“You had no business laying a kiss on me—especially like that!”

Hannah felt herself flushing as he cupped her face. Right or wrong, who cared, when it felt so darn good….

Dylan had started this on impulse. Mostly as a test. Instead, the delectable Hannah Reid kissed as if she was all of sixteen, tentativeness turning to enthusiasm, shy reserve to passion. And it was that mixture of innocence and ardor that was nearly his undoing. It had been so long since he’d felt anything genuine or spent time with anyone this complicated and challenging. And he needed that, he realized. Needed this…unbridled passion.

Unfortunately, because of his suspicions about Hannah, he couldn’t give in to it. At least not yet.

Hearts pounding, regrets already forming—on both sides—they drew apart. Hannah looked at him as if she wanted to simultaneously kiss him and smack him for his audacity.

He knew how she felt.

He wanted to kiss her and smack himself, too….

Dear Reader,

It’s a well-known fact. Eavesdropping on other people’s conversations is not something any of us should be doing deliberately.

But suppose you accidentally stumbled across a family member and a dear friend about to make the biggest mistake of their lives—one that could have ramifications for years to come. Do you stand by and do nothing and live forevermore with the knowledge that you could have prevented tons of heartache, had you only dared to act? Or risk their ire and get involved up to your chin in whatever’s going on?

In Plain Jane’s Secret Life, that’s the dilemma presented to Dylan Hart on the night of his sister Janey’s wedding when he sees his brother Cal and old friend Hannah Reid in a top-secret rendezvous at The Wedding Inn. Dylan has never been one to meddle in other people’s “risky business.” But this time he can’t help getting involved. Even if circumstances—and the beautiful tomboy’s suspicions—demand he do it ever so discreetly…

Meanwhile, talented mechanic Hannah Reid isn’t sure what’s come over Dylan Hart. She knows the sexy TV sportscaster is secretly weathering his own personal crisis—and she’s agreed to help him emerge as victorious as ever—but that doesn’t explain his sudden, very intense interest in her. Were the two of them falling in love at long last? Or was there something else, something much more curious, going on…?

I hope you have as much fun reading this next book in THE BRIDES OF HOLLY SPRINGS series as I had writing it! And please do visit my Web site www.cathygillenthacker.com for information on my books.

Best wishes,

Cathy Gillen Thacker

Cathy Gillen Thacker
Plain Jane’s Secret Life

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter One

“Unbelievable,” Hannah Reid muttered to herself as she watched Dylan Hart saunter out of the Raleigh-Durham airport terminal, full entourage in tow. His sister Janey’s wedding was in less than an hour, and the handsome TV sportscaster was stopping to sign autographs and shake hands. Okay, so the autographs were to beaming kids, the handshakes to their parents and the two airport security men walking beside Dylan. But still, Hannah fumed as Dylan scanned the area and finally strode quickly over to the Classic Car Auto Repair van she had idling at the passenger pick-up lane.

“Where’s the Bentley?” Dylan asked, opening the rear door and climbing inside.

Irked that he was treating her more like a chauffeur than an old family friend, Hannah pulled out into the traffic exiting the airport. The least he could have done was issue a personal greeting. If not climb in the front and ride shotgun beside her. “Back in Holly Springs. It’s being used to transport the bride and groom to and from the ceremony. Speaking of which—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m running late,” Dylan acknowledged cheerfully. “But so from the looks of things are you. Unless you plan to participate in the nuptials with grease on your face?”

Hannah touched her hand to her cheek and then rubbed her soiled fingertips on the leg of her denim overalls. Damn. She couldn’t believe she had done that again….

“Not to worry.” Dylan caught Hannah’s eye in the rearview mirror and winked. “I won’t tell anyone where you’ve been.”

“Har de har har.” With effort, Hannah kept her eyes on the road. She did not need to be noticing how much more handsome Dylan Hart seemed to get every time she saw him. Just because he was super well put together—even today he had traveled in a sleekly attractive business suit and tie—and looked mouthwateringly handsome on the television screen—did not mean she had to go all gaga over him, too.

So what if he had bedroom eyes, a mesmerizingly sexy smile and dimples cute enough to make her sigh out loud? Or expertly cut sandy-brown hair, glowing golden skin and crinkly laugh lines at the corners of his sable-brown eyes? He also had the exceedingly stubborn Hart jaw, and the personality that went with it. Plus a way of standing back and merely observing life, which she found extremely irritating.

“Where have you been?” Dylan continued conversationally as he moved around in the back seat, giving her repeated glimpses of his broad shoulders and sturdy compact body in the rearview mirror.

“Emergency call, working on a vintage Jag,” Hannah muttered over the rustle of clothing being pulled out of a carry-on garment bag. One of his masculine, nicely manicured hands accidentally brushed the side of her face. What was he doing back there?

More rustling as Dylan sat back slightly and shrugged out of his suit jacket and tie. “Today?”

