The Perfect Secret

Chapter Nine

Hannah hummed to herself as she arrived at work on Monday. Not only had she spent a wonderful weekend with Dan, and gone shopping with her grandmother, she’d thought of the perfect idea for her client. She waved to the receptionist as she entered and made a beeline for Aviva’s office.

“Lunch today?” she asked, sticking her head around the doorway.

Aviva looked up. “Wow, you look cheery.”

Hannah nodded. “I had a great weekend.”

As Hannah walked down the hall to her office, Aviva yelled after her. “Thanks for keeping me in suspense!”

She stopped at Jim’s office. “Good morning. Did you want to meet later?”

Five minutes before her scheduled meeting with Jim, she grabbed her files and walked to his office.

Jim waved her to a seat. “So, I looked over your rebranding ideas from last week and I think our best bet might be to partner with another brand. It will give them the benefit of another brand’s expertise and—”

“Jim, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I thought of a new idea yesterday.”

Jim leaned forward and steepled his fingers.

“When I was trying to find something to make the CEO stand out from everyone else, there was one thing that struck me…his philanthropy. Now, most CEOs make some sort of donation to charity, but if you look at his figures, his percentage is huge.” She handed Jim the financials and watched his eyebrows rise. “Someone like him will possess a social conscience and would want their business to reflect it as well. What if we suggested cause marketing to him—his company could partner with a charity, donate a percentage of their profits to the charity and sponsor a fundraiser? It makes them look good and it associates the corporation with whatever cause they’re passionate about. It makes them look less like a cold, uncaring corporation and more like a world citizen.”

“I love the idea and I think they will too. Can you draft a proposal?”

Hannah’s heartbeat sped up. “Sure, what do you want me to include?”

He walked over and leaned against the desk. “Hannah, I want you to handle all of it. I’ll provide you any support you need; I’ll be your sounding board, whatever. But I want this to be your baby. You created it; you should get to run it. Okay with you?”

She gripped the arms of her chair. “Absolutely.”

“Great. Let’s talk to the client this afternoon.” He looked at his watch. “Say, four o’clock?”

Hannah checked her schedule. “I should be able to put something together by then.”

She left his office, positive she was floating, and started toward Aviva’s to share her good news. But halfway there she stopped. She wanted to tell Aviva, and she would at lunch. But at this moment, the first person she wanted to tell was Dan. Sometime within the past three weeks, he’d become important. Releasing a breath, she raced to her office, shut the door, and dialed Dan. He answered on the third ring.

“Guess what,” she said, heart pounding, breath coming in gasps.

“You’re having an asthma attack?”

“Funny guy. My boss made me lead on a project I created.” She told him the entire story, filling him in on the problems and her solution involving pairing with a charity to take advantage of the company’s already huge charitable donations.

“That’s terrific, Hannah.”

“Listen, I’ve got to go and put everything together for my meeting. I wanted to tell someone and you were the first person I wanted to speak to.”

“Call me tonight and let me know how it went.”

Hannah dragged herself home that night past eight o’clock. After several hours of drafting a proposal, she showed it to Jim, who loved it, and hinted she was working her way toward promotion. The client loved it as well, and was running it up their food chain.

She’d spent the rest of the time drafting next steps and researching answers to their questions. There would be a full in-person meeting next week where she’d present the complete plan. Between the adrenaline high from her success and the hard work it entailed, she was beyond exhausted. Now, all she wanted was food, a long soak in the tub, and bed.

She unlocked the door, stepped over the threshold, and froze.

Jeff.

His voice, his cadence, rang through the apartment. Her stomach dropped. Acid burned the back of her throat. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t deal with him—the empty promises, the suspicions about his motives, the furtive hiding of her purse so he wouldn’t take her money. Her grandmother? She couldn’t deal with her either—her pathetic hope that all would be okay, her disappointment when Hannah refused to participate.

Her heart pounded and her hands grew clammy as she tiptoed backward, exited the apartment, and returned to the lobby. Breathless, she staggered to a chair in the corner behind a palm frond. All she wanted was to curl into a ball in the security of her home, but this place wasn’t it. Dan was. The urge to call him, to hear his voice, overwhelmed her. She dialed his number with shaking fingers and waited for him to answer.

“Hey, Hannah.” The sound of his deep caring voice, her end-of-day fatigue, her excitement from work, and her disappointment about Jeff came to a head and her eyes misted.

Her throat clogged and she croaked, “Dan?”

“Hannah, what’s wrong?”

She started to cry.

“Sweetheart, talk to me. Please.”

She took a deep shaky breath. “Jeff is here. I’m exhausted and I wanted to eat and take a bath and talk to you. I don’t want to deal with him.” She started to cry once more.

