Chapter 22
Hannah looks shocked and a little twitchy and uncomfortable, like a puppy caught with their face in the garbage.
Probably just the jet lag and her worry about doing the pre-interview screenings. During the flight, she was nervous about it and took some reassuring that she knows better than anyone who I would—and wouldn’t—like to work with.
But the very best part of the flight was falling asleep hand in hand with her. Who knew that such a small thing could feel like the biggest step, the most intimate thing in the world?
While I was at work, dealing with the staff who’re refusing to talk to Gareth the Grammy chucker until he apologizes to Sailor Caldwell, and Gareth refusing to apologize, running through the back of my mind the whole time was a hum of anticipation at the thought of coming home to Hannah. Of her being here when I walked through the door. Of touching her, kissing her and, oh holy fuck, of finally being inside her.
And, man alive, she looks like she’s right where she belongs. Seeing her standing by the desk in the home office I barely use, all the stress of my hideous afternoon at the office falls away.
Hell, all the stress of the last few months falls away. The anxiety-inducing divorce is suddenly distant history. The ex-wife still trying to milk me for another house couldn’t be further from my mind. And all the problems and legal issues at work can wait till tomorrow.
Because, right now, every thought in my head is of Hannah. Just being around her lifts every last ounce of weight from my shoulders, throws off all traces of fatigue, and replaces it with a buzzing energy, the joy of being alive.
Seeing her here is a fantasy of how my life could be. It’s ridiculous, obviously, but there’s nothing wrong with a harmless fantasy if it gets you through the day. And that hum of anticipation that kept me on my toes while I was gone, now turns to a warm sense of comfort that, at least for now, she is here.
I’ve just come home to Hannah fucking Hepburn.
“Hi,” she says with a lopsided smile.
And with one twirl of a strand of hair around her finger, my whole body aches with the need to be pressed against her.
But her eyes look tired, her face taut and anxious.
“Found me the perfect assistant yet?” I ask, resisting the temptation to throw her over my shoulder fireman-style and toss her on the bed.
“I think there’s only two of them you could bear to be around for more than about ten minutes.” She turns away and closes the lid of the laptop, her ass looking particularly grabbable. “How was your day?” Her words are a little stiff and tense.
“Total shit.”
I’m desperate for the part of the evening where we get to be naked together—in comfort, not the back seat of a car. The part where I get to kiss every inch of her body at my leisure. The part where I get to feel what it’s like to slide into her warm wetness for the first time in my life.
But a twinge of concern that something’s wrong holds me back. “Are you okay?”
She remains still, fingers resting on the edge of the desk, her back to me.
Fuck, my feet are ignoring my brain and carrying me toward her, one long, languid pace at a time. It’s like she’s surrounded by a force that pulls me in, makes me unable to resist the need to get closer, to wrap my arms around her.
She flinches, surprised by the touch of my chest on her back. Christ, I hope she’s not regretting coming here, regretting being away from her son. Maybe that’s what she’s worried about.
“Is Dylan okay?”
As I circle my arms around her waist and drop my chin to her shoulder so I can see the side of her face, the sharp edges of her tension soften.
“Yeah.” There’s even a hint of a smile now. “Maggie sent me a photo of him sitting at the kitchen counter with a giant hot dog in front of him. He was squeezing ketchup on it with one hand and mustard with the other.” She holds up imaginary condiment squeeze bottles. “And he had one of his giant goofy grins on his face.”
She rests her hands on my arms at her belly, and the hint of a smile broadens to fill her face with affection. This woman is capable of so much love, like she’s so full of it she could burst at any moment if only she had someone to shower it on.
I know it’s wrong to want her to feel anything for me. I’m just the Bridge Man, after all, someone to make her happy temporarily. But there’s a corner of me that can’t help but want in on at least a tiny bit of that love action.
For now, though, I’m just relieved all is well at home. Whatever’s bothering her can’t be anything too important if Dylan’s okay. If he’s good, Hannah’s good.
I brush my nose against her hair. Never again will I be able to smell vanilla without thinking of her. Slowly, I ease her back against me, knowing she’s bound to feel my rapidly stiffening dick against her perfect ass.
She gives me a curious look over her shoulder. “If you’ve had such a terrible day, why are you smirking?”
“Because you’re here.” I tighten my hold around her waist.
Has she been having the same thoughts as me while she’s been here this afternoon? About what life would be like if this were her home too?
Highly unlikely. Her one and only focus is Dylan, and that means getting him to California for the clinical trial. And that will take her twice as far away from London as she already is.
Unable to resist any longer I pull her hair out of the way and dip my mouth to her neck. “It might have been a shit day.” I kiss her mouthwatering skin between sentences. “But it was also the best day. Because it’s the day I got to come home to you.”
