8. Kane
8
KANE
I wake up with a lock of red hair strewn across my face. It takes me a minute to figure out why before I see Hannah curled up beside me, her fiery locks fanning out like a halo. I breathe in the scent of her sweet shampoo, my heart racing as I remember yesterday. Memories of Hannah moaning beneath me hit me like an electric shock, and suddenly, I’m wide awake. My cock hardens instantly, and part of me wants to wake her up so I can bury myself in her sweet pussy again.
Sounds like a great way to start the morning.
But she looks so pretty and peaceful with her eyes shut, mouth open slightly, her naked chest rising and falling as she breathes deeply. She didn’t get much rest yesterday. I couldn’t get enough of her. Making her come was my only goal, and it was well after midnight by the time we finally fell asleep.
I press a feather-light kiss on her forehead, staring at her pretty face for a few more minutes before I get up, careful not to disturb her. She lets out a sleepy moan and rolls over, but doesn’t wake up as I pad out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. Aside from a whole stash of cherry pies, there’s not much for breakfast. A quick glance at the clock makes me do a double-take. It’s almost lunchtime. We slept for hours.
I decide to head into town to grab us a couple of sandwiches from the bakery, so I throw on a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, scribbling a quick note to Hannah before I head out into the midday sunshine. My truck still smells of her—sweet and fruity—and I hum to myself as I drive into Cherry Hollow, parking outside the bakery. I can’t stop smiling like an idiot. Knowing that Hannah is in my bed waiting for me makes it impossible not to feel like the luckiest man in the world. I never imagined that my pretty little firecracker would give an old grump like me a shot.
But now she’s mine.
No way am I letting her go after yesterday.
I shoulder open the door to the bakery, so lost in my thoughts about Hannah that it takes me a moment to realize that Diane is arguing with somebody.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she snaps from behind the counter. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t comment.”
The woman she’s talking to has her back to me, and I frown when I see the way she’s holding her phone in Diane’s face.
“Is there a problem here?” I ask, looking at Diane. I’ve known her for a long time. She’s strong as hell and not an easy woman to rattle, just like my old grandma. But right now, she looks upset and confused.
“Kane!” she says, sounding relieved when she sees me. “No problem here. This woman was just leaving.”
I watch as the woman turns to look at me, and my frown deepens. She’s the same woman who was walking on the street the other day. Hannah looked frightened when she saw her.
“Can you at least tell me when Hannah will be back?” the woman asks, turning back to Diane.
I spring to attention at the sound of my girl’s name.
“What do you want with Hannah?” I ask defensively.
The woman faces me again and takes several steps toward me. “Andrea Ryan. Silvercrest Chronicle. I want to interview Hannah about her family’s…situation.” Her wide mouth stretches into a fake smile. “She needs a safe place to tell her side of the story, don’t you think? Otherwise, the speculation won’t stop.”
I stare at her bewilderedly before chancing a look over the counter. But Diane looks just as confused as I feel.
“Look, lady, I think you’ve got the wrong person,” I say.
Andrea arches an eyebrow. “I know Hannah lives in Cherry Hollow. I’m confident that this is where she works.” She lets out a sigh that sounds strangely rehearsed. “Look, I know you probably think you’re protecting her. But all she needs to do is give one interview. Just one little interview to silence all the naysayers. Don’t you want that for her?”
What the hell is this woman talking about?
“An interview about what?” I ask, my head reeling.
Andrea looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Her family, of course. Mayor O’Neill and his wife.”
“Mayor O’Neill?” Diane pipes up, her brow furrowed. “From Silvercrest?”
Understanding dawns on Andrea’s face as she looks between the two of us, a smug smirk of satisfaction tugging at her lips. “Oh. I see she hasn’t told you. I guess that figures.”
“What has Hannah got to do with Mayor O’Neill?” I snap, my temper rising.
“She’s his daughter.”
There’s silence for a moment.
“Bullshit.” I cross my arms, glaring at Andrea. “Hannah’s parents live in Winterdale. That’s where she’s from. Like I said, you got the wrong person.”
“That’s right,” Diane says, sounding relieved. “Our Hannah’s from Winterdale. And she’s called Hannah Martin, not Hannah O’Neill. There’s been some kind of misunderstanding.”
