intelligence in her eyes. Maybe it was because she hadn't been easy. Most women gave in too quickly to his charm. Never Hannah. She would rather live with roaches than date him.
At first, he'd started teasing her because she seemed such an ice queen. It gave him pleasure to rattle her cage. Then he'd found he liked her snappy retorts and he'd begun looking forward to seeing her. Somewhere along the line, teasing respect had turned to affection. Maybe because he knew it was safe. With Hannah, it would never be real.
If he was honest with himself, he would have to admit his desire to help her fit in with her family wasn't completely altruistic. If he smoothed the way for her, she would remember him fondly, even after he was gone.
"I've got cold beer in the fridge," Jordan said. "Louise left some sandwiches."
The men started down the stairs. Nick followed last. As their conversation drifted back to him, he began wondering what it would be like if this was for real. If he were married to Hannah and a part of this family.
He shook his head. Whom was he trying to kid? He had still been in elementary school when he'd learned the most important lesson of all – not to get attached. He'd lived by that rule and it had served him well.
* * *
Hannah frowned at her reflection. It wasn't that she didn't like what she saw in the mirror. It was the fact that her hands trembled.
"I can't believe this," she muttered. "All it takes is one family dinner and I'm a basket case."
She drew in a deep breath. It was only dinner with people she'd already met. No big deal. All right, so Louise had mentioned everyone would be dressing. Not formally, just not jeans. So this time they were expecting her and might have had time to think up difficult questions. She would survive. It wouldn't be so bad.
She opened her eye shadow compact and lifted out the tiny brush. Her fingers shook visibly and she bit back a curse. She was a trained professional. What happened to performing under pressure?
She leaned forward and closed her left eye. As she positioned the brush over her lid, the bathroom door opened and Nick stepped inside. He wore a blue T-shirt tucked into worn jeans. The color of the shirt matched the irises of his eyes and did amazing things to her already-rapid heart rate. He'd shaved that morning, but there was a faint darkening around his cheeks and jaws as the stubble highlighted his bone structure.
"You going to be much longer?" he asked.
She stared at his reflection, meeting his gaze. "Maybe you didn't notice, but the door was closed."
"I noticed. That's why I came in. How much longer are you going to hog the bathroom?"
"I just need to finish my makeup. A closed door is usually a request for privacy. You could have knocked."
"Yeah, I could have."
He leaned against the wall by the shower and folded his arms over his chest. The action brought his firm muscles into relief. The tiny brush slipped from her fingers and dropped to the counter. She leaned her forehead against the mirror.
"I'm never going to finish," she muttered.
"Then you'll just have to share," he said and pulled the hem of his T-shirt out of his jeans.
She couldn't bear to think about his undressing in her presence. She grabbed the brush. "Never mind, I'll hurry."
She ignored his knowing smile and focused on her eyelid. Using every available ounce of concentration, she was able to smooth a stroke of shadow right in the crease. She smudged it with her ring finger, then straightened to study the effect.
"Beautiful," he said.
She ignored his comment. "What happened with my brothers?"
"The usual. I mentioned how you liked to visit me in prison and that you had a tattoo with my initials right here." He pointed to his backside. "Oh, and I told them about the threesome we had with my cell mate, Bubba, on your last conjugal visit."
In spite of herself, she felt her lips turn up in a smile. "I'm trying to have a serious conversation."
"I'm trying not to." He held up
At first, he'd started teasing her because she seemed such an ice queen. It gave him pleasure to rattle her cage. Then he'd found he liked her snappy retorts and he'd begun looking forward to seeing her. Somewhere along the line, teasing respect had turned to affection. Maybe because he knew it was safe. With Hannah, it would never be real.
If he was honest with himself, he would have to admit his desire to help her fit in with her family wasn't completely altruistic. If he smoothed the way for her, she would remember him fondly, even after he was gone.
"I've got cold beer in the fridge," Jordan said. "Louise left some sandwiches."
The men started down the stairs. Nick followed last. As their conversation drifted back to him, he began wondering what it would be like if this was for real. If he were married to Hannah and a part of this family.
He shook his head. Whom was he trying to kid? He had still been in elementary school when he'd learned the most important lesson of all – not to get attached. He'd lived by that rule and it had served him well.
* * *
Hannah frowned at her reflection. It wasn't that she didn't like what she saw in the mirror. It was the fact that her hands trembled.
"I can't believe this," she muttered. "All it takes is one family dinner and I'm a basket case."
She drew in a deep breath. It was only dinner with people she'd already met. No big deal. All right, so Louise had mentioned everyone would be dressing. Not formally, just not jeans. So this time they were expecting her and might have had time to think up difficult questions. She would survive. It wouldn't be so bad.
She opened her eye shadow compact and lifted out the tiny brush. Her fingers shook visibly and she bit back a curse. She was a trained professional. What happened to performing under pressure?
She leaned forward and closed her left eye. As she positioned the brush over her lid, the bathroom door opened and Nick stepped inside. He wore a blue T-shirt tucked into worn jeans. The color of the shirt matched the irises of his eyes and did amazing things to her already-rapid heart rate. He'd shaved that morning, but there was a faint darkening around his cheeks and jaws as the stubble highlighted his bone structure.
"You going to be much longer?" he asked.
She stared at his reflection, meeting his gaze. "Maybe you didn't notice, but the door was closed."
"I noticed. That's why I came in. How much longer are you going to hog the bathroom?"
"I just need to finish my makeup. A closed door is usually a request for privacy. You could have knocked."
"Yeah, I could have."
He leaned against the wall by the shower and folded his arms over his chest. The action brought his firm muscles into relief. The tiny brush slipped from her fingers and dropped to the counter. She leaned her forehead against the mirror.
"I'm never going to finish," she muttered.
"Then you'll just have to share," he said and pulled the hem of his T-shirt out of his jeans.
She couldn't bear to think about his undressing in her presence. She grabbed the brush. "Never mind, I'll hurry."
She ignored his knowing smile and focused on her eyelid. Using every available ounce of concentration, she was able to smooth a stroke of shadow right in the crease. She smudged it with her ring finger, then straightened to study the effect.
"Beautiful," he said.
She ignored his comment. "What happened with my brothers?"
"The usual. I mentioned how you liked to visit me in prison and that you had a tattoo with my initials right here." He pointed to his backside. "Oh, and I told them about the threesome we had with my cell mate, Bubba, on your last conjugal visit."
In spite of herself, she felt her lips turn up in a smile. "I'm trying to have a serious conversation."
"I'm trying not to." He held up
Similar Books
