Just One Spark (3 page)

Derek froze halfway between sitting and standing. His eyes were wide as saucers. “What did…why would…” he stammered before remembering to sit down. “I don’t understand.”

Hannah shrugged. “I figured you had an opinion on everything.” She took a long slow drink of her tea to fight against the wafts of coffee invading her senses. If only it were warmer and she could sit outside.

“Hannah, I’m not sure what you’ve heard.” Derek set his mug down. Definitely coffee, mocha by the looks of it.

Hannah chuckled. She’d actually made the professor uncomfortable. Score one for her. Leaning in, she whispered, “I was just eavesdropping on a conversation. Never mind.”

Relief washed over Derek’s features. She exchanged pleasantries with him, enjoying his discomfort. He made this far too easy for her to write him off. He’d shown up late, too opinionated and had probably been accused of being a stalker before.

“I’ve been wondering about something,” Hannah said, schooling her face into an aloof expression. “Have you ever looked at adultery from the other side? Why married men are attracted to certain women? Is there a type they go for?” She absently rubbed the side of her mug, hoping she hadn’t given herself away too much. She wanted to know what kept bringing these jerks her way.

“There are quite a few studies about women who prefer to be mistresses,” Derek said, leaning back in his velvet chair and checking his watch.

Hannah shook her head. “No, I mean what kind of women these men choose to approach. Is there something similar about them?”

Derek sucked in his bottom lip as his eyebrows knit together. After a brief moment, he said, “That’s a great idea. I’ll research it.” Derek snuck a quick look at the door.

We have a winner.
Not only had he been late, he couldn’t help her and obviously had somewhere else to be. “Don’t let me keep you.”

“What?” Derek asked, picking up his mug.

“You’re very interested in your watch, the door. You know what? I’m going to head off to work.” Hannah gathered her purse from her feet.

“No!” Derek nearly jumped out of his seat. “I, uh…there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

Just great.
A psychologist who couldn’t read people. He wanted to ask her out again. Hannah took a deep breath and rounded up her best I’m-really-busy-at-work excuse. He was a friend of Troy’s after all, no need to be bitchy.
Yet.

“Remember that story you were telling me at the party?” Derek asked.

Hannah nodded without bothering to hide her annoyance. Must she talk about this again?

“It’s him,” Hannah heard the brunette from the writing group squeal. The inspiration for two novels must be more interesting than Derek. She turned towards the door and her heart froze.

Him. It was him. In the flesh.

Molding herself to the back of her chair, she tried to make the wheels turn in her brain. Adulterer. Stalker. Haunter of dreams.

Great job, Hannah, you’ve gone from bad to worse
.

This had better be good. The very last place Mason wanted to find himself after completing his second twenty-four-hour shift of the week was the coffee shop he’d been thrown out of. If this were Derek’s idea of a joke, he’d be paying in blood.

He quickly made his way past the counter, hoping the barista wouldn’t see him. Hearing her gasp as he walked by, he shook his head. This had better be damn good, and it had better be fast, because they were probably both about to get the boot.

“It’s him,” a woman squealed. Mason turned to see the writing group that met at the shop all staring up at him. They’d all witnessed the embarrassing scene with the manager. Great, now he’d become a pariah in his own neighborhood.

“Mason, over here.” He shifted his glance and spied Derek sitting in one of two purple chairs by the window.

He made a beeline towards his brother. A week of mornings in the coffee shop had acquainted him with the writers group. He didn’t have the patience to get dragged in to a conversation with that chatty bunch.

With her back to him, a woman rose from the chair facing Derek.

Even before she turned around he knew. Her. It was her. Mason took a deep breath, pulling her into his lungs and willing himself to think. Stunning. Sensual. Every man’s fantasy.

Good luck, Mason, you finally have your chance
.

As he watched her spin on her heel his whole body came to attention. He met her gaze and grinned. Even more beautiful than he remembered with her hair swept back into a bun and only a few fringes accenting her face. Her intense gaze bore holes in his soul. Then she narrowed her eyes into slits as she turned to Derek.

“You know him?” she snapped.

