Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Armando
I jerk awake several times during the night, my heart pounding, the instinct to kill sharp as a knife edge, but each time, when I find my body wrapped around Hannah’s soft, warm form, my pulse slows.
Each time, I bury my face in her hair—her incredible curtain of tight curls—and breathe in her scent, and I’m home.
Being near Hannah is like opening a trap door and discovering a whole different world exists on the other side. She’s not wild, not crazy, but she functions in a way that’s so outside of the norm—so far from what I’ve known—that it’s slowly waking me up from the stupor I’ve been in.
All the emotions, all the passion and flexibility and kindness. Soft strength. Every minute with her changes me. I’m coming back to life.
Except it’s not my old life. Not a life I’ve known before.
It’s something so different and bizarre, I don’t even know how to think about it.
I untie our wrists and free her hands while she sleeps, tracing a fingertip over the vines tattooed on her shoulder and down her arm.
She’s so fucking beautiful. So unlike any woman I’ve dated before.
The polar opposite of Grace. Her beauty is so natural.
The wild mane of hair that falls to her ass, her short, curvy but muscular body.
The tiny gold nose ring. Her smooth brown skin. She’s unpretentious and down-to-Earth.
I sift her wild mane of hair, letting the golden-tipped curls wrap around my fingers.
I want to trust her. I do.
But I can’t be stupid and reckless. I can’t think with my dick.
Still, I’ve treated her like shit, and for the most part, she’s taken it. I need to do something nice.
I pull out my phone and go online shopping.
It’s a stupid gift. Definitely not something she needs, considering she doesn’t even have food in the refrigerator or a van she can rely on.
But then, aren’t the best kinds of gifts the ones you wouldn’t buy for yourself?
I enter the Garden of Eden address for delivery and complete the transaction.
Sleeping beauty still hasn’t woken up.
Hunger finally gets me out of bed, but when I get up to rummage, I find nothing in her kitchen. I’d leave to go get something, but I don’t want to tie her up again. And I don’t want to wake her, either.
I find a nearby cafe connected to one of those food delivery companies and order an egg sandwich and latte for each of us.
And then I start looking through her shit.
I open her drawers and look inside. Check out the art on the walls, which mostly consists of photographs or paintings of flowers.
I don’t know what I’m looking for—clues about who she is, I guess. Nah, that’s a fucking lie. I’m looking for signs of a boyfriend.
I know she doesn’t have one, or she wouldn’t have fucked me, but I want to know if she dates. Who she’s dated. What her history is.
Did she fuck other guys the way we fucked?
Or was that special?
Because it sure as hell wasn’t normal for me.
Course, I’ve never gone five years without sex before.
But I think our connection is more than that. Our chemistry is off the charts. The way she gives herself over to me brings out the fucking dominant in me, which I didn’t even know was a thing.
I mean, yeah, I like to lead. I’m an alpha male and need to be the guy in charge. But I was always respectful. I didn’t bend women over, smack their asses and get nasty with them. I never tied a girl up before.
Course, that wasn’t for fun, it was a necessity.
The first time.
And the last.
But not the time in between. That time, we both liked it.
Hannah brings out the fucking savage in me. It’s crazy the things I want to do to her. Even now, when I’m thinking about buying her shit, I want to semi-force myself on her again.
Not real force. Not in a way that pisses her off. But play force. Or half-force. Like at the flower shop when she was scared but turned on. That’s how I want her every time.
Trembly. Nervous. Surrendered.
Of course, right now, sex is off the table. She’s pissed at me, and I won’t push it. I owe her my respect.
Hannah wakes up when the delivery guy rings the buzzer. I’m rooting through her underwear drawer, checking out all her panties.
“What the hell, Armando? Are you perving on my panties?”
Definitely, amore . I drop the pink lacy pair I’m holding back into the drawer. My cock’s pressed up against my zipper from me picturing her in those panties, picturing pulling them off her—with my teeth.
I don’t answer as I buzz the delivery guy up.
Hannah wraps her arms around herself like she’s scared. Or feeling vulnerable. “Who’s coming?”
“Just food, Flowers. You hungry?”
Some of the tension drops away from her posture. “Yeah.” She doesn’t leave the bed, though, so I just open the door a crack to accept the food then bring it over to her. She eyes me warily as I hand her the coffee and set mine down on the nightstand.
I completely lost her trust last night. It’s probably better this way. She should be scared of me.
I climb on the bed and sit with my back against the wall beside her while she takes a tentative sip of the coffee and then moans softly.
“It’s good?” I ask.
“So good. What is it?”
“Just a latte.” I look at her curiously.
“It’s stronger than I usually get. Or, less sweet. I usually get the kind with all the sugar and syrups and stuff. I didn’t think I’d like it this way.”
