2. Chapter 2
Hannah
Gavin Mercer is here.
Every warning inside me crashes into every memory I have spent two years trying not to revisit.
He is broader than I remember, his shoulders heavier and his body harder, and there is something about the extra two years written into his face that does terrible things to my ability to form coherent thoughts.
Then there is the fact that he is wet.
Very, very wet.
Water beads along his shoulders and tracks over the heavy muscle of his chest, following the dark line of hair down his stomach until it disappears beneath a white towel wrapped low around his hips.
A towel.
That is all he is wearing.
My fear, already struggling with the discovery that the man pinning me to a wall is Gavin Mercer, is forced to make room for an entirely different emergency.
My eyes drop before I can stop them.
The towel sits dangerously low on narrow hips, secured by one tucked corner and a disturbing amount of optimism.
Heat flashes through me, and I lick my suddenly dry lips before my brain can veto the decision.
My gaze snaps back to his face.
Gavin’s eyes have dropped to my mouth.
Oh, no.
They lift again.
He saw that.
Wonderful.
Recognition settles fully over his face.
“Hannah?”
His grip loosens at once, but for one suspended second neither of us moves.
My wrists are still above my head, his bare chest is inches from mine, and one of his thighs has ended up between my legs during my spectacularly unsuccessful attempt to knee him.
Somewhere during my attempted burglary, the universe has developed a deeply inappropriate sense of humor.
Hearing my name in his voice after two years does something strange to my spine.
I swallow.
“Hi.”
Brilliant.
Two years, sixty-eight thousand dollars of fraudulent debt, multiple threats, six hours of driving, one successfully picked lock, and hi is the best my brain can produce.
His gaze searches my face.
Then he seems to register our position too.
Gavin releases my wrists.
My arms fall to my sides, tingling where his fingers held them, but he does not immediately step away. He only shifts his thigh back, leaving barely a foot between us.
That should make breathing easier.
It does not.
I become aware of the wall against my back, the heat coming off his body, the faint scent of soap, and the water still sliding over skin that has absolutely no business being this close to me while my life is falling apart.
His gaze moves to the backpack on the floor, then to the front door.
“You picked my lock.”
“I did.”
His brows draw together.
I lift my chin because that feels more dignified than admitting my knees are shaky for several unrelated reasons.
“I locked it again.”
His eyes flick toward the deadbolt.
“After breaking in.”
“I feel like breaking in is unnecessarily hostile when nothing was actually broken.”
His jaw flexes, and the look he gives me suggests I am not helping my case.
It should probably make me nervous.
Instead, it reminds me of being twenty-one and watching him across a kitchen while Kaden talked about something I no longer remember because Gavin had rolled up his sleeves.
My traitorous gaze drifts downward again.
A drop of water runs over the center of his chest, crosses the hard ridges of his stomach, and disappears beneath the towel.
I follow it.
It is genuinely remarkable how quickly the human eye adapts to darkness when properly motivated.
I hate myself immediately.
When I force my eyes back up, Gavin is watching me.
His gaze holds mine for a second too long.
Something changes there, so faint and fast I cannot name it.
Then his expression locks down again.
My cheeks burn.
“I’m having a difficult evening.”
The corner of his mouth threatens to move.
It is barely anything, but I remember how rare even that almost-smile was two years ago.
Then he looks at me properly.
Whatever he sees kills it.
His eyes sharpen.
He reaches for me again, but this time his hand closes carefully around my forearm.
The touch is warm and steady, completely different from the grip he used when he thought I was an intruder.
My throat tightens, and I glance away.
That is when I notice my hand trembling.
Damn it.
I curl my fingers into my palm.
“I’m fine.”
Gavin says nothing.
I have always hated silence when I am the person expected to fill it.
Usually, I can.
Right now, every available sentence sounds suspiciously like a confession.
His gaze moves over me, taking in my soaked curls, the open coat over my damp sweater, the mud splashed across my jeans, and the backpack lying on the floor. He glances toward the dark window, then at the door I picked before looking at me again.
Something in his expression closes down.
“You drove here alone?”
I hesitate.
His jaw tightens.
“Yes.”
“From where?”
“Home.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s geographically accurate.”
His eyes narrow.
I should stop.
Fear has been crawling under my skin for two days, and sarcasm is the only thing keeping it from eating through.
His thumb shifts once against my forearm.
“Why are you here?”
The question is quiet.
I look at his chest because somehow that feels easier to deal with than the truth.
This proves to be a terrible strategy.
My attention wanders lower before I catch it.
Enough.
I drag my eyes back to his face.
“I thought you were away.”
“I came back early.”
“Yes. I gathered that.”
His gaze hardens, stripping away the joke before I can hide behind another one.
I swallow.
Rain strikes harder against the roof.
For a few seconds, neither of us moves.
Then my phone vibrates inside my coat pocket.
I go rigid.
Somehow, the stupid thing has found the one spot in the cabin with enough signal to ruin my night even further.
It vibrates again.
Gavin notices.
His eyes drop briefly toward my pocket before returning to my face.
“Who is that?”
“No one.”
His expression does not change, which is somehow worse.
“Your phone is buzzing.”
“Technically, it’s vibrating.”
“Hannah.”
I press my lips together.
He watches me for another second, and I see the exact moment he stops believing any part of this is a spontaneous visit.
His gaze drops to my trembling hand.
When it returns to mine, his face has gone frighteningly still.
“Who are you running from?”