“Come over, right now. Hop a cab and take it to my apartment.”

“I don’t want to bother you and Tess.”

“You won’t. I want you to come.”

She paused. Wouldn’t it be better to stay here and wait for Jeff to leave? “Okay.”

“I’ll wait right here for you, sweetheart.”

This was stupid. It was beyond stupid, and if she carried a thesaurus in her purse, she’d look up how beyond stupid it was. But a thesaurus would weigh her down and prevent her from running away. And right now, as she shifted from one leg to the other in front of Dan’s apartment building, she wanted to run fast and far, from his apartment, from this town, from everyone.

She didn’t want to show how afraid she was, or how needy. She didn’t want to be the one with the drug-addicted brother, or with the sweet but enabling grandmother, or maybe with the good-at-listening/bad-at-confessing boyfriend. She wanted to be someone else, only she didn’t know who or how to find her.

The cab pulled away and she was about to take her own advice and run when Dan came outside. From the way he’d spoken on the phone, she expected him to swallow her up in a hug. While the idea had appealed to her in her lobby, right at this moment, the thought scared her to death. He must have read her hesitation in her body language, or maybe there was a sign blinking over her head: Prickly, Proceed at Own Risk. Either way, he stopped a few feet away and watched her, one hand on his cane, the other in his pocket.

“Hannah.” His voice was deep, yet soft, and made her stomach flip flop.

She gripped the strap of her purse tight enough for her nails to dig into her palm, making her wince. His gaze tracked the movement, and the cause, and returned to her face.

“You don’t want to be here, do you?”

She shrugged. What “here” did he mean? Because although she’d lumped him into the list of things she wasn’t sure she wanted, she knew she didn’t want to be without him. Maybe.

“Sometimes if you let someone into your space, it changes the here and makes it more bearable.”

She raised an eyebrow. Did he really say that?

He chuckled. “I learned it from a wise girlfriend.”

“Do you have a lot of those?”

“Just one, in fact. Not only is she wise, but she’s so beautiful she stops traffic.” The corners of his mouth twitched and his gaze slid to the side.

She turned and watched people maneuver around them, muttering under their breath.

“I don’t think they admire me right now.” She moved out of the way, toward him.

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re beautiful and strong and you know when to ask for help, even if you don’t think you want it.”

Okay, she would definitely scratch him off the list of things she didn’t want. “I don’t feel any of that right now,” she whispered. The tears she’d suppressed at the sound of his voice on the phone threatened once again, and she looked away. If she was forced to stare into those amazing lake-blue eyes one more second, hers would overflow, and she refused to turn into a puddle on the sidewalk.

His shadow on the pavement moved closer and the tips of his shoes touched hers. She would not turn into a puddle.

He stroked her arm, from shoulder to wrist. She wouldn’t look at him and she wouldn’t turn into a puddle.

“I used to do this to Tess when she was a little girl.” He leaned his cane against the building and brought her hand toward her center, walked his fingers up her stomach until they touched her chin, which he tipped until their gazes met. She wouldn’t turn…oh hell.

Tears ran down her face. He folded her against his body, wrapped her into a hug like a cocoon, and held her. What was she afraid of? For the first time since she walked over the threshold of her apartment and heard Jeff’s voice, she was home. He was warm and safe and smelled like spice, evoking images of being tucked in under a blanket on a cold, winter’s night, havdalah candles flickering in the darkness. Everything slipped away—the car horns, multilingual conversations, and rumbling trucks—everything except him.

She swallowed and shifted against him. He pulled away half an inch to look at her.

“I made your sweater soggy,” she said.

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

She bit her lip and he traced it with his fingertip.

“Come inside?” He grabbed his cane.

With a nod, she let him take her hand and lead her into the building. The lobby was nondescript—beiges and greys—and seemed the exact opposite of the man who held her hand. He was warm and alive and soft, yet strong.

“Come upstairs?”

His implicit understanding she might need to do this in stages touched her and she squeezed his hand as they walked to the elevator. When it arrived, he ushered her inside, hit 3, and leaned her against him, balancing his cane in the crook of his elbow. Her back touched his hard chest muscles as they rode three floors. His arms wrapped around her middle like a seatbelt, and she stroked the sinews and tendons in his arm through his sweater.

When they arrived on his floor, he stopped her before his door. “Tess is gone. I suggested she do her homework at her friend’s. I thought you’d be more comfortable that way.”

Hannah ran her hands over her hair and wiped her eyes. “No, I don’t want to banish Tess because I’m here. It’s her house; she’s free to move about as she wants.”

Dan stroked her cheek. “It’s okay. She was happy to go.” He opened the door.

“I don’t want to interfere between the two of you.”

