Page 72 of Under the Radar

I shook my head. “You sticking up for me will rile him up more. Let it alone. I’ll watch myself, and he’ll get tired of pissing me off.”

“I am hardly worth all this trouble.”

“I disagree.”

She rolled her eyes. “Chase.”

I shifted closer. “Hannah. He’s pissed. He doesn’t like me.”

“He’s abusing his position.”

“I know. There were guys like him while I was in jail. They’d push me around, showing me they had the power. Try to get under my skin. I ignored them, and they got bored. Let him get it out of his system.”

“If it doesn’t stop, I’m going to my boss.”

I slid my hand around her neck. “Fine. Enough about him. We had a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Dancing, drinks, food. Then home for sex. We did the first three.” I pulled her close, ghosting my mouth over hers. “I was really looking forward to the last one.”

“Oh. Oh.”

“Oh,” I repeated back. “I want to hear you cry that out. Loudly.”

She wrapped her arms around me, and I pulled her onto my lap so she was straddling me. I covered her mouth with mine and kissed her until she was breathless. Moving her hips restlessly. Feeling the way I wanted her.

“Here or the bedroom, Cinnamon?” I murmured into her ear, tugging the lobe with my teeth.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice raspy. “Both.”

I grinned against her skin. I could get on board with that.

* * *

The sun slanted through the blinds as I walked into the bedroom, carrying mugs of coffee. Hannah sat up, leaning against the headboard, the sheet barely covering the swells of her breasts. Her hair was chaotic, she had little smudges of mascara under her eyes that she’d missed when washing her face last night, and her neck and shoulders had scruff marks scattered on them. A tiny mark glowed red on her neck. Her mouth was still swollen, and she looked tired. She was fucking gorgeous.

“Jesus, you are sexy,” I said with a wide grin. “I love how you look in my—our—bed.”

She laughed, taking the mug I offered her. “I’m a mess.”

I leaned over, kissing her. “You’re my mess.”

She smiled. “What do I smell?”

“I went to go get cinnamon buns at the bakery, and I picked up the truck.”

“Was it okay?”

“It was fine.” I didn’t mention the scratch I had seen down the side, no doubt courtesy of a key. I’d buff it out at the shop. I was pretty sure who put it there, but if I told her I knew, she would freak out.

“I’m sorry that Dan—”

I put my finger on her lips. “Never mention his name while you’re in our bed. His behavior is on him, not you.”

She pushed her lips against my skin, kissing the finger. “I still hate it, and I’m sorry.”

“Forget it. Let’s have a cinnamon bun and lie in wait for your mother and Dom. I bet he brings her home. I want to see what he has to say for himself.”