Hannah knew what he was thinking—she was in this wedding, too. “I had time,” Hannah said deferentially while Dylan pulled a shaver out of an expensive leather toiletries bag and began running it over his jaw. “Or I thought I did.” She spoke above the buzzing noise of the razor and scowled. “Until your flight was late.” Now they were all off schedule. And she would have even less time to put herself together before walking down the aisle—on Dylan Hart’s arm!

“Weather delay.” Dylan shrugged. He slapped on some deliciously enticing aftershave, moved his head toward the window and peered out at the afternoon sky. “Looks like it’s clearing up here, though.”

“Finally,” Hannah sighed in relief, taking the turn-off to Holly Springs. “After days of rain.”

Was that her imagination or was she hearing him undress? “Do you have your seat belt on?” she asked with a frown, telling herself what she was imagining could not be so.

Dylan chuckled and continued to move around behind her on the vinyl seat, much more freely than he should have. “Ah—not at the moment, no.”

He sounded distracted.

So was she.

Aware her heartbeat was accelerating and her imagination was soaring even more wildly out of control, Hannah gripped the steering wheel even tighter. She tried not to think about the way her skin had tingled when he had accidentally brushed her face. Hannah reminded primly, “We’re on the highway, Dylan!”

Safety, however, seemed the least of his concerns. Dylan moved around all the more. Out of her peripheral vision, Hannah saw the shirt he had been wearing whip past the back of her head and the starched white tuxedo shirt come off its hanger.

“I trust your driving—you having a chauffeur’s license and all,” Dylan replied lazily, the hard muscles of his chest flexing as he worked his way into the required shirt in the confined space.

Oh, my. Was it getting hot in here or what?

Hannah reached for the AC controls and turned it to maximum cool as beads of perspiration gathered between her breasts. “Even so…” Hannah reprimanded. She heard another, even more telling zip and whoosh of cloth moving over skin.

“I can’t exactly get my pants off with my lap belt fastened,” Dylan drawled.

He had to be teasing her. He would not actually be stripping down all the way in her vehicle. Right…?

Hannah glanced over her shoulder, sure she would find she had been imagining things. Instead, her eyes widened at the sinewy chest, visible through the unbuttoned halves of his crisp white shirt, and the sexy lines of his broad, muscular shoulders. At six foot, Dylan Hart might be the shortest of the five Hart brothers, but there was nothing small about him.

Hurriedly Hannah turned her gaze back to the road. Her palms were trembling. Her emotions ran riot. “What are you doing?” she demanded in a strangled voice, trying without success to forget the rest of what she had seen. Long muscular legs. Black silk bikini briefs clinging to…

Never mind what the fabric was molding!

She had a job to do here and that was to get them both to Janey and Thad’s wedding!

“SOMEONE NEEDS TO ASK Hannah Reid to dance,” Mac Hart said.

Dylan looked at his oldest sibling. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised Mac would be the one to bring this up. Mac had always been the law-and-order member of his family, even before becoming sheriff of Holly Springs some five years prior.

“Yeah,” Fletcher chimed in. Having recently discovered romance himself, with florist Lily Madsen, the vet in the family was now into chivalry, big-time. “The reception is almost over and no one has asked Hannah to dance.”

“No surprise there,” Dylan muttered, looking around for the town’s premier mechanic, relieved to find her nowhere in sight. Although Hannah was often reserved in what she had to say—to him, anyway—she had a way of looking at him that made him think she always expected more from him.

“Hannah’s like a—” Dylan had been about to say “sister,” but that notion had gone out the window the moment he had seen Hannah dolled up in the sexy black-and-white dress, black stockings and heels that his sister Janey had chosen for her bridesmaids.

“—like one of the guys,” Dylan finished. Although he’d always thought of her as a “plain Jane,” today she had transformed herself into an auburn-haired goddess. How come he’d never noticed her creamy skin and vibrant green eyes before? And it wasn’t that Hannah hadn’t always had a very remarkable set of curves on her. Just that they were usually hidden beneath a pair of grimy coveralls, or equally shapeless and masculine attire. On the job or off. “The way she is always talking sports and hanging out to drink beer and watch NASCAR and swap stories with the guys and stuff.”

“She doesn’t really watch NASCAR anymore,” Mac interrupted.

“Yeah,” the very married Joe Hart chimed in.

Dylan turned to Joe, amazed at the changes in his baby brother. Three months ago, all Joe had cared about was the sport he played. Then he had joined lives with his boss’s daughter, Emma Donovan. And now—much to Dylan’s aggravation—the pro hockey player considered himself the authority on wedded bliss. When, unbeknownst to all of them, it was really Dylan who had the “score” on that.

“Not since Hannah and Rupert Wallace broke it off,” Joe pointed out casually, helping himself to a last slice of wedding cake.

That had been two years ago, Dylan recalled. He glanced around, wondering where his brother Cal was. Since Cal’s wife, Ashley, had called to say she wouldn’t be coming to the wedding after all—the pretty doctor was stuck in Honolulu, working on her OB/GYN fellowship—Cal had been in a funk and kept mostly to himself.