She’s talking to me like everything’s normal. It eases some of the chaos in my chest that’s been there since I made her cry last night.
I open the paper bag of food and hand her the wrapped breakfast sandwich then take out mine.
Her kitten, Shadow, jumps onto the bed and pads over, purring.
I eat my sandwich, careful not to let any crumbs fall onto the bed and ignore the little thing, but he chooses my lap to curl up in, his little paws playing the piano on my thighs.
I finish eating and push the wrapper back into the paper bag. The kitten stands up to investigate, putting his little nose in the bag then reaching a paw in to touch the crinkly paper.
He’s still purring.
I open the mouth of the bag and change the angle, so he can get in, and he crouches down and slips inside, turning around and making the bag bump and move as he does.
Hannah makes a small sound of amusement beside me.
It’s cute. I know it is, but I don’t quite feel it.
It’s like the centers in my brain where all that shit takes place got turned off.
I picked up that kitten last night when we first got here.
Looked right in its face, knowing intellectually it was cute as hell, trying to feel something, but I hadn’t.
Same as how I didn’t feel anything when I hugged my mom at that welcome home party.
And a mom-hug is usually the thing that brings on all the emotions, even if they’re mostly shame and regret.
But Hannah’s tears did something to me last night. She makes me feel.
That’s something.
She’s still eating, her bites delicate, and her chewing slow. I climb out of bed and pick up my coffee, carrying it to the bathroom where I search for a razor and shave my face.
When I come out, Hannah’s getting dressed.
She’s wearing a grey t-shirt dress that hugs her every curve, with a white lace midriff top layered over it.
She has on an artsy pair of chunky sandals in turquoise, tan and orange.
Her toes peek out, toenails painted hot pink with tiny white flowers. I want to suck on those toes.
She turns to face me, her face taut. She’s nervous.
Fuck. Is she afraid of me now? I should be glad, but it’s like getting kicked in the gut.
“I have to go to the shop.” There’s a challenge in her words, but a slight twitch in her lips belies her bravado. “I have flowers to sell, and if I don’t sell them, I can’t pay the bills.” She lifts her chin, her nostrils flaring slightly as she pins me with her demanding gaze.
“What time?” I ask mildly. I’d kinda figured she had to work. I’d seen the hours posted in her window.
She blinks a moment, like she’s surprised I didn’t say no. “I open at noon.”
I glance at the clock. It’s already ten. “You ready?”
Her body springs to life, and she takes a quick step toward the bathroom then stops. “Um… what’s happening, Armando?”
“I’m staying on you, Hannah—until I’m sure. So we’re both going to the shop.”
“This is crazy.” She mutters and pushes past me to enter the bathroom, but the tension’s gone out of her. Like before, it seems she’s more worried about her business than she is about me. And for some reason, that lightens my mood, too.
I pull her purse out of the cupboard where I stowed it and grab her charger from the desk. I put her phone in my back pocket.
She comes out of the bathroom with makeup on and a colorful piece of fabric wrapped around her head, keeping her curls out of her face. She’s wearing mascara, and her lips have a sheer color on them. I want to kiss it off, but I know better than to try.
“Let’s go.” There’s another challenge in her posture.
I hand her the purse and take the keys.
“This is so weird,” she says when I lock her door behind us. “I am trying to roll with this situation, but if I think about it too hard, I’m pretty sure I will flip out,” she says as we walk down the stairs.
I put my hand lightly on her back. I shouldn’t touch her—not after last night—but her body’s irresistible.
I want to have my hands all over her, all the time.
“I’m amazed you haven’t, Flowers.” I rub my forehead.
“You’ve shot straight to the top of my list.” I stop myself because I don’t even know what the fuck I’m saying.
Only that it’s true. She is way at the top of my list. Of everything.
“What list?” she asks. Because, yeah, that was a weird thing to say.
I shake my head. “Nothing. Nevermind.”
She slides me a sidelong glance, curiosity brewing under those thick, curled lashes.
It hits me then: she likes me. That’s why she kissed me.
It’s the reason she hasn’t freaked out about me marauding her life.
Invading her space. I mean, I knew there was mutual attraction.
Off-the-charts chemistry. But I see something else now.
It’s the good old-fashioned girl-likes-boy current running from her to me. A desire that’s more than sexual.
And fuck if it doesn’t make me almost want to laugh.
Not at her. Definitely not. No, it just lifts so much weight off my chest, I could soar.
I thread my fingers through hers. She may be pissed at me, but she still likes me. I’ll earn back the right to touch her.
When she doesn’t shake me off, I revel in the small victory. I walk her to the van and open the passenger side door for her.
The van sputters, taking four times to start. Fuck. This needs to get fixed. Today.