High cheekbones, long lashes, and the most piquant little chin. So ethereal and elf-like. A otherworldly creature sprung to life and snoring softly.
The urge to pull her into his arms was strong. But he didn’t dare wake her. She’d been put through the damn wringer and there was more fuckery to deal with yet.
He blamed the weight of her situation and their mad dash to Texas on the distance he’d sensed in her after they’d had sex. It hadn’t been overt. She hadn’t told him,“Thanks for the O’s, now fuck on off.”But when he’d asked to join her in the shower, instead of answering with an enthusiasticyes,she’d slanted him a side-eye and said,“You know if we shower together, we’re going to end up having more sex and be late for our flight.”And when he’d wrapped his arms around her waist as she’d stood at his bathroom vanity twisting her hair atop her head, instead of smiling at his reflection, she’d swatted at his arm and scolded him for being abig, bearded distraction.
Give the woman a break,he told himself now.She’s not used to life on the edge. She needs space. Room to breathe and process everything that’s happening to her.
Instead of leaning over and pressing a kiss to her pulse-point as every cell in his body urged him to do, or rubbing a thumb over her tender bottom lip to see if it was really as soft as he remembered, or bringing her fingers to his mouth so he could drop a kiss onto the tip of each one, he satisfied himself with simply watching her.
Watching as her chest rose and fell. As her mouth opened slightly on a particularly noising inhale. As her thick lashes fluttered before her eyes tracked back and forth behind her delicately veined eyelids.
His heart swelled at the thought of her lost in a soft, sensuous dream, an escape from her reality. It swelled further when she shifted and her hand landed on his thigh, palm up.
Careful not to wake her, he threaded his fingers through hers. Reveling in the contrast of their skin tones—his so sun kissed and golden, hers so pale and perfect. And he was delighted by the difference in their sizes. Her hand looked tiny inside his own.
But Hannah was no girl. As much he’d tried to convince himself she was so he wouldn’t act on the lust that’d been riding him hard since the moment she walked back into his life, there was no denying Hannah Blue wasallwoman. All sweet curves and deliciously hot passion, with a mouth that was mind-bendingly talented and absolutelymadefor sin.
He replayed the moment she’d sucked his heated, straining head between her lips and felt himself grow instantly hard. Since the last thing he wanted was to spend the rest of the flight with a pup tent in his pants, he shook away the erotic imagery and went back to cataloging her features.
The little mole next to her collarbone. The way her eyebrows winged up at the ends. How small and delicate her ears were.
I’m happy, he thought. Not content. Not comfortable. Buthappy.
It was a novel sensation. And considering the trouble she was still in, considering how many unknowns still lay ahead of them, the emotion felt misplaced. Or, at the very least, mistimed.
Then, something Boss had once said came screaming back to him.“If you’re with the right person, even the bad times feel good.”
The look of love on Boss’s face as he’d stared at his wife had been so poignant and intense, Sam had been nearly staggered by a thunderbolt of envy.
Envy and the undeniable truth of why his own marriage had failed.
He’dneverlooked at Chloe the way Boss looked at Becky. And he’dneverfelt like Chloe made the bad times good.
But Hannah did.
She always had.
Even back when she’d been a metal-mouthed twerp and he’d been dating her sister, anytime he’d found himself around her, he’d been smiling.
He should’ve guessed about the Jolly Ranchers. He should’veknownit was her and not Candy who’d sneakily slipped his favorite treat into his pocket, because Hannah was the thoughtful one. The kind one. The generous and impish and sassy andwonderfulone.
Themostwonderful woman he’d ever known, in fact, and—
Holy shit! Am I in love with Hannah?
He tried to dismiss the idea.
Sure, he liked her. Sure, he was absolutelypantingwith lust for her. Sure, she challenged him and made him laugh andgothim in a way no one else did, but that wasn’t love, was it? It was friendship and affection and—
Fuck. I’m in love with Hannah.
He suddenly knew it as surely as he knew the shape and feel of his trusty Glock. As surely as he knew the White Sox were in desperate need of a good DH if they had any hope of making it to the playoffs. As surely as he knew that even though the night sky was as dark as pitch, the sun in all its golden glorywasgoing to rise in the east in less than an hour.
“Mmm.” Hannah turned toward him in her sleep. Her head finding its way to his shoulder. Her hand falling over his chest. Over the heart that now beat solely for her.
He loved smelling his shampoo in her hair. Loved the little purring snore that sounded over the steadyhumof the plane’s engines. Lovedher.
Was completely, totally,madlyin love with her. Little Hurricane Hannah. His fellow Coen brothers fan. His sidekick. The bohemian yin to his more conventional yang.