“And it doesn’t matter how much she’s one of the guys,” Fletcher continued sternly. “She’s a bridesmaid. She ought to get at least one dance. And since you’re the groomsman who escorted her down the aisle at the church, it’s your responsibility.”

Dylan tried not to think what it would feel like to hold Hannah Reid’s surprisingly soft and feminine-looking body in his arms. Or see that knowing look in her eyes once again. Too much one-on-one time with her and he might do something really foolish—like kiss her.

“All right, all right,” he muttered in exasperation, giving in at last, telling himself he could manage to keep his secret desire for her at bay during one brief dance. “Where is she?” He was determined to get this over with as soon as possible.

“Last I saw she was headed upstairs,” Mac said.

“To help Janey change into her going-away outfit?” Dylan asked, aware that the groom—Thad—had just come back down to rejoin the two hundred or so guests left in the Wedding Inn ballroom.

His brother shrugged as one song ended and another began. Aware he’d never hear the end of it if he didn’t ask the bridesmaid he had been paired with to dance, Dylan headed out into the marble-floored hallway and up the sweeping staircase that led to the second floor.

The door to the bride’s changing suite was closed. He could hear laughing female voices emanating from behind it. The groom’s changing suite, on the other side of the staircase, was empty. Thrusting his hands in the pockets of his black tuxedo pants, Dylan strolled that way, killing time, as he waited for the women to come out. And that was when he heard it, the voices a little farther down the hall. Coming from the dressing suite usually reserved for the groom’s parents.

“Got any tips on dealing with—what’s his name again?” Dylan heard Hannah ask.

Curious, and wondering just who she was with, he strolled soundlessly closer.

“R. G. Yarborough,” Dylan was stunned to hear his brother Cal reply in a crisp, matter-of-fact voice. “And it’s important to start out on the right foot with him,” Cal added somewhat impatiently. “So wear a skirt.”

Dylan frowned. Did she even have one? Aside from the bridesmaid dress she had worn tonight, and the gowns from the various other weddings she had been in? What was it women said about that? Always a bridesmaid never a bride?

Hannah’s beleaguered sigh whispered out into the hall. “What else?” Hannah asked Cal reluctantly.

Trying not to think why his brother—whose own decade-long marriage to his college sweetheart seemed to be having trouble—would be advising one of the most beautiful tomboys in the area who to see or what to wear, Dylan leaned against the wall.

“He’s probably going to be difficult,” Cal continued advising, as if he was a coach before a game, and Hannah was one of his players. “But if you use all your charm…show Yarborough you really know what you’re doing—”

Know what you’re doing? Dylan’s eyes widened at the various interpretations of that sage and somewhat sexual-sounding advice.

“How old is he again?” Hannah interrupted, sounding as if she could barely keep track of the conversation at hand. And no wonder, given the sound of what his brother was asking her to do here! He’d be flummoxed, too.

“Forty-five, fifty, near as I can figure. And married,” Cal said, his voice dropping another warning notch. “So—”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hannah promised.

“Good.” Cal sounded relieved. When what his orthopedic-surgeon older brother really ought to feel, Dylan thought resentfully, was guilty. Guilty as hell. For arranging anything with Hannah and a married man who was way too old for her. For heaven’s sake! Didn’t Cal think about the fact that Hannah was not exactly experienced when it came to men? Hell, Dylan couldn’t even recall Hannah even dating anyone save that NASCAR driver, Rupert Wallace, if you could even call those dates. Mostly, Dylan recalled the two of them with their heads bent over some car engine…

Hannah, up to her elbows in grease and wrenches…

“So where is this guy going to be?” Hannah asked.

“You’re to meet him in an hour at Sharkey’s Pool Hall. In Raleigh.”

Not the best neighborhood. Or the classiest establishment for a woman to go into. With or without a date.

“If the preliminary goes well, maybe he’ll take you back to his house from there.”

Preliminary, Dylan fumed, feeling more shocked and incensed than he had in all of his twenty-eight years. Preliminary what!

“Yarborough’s wife won’t mind?” Hannah asked, sounding both concerned and skeptical.

“Out of town.” Cal’s voice held a dismissive shrug. “She took the kids to California to visit family for two weeks.”

Never dreaming what was going on behind her back, Dylan was willing to bet, recalling with chilling accuracy how he had felt when similarly betrayed.

“So basically I’ve got that amount of time—” Hannah speculated thoughtfully.

There was another pause, rife with meaning.

His curiosity killing him—none of this sounded like the compassionate older brother or the affable mechanic he knew—Dylan hazarded a discreet glance around the open doorway. There were no lights on and the room was shrouded in shadow, but through the semidarkness he could see Hannah with her back to the wall, staring up at Cal. The expression on her face was the same one she wore when she was trying to figure out a particularly thorny mechanical problem on one of the expensive automobiles she worked on at the business she owned, Classic Car Auto Repair. She narrowed her eyes at Cal. “You said the guy is loaded?”

