Deadly Dance Page 16

  “God, Hannah, I want you so badly,” he breathed. His words coming out in fractured bursts.

  She held out her hand, and when he took it, pulled him to her, the two of them falling back on the bed, the cool cotton of the sheets providing a counterpoint to the heat of their desire. Again the thunder crashed, the sound rolling through the room like a living, breathing thing, and Hannah shifted so that she was on top, straddling him.

  Then with another smile, she lifted up, his hands guiding her as she impaled herself on him, sliding slowly downward until she was so full she thought she might burst. The sensation was exquisite. And slowly she began to move, following a dance older than time.

  Up. Down. In. Out. Harrison moved with her. Their rhythms finding synchronicity until they essentially became one. Faster. Deeper. Harder. More.

  She couldn’t breathe. There was nothing but the two of them and the driving desire. His hands tightened on her hips, and she bent to kiss him, needing to feel his lips against hers as they reached higher and higher, the storm crescendoing as suddenly the world split into white light—her body convulsing around his. His spasms combined with hers in a climax beyond anything she’d ever experienced. It was as if she’d lost all control. And for a moment, she panicked. She’d gone too far. Given too much.

  And then he was there, his fingers twining with hers. And she knew she was safe. And so she let go. Giving over to sensation and feeling. Unafraid for the first time in her life. Understanding finally what it meant to know that someone—Harrison—would be there to catch her.

  It should have frightened her even more. But somehow, against the sound of the dying storm, with the feel of him inside her—it didn’t.

  CHAPTER 16

  Harrison lay in bed listening to the wind as it whistled outside the window, leaves rustling as they hit the pane. The storm had died, but he was still feeling the aftereffects. Hannah had been amazing. So much so that if he wasn’t lying in her bed, he wouldn’t have been sure it hadn’t all been a dream.

  He’d woken to an empty bed, but the sound of the shower coming from the bathroom had soothed any worry. He wasn’t sure where they went from here. But he didn’t regret anything. Truth was, he hadn’t regretted the previous night either—it had just scared the shit out of him. He’d never felt like this before. And he wasn’t sure what the hell he was supposed to do with it.

  But he’d meant what he’d said. He wanted to stay. To figure out what it was that was happening between them. Beyond that, he couldn’t make promises. But somehow, together, surely they could figure it out.

  Easier said than done.

  He considered joining her in the shower, the thought of taking her in there almost undoing him. But just as the thought blossomed, the water stopped. He shifted in the bed, suddenly feeling uneasy. This was new territory, and he had no idea what the rules were.

  And then the bathroom door opened and she was standing there, wrapped in a towel, her hair slicked back, her skin still wet from the shower, and for the first time he realized, at least consciously, that she was drop-dead gorgeous. Without her spiky hair and glasses, her flawless skin was the star, her cheeks flushed from the shower, her lips still red from his kisses. And her eyes were the deepest blue he’d ever seen. This was Hannah unplugged. The real woman. And he wasn’t sure he was ever going to breathe again.

  “My God,” he whispered, vaguely aware that he sounded like a besotted fan, “you’re beautiful.”

  It was as if someone had shot her. The color drained from her face, and she reached for the wall to keep from falling. Ashen, she clutched her towel, her mouth moving, but no words emerging.

  “What did you say?” she choked, as if the words were killing her.

  “Just that you look beautiful,” he said, jumping from the bed, heedless of his nakedness, certain that he’d hurt her, but not sure how. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I’m not beautiful,” she said, pushing him away. “Don’t ever say that to me.”

  He wanted to pull back, but he knew instinctively that it was the wrong move. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t about him. And he needed to be there—to fight through her fear. So he reached for her, ignoring the tension running through her. “But you are, Hannah, you’re beautiful.”

  She went totally still, her body rigid. And then she erupted into a ball of fury. Fighting against him, clawing, tears streaming down her face. But her eyes were blind. Her anger not directed at him. Hell, she didn’t even know he was there. She was fighting something else. A demon he couldn’t see.

  “Hannah, it’s me. It’s Harrison. Sweetheart, please. It’s okay. I swear it.”

  For a moment he thought she hadn’t heard him, and then with a strangled sigh, she buried her face in his chest, her breathing coming in gasps now, her tears burning his skin. And he swung her into his arms and carried her back to the bed, holding her close as they lay against the pillows, a part of him wanting to break something or hit something—someone—whoever it was that had hurt her so deeply.

  When he felt her breathing slow, he dared words. “So you want to tell me what just happened?”

  At first he thought she wasn’t going to answer—and then he felt her draw on the strength that he’d come to expect from her.

  She rolled onto her back, her fingers still twined with his, her gaze fixed on the ceiling above them. She chewed her lip for a moment, clearly considering her options, and then she spoke, her voice so soft he had to strain to hear.

  “It was my foster father. He was the one who called me beautiful.” She said the words as though they were a curse, and though he wanted to ask, he held his tongue—waiting.

  “He… he molested me.”

  Rage rose so hot and black Harrison wasn’t sure what exactly to do with it, but he was certain if the man were present he would kill him. No further questions asked. But again, he resisted the urge to sound off. Instead, he waited. Knowing that if she was going to tell him, she needed to take her time. Find the right words.

