Deadly Dance (21 page)

With a groan, he bent his head and took her breast into
his mouth, sucking deeply, pulling the nipple between his teeth, the sensation almost more than she could bear. Behind them the night split in earnest as the storm hit in full fury, the windows rattling with the strength of the wind and thunder.

Hannah arched her back, closing her eyes, letting go of all logical thought. There was nothing but the storm and the man. And for tonight at least she wasn’t going to fight it.

He’d bared her other breast, her camisole around her waist, his lips caressing first one nipple and then the other until she was literally throbbing with need, her legs still locked around him, his pulse pounding between her legs.

She reached for the buttons on his shirt, heedless of propriety, ripping it open, the sound of popping buttons only adding to the power she felt surging through her. He moved back to her mouth, his lips slanting over hers, the kiss reaching deep inside her. Touching her soul.

It was a fleeting thought. One that she’d have laughed at if someone else had said it. But here, in this moment, it was truth.

She wrapped her hands around his neck as the kiss deepened, his hands moving lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her sweats. She sucked in a breath, waiting—her body tightening in anticipation as she opened her legs for him. Rain pelted the window behind her, the cold glass a contrast to his fingers, hot as they slipped inside her.

For a moment, he was still, his lips moving slowly against hers, and she felt like a bow drawn tight—stretched to the breaking point. Needing release. And then he moved
faster, two fingers thrusting inside her, the rhythm matching the motion of his tongue.

Faster and faster. Deeper and deeper. Until she felt as if she were going to explode. Physically shatter. She was on the edge of ecstasy.

And then he was gone. His fingers still.

She cried out, eyes wide. But he smiled, kneeling between her legs, making short work of her sweats and panties, and then she felt the heat of his mouth as he worked his way up the smooth skin of her inner thighs, his soft hair caressing her as he moved higher, and higher still.

The thunder crashed, the sill beneath her vibrating as he found home, his tongue moving inside her. Tasting and teasing. She arched her back, throwing back her head, threading her fingers through his hair, urging him on. Needing him now with an urgency that couldn’t be stopped.

Hannah shuddered, the pressure building again, the precipice higher this time than before. For a moment she teetered, and then his mouth closed around her throbbing center, sucking deeply. And she was gone, the spasms racking through her bringing pleasure so great she thought she might die of it. Sweet, sweet pain.

The thunder crashed again, reverberating as the glass behind her shimmied in protest. Pushing to his feet, Harrison scooped her into his arms and carried her up the stairs. When they reached her bedroom, he released her, her half-dressed body sliding against his, the friction of skin against skin almost unbearable. In short work, they managed to undress each other, and then he kissed her again. Lightning flashed, and just for a moment, she could see the hunger in his eyes.

With a soft smile, she pulled away. Emboldened by the dark and the storm, she ran her hands down her own body, touching her breasts and her stomach, her gut tightening when she heard him groan, his need as palpable as her own.

“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.

H
arrison 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.

“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.”