Hands thrust in the pockets of his tuxedo pants, Cal shook his head in disgust. “Yarborough’s got so much money he doesn’t know what to do with it,” he replied in a voice that was equally calculating. Cal took his hands out of his pockets and spread his hands wide. “Which is, of course, part of the problem. Had R. G. Yarborough a little less—”

Hannah nodded in understanding. “You’d be able to deal with him a lot more effectively,” she said.

“Right,” Cal agreed.

Dylan, wary of being seen, ducked back out of sight again but remained within earshot of the low, urgent voices.

“Well, don’t worry. I’m sure I can manage him.” To Dylan’s mounting dismay, the smile was back in Hannah’s voice.

Even as Dylan’s brother got grimmer…

“And one more thing, Hannah,” Cal warned. “No one, and I mean no one, can know about what we’ve got going here.” His voice caught momentarily. “If Ashley were to get wind of it—”

No joke, Dylan thought, aware what Cal’s semi-estranged wife might think. The same thing he was thinking right now.

“I understand completely, believe me,” Hannah promised in sweet sincerity. “You don’t have to worry for one second, Cal. No one—and I mean no one—is going to hear about this from me.”

THE TROUBLE WITH eavesdropping, Dylan thought, was what you thought something meant, might be completely misconstrued. For instance, there was no way Cal was supervising and setting up the twenty-eight year old Hannah Reid’s secret nocturnal activity with a wealthy-as-all-get-out man she had never met. And might not, from the sounds of it, even really want to meet under normal circumstances. At least not for socializing.

So here he was, an hour later, getting out of a cab in front of Sharkey’s Pool Hall…never having had that dance he was supposed to request from her.

He walked in, not sure what to expect. Hannah was standing by a pool table, a bottle of beer in her hand. She was dressed in a short black skirt, stockings and heels that showed off her spectacular legs. A red knit tank top with a high neck and a racer back clung to her ample breasts, and made her slender shoulders and bare arms look incredibly feminine. A man Dylan assumed was R. G. Yarborough was standing next to her. He was fifty, at least, and attractive in that money-to-burn way. That was if you liked spiked gray-brown hair and an exceptionally hard body that appeared manufactured by steroids, fancy gym equipment and maybe even plastic surgery. Plus his appearance—college T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, baggy cargo-style jeans and an earring in one ear—practically screamed midlife crisis. All in all, not a good guy for an innocent-in-the-ways-of-the-world woman like Hannah to be tangling with.

Jacket hooked over his shoulder, bow tie hanging undone on either side of the open collar of his pleated white tuxedo shirt, Dylan skirted the large, rectangular hall and numerous pool tables to the long wooden bar along one side. Keeping to the shadows, he approached the bartender and asked for a bottle of light beer.

He leaned against the bar, watching. And he wasn’t the only one. A lot of male eyes were on Hannah at that particular second as she set a triangle on the green-felt tabletop. The bartender, included. “Know her?” he asked Dylan.

Dylan nodded, but even as he did he was wondering if he really did. The sexy-as-hell woman in front of him wasn’t even close to the lady mechanic and all-around tomboy he recalled growing up with.

“Yeah, well, she hasn’t been in here before. I guarantee I’d remember that little filly if she had been,” the bartender murmured.

And no wonder. Hannah’s pretty face was alight with feminine mischief and barely reined-in flirtation as she bantered animatedly with the group of men standing around the pool table. Color flooded her face. Her auburn hair was flowing in unruly waves down around her bare shoulders. Every time she moved, her hair brushed her silky-looking skin and drew attention to the sumptuous curves of her breasts. Worse, as she captured another loose ball and fit it into the triangle, the tank top rode above her waist, baring even more silky-smooth skin. Dylan felt a tightening in his groin, and was willing to bet, every other man there did too.

As she straightened, slowly, R. G. Yarborough reached out and stroked a hand along her hip. Hannah tensed visibly but didn’t resist as she turned to face him. She murmured something—Dylan couldn’t make out quite what—and the rich guy responded by pulling out his wallet and extracting several bills.

Hannah mocked whatever he was offering, but appeared ready to take him up on his proposal.

Normally, Dylan would have remained on the sidelines, no matter what was going on. But this was too much. He didn’t know what Cal had gotten the naive Hannah Reid into, but Dylan was for damn sure not going to stand idly by and watch someone he’d known from their elementary-school days get hurt.

He moved away from the bar and sauntered toward the pool table where Hannah was still flirting madly. “Money?” Dylan heard her say as she tucked the bills back into Yarborough’s hands. “Come on. Surely—” Hannah batted her eyelashes at him “—you and I can wager for something a little more interesting than that….”

Yarborough looked down at Hannah, a lecherous gleam in his eyes. “Well, maybe we could at that,” Yarborough flirted back as Dylan stopped just short of them. Determined to interrupt before this charade went any further, he said casually, “Hey, Hannah.”