Finally, her muscles start to relax. First her shoulders drop, giving me more access to her neck, then she leans back against my chest, allowing me to support her, her skin prickling with goosebumps under my lips, before her grip tightens on my arm as her eyes drift shut.
“Why can’t I resist you?” she murmurs.
My hips instinctively circle against her, sending a quiver radiating from my groin to all corners of my body. “Hopefully for the same reasons I can’t resist you. Because you’re a remarkable human, with a grit for survival and a drive to succeed. Because you say things that make me think.”
She turns in my arms to face me.
“And because kissing you has been the greatest joy in my life since I can remember,” I finish before claiming her lips. They might not be mine forever, but they’re mine for now, and I don’t want to waste a single second of however long this “now” lasts.
She responds, hot and hard, and rakes her fingers through my hair, pushing it away. Then her mouth is off mine and on my freshly exposed earlobe.
As she licks and nibbles and takes me to a new level of lobe-sucking heaven, I dig my fingers into her butt and press my straining cock against her.
Holy shit, if I don’t get these pants off her in the next few seconds I might burst into flames.
Releasing one hand from her backside, I pull a small box from my back pocket and rattle it beside her face.
She slides my earlobe from between her lips and turns to look.
“Wow.” She shifts her mischievous gaze from the box to me. “Amid a major work crisis, you still had the presence of mind to pick up condoms?”
“Priorities.” And right now, my priority is having Hannah. Right now. Right here. On the desk, if that’s what’s nearest. Or the floor. Or that chaise longue. Or up against the window while we admire the view.
Anywhere. Any way. But I need to be inside this woman like I’ve never needed anything in my life. If someone told me I wasn’t allowed to give her an orgasm until I’ve given away the business I’ve spent more than a decade building, I’d ask where I need to sign.
She laughs, a full, happy laugh directly from the heart. Then springs up and wraps her legs around my waist.
“Whoa.” I drop the condom box and catch her under the butt, a cheek in each hand. “If I’d known I’d get a response like tha?—”
She silences me with her mouth. Her lush lips are soft but firm against mine, removing any doubt she wants me as much as I want her. Her tongue finds my top lip, then the bottom, then slides against mine, deep and hungry.
Her kisses are a firecracker to my balls. My hard-on shifts to full mast, and my fingers dig deep into her ass as she grinds the precious opening I’m so desperate to enter against me.
“I want you so much, Tom.” She breaks contact with my mouth just long enough to get the words out, her breath hot and heavy.
“That’s music to my ears.” She slides her warm mouth to my neck. “Such sweet fucking music.”
Her nip at the soft spot just above my collarbone is the final straw.
I walk us closer to the desk, cradling her butt in one hand while pushing the laptop to one side with the other.
By now she’s undone the top two buttons of my shirt and is grazing her lips and tongue along my collarbone.
“Oh, Jesus Christ, Hannah.” I place her on the desk and take her face in my hands.
My mouth is half a hairbreadth from her lips when my phone trills with the sound of the concierge buzzer. “Oh, shit.”
“What’s that?” she asks, working her way down the buttons.
I drop my forehead against hers and sigh. “On my way home, I called Hugo and put him off till tomorrow. And ordered some food so we could stay in. That’ll be the food.”
“Can’t the front desk guy take it?” She’s on the final button, dangerously close to my dick, which is about ready to climb out of my jeans all by itself.
Pulling away right now is the last thing I want to do. “Sure. But I like to tip cash. I always wonder if the delivery people actually get the one from the app. So I do both.”
She rests her lips against my chin and looks up at me. “You tip twice?”
“For deliveries. Yes. Just in case.”
She groans and drops her forehead against my shoulder.
Screw it. My fingers find their way under her top and stroke her sides. She wiggles under my touch.
Just as she’s on the point of collapsing against me, she takes hold of my wrists and slides my hands out from under her clothes. “I can’t believe I’m stopping you. But that’s just about the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard.”
She gives me a playful pat on the backside. “Go tip the delivery person. Again.” Then claws her fingers down the center of my chest, over my belly, and hooks them in the waistband of my jeans. “And I’ll find some plates. Now that I think of it, I am actually starving.”
She’s a fucking joy.
“Just one more.” I cup her face again and taste her sweet, sweet mouth before adjusting my crotch and doing up the bottom few buttons of my shirt so it covers the business going on down there.
“Here.” I pull my phone from my pocket. The alert was, indeed, for the delivery. I unlock the phone and hand it to Hannah. “You pick the music we eat to.”
“Oo, the power,” she says, taking it and bouncing off the desk.
“What did you order?” she calls as we head in opposite directions, her to the kitchen, me to the lift.
“Chinese. And you can open anything you fancy from the wine fridge.”
“On it,” she replies as the doors glide back, and I step inside.
