his veins started to pump hotter and he had a feeling it was all going to drain south in about two seconds. Her gaze had dropped to his mouth. “Just what kind of favor are you thinking about, Hannah? Need some work done around here? Want a ride into Baton Rouge or something?”

“No.” A smile teased her lips. “I’m perfectly capable of moving things around, taking care of my own work … driving myself into Baton Rouge.”

She smoothed a hand up his chest and he felt his heart kick against her palm when she pressed it flat against him. Clearing his throat, he moved in a little closer. “Okay, then. Just what is this favor?”

Hannah’s mouth pressed to his. “A kiss.”

“A kiss?” Fisting his hand in the hair at her nape, he held her steady, staring into her dark eyes, so close to his. “Just whose favor is this? Yours or mine?”

“Maybe it’s a mutual sort of thing. We were interrupted earlier after all.”

“Hmmm.” He rubbed his mouth against hers.

She opened for him on a sigh and he took the invitation. He’d been holding back for so long, even when he could feel her growing frustration, but maybe he’d been holding back
too
much. She wanted him. He wanted her.

Hannah’s hands slid up his chest, her arms curling around his neck.

Her breasts went flat against his chest.

She was fuller there already and he slid one hand up, rested it just below the lush curve.

She immediately covered his hand with hers. He stopped, going to pull away. “I’m sorry.…”

But all she did was guide his hand higher, staring into his eyes. “You’ve been treating me like glass for the past two months,” Hannah said softly. “I won’t break, Brannon.”

“No.” He circled his thumb around her nipple. Even through the material of her shirt and bra, he could feel how hard it was and he wanted to peel away the clothing, catch that pebbled flesh between his teeth and tug and tug, then suck on her until she made that strangled little noise deep in her throat.

She arched closer and said again, “I won’t break.”

She wouldn’t. But he was starting to think he might. There was still so much unsaid, so much undone between them and the more time that passed without her remembering, the harder it was for him to figure out how to fix any of it.

Swearing, he dragged her head toward his and kissed her, losing himself in the taste of her mouth and the feel of her body against his, so soft and strong.

Her hand moved between them, curved around his cock, stroking him through the faded denim of his jeans.

“Naked,” she muttered, pulling away just enough to nip at his lower lip. “I want you naked.”

He was just fine with that idea.

But when he pulled back to fumble her out of her shirt, her phone rang.

Hannah groaned.

“Ignore it.”

“I can’t.” She turned her head away when he tried to kiss her again. “I’m on call today. That’s the ringtone for work.”

As she wiggled out from in between him and the counter, Brannon’s mind tried to catch up to what was happening. “But…”

Hannah didn’t answer. She was already on the phone and judging by the look on her face, they wouldn’t be able to pick this back up.

Not even twenty seconds later, he had his answer.

She gave him a quick, hard kiss. “Sorry. I’m needed.”

“But…”

She winked at him. “Now that you’re done treating me like I’m fragile, we’ll have to finish this. Soon.” She spun around and moved out of the kitchen, all legs and speed and grace. She paused just before she would have moved out of his sight and looked back at him. “By the way … what I remembered?”

She glanced at his hands, her tongue coming out to touch her lips. “It was you saying how you fantasized about having your hands on me.” She lifted one of her own, grazed it across the curve of one breast. “Here. Now that’s about all I’m going to be able to think about until we finish this.”

CHAPTER NINE

The good doctor was a cheap drunk and a good fuck.

That wasn’t a bad combination for a late-night companion and seeing as how she was very careful about hiding her affairs from her husband and discreet about her liaisons, it made her the perfect woman, as far as he was concerned.

She was also a sexual tigress—one of the reasons she and her husband were having problems.

Her husband adored her and wanted nothing more than to keep her happy, but between her crazy work schedule and his, sometimes … well, she was often craving sex when he wasn’t there to provide it.

She’d apologized and told him she’d never do it again.

The stupid sap believed her.

Since then, she’d kept her affairs remarkably quiet, which was impressive in a town the size of Treasure. However, to her credit, she’d wised up and started having most of her interludes with colleagues outside of McKay’s Treasure.

He was the first lover she’d had in her home town in years. While neither of them were anxious to be discovered, he was relatively confident they could be circumspect.

There were no romantic feelings on either side.

They both had a need the other could fill.

She needed a hard dick, as she’d told him more than once—and she needed it more often than her husband’s—or her work schedule—could allow.

The man lying next to Ellison was more than happy to provide such a service. He was careful when taking a woman to his bed. It had been years since his last lover of any note. If and when he had any assignations, they were brief and to the point—and never here. He’d learned his lesson on that.

He was breaking a personal rule with Ellison, but it was for reasons aside from sex. Sex was just a bonus. She was providing him with something he needed, something only she could provide.

Now, cradling a snifter in one hand, she lifted it up and breathed in. “Baby,” she said, her voice low and throaty. “This is … nirvana. Where did you get this?”

“On a business trip in New Orleans,” he said casually. He stared at her, pretending to study her mouth, but he was more interested in the cognac. Or rather, what was
in
the cognac.

Ellison had a taste for expensive alcohol.

Once she was drunk, she tended to talk.

Thanks to the fine powder he’d added to her drink, she’d talk … and she wouldn’t remember a thing. He’d make sure to give her plenty of water before he left and he’d give her a good hard fuck as well. If she was good and sore in the morning, she could pass off any lingering headache to a night of sheer debauchery. He’d dump half of the cognac and tell her that she really did need to lighten up on the booze. He’d had to tell her that more than once anyway, as had a number of other people.

One would think that a doctor would recognize that she was self-medicating for her depression, along with other issues. But people were strangely blind when it came to their own problems.

She hummed as she took a sip, one hand sliding down his stomach to wrap around his cock. “This is the
shit
,” she said, a giggle escaping her a moment later.

He smiled, not bothering to respond. Instead, he folded a hand around hers and tightened her grasp.

She laughed again and he knew by the overly bright sound of it that the alcohol—and the drugs—were already hitting her system. She must not have eaten much today. She didn’t take particularly good care of herself. It was a pity. He hated it when she didn’t at least take time for a meal. She worked so hard.

She was a means to an end, but she was also entertaining. No reason for her to abuse herself the way she did.

She stroked her thumb across the crown of his dick and he hissed out a breath. “You like that,” she said, her voice a low, husky purr.

“I like just about everything you do, darling,” he said.