She looked over and froze, the color draining from her face. Recovering admirably, she said, “Dylan. Fancy meeting you here.”

“What’s that saying?” Dylan asked, pretending to all those witnessing the scene that he had some claim to Hannah. “Wherever you go-est, I go-est?”

Yarborough looked Dylan up and down, then turned to Hannah and asked, “This your husband?”

Hannah’s smile tightened. “No. Most definitely not.”

“Boyfriend?” Yarborough persisted.

Dylan clamped a hand around Hannah’s shoulders. “Hannah doesn’t like the term boyfriend,” he said. “Too high school. But to answer your question, yes, she and I do go back a ways.”

Hannah glared at him in a way that said back off, then turned back to R.G. “It’s not what you think. Dylan’s like a brother to me.”

“A brother who does not want to see you hurt,” Dylan continued, looking at her just as meaningfully.

Hannah propped her hands on her hips as a crowd began to gather round them. She was so piqued with him that steam was practically coming out of her ears. “Since when are you my keeper?” she demanded, even as the two guys nearest them elbowed each other. “Hey,” one of them said, taking a closer look at Dylan. “Aren’t you that guy that used to be on W-MOL, doing the sports?”

“Yeah. Dylan Hart, isn’t it?” someone else asked, edging closer.

“You coming back to work on one of the local TV stations again?” another asked excitedly.

“Yeah,” chimed a fourth. “You were good!”

Looking relieved to no longer be the center of attention, Hannah patted Dylan on the arm. “Maybe you should attend to your fan club and let me continue here.”

Dylan looked down at her, still not sure what she had been about to wager. He couldn’t say why exactly, he just knew he was more certain than ever that she was doing something she did not want him, or anyone else in Holly Springs, to know about. “No way.”

Her soft lips took on a mutinous line. “Excuse us, will you?” Hannah tugged him aside. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking out for you.”

She drew a deep breath, clearly exasperated, as she apparently did not want to be kept away from the unsavory types, by him or anyone else. “How did you even know I was here?” she hissed.

Wondering if he would ever in a million years understand women and why they were drawn to rich losers over decent hardworking guys like himself, Dylan replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world, “I followed you from Holly Springs.”

That gave her pause, Dylan noted with grim satisfaction. “Why?” she asked a lot more cautiously.

Dylan shrugged, never taking his eyes from her face. This much at least he had been prepared to answer. “You’ve got my stuff in the van. My carry-on luggage. The clothes I was wearing earlier. It’s all in the back.”

Yarborough strode over. “Hey, babe,” he drawled so lasciviously Dylan wanted to punch his face. “You going to play or not?”

To Dylan’s chagrin, Hannah looked torn, as if she wanted to go off with R.G., just not in front of Dylan, or anyone else she knew from Holly Springs.

Not gonna happen, Dylan decided. He winked over at her with a playfulness he knew she would not appreciate. “I don’t mind.” He shrugged his shoulders lazily. “I can wait.”

Hannah dug into the front pocket of her tight black skirt. “I’ll just give you the keys and you can go on out and get your stuff.” She pressed them into his palm, her fingers warm against his.

Dylan planted his feet firmly beneath him and resisted the way she was practically pushing him away. “I also need a ride back to Holly Springs,” Dylan continued matter-of-factly.

Abruptly, Hannah stopped pushing. “I thought you followed me here,” she said with a frown.

Dylan examined her keys. “In a cab.”

Her pretty pine-green eyes radiated displeasure. “You can’t take a cab back?”

Dylan shrugged. “I’m out of cash. But that’s okay.” He leaned against the pillar at his back, prepared to do whatever it took. “Like I said, I can wait.”

Thwarted, Hannah gave up. “Wait here,” she commanded furiously as she stalked off, R. G. Yarborough in tow, and said something to him that he looked none too happy to be hearing.

There was another brief exchange. One that Yarborough seemed to be on the losing end of again, then Hannah headed back to Dylan, her strides long and sexy. “You’re turning out to be one royal pain today,” she told him as they headed toward the door, side by side. “You know that, don’t you?”

“So I’ll make it up to you,” Dylan drawled, wondering how it was that he could have known Hannah Reid as long as he had and never made a single pass at her.

“How?” Hannah snapped, giving him yet another hot, aggravated look.

Dylan reached past her to open the door. Still determined to find out what was going on with the former tomboy, he smiled at her gallantly. “I’ll buy you dinner.”

Chapter Two

Hannah stared at Dylan as they moved out onto the sidewalk. He appeared to be serious, anyway. Not that she would in any way consider this to be an invitation for a date. The men she knew from Holly Springs did not ask her out on dates. “When?” she said, still not sure what Dylan Hart was up to this evening.

He shot her another appreciative male glance. “Right now sounds good to me.”

Hannah ignored the unsettling way her senses stirred at his proximity. She stepped back a pace, then another. “We already ate at the reception.”

He stood, legs braced apart, arms folded in front of him. “That was more like a late lunch. Unless you’re used to eating the seniors’ special at 4:00 p.m.”