Andrea clicks her tongue impatiently as she starts tapping away on her phone, pressing the screen until she suddenly thrusts it toward my face. It takes my eyes a second to adjust to the glare, and my mind several seconds longer to understand what I’m seeing.
It’s a picture of Hannah. She looks about thirteen, revealing a row of braces as she forces a smile for the camera. Standing behind her, each with a hand on her shoulder, are a man and a woman. I recognize them instantly. They’ve been the talk of the town for weeks, on the cover of every local newspaper, the top item on every local news station.
The Mayor of Silvercrest and his wife, Michelle.
Hannah’s parents.
Andrea looks thrilled by my shocked reaction, and she hurries toward Diane to show her the photo too, leaving me to organize my whirling thoughts.
“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the laundry list of crimes the O’Neills were charged with,” Andrea continues gleefully, finally taking her phone out of Diane’s face. But despite her words, she launches into the list, counting each word with her fingers. “Drug trafficking, of course. Then embezzlement, bribery, corruption, and fraud, just for starters. Tax evasion. Blackmail. Oh, and of course there’s Mayor O’Neill’s sexual misconduct. Seven female members of staff complained. Seven! Then you’ve got election fraud along with several conflicts of interest?—”
“We get the picture,” I snap. “It was all over the news.”
My head is a mess, but I can arrange my thoughts later. Hannah lied to me, but right now, all I care about is defending her against this woman.
“None of that shit has anything to do with Hannah,” I say. “She’s not like that.”
Andrea makes a disbelieving face. “Well, she certainly profited from her parents’ crimes. She grew up wealthy, got the best education money can buy, a hefty trust fund, all paid for from her parents’ illegal activities.” She softens her voice, putting on a tone of sympathy. “Of course, we can’t blame Hannah for the crimes of her parents. But there’s a lot of speculation in Silvercrest about how much she knew. And as it was ultimately the people of the city who were most affected by these crimes, they have a right to know if Hannah O’Neill was involved.”
“She wasn’t.”
Bile is rising in my throat. There’s no damn way Hannah was involved; I don’t doubt that for a moment. But it makes me sick to think of what she must be going through. Her parents are in jail. They’ve messed up her whole life, and now it sounds like the people of Silvercrest suspect her of being involved. It’s no wonder she left and came to Cherry Hollow to lie low, but even in our small town, people are in uproar over the O’Neills. They’re the most hated family in Crave County right now, and I can’t imagine how Hannah must be feeling. I’m desperate to get back to my cabin and see her. I need to make sure she’s okay.
“I can see you’re not going to cooperate,” Andrea says, dropping the nice act and scowling at me. “I’ll be back when Hannah’s here to speak to her myself.”
“You certainly will not!” Diane says. “I’m not going to sit back and let you harass my staff. You’re banned from my bakery.”
Andrea gives her an ugly look. “You’re seriously going to defend her after everything I just told you?”
“All you’ve told us is that Hannah’s parents are shitty people,” I say fiercely. “She hasn’t been convicted of any crime. Sounds like she’s lost everything. The last thing she needs is people like you trying to make her life even harder.”
Andrea opens her mouth to argue, but Diane steps in. “Please leave my bakery before I call the sheriff’s office.”
The journalist sighs bitterly, glaring at us both before sweeping out of the bakery and slamming the door behind her. There’s silence for a few moments as Diane and I look at each other.
“Hannah O’Neill,” she says, shaking her head. “Poor thing. She told me her name was Hannah Martin. I should go see her. Ask how she’s doing.”
“No, I’ll go.”
I’m already striding toward the exit, desperate to see my girl. Diane wishes me luck, but I barely hear her as I shut the door to the bakery and clamber into my truck. I floor it out of town and into the woods, checking my mirrors to make sure Andrea isn’t tailing me. But even if she is, I’ll lose her easily in the forest. The road to my cabin is a maze of dirt tracks and thick pine trees, and a GPS can’t help you out here.
I arrive back at my cabin in record time and my pulse quickens at the sight of Hannah sitting on the front porch, waving at me. She’s wearing one of my flannel shirts like a dress, looking so fucking adorable that for a moment, I can’t do anything but stare at her. Her red hair shines beneath the afternoon sun, and she beams at me as I get out of the truck and walk up the porch steps toward her, my heart in my throat.