  “I was ten. And I thought he’d hung the moon. I never had a real father. Mine died when I was little. And my mother couldn’t handle a kid on her own.”

  “So she put you into the system.”

  Hannah nodded. “At first I thought it was a blessing. They bought me new clothes. And fed me. They even talked about adoption. Hal, my foster dad, he called me his beautiful girl. He was always stroking my hair or pulling me into his lap. I was just so glad to be somewhere I was wanted. And then one night he came into my bedroom. And he told me that he loved me… and that people who loved each other…” she trailed off, tears filling her eyes.

  Harrison fisted his hands, his mind unable to even conceptualize such a betrayal.

  She was silent for a moment, but he could still feel the tension in her body, and he was grateful that she didn’t pull away.

  Finally, she blew out a shuddering breath. “At first I didn’t understand. I just wanted to make him happy. But it hurt. On so many levels, it hurt.”

  He pulled her closer, her heart pounding against his chest, and he was aware how much her admission was costing her. The memory clearly as painful now as it had been all those years ago.

  “I wasn’t old enough to fight. I didn’t know what to do. And so I didn’t try to stop him.” There was shame in her voice, and it cut him to the core.

  “Hannah, you couldn’t have known. You were a little kid.” He wanted to kill a man he didn’t even know. It was as simple as that.

  “But I should have fought harder. As it progressed, I knew it was wrong. That I was too young and he was… but I was so afraid.” She turned her head into his chest.

  “Where was his wife? Couldn’t you have told her?” His heart was breaking. The picture of ten-year-old Hannah filling his mind.

  “She didn’t believe me. She said I was lying.”

  Again there was silence. Hannah dealing with her memories. Harrison trying to control his anger. It wouldn’t help Hannah now.r />
  “I was almost eleven when the woman next door asked me if I was okay,” she whispered, her fingers tightening on his with a vise grip. “At first I lied. And then I told her the truth.”

  Harrison felt the blood rushing to his head, rage mixing with anguish. “What happened?” he whispered, fighting to keep his voice gentle.

  “She confronted Hillary, Hal’s wife. But she said it was all in my imagination. That I was lonely and troubled. And then afterward she hit me. And Hal kept coming to my room, and… and asking for more.”

  “Did he…” Harrison asked, afraid to say the words.

  “No. But he might as well have.” She closed her eyes, her face tightening as she remembered.

  “So how did it end?” He tightened his hold, wishing he could take the pain away, but knowing that he couldn’t.

  “The lady next door.” He felt her shudder against him, and tears filled his eyes. He hadn’t cried since Bree had died. But then he hadn’t cared about anyone this much since then either. “She didn’t give up. And a few weeks later, a man from social services took me away.” She turned over onto her back again. “I never got to say thank you.”

  “And so what happened to you?” Harrison asked, not sure that he wanted to hear the answer but still certain that he wanted to kill her foster parents.

  “They took me to a doctor and a counselor, and then they put me right back into the system. By then I was a pretty angry kid, and so I never lasted anywhere very long. I figured it was safer that way. And the one thing I knew for certain was that being pretty was a horrible thing.”

  “And so you added the glasses and played up the intellect,” he said, remembering Madison’s words.

  “It worked.”

  “So do you actually need the glasses to see?” he asked, fairly certain he already knew the answer.

  “No,” she said with a twisted smile. “They’re just a prop. A shield of sorts, I guess. After I first started wearing them, no one seemed at all interested in me, and that suited me just fine. I think I would have totally faded into the background except that, when I got a scholarship to college, I realized it was a chance to start over. No background. Nothing to mark me as a victim. I actually thrived for the first time in my life.”

  “And then the CIA came calling.”

  “Not until after I’d gotten my Ph.D., actually. And then they approached me about coming to Sunderland. I was good at flying under the radar—and I’d learned early to read people. Skills they said they could use.”

  Again she sighed, and he pulled her closer, knowing that he couldn’t slay her demons, but nevertheless still wanting to.

  “So does Avery know?”

  There was silence for a moment as she considered the question. And then she shook her head. “I didn’t want anyone to know. I’d killed the memory. As far as I was concerned that girl was dead.”

  “So no one at the CIA knows?” He wasn’t sure why it mattered, but the idea that she’d trusted him above anyone else was important somehow. He felt humbled and honored and overwhelmed all at once.

  “I’m sure they know something. It’s in my records. But you’re the first person I’ve confided in since I told my neighbor.” She paused for a moment, turning her face away. “You believe me, right?”

  “Of course, I do,” he said, his voice overly loud, emotion getting the better of him. “I just can’t imagine.”

  She lifted her hand to his face, a little smile playing across her lips. “It’s all right. It was a long time ago. I’m sorry I took it out on you. It’s just that those words…” she trailed off on a shuddering sigh.

  “Remind you of something horrible,” he finished for her. “I understand. And from now on, I promise to only compliment you on your brilliant mind.”

  He felt the gurgle of her laughter and for a moment felt like the king of the world, conquering the beasts.