“Very funny.” She made a face at him, refusing to be charmed by his teasing.

“Come on,” he cajoled her, his hot gaze sliding over her from head to toe before returning with heart-stopping accuracy to her face. “I’m buying.”

Just looking at his handsome face made her heart race. She didn’t want to think about what it would be like to go on a date with him, never mind fantasize about what would happen at the end of the evening as they said good-night. Keeping her defenses up—and her thoughts at bay about being held against his tall strong body and kissed by those soft, sensual lips—she countered mildly, “I thought you didn’t have any cash.”

“I still have a credit card,” he murmured with easy familiarity.

Ignoring his steady, probing gaze, she continued walking away from him. “Some cab companies take credit cards.”

He waited until she swung around to face him again. “Then I’d miss our…date.”

So this was a date. “It’s ten-thirty on a Sunday night. Only the fast-food joints and the pancake houses are going to be open this late.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders lazily. “Sounds fine to me. Let’s go.” He gestured for her to lead the way to her vehicle.

Cantankerously, Hannah stayed right where she was. “I haven’t exactly agreed to go out with you yet.”

“Buying you something to eat is the least I can do after interrupting your ‘hustling’ back there.”

Hannah propped her hands on her waist, puzzled by the hint of derision in his low tone. “What is it you’ve got against me scrounging up a game of pool, anyway?” she inquired, refusing to be sidetracked by the dark woodsy scent of his aftershave. He had to know, from all the times she had played him and his brothers in Holly Springs, that she was bound to win.

Dylan raised his eyebrow. “Is that what you were doing?” he asked, his audacity unchecked.

As far as anyone else knew, yes it was. Although she couldn’t quite ignore the hint of innuendo in Dylan’s watchful gaze. “I wasn’t trying to date the guy, Dylan,” she explained dryly, continuing toward the minivan.

“Good, ’cause in case you didn’t notice,” Dylan continued, still observing her carefully as he fell into step beside her, “R. G. Yarborough is married.”

Hannah wasn’t surprised Dylan had noticed the wedding ring R. G. Yarborough had been wearing when she had approached him for a game, then ever so discreetly slipped into his pants pocket when he thought she wasn’t looking. Dylan noticed everything. Especially, apparently, the sleazy elements of her would-have-been companion for the duration of the evening. Not that Hannah intended to discuss with Dylan why it had been so important she hook up with the rich son of a gun, anyway.

“So?” Hannah kept her focus on Dylan as she unlocked the repair-shop minivan and slid open the back passenger door so he could get his clothes. “Last time I heard, it wasn’t against the law for married men to play pool.”

Dylan unzipped the bag and drew out a pair of jeans, a knit polo shirt, sweat socks and running shoes. He tossed the bag aside, then prepared to climb into the back. “Mind if I change?”

Yes, as a matter of fact, she did. “Wait till we get where we’re going to eat,” Hannah said, pretending she hadn’t been affected at all by his earlier quick-change artistry. “I’ve seen enough of your studly body for one day.”

Dylan flashed a surprisingly wicked grin. “Turned you on, huh?” he said, tossing his clothes down and climbing into the front-passenger seat inside.

If you only knew, Hannah thought. She was still burning from the glimpses of his handsome body. “You wish.” She threw the taunt over her shoulder as she circled around the front of the van and climbed behind the steering wheel.

Dylan relaxed in the passenger seat, looking debonair and sexy, and very much ready to take a woman to bed. Which was ridiculous given that generally speaking he didn’t even know she was alive, let alone a woman. Although you wouldn’t know it the way he kept glancing at the way her skirt was riding up over her thighs…

Shaking off the wistful transgression—the day she would get Dylan’s attention in that way was never going to come!—Hannah started up the vehicle and eased away from the curb. “So where do you want to go?” she asked in the most casual voice she could manage, wishing he didn’t still look and smell so good.

“There’s a drive-in root-beer stand en route back to Holly Springs. What do you say we stop there? That is if they take credit cards.” He looked worried.

“I think I can handle it even if they don’t,” Hannah said dryly. She might not be rolling in dough, but she made more than enough to handle her day-to-day expenses as well as anything she felt like doing after hours.

“If it’s cash only, I’ll pay you back tomorrow,” Dylan said, giving her another curiously analytical look.

“No problem,” Hannah said.

The silence strung out between them. “You don’t look happy,” Dylan said eventually.

Hannah released a long, irritated sigh. “Should I be?” Given that he had just interrupted a very important get-to-know-you session she had planned. Not that she could have continued her preplanned manipulation of events with Dylan standing there, watching every move she made, without revealing what she and Cal were trying to accomplish when it came to R. G. Yarborough.

“Are you disappointed that guy you were with tonight turned out to be married?”

Hannah blinked in surprise as Dylan favored her with a challenging half smile she found even more disturbing than his sudden interference in her life.

“You were flirting with him,” Dylan said.