“Yes, I uh-actually that’s um—” Derek stammered. Mason began to put the pieces together. Derek found her and called him. This was
damn
good.

She turned back to him as she made a few deductions of her own. “Where’s your ring?”

“I’m not married.” Relieved to finally have the chance to say it, Mason turned to Derek. “You haven’t told her?”

“I hadn’t gotten that far.”

“Don’t bother, either of you.” She reached down for her purse. Mason shot Derek a pleading glance. She’d never believe it coming from him. Hell, he could barely believe it. Derek needed to explain, now, and fast.

“Look, Hannah, he’s never been married,” Derek began. “He wore the ring for one of my experiments. I hypothesized more women would come on to him if they thought he was married. I told you about my theory, remember?”

She paused, but only for a moment. “I did not come on to him. He came on to me.”

“I know,” Derek continued. “Mason told me what happened. When you told me the story at Troy’s party, I put two and two together.”

“Why didn’t you tell me then?” she asked, pulling on her charcoal-gray pea coat. “Why lure me down here to fill me in? Why fill me in at all? Is this some kind of sick game you two are playing?”

Mason stepped forward. “He didn’t tell me anything, Hannah.” Hannah, such a pretty name. Soft and strong, like her. “Derek just asked me to meet him here. I wanted you to know the truth. I don’t want you thinking I’m some jerk who cheats on his wife.”

Her gaze ricocheted between the two men. Hitching her purse higher on her shoulder, she addressed Derek first. “You were wrong to trick me into this.” She then turned an icy gaze on Mason. “Are you stalking me?”

Mason’s eyes widened. “What? No. No.” He looked around him. Someone must have told her about his run-in with the store manager. “I wanted to find you again so I could explain. I like you. I want to get to know you better. I wanted to clear things up so we could start over.”

Hannah huffed a short breath his way. “We’re clear. I’m leaving.”

“Wait,” Derek said. “You’re not going to go out with him?”

“No.” Hannah said much too quickly.

“But you have to,” one of the women from the writing group butted in.

“You’re the one who said he was a stalker,” Hannah said to the woman.

“Honey, if stalkers look like that I’m going to have to get one. You have to at least go out with him,” the woman pleaded.

“No, she doesn’t,” Mason said, stepping towards her.

“She doesn’t?” a voice squeaked from the peanut gallery.

Wide-eyed, Hannah looked up at him. He reached out as if in a dream, tucked his fingers underneath her chin, and angled her mouth up to accept his. He brushed his lips softly against hers, wondering if she’d fight him. Her eyelids drifted closed and he let himself taste her. Gently, he kissed her, fighting the urge to push and plunder. She crept her hands up his body and flattened her palms against his chest, resting them there for a second before she firmly pushed him away.

As her heavily fringed lids fluttered open, she said, “I don’t know you. You have no right to kiss me.”

Cocking his head to the side, he wondered if she was more upset that he’d kissed her, or that he’d stopped. From the way her chest hitched with every breath, he’d bet his paycheck on the latter. Still, she fought the attraction.

“That was not a kiss.”

“Excuse me? I know when I’ve been kissed,” she said breathily.

“
This
is a kiss.” Mason reached for her and molded his hands on either side of her creamy oval face. Energy pulsed through him as he pressed his lips to hers. He had one chance to assault her senses the way she did to him with just her presence. A physical expression of just how she made him feel. No softness this time, no holding back.

He pressed his body against hers, deepening the kiss, demanding she accept him. His lips were firm where hers were pliant. He swallowed her moan as she parted her lips, allowing him inside. His head rushed with the refreshing minty taste of her. He seduced her with the kiss. Caressing. Nipping. Inviting. Taking.

When she ran her fingers through his hair, he relaxed his grip. Reluctantly, he pulled away and gazed at her expression, eyes closed, lips still parted. He grinned down at her as her eyes flickered open, the dichotomy of a single blue and a single green eye studying him intently. Derek was an idiot with his ideas about symmetry. The play of the two colors against each other was amazingly sexy.

“That was a kiss,” she whispered, licking her lips.