After racing across the lobby to make the quickest tip and food exchange in the history of deliveries, I jump back in the lift. Maybe we can pick up where we left off and reheat this food later.
When I reach my floor, the chime beckons me toward the doors. I’ll be back with Hannah in a matter of seconds.
About half an inch before I smack my nose, I process that the doors haven’t opened.
I do what any sensible person would and prod the Door Open button approximately 4,723 times in the space of two seconds.
Nothing.
Well, if I’m trapped in a lift, I guess at least I have food. But what I don’t have is Hannah. And all I want is Hannah.
Fucking hell.
I press the Ground Floor button to see if I can get out down there.
Yup, sure enough, a few seconds later, on the ground floor, the doors glide open perfectly happily.
Right. Let’s try again.
Back up I go.
Chime. Door not moving.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Maybe there’s something the concierge can do.
Hannah will be wondering where I am, but I can’t call her because I left my goddamn phone with her.
“Hello again, Mr. Dashwood,” says Carlton, who nodded politely at me just minutes ago when I came down to collect the food.
“Hi. The lift doors aren’t opening when I get to my floor. Do you know how to fix that?”
Carlton furrows his brow. “But they open okay down here?”
As desperate as I am to get back upstairs to the sexiest woman alive, I resist snapping that of course I can get out down here or I wouldn’t be standing right in front of him.
“Yes. Yes, I can get out down here just fine. But the doors won’t open at my place.”
“Hmm. Curious.” He gets to his feet. “I’ll come with you and take a look.”
He walks around the desk to accompany me.
“Shouldn’t you bring something with you? Tools or something?” There’s no point wasting time having to come back here again for whatever he needs to get me inside my flat and wrapped around Hannah.
“I have these.” He holds up a set of keys and key-like things.
“Oh, okay.” I guess they must be the magical door-opening implements.
“Nice evening,” Carlton says as we step into the lift and I tap my fob on the pad. “Not too chilly for January.”
If only he knew exactly how hot it had been in my apartment just moments ago and how hot I was very much hoping it would be around about now. “Yes. Not too bad at all.”
We reach my floor, and the doors chime and slide open exactly as they’re supposed to.
“Oh.” I stick my arm out to keep them open just in case they change their minds again. “That’s weird. Thanks for coming, though.”
“Just a glitch, I guess,” Carlton says with a shrug. “Have a good night, Mr. Dashwood.”
Oh, I most definitely intend to. “Thanks. You too.”
The doors close behind me, and I head down the hall and around the corner into the living area. “So I was thinking maybe we could leave the food for later and?—”
And there she is, lying on the sofa, fast asleep, two-thirds of a glass of white wine on the end table.
She is spark out. The jet lag, the interview stress, and probably the general exhaustion of working and raising a kid single-handedly has sent her into the deepest of sleeps.
I drop the takeout on the kitchen counter, wander over, and kneel by her face.
Fuck, she’s beautiful. Her fair eyelashes flutter gently, her lips are relaxed and ever so slightly apart, and her chest rises and falls with her heavy, sleepy breath.
I could wake her up and make slow, beautiful love to her right here on the sofa. But when was the last time she was able to sleep like this? To cast off her worries knowing they’re all being taken care of—that Dylan is in the safest of safe hands, that she’s earning enough money to set them up in a great new life, and that she’s in an exciting new city, in a whole other country, with so much to look forward to?
When I saw her that first morning on the landing, she had the air of someone who hadn’t relaxed in years. The tension clenching her whole being was obvious, even though I was majorly distracted with keeping my junk in check.
To wake her now would be cruel. No matter how mind-blowing of an orgasm I intended to give her.
While the sofa is comfortable, the bed would be comfier. But if I put her in mine, I’d never have the willpower to leave her to rest.
I get to my feet and gaze down at her ridiculously sexy stretched-out form. I can’t help but chuckle to myself at the irony of the situation. But I’ve waited seventeen years. I can wait one more day.
“Okay, sleepyhead,” I whisper. “The guest room it is.”
I slide one hand under her shoulders, one behind her knees, and ease her off the sofa.
As I carry her to the guest room, she snuggles into my chest like I’m her favorite pillow. That makes me the luckiest man alive. And the most frustrated.
I kick back the duvet on the bed and lay her down.
“Okay, then.” Jeans and a sweater won’t make the most comfortable pajamas. But if I take them off, she’ll definitely wake up, and then all my good intentions will go out the window and I’ll keep her from this rare chance to get the rest she so badly needs. “You’re sleeping in those clothes.”
I pull the duvet over her and lean down to brush a gentle kiss on her forehead.
“Night night,” she murmurs, barely moving her lips.
A smile that reaches from my left ear to my right, and into the very core of my being, spreads across my face. “Night night.”