Just as a means to an end, Hannah admitted to herself. But Dylan didn’t need to know about any of that. “He’s a little old for me. Don’t you think?”

“He still looked like he wanted to take you to bed.”

Hannah’s neck and shoulders drew tight as a bow. Be blunt, why don’t you? “And that surprises you?” Hannah asked coolly, flushing despite herself.

“That someone would want to take you to bed?”

Hannah tingled all over at the low timbre of Dylan’s voice. With effort Hannah kept her eyes on the road and her hands on the steering wheel. She was not going to let Dylan Hart lead her down that path! She was not! “R. G. Yarborough never said that.”

Dylan smirked. “Trust me.” Dylan lounged in his seat, radiating all the pure male power and sexy masculinity he typically did on the TV screen. He turned to look at her directly. “The way you were coming on to him, he would’ve gotten around to suggesting it before the end of the night,” Dylan predicted darkly.

Hannah knew that was true. The moment she’d walked up to tell her mark why she was there, only to have him suggest the two of them play a game of pool instead, R. G. Yarborough had looked her over like a piece of meat. “And that bothers you?” Hannah asked, completely surprised that Dylan sounded almost…jealous.

Suddenly, it was Dylan’s turn to hedge.

DYLAN WAS PUSHING TOO hard. He knew it. But the curiosity was eating him up inside. He had to know what was going on between Hannah and Cal. Because if it was what it looked like at first glance, Cal and Hannah were both in a heap of trouble. He couldn’t let either of them crash and burn without trying to stop it. “You just don’t seem the type to pick up men in a bar,” Dylan explained finally.

Now he had really hit a sore spot with her. She was taking his observation as an assault on her morality, when that wasn’t what he had meant at all.

“I hope you know you’re buying me one of everything on the menu for that remark,” she said as she turned the minivan into the restaurant parking lot and angled it into one of the slots on either side of the concrete divider. She rolled down the windows and warm August air poured over them.

A waitress on roller skates headed over to the car. She handed them a plastic-coated menu. She told them about the specials, then gave them a few moments to decide. As soon as the waitress skated off, Dylan turned back to Hannah and picked up the conversation where they had left off. “I meant that in the most respectful way,” he said, doing his best to repair the damage.

“Did you now.” Hannah kept her eyes glued on the menu.

It was late, but the place was full of teenagers in cars. All of whom seemed to be having a very good time—unlike he and Hannah.

Oh, to go back to such easy, carefree days…

“I’m concerned about your well-being and safety,” Dylan continued.

Hannah turned back to him. She was about to speak, when the phone clipped to Dylan’s belt began to ring.

Frowning, Dylan picked it up. “Dylan Hart,” he said as the waitress roller-skated past them, balancing a tray filled with food. While he listened to the voice on the other end of the connection, she attached it to the driver-side window on the station wagon beside him. The delicious aromas of onion rings and chili dogs with cheese wafted up around them.

“It happened,” Sasha, the Chicago evening-news anchor, said. “Just like you said it was going to.”

Dylan tensed as Hannah went back to studying her menu. “When?”

“Tonight around six,” Sasha said grimly. “Check your e-mail. The official notification should be there.”

Dylan clamped down on a string of swearwords. “Thanks.”

“No problem. And Dylan…” Sasha paused, empathy in her low voice. “I’m sorry.”

“Same to you,” Dylan replied just as sympathetically. He hung up to find Hannah watching him. “Mind if we take a rain check on dinner?”

Her eyes widened. She couldn’t believe his audacity. “First you interrupt my evening. Now you’re standing me up?”

Sometimes life really bites. “I need to get back to Holly Springs.”

Hannah paused, her indignation fading as fast as it had appeared. She looked at him harder. “Something wrong?”

“A problem with my job,” Dylan muttered, reluctant to tell her anything more until he saw it in print and knew for certain his life was really crashing down around him.

Hannah hesitated, her lips taking on a softer curve. “Anything I can do?” she asked after a moment.

Dylan shrugged, his mood turning grimmer by the minute as he contemplated the days ahead. He was supposed to be in Holly Springs all week, on vacation. “I need to look at my e-mail as soon as possible. Do you have a computer with Internet access that I can use?”

Hannah continued to study him, knowing, as did he, that every single member of his family had computers, at home and at work, yet he wasn’t asking any of them. She had to be asking herself why. Yet, she didn’t ask him.

“Sure.” She shrugged her slender shoulders gracefully.

Dylan hadn’t expected such kindness. He knew, after the way he had behaved toward her this afternoon and evening, that he certainly hadn’t earned it. “That’s it? That’s all your questions?” He regarded her just as closely.

Hannah shrugged and signaled the waitress that they were finished with the menus. She shook her head in a way that let him know she had weathered her own share of personal crises. “The look on your face is answer enough.”

DYLAN EXPECTED Hannah’s Craftsman-style brownstone to look like every other eighty-year-old house in Holly Springs. Low ceilings, small cramped rooms, outdated everything. Instead, it looked like a demolition zone inside.