Chapter Three

Climbing down the ladder in her kitten heels, Hannah set the armload of negligees on the rolling cart. She wanted to strangle whatever genius thought to place hanging lingerie still in boxes on the highest shelves in the stockroom.
Right before the holiday season.
As if the floor staff needed a reason not to rotate the aisle presentations.

Straightening her gray sheath dress, Hannah pushed the cart out the swinging doors of the stockroom and onto the sales floor. Most of the year she tried to appeal to women, but during the holiday she wanted to turn a man’s head. She took the sheer ivory gown from the mannequin and replaced it with a pink baby doll flyaway trimmed in black lace. She stepped back to admire the handiwork and hoped it would interest a man. It had been so long since she’d been with one she wasn’t sure. Would Mason prefer satin, sheer, lace or nothing at all?

“Fine jewelry two, fine jewelry two,” the intercom paged. Staffing was light so Hannah pushed the cart to the back room and headed over to the jewelry counter.

Hannah gave a can-I-help-you smile to a perky brunette eyeing the bridal sets. After trying on a few rings, the woman settled on one and turned to look for her fiancé.

“Honey, look at this one,” she chirped as a blond man approached the counter and stopped Hannah’s heart cold.

Marty.

He had the nerve to be in her store?
Granted, when they were together she’d worked on the west side, but still. Careless bastard should have known better.

Sucking in a deep breath, Hannah straightened her posture, forced a smile and looked him in the eye. She recognized terror as he tugged the woman’s arm from the counter.

“Excuse me,” Hannah’s voice rang out as clear as a bell. “The ring?” She held her hand open in expectation.

“Martin!” the woman chided, sidling back to the counter. “You said we’d get the ring today.”

“Not here,” Marty barked, his face reddening.

“You said today,” the woman pouted.

“He must have somewhere to go,” Hannah taunted, surprising herself with the pleasure of finally having power over the jerk. He couldn’t expect her to let him get away with this.

Marty narrowed his eyes as he looked at her.
Simple brown eyes.
What she’d ever seen in him she didn’t know. Broadening her grin, Hannah decided to have some fun. “At least you’ll save some money.”

“Oh, is there a special sale today?” the woman asked hopefully.

Hannah shook her head and addressed Marty again. “Marty’s pockets are full of gold, aren’t they, Marty?”

He grabbed the woman’s arm and gave it a not so gentle tug. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Hannah caught the hand still wearing the ring. The woman got caught in the middle of a cruel tug-of-war. Hannah released her first, remembering how she’d felt when she’d first discovered his deception.

“Ouch!” the woman yelped, removing the ring and returning it to Hannah. “What is going on?”

Marty shot daggers at her, but she didn’t care. Hannah lowered her voice and looked the woman in the eye. “Honey, he won’t buy you a ring. He’s married with three kids.”

Mason smiled from his perch in the bar, watching as Hannah sashayed her way into the restaurant five minutes early. He hated to be kept waiting. Especially for something he’d looked so forward to.

Her soft brown hair fell loosely across her back. He liked it down, long and flowing and begging to be touched. He wanted to touch her so badly he balled his hands into fists at his sides.

Dropping a few bills on the bar, he slid off his stool. In just a few long strides, he found himself beside her, helping her off with her coat. He indulged himself, allowing his fingers to brush against her hair. It was softer than he’d imagined, like spun silk.

Her scent wafted toward him, light and floral, like flowers after the rain. How had he missed that before? Had the aroma of detergent or coffee simply washed her out, or had she put it on tonight for him?

Pulling her coat away from her body, he stepped back and allowed himself a lingering gaze. She was exquisite from head to toe. Her wide-neck sweater kissed at her creamy shoulders, the hazy pale-gray complementing her eyes. He studied the angle of her collarbone, the curve of her neck, the little dip where her throat met her torso. The neck of her sweater sat too high to gift him with a view of cleavage, but he drank in the swells of her breasts beneath the soft fabric.