Dan walked over to her and took her hand. “Tess will be fine.”

Hannah looked at him wide-eyed. Behind her, the elevator door opened. In front of her, Dan’s expression begged her to stay. With a sigh, she followed him to the kitchen.

“Would you like something to drink?”

She should be thirsty after all those tears, but she wasn’t. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she sighed and shook her head. Dan walked to her and took her in his arms. He was solid and she let out a shaky sigh. He kissed her mouth with extreme gentleness before he pulled her away from him. “Go make yourself at home.”

The apartment was homey. Clearly, the kitchen was used by someone who liked to cook. Stainless appliances, black-marbled counter, and wine-colored walls, with enough space to prep and chop and whatever else one did in the kitchen. The pots she could see were good ones; there were ingredients stored on the counter—ones that were used, not placed there for decoration—and there were bowls of fruits and veggies. She shook her head. What did she expect—processed food boxes everywhere? The man said he cooked.

She walked down the picture-lined hallway into the living room. Right now, she wasn’t ready for a peek into Dan’s family life. She had enough difficulty handling her own. The living room’s floor-to-ceiling windows prevented it from looking like a cave. Deep blue walls, large leather sofas and chairs, and soft beige carpet.

Lots of bookshelves filled to capacity with books painted a picture of Dan and Tess’s life. On the bottom shelves were children’s books. As the shelves rose higher, there were young adult books, romances, and mysteries. It was obvious some of the books were Dan’s, such as several on photography and architecture. Others, like the romances, might have been left over from his wife. A few self-help books caught her eye and she was about to take a look at them when Dan cleared his throat.

“We’re big readers.”

“I can see. It’s nice.”

“Come sit down.” He led the way to the oversized sofa and eased onto it. He patted the seat next to him and she snuggled into him.

“Do you have any aspirin or anything I could have? My head hurts.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t.” His gaze slid to the side before he returned his focus to her. “Do you want ice?”

“No, it’s okay. It’ll go away soon.”

No painkillers? Really?

He stroked her back and she yawned. The emotions of the day caught up with her. His rhythmic caressing made her eyelids heavy. Beneath her ear, she could hear the reassuring beat of his heart. Her hand on his chest traced the outline of his muscles. The quiet strength of this man amazed her. His willingness to support her stunned her, though by now, it shouldn’t.

“Do you want to talk or just sit here?” His voice was pitched low. She could feel its rumble beneath her ear.

“I don’t know what there is to talk about. Nothing has changed. Jeff’s still an addict, my grandmother still wants to enable him. I’m the bad guy.”

He kissed the top of her head. “You’re not the bad guy. Someday, they will both see that as well. Why was Jeff at your apartment?”

“I have no idea. I opened the door, heard his voice, and left.”

“So he might still be clean.”

She pulled away. “Are you defending him?”

“No.” He stared at her. Sincerity, along with something else she couldn’t name, reflected in his gaze. She relaxed again and Dan continued. “I’m saying there could be any number of reasons why he was in your apartment. Since you didn’t go in, you don’t know what the reason was. Right?”

She swallowed. “Right.”

“I’m pointing it out because there are many sides to a story.”

“In all honesty, at this point, the only thing that will make me feel better is for him to disappear. And he won’t, not when my grandmother encourages him.”

His breathing hitched and he coughed. “What can we do to make things easier for you the next time he shows up?”

“I have no idea. Although talking to you and knowing you support me does help.”

The hand stroking her back paused, before resuming. “I’m glad. And I’m glad you know I support you, because I do.”

She met his gaze, sharp with concern. This close, she could see the varying shades of blue around his pupil, the short dark lashes framing his lids and the faint lines at the corners of his eyes. She’d never noticed those lines before and they only added to his appeal. Licking her lips, she watched his pupils dilate and his lids lower a fraction.

She licked her lips again to see what would happen—his nostrils flared and his breath warmed her face. Reaching out with a finger, she traced his lips, which parted at her touch. Lowering her finger, she ran it across his jaw line, feeling the rasp of his stubble brush her fingertip.

He leaned against the back of the sofa, and she trailed her finger down his neck and over his Adam’s apple. It bobbed as he swallowed. She let her finger move lower, to the collar of his shirt beneath his sweater. Starched cotton, warm skin, and hard collarbone contrasted with each other. She traced the outline of his shirt, making a V against his chest where the top button opened.

He grasped her hand, holding it in place for a moment before he raised it to his mouth and kissed her fingers. His breath was warm; each touch of his lips against her fingertips sent shards of heat from the ends of her fingers up her arm straight to her chest.

Straightening, she took both hands and ran them through his close-cropped hair. Why did she never think salt-and-pepper was sexy before? Trailing her hands down the planes of his face, she leaned forward and touched her lips to his.

