“I . . . I could fix you dinner?” Her voice was hesitant as though she wasn’t certain she should offer.
“Fried chicken?” Hannah Brookes could fry some killer chicken. He’d had the pleasure of sampling it at a school dinner when Kent had been in kindergarten. It was damned good.
Her smile lit up the office. “Done deal,” she promised. “I’ll see you this evening, then.”
Stupid. Stupid. He cursed himself for his wayward tongue and his stubborn hard-on. But he still waited until she turned before moving from his desk.
He watched her walk. The bunch and clench of her rear beneath those jeans made his jaw tighten.
He reached past her as they got to the door, and opened it for her, watching as she turned back to him.
“Thank you again,” she said softly.
“You’re welcome, Hannah.” He closed the door on that bright smile before he did something really foolish. Something dumb like jerking her back inside his office and pushing her across his desk.
Damn, it had been too long since he’d been with a woman, he told himself. More than four years. Two years before Sienna died, give or take a few months. He hadn’t had sex with his wife, and he hadn’t cheated on her. And after her death, he had been too wary, too filled with a darkness that didn’t make sense to him.
Hannah had brought out that darkness. The two dinner dates they’d had, he’d been tense, hungry for something that had nothing to do with food, and had had him off balance just enough to cause him to draw away.
Besides that, he knew Hannah Brookes. He’d known her all her life, and she wasn’t a one-night stand. Rick wasn’t looking for anything more than a few hot nights and a fond f
arewell.
No more marriage, no more betrayals, he’d promised himself. He’d known Sienna all her life too, but he’d never known who she really was on the inside.
He’d risked his son once already, he wasn’t going to do it again. Sienna may have been Kent’s mother, but the monster that dwelled inside her had been anything but maternal.
Shaking his head at the situation he had suddenly placed himself in, he paced back to the desk and threw himself into the chair as he stared at the door once again.
He couldn’t get it out of his mind. Someone had tried to break in on her. She was a schoolteacher; a burglar wasn’t going to make much from breaking into her home. There were a hell of a lot better hits on that street than her little house. That left other motives for trying to get to her. Those motives sent a chill racing up his spine.
He might not trust his instincts with women anymore, but he couldn’t get past the suspicion that if that prowler had managed to get in, then Hannah might not have survived the experience.
He could handle one evening and one fried chicken dinner, he assured himself as he pushed his fingers wearily through his hair. Hell, he’d survived two dinner dates last summer, hadn’t he? He hadn’t even kissed her, despite the nearly overwhelming urge to feast on that slightly full lower lip.
He had the self-control to resist. He’d resisted temptation for four years. Two years during his marriage, two years after his wife’s death. Sienna had taught him the hazards of giving in, and he promised himself he’d never make that mistake again.
CHAPTER 2
RICK ARRIVED at Hannah’s just a few minutes after seven and had to consciously steel himself against the woman that opened the door to his firm knock.
She was a kindergarten teacher, for God’s sake, he kept telling himself as he stared down at her, dressed in a soft summer dress. Shoulders bared, tan leather sandals on her feet. He expected polish, a bright red or maroon; instead, it was a soft pale pink that made him wonder if it was the same color as her nipples.
The thought had his cock harder, if possible, as he stepped into the house. There was matching polish on her fingernails. That creamy dark flesh pink that was driving him insane.
The dress was an added stimulation. It bared her softly tanned, shimmering skin. Thin straps and just a little hint of cleavage then it flowed like a whisper to below her knees. It wasn’t short, tight, or seductive, and all the more destructive for it.
It was feminine, just shy of innocent, with just a touch of flirty.
Damn, she was good.
“I’ll check the doors and windows, see what you need,” he said, barely managing to get the words past his throat. “I brought some locks and a few other things in case you need them.”
He’d brought a toolbox and bought enough damned dead bolts and security locks to reinforce Fort Knox.
“Thank you,” she murmured behind him as he headed to the back door. “Dinner will be in about an hour.”
He nodded, but didn’t dare look at her again.