She did.
And it nearly destroyed her.
Because his face was raw with emotion, his body trembling with the effort to hold back.
This wasn't just sex.
This was Jake making love to her.
And that was the most dangerous lie of all.
She felt herself breaking apart beneath him, pleasure cresting in waves so intense she could barely breathe.
"Jake—"
"I've got you," he whispered, his voice wrecked. "I'vealwaysgot you."
And when she shattered, crying out his name, he followed right after, burying himself inside her with a ragged groan, his body shaking, his heart pounding wildly against hers.
For a long time, they just lay there, tangled together in the aftermath.
Hannah stared at the ceiling, the pleasure still thrumming through her veins, the weight of what they'd done pressing into her bones.
Jake pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
Hannah swallowed, forcing herself to smile, even as her heart cracked open.
"I get it now," she murmured.
Jake tensed. "Get what?"
"How you could sleep with me while you were investigating my father." She forced out a brittle laugh, even as the words scraped against her throat. "It's just sex, right?"
His breath caught.
For a long moment, he didn't say anything.
Then, brokenly, he whispered, "Hannah, please?—"
She pressed her lips to his, cutting him off.
She didn't want to hear his lies right now.
They hurt too much.
CHAPTER 23
Hannah
The pre-dawn smelledlike damp pavement and distant rain, the storm that had rattled through town earlier leaving behind a quiet, eerie stillness. Hannah stood in the bakery doorway, arms wrapped around herself, staring at the bundle of dead flowers resting on her welcome mat.
Her stomach curled into a tight, sick knot.
The bouquet was old—roses shriveled, petals blackened and brittle, the stems bound together with twine. Not fresh, not some well-intentioned, misplaced offering. This was a message. A warning.
A funeral gift.
She swallowed, pulse thudding in her throat as she crouched down, hesitating before touching it. A faint metallic scent clung to the petals—coppery, wrong. Dread curled up her spine as she lifted the bouquet and found the slip of paper tucked underneath.