Like a match to a tinderbox, he reacted, bending forward, grabbing her to him and pressing his mouth against hers. They toppled against the sofa, her underneath him, while his mouth devoured hers. His hands roamed from her hair to her waist and back, leaving hot trails in their wake. Heat pooled in her belly. Her breath came in gasps as she plunged her tongue deeper, gripped his body harder and pressed herself against him. Hard melded with soft, boundaries blurred. She lost the ability to tell where she ended and he began.

His hands continued their journey to cup her breasts. The touch was blissful torture, making her shudder as he unclasped her bra and caressed her. All logical thought disappeared. The world around her telescoped to his hands on her body.

She raised her arms above her head and he pulled off her shirt. Hypersensitive to his touch, her body tingled as the fabric dragged against her skin. He flung it away, taking first one breast and then the other in his mouth, sucking gently and making her toes curl with desire. Need made her anxious. With shaking hands, she pulled at his sweater.

“We need to take this off,” she whispered. She flung it off of him and unbuttoned his shirt.

His hands stilled, a look of uncertainty flashing across his face.

She climbed onto his lap, took his face between her hands, and forced him to look at her. Lowering her mouth to his, she kissed him on the lips.

“I want you,” he whispered.

“I want you too.”

“But I won’t take advantage of you,” he said.

She pulled away and her skin grew chilled. “You won’t take advantage of me.”

“The first time we have sex, I want it to be because we both want it, not because there are external reasons pushing us together.”

Desire mingled with appreciation and frustration. Her heart rate slowed. Her hands curled into fists. How long would she have to wait until the “time was right?”

He wanted her. God, he wanted her more than he’d wanted any woman in a long time. Kissing her, undressing her, touching her, meant more to him than just fooling around. He hadn’t engaged in any real relationship since Beth died. Whether it was due to a lack of desire or a lack of opportunity, the first time he’d considered a relationship as a possibility was with Hannah. Was wanting her normal? He felt the same pull to be with her as he had for the painkillers. Except this was Hannah and she wasn’t a drug. People felt a pull to anyone they were attracted to, right? More so when they were starting to think their feelings might be serious…he couldn’t go there. Because how could he think about whether or not he loved someone he wasn’t honest with?

He shifted—his leg would stiffen if he kept it one position too long—and he frowned. It didn’t bother him with her. Was it because of what they did, or because of her?

He needed to be open and honest with her—about his own addiction and what it had caused. But he couldn’t do it now, not when she was devastated about Jeff.

“I hear you thinking.” She maneuvered herself out from under him, and turned on her side, elbow propping her head. She looked like a goddess—an angry goddess—and Dan licked his parched lips.

He saw the masked frustration in her eyes and in the set of her mouth. Even if he did want to share his thoughts, how could he tell her he was a recovering drug addict when she’d talked about wanting nothing to do with her brother? He was too old to be taken over by pure lust without there being some underlying deeper meaning, regardless of how far he’d let things go. How could he share his feelings if he couldn’t let himself identify them? He cared about her. He thought about her when they were separated, looked forward to sharing things with her when they were together, and shared her joy and pain when she expressed them.

So why couldn’t he tell her? Why couldn’t he risk it?

She’d hate him when she found out the secrets he kept.

He opened his mouth and closed it.

“Okay…” She drew lazy circles on his chest. “How about I start? Thank you.”

That got his attention. He’d expected her to yell at him. “For kissing you?”

She punched him in the arm. “No, eww, no. For listening, for forcing me to come inside when I wanted to run away, and for making me feel better.”

He let out a breath in a rush of air. “I’m glad you trusted me enough to let me do that. As for this…” Her eyes softened.

“We shouldn’t have sex if we’re not ready for it. And although I thought you were ready,” she gave him a wicked smile, “you seem conflicted.”

She was pretty perceptive. “I am, but not for the reasons you might think. Or maybe for exactly what you thought. I’m not—”

“Talk. Don’t worry about what I might think, or not. Just speak.”

He swallowed. “I’ve been attracted to you from the start, but I didn’t invite you here with the intention of having sex. I asked Tess to leave because I wanted you to feel free to talk to me.” He paused, played with her hand, which somehow found its way into his grip. His smile was rueful. “There’s a whole different level of planning required with a teenager.”

“Yeah, I was a little wary of her presence.”

“I don’t do this,” he touched her lips, “for the hell of it. For me it has to mean something.”

“So, what does it mean?”

“I’m serious about our relationship. I want to see where it goes from here.”

“Then why do you look worried?”

I’m afraid to tell you the truth. And he’d never get any further than this unless he found a way to tell her everything.