  “It’s okay if you think I’m… I’m hot,” she whispered, her nose still buried in his chest. “Just not… not beautiful. Okay?”

  “Hot it is,” he said, lifting her chin so that he could see her eyes. “And for the record, if I knew where to go, I’d kick some ass.”

  She was silent for a moment, but she didn’t pull away. And then she sighed, her gaze still locked with his. “He’s dead. Which means it should be over, but some part of me just can’t let go.”

  “You trusted him. And it was the ultimate betrayal. That’s not something you can just throw off. No matter how much you want to. But maybe it’s time to put it in the past where it belongs.”

  “And how am I supposed to do that?” she asked, her gaze still holding his.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I do know what it’s like to have something horrible happen that affects your every waking thought. So maybe we can try to move on together? I’ve no idea what that means, so we’d be taking a huge risk, but I’d like to try.”

  She studied him for a moment, and then she nodded. “I think I would, too. As long as it’s with you.”

  He wasn’t sure that anyone had ever looked at him with that kind of trust. And he prayed that he wouldn’t let her down.

  She reached for him then, and he kissed her, a soft gentle covenant. She’d shared her most secret place and he was determined to honor that faith. Even though the idea still scared the holy shit out of him.

  He wanted her. More than he remembered ever wanting anyone. It was as if she were a part of him, and he needed her to function. Hell, to survive. And suddenly he realized that he was falling for her.

  The thought should have scared him—but it didn’t.

  He lifted his head, searching the dark blue of her eyes. “You’re sure about this?”

  She nodded. “Wherever it takes us. However it ends. I’m good.”

  He was humbled again by the fact that she didn’t ask for anything. No promises. Nothing. She wasn’t like any woman he’d ever met. He pulled her close, resting his head against hers, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing.

  And for the first time in his life, Harrison Blake considered that maybe he might be better off with someone by his side.

  As long as it was Hannah.

  CHAPTER 17

  Hannah surfaced from sleep to the tantalizing aroma of coffee. She rolled onto her back, enjoying that blissful moment when her mind was clear—no clutter or baggage. Then someone cleared his throat and her eyes flew open.

  Harrison.

  He was standing by the bed, coffee cup in hand, dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt. With his tousled hair and multicolored eyes, he looked even more appealing than the caffeine he was holding.

  In the light of day, she wasn’t as certain that telling him had been the right thing. She’d held on to her secret for so long it felt strange to know that someone else knew. Especially when that person was Harrison. Still, it was done. And she wasn’t one to spend time on regrets.

  They’d made no promises last night. And she wasn’t going to ask for them now. She’d just have to live in the moment. Which was easier said than done, but if it meant more time with Harrison, then it was worth the effort. She’d meant what she’d said. She was in it for the ride, no matter where it wound up taking them. She sighed, stretching as he sat down beside her, putting the cup on the bedside table.

  “Morning, sunshine,” he said, with a crooked smile, bending to drop a kiss on the end of her nose. “I thought you could use a shot of coffee. I just went with what was in the cabinet. I hope that’s okay.”

  “It’s fine,” she said, pushing her hair out of her face as she sat up, pulling the sheet with her. “You been up long?”

  “About four hours,” he offered, his eyes dropping to her breasts. Desire blossomed, and their gazes locked, her breath catching as she let herself get lost in his eyes. “And as much as I regret saying it, there’s not time for anything more than coffee.”

  Disappointment mingled with shock as she shot a look at the clock. “Oh, my God, it’s almost noon. Why did
you let me sleep when there’s work to be done?”

  “I figured you needed it,” he said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You went through some pretty heavy stuff last night.”

  She nodded, reaching for her glasses, not ready to talk about it again. “As I recall,” she said, moving on to a better memory, “there were good bits, too.”

  “Just bits?” he probed, waggling his eyebrows. “I seem to remember hours and hours of—”

  She hit him with a pillow, and he flipped her underneath him, his body hard against hers. He stared down at her for a moment, then dipped his head, slanting his mouth over hers, his kiss hard and possessive, but then he pushed away.

  “Avery and the guys are on their way over here,” he said, his expression regretful.

  “Now?” she squeaked, grabbing the sheet as she jumped out of bed. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “I was a bit distracted.” He shrugged, his eyes tracing the lines of her body beneath the sheet.

  “So why are they coming here?” she asked, sipping her coffee as she headed for the bathroom. “Did someone find something?”

  “Me, actually,” he said, still watching her. The color rose in her cheeks, and she tried to remember the last time she’d felt this much hope. “God, I wish I could come in there with you.” He half rose from the edge of the bed, but the doorbell rang.

  “I’d say I was saved by the bell,” she sighed. “But I’m not sure I actually wanted saving. So what did you find?”

  “A name. We’ve got a hit on the killer’s DNA.”

  Hannah poured herself a second cup of coffee and swallowed a yawn. The team was gathered around her dining room table. Drake as usual was propped in the corner. Simon sat at one end, with Avery at the other. And Harrison was huddled over his computer, the scene somehow comforting in its normalcy. She sat down next to Drake and opened her laptop.