His gaze drifted down her body, enjoying the silky look of the black skirt twirling a few inches above her knee. The black tights she wore were disappointing, but the boots made him want to beg for mercy. A toe so pointy it must be painful. Black leather laced up the side all the way to her knee. The thin heels on the boots were at least three inches high.
Yowza.

“Mason?” Her sweet voice snapped him back to reality.

He cleared his throat, twice, before even trying to say something coherent. “Hmm?” He couldn’t manage more with all the blood in his body occupied south of the border.

“I asked if you’d been waiting long. I know how much I hate to be kept waiting.”

With those boots, she almost looked him in the eye. If he wanted to kiss her he could just lean forward. A genius must have designed those things.

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.

He cleared his throat again, but before he spoke a hostess arrived and led them to their table. Why Hannah had chosen this restaurant he’d never know. Orchid was a popular Thai place, more family than romantic. And just two blocks from the laundromat. Maybe she wanted to stick close to home.

“Do you like living downtown?” he managed to ask after cooling his body temperature with the ice water the hostess set before him.

Her posture straightened. “How do you know where I live?”

Mason held open his hands. “I don’t. I just assumed. This place, the laundromat and the coffee shop are all within a three-block radius. Something is pulling you this direction.”

Her expression softened as she relaxed her shoulders. “You shouldn’t assume. All three places are close to the train line as well.”

He smiled and shook his head. “You’re never going to cut me a break, are you?”

“Not until you’ve earned it.” She grinned back and took a sip from her own glass. Her ripe mouth mesmerized Mason. He watched her dart her pink tongue between her full lips to swipe a stray drop of water and he spread his legs, allowing more room in his pants. He recalled all too vividly the things she managed with that tongue.

Mason drained the rest of his water, rattling the ice cubes in the bottom of the glass. After wiping the condensation from the glass, he spread the cool water across the back of his neck. Was she really making him sweat? By sheer proximity? If she could do this completely clothed, he’d be wrecked if she were naked. A vision of her naked danced before his eyes, making him grab the edge of the table. He had to get a grip on something.

“Do you like spicy?” Hannah asked from behind her menu.

She certainly wasn’t going to let up. “The hotter the better.”

The man got hotter every time she saw him. Before he’d always been wearing work clothes. She’d wondered if it was the fire department emblem that made him seem so sexy. Hannah always had a thing for heroes. But it wasn’t the uniform that turned her head. It was the man beneath it.

Hannah was impressed to see he’d primped a bit himself. His work boots were replaced by brushed-leather oxfords. Her gaze rested on the vee of his broad chest covered in soft blue cashmere. The fabric draped suggestively, reminding her of the body she’d dreamed about beneath. The cobalt of the sweater brought out the pinstripe in the flat-front micro-fiber slacks he wore. His warm-brown hair was still spiky, but less just-rolled-out-of-bed and more natural and touchable.

And she wanted to touch him. Every long inch of him, while staring into those deep middle-of-the-ocean-blue eyes. It was now officially her favorite color.

Goodness, she needed to get a grip on herself. She’d agonized over what to wear for almost an hour before copying the outfit on a mannequin she’d dressed yesterday. She’d let her hair down and spritzed herself with perfume before leaving the store. Everyone must have guessed she had a date.

The sick thing was she’d wanted them to. Everyone at worked teased her for being a workaholic. She hadn’t been on an actual date in a long time. Something she’d planned beforehand and made time for. This was the first date she’d been on during the holiday season in four years.

Which had probably made things very easy for Marty, she thought with a huff. Maybe married men scoped out retail managers because they would be too busy to notice being ignored during one of the most important times of the year. She shook her head to dispel the memory. Marty had no business here tonight.

“What?” Mason’s low baritone rumbled over the hum of the busy restaurant.

“What what?” she teased up at him and smiled. He had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. A true cobalt blue she noticed in the bright lighting of the restaurant.

“You shook your head,” Mason said wistfully. “My conversational skills disappointing you again?”

“Of course not,” Hannah said, surveying the vegetable remains of her pad thai. “You were a little quiet in the beginning, but you warmed right up. I’m actually relieved dominating a conversation isn’t a family trait.”

