Fall to You (Here and Now 2)

“Morning.” She’s got the sexiest flush to her cheeks when she wakes up.

Our eyes lock for a few moments and my heart feels full and torn all at once. “What are you going to do when I let you go?”

She grins at me. “What do you mean?”

“When this is over and we stop meeting each other all over the country, are you going to put on his ring?”

She doesn’t answer, and for the first time, I realize I want her to say no. I want her to ask me for the things I’ve told her I can’t give. It’s foolish and reckless and everything I swore to myself I wouldn’t do, but I’ll be damned if I don’t feel like one of those lovesick idiots who says, “We’ll make it work,” and finds himself months later dealing with the consequences.

Giggling, she rolls to her back and stretches her arms above her head. “I slept so well. Did you?”

Very little. I spent an embarrassing amount of time watching her sleep. “Better than usual.”

“Dream about anything good?”

“The dreams couldn’t compete with the real thing lying next to me.”

She snorts and rolls tow

ard me, sliding an arm around my waist. “I bet that’s what you tell all the girls.”

Not at all. In fact, aside from kissing Vivian, I haven’t touched another woman since my first night with Hanna. No other woman has appealed to me since I touched her.

“Tell me about your dreams, angel. What does your future look like in that amazing brain of yours?” I ask because I want to know and to remind myself why I need to keep my distance from her.

She snuggles closer and traces my tattoos with her fingertips. “Hmm, I don’t know. I feel silly saying it out loud.”

I tilt her chin up so she’s looking at me. “Try. For me?”

“Okay… My bakery is successful. Days that start at four a.m. The smell of bread and pastries. Happy brides and wedding cakes that are so beautiful no one wants to cut into them.” She smiles, lost in the image. “A little house for me in historic New Hope so I’m close to my bakery but still have space for kids, a backyard for a big dog. Evenings walking along the river and Sunday brunch, where I see my sisters and our kids grow up together—cousins who play and fight like brothers and sisters.” She shakes her head, as if to shake away the thought, and releases a breath. “Probably sounds pretty lame to a big-shot celebrity.”

“Not at all. It sounds…amazing.” There’s reverence in my voice. I don’t know what that’s like—the small-town life, the tight-knit family—and I envy the simplicity of it.

But she chuckles softly. “You don’t think less of me because I don’t want to escape the little town where I grew up?”

“I couldn’t think less of you.” I press a kiss to her mouth then move my way down her body, stopping to lick each nipple and suck at the sensitive skin above each hipbone. When I sink between her legs, she parts them easily, and her cries fill my ears as I explore her with my fingers and tongue.

And after she comes, I softly bite the inside of her thigh, suck until she gasps and then moans with pleasure. I’m marking her. Do I want her so-called ex to see I was here? Or do I just want her to remember me when she sees it? I don’t need to understand why I’m doing it to know that I am. Marking her. Because knowing I can’t have her doesn’t change that I want her to be mine.

“Looks like you’re cooking for an army this morning.”

I look up from the fruit covering my cutting board and see Hanna walking into the kitchen. She fell back asleep and I came down here to make breakfast. She’s not eating enough, so I made bacon, hash brown casserole, cinnamon rolls, and fruit salad. She’s wearing a robe—with nothing else if I’m lucky. I wipe my hands on a towel and skirt around the island to pull her into my arms. She has that effect on me. I see her and need to touch her. She melts into me as I kiss her, sweeping my tongue inside to taste her, to drink her in. When I break the kiss, it’s only because I want it to be so much more.

“What are you doing with all this food?” she asks.

“I’m feeding my girl.”

She blushes. “I just need some coffee and maybe a little of that fruit salad.”

“What you need is a keeper. How much weight have you lost since we met three months ago?”

Ignoring my question, she goes to the coffee pot to pours herself a cup.

“Hanna,” I whisper as she turns around. I tilt her chin up so she’s looking at me. “I’m worried about you.”

“I needed to lose some weight. Trust me, I’m not going to waste away.”

“You didn’t need to lose an ounce.” My gut burns with rage at whoever made her feel this way. That rage used to be directed at the ex, but I’m not sure anymore. “Did he do this to you? Did he make you feel this way?”