In the last half hour, they’d covered all the first-date basics. Hannah had discovered they actually had a lot in common. They generally liked the same music, occasionally the same style of furniture, and rarely had similar tastes in books. They rambled about everything and nothing as they made their way through appetizers and entrees.

There was nothing about him she hated and a lot of things she liked. He listened intently, waiting for her to volunteer information instead of prying it out of her. Something was happening with this man, something wonderful.

She reached across the table and laid her fingers lightly over his, amazed by the warmth of his skin. Every inch of this man was hot. Too tempting. She hadn’t even figured out what was wrong with him yet. Hannah pulled her hand back.

He flipped his hand over and caught hers, blocking her retreat with the steady grasp of his fingers. Palm to palm, she couldn’t ignore the heat pulsing between them. He slowly rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. The contrast of textures made her all the more aware the casual touch was anything but.

“Do you want to know why I’m finding it hard to focus?” His expression changed. No longer free and easy, he was suddenly serious.

“Are you going to give me a lesson on genetics?” She teased to lighten his mood. She was still too nervous with him to go there. “Are all firemen experts on the rules of inheritance?”

He shook his head slowly as a grin played on his lips. “Firefighter. Firemen are the guys who load coal on trains.”

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just a reflex. You look amazing.”

“Thank you,” she said automatically, deflecting the compliment by looking away. Heat prickled her from her shoulders to her cheeks.
Blushing.
She felt the weight of his stare on her bare shoulders and she swung her hair forward. She tried to remove her hand, but he held firm, continuing a lazy circle of the back of her hand with his thumb.

“Hannah.” Mason’s voice rumbled between them.

Her stomach fluttered. She still wasn’t used to the sound of her name on his lips. She wasn’t shy, just out of practice. No need to act like an inexperienced schoolgirl, no matter how he made her swoon. After all, she’d bought the sweater this afternoon because it made her feel sexy. And the boots, well, they might be a little much, but she’d wanted to see if she could get a rise out of him. She looked up to meet his gaze.

“When I saw you I couldn’t think, just like the first time. You’re beautiful.” He smiled, the dimple in his left cheek making a token appearance. “And those boots are doing terrible things to my self-control.”

Hannah’s tongue pushed against the back of her teeth as she smiled in glee. She affected
his
self-control? At least that leveled the playing field. “They are fantastic, aren’t they?” She jutted a long leg from beneath the table. “We just got them in last night. They’re completely impractical but too fantastic to resist.”

“I can think of some practical uses for them.” Mason wrapped his fingers around her wrist. If he took her pulse right now, he might guess what she imagined. Him on his knees, her standing in front of him wearing nothing but the come-and-get-me boots. He’d look up at her with an expression not unlike the one he’d worn when they started down this road.

Too far, too fast.

She jerked her hand back as if she’d been bitten. She would never be seduced by someone she didn’t know ever again.

“You could aerate a lawn,” he offered quietly. Her gaze searched him as he slowly withdrew his hand.

“That’s really what you were thinking?” she heard herself taunt. She might be out of practice when it came to dating, but she knew a come-on when she heard one. Or at least she thought she did.

He grinned across the table. “No, but given your reaction, it seemed like a nice save.” A waiter returned with their bill. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she reminded herself the naughty vision lived in her own head. She couldn’t punish Mason for her overactive, undersexed imagination.

After Mason dealt with the waiter, he turned his attention back to Hannah. “I’m thinking in those boots you wouldn’t have to stand on your toes to kiss me.” Mason rose from his chair. “Shall we?” he asked, offering her his hand.

“Kiss? Here?”
In the middle of a crowded restaurant?
Had he forgotten how she’d reacted the last time he kissed her? Hannah’s stomach quivered at the thought and she licked her lips in anticipation. She remembered all too well the delicious kisses this man served up, and she very much wanted to sample some more.

Mason laughed wickedly and shook his head, pulling her to her feet. Her body pressed against his on impact. Her nipples peaked immediately as his hard chest pressed against hers. “Anytime, anywhere. But I think I should walk you home first.”