“What happened here?” he asked. He had been in her house a few times years ago, when he was a kid, recruiting Hannah for a game of pick-up baseball or soccer. A natural athlete, she had never failed to disappoint.

“When my grandfather died, I had a choice to either sell it or live in it. I decided if I was going to live in it I was going to make it my own. So for the past two years I’ve been remodeling, a little at a time.”

“And then some.” Dylan looked around. The original low ceilings had been completely ripped out, doing away with most of the attic and exposing the house’s sloping fifteen-foot roofline. Three-quarters of the drywall had been redone, the rest was still waiting.

“I tore everything out and hired a contractor to put in new wiring and plumbing to bring it up to code. And built that—” Hannah pointed to the end of the house, away from what was going to be a central downstairs living area.

She led him toward the stairway. He followed her up. On the other side of the waist-high white bead-board wall that ran the length of the loft was a bedroom. Hannah had left the brownstone chimney exposed. A queen-size brass bed with a surprisingly frilly white lace comforter was pushed up against it. Her bridesmaid dress and the bouquet she had carried down the aisle were scattered across it. On one side of the room was a desk, with laptop computer and printer, the other side had a television and stereo. Beyond, he could see a pretty, white and ocean-blue bathroom, with private water closet, a pedestal sink, separate ceramic-tiled shower and clawfoot tub big enough for two. There was also a linen closet and an astonishing number of bath salts and scented lotions, makeup and shampoos. The windows were covered with pleated, ocean-blue-fabric blinds.

“As you can see, this is where I’m doing most of my living.”

“Nice,” Dylan said, meaning it. By putting in the loft, she had added another five hundred or so square feet to the thousand already downstairs.

“It will be when I finish,” Hannah said, already booting up her computer while peering into a walk-in closet that seemed to contain mostly jeans, T-shirts and the one-piece coveralls she wore when working on cars down at the garage. “You know how to access your e-mail from someone else’s computer?” Hannah asked as the home page—some car mechanic’s site—came across the monitor.

Dylan nodded.

“I’ll be downstairs. Yell if you need anything.” She disappeared down the loft stairs.

“Thanks,” Dylan said.

Unfortunately, the news was as bad as Sasha had predicted. Dylan had known it was coming. Still, he was stunned.

Knowing he’d want to read the letter from the TV station later, he printed a copy then shut the computer and printer off. Still feeling as if he had been kicked in the gut, he headed downstairs. Hannah was perched on a sawhorse in the middle of the gutted first floor, a small carton of premium ice cream in hand. She had a plastic spoon in her mouth as she surveyed the unfinished wide-plank floors and partially finished drywall. “I’m painting everything down here white, too,” she told him. “And I’m going to leave the wood natural and protect it with polyurethane.”

“What about your kitchen cabinets?” Dylan asked.

Hannah got up and walked over to the stainless-steel refrigerator. Aside from the microwave, it was the only appliance currently in the house. There wasn’t even a kitchen sink, although there was a half bath with original basin nearby.

“They’re white beadboard, similar in style to what I have upstairs in the master bath. I’ve got ’em in boxes, in the garage, along with the rest of the paint and the wallboard and the kitchen appliances—which I was lucky enough to get at cost a few months ago. Just haven’t had the money to have any of it installed. Yet.”

Was that what she had been doing at the pool hall? Trying to get together enough money to finish the inside of her home? It was a laudable goal, even if the means weren’t to be commended.

She paused, her hand on the handle of the fridge. She studied him curiously. “Get what you needed up there?”

Dylan nodded.

“Then how come you still look like you just lost your best friend?”

Close, Dylan thought with a sad sigh. Then finding he needed someone to confide in—someone with a guy’s gut sense when to stop with the questions—and a woman’s compassionate heart, he said simply, “It was my job.” He watched her carefully for reaction. “I got fired tonight.”

Hannah took the news in stride, as he had hoped she would, and opened the freezer compartment. “Then you’re going to be needing this,” she said wryly as she took out another pint of ice cream and handed it to him, along with a plastic spoon.

There was no judgment in her eyes, only silent sympathy.

His hand warmed at the contact of her fingers brushing his. He looked down at the label, fighting the feeling of failure. Six years and four jobs in the business had taught him that television news was a brutal medium in which to work. “You think mocha cocoa crunch will help?”

“Ice cream always helps. So does chocolate.” She reached over and touched his hand, more gently this time, before resuming her perch on the sawhorse. “I’m sorry about your job, Dylan.”

“Me, too,” he said honestly. He pried off the cardboard top of his ice cream. Although it had been irrational, he’d hoped to escape this bloodbath. Forcing himself to be a man about it, he looked into her eyes. “But that’s the way it goes in my line of work. New owners mean new management, which means new staff.” Usually in pretty quick order. Which was what had happened here.

She took another bite, then licked the back of the spoon. “Did you get severance pay?”

Telling himself to not even think about what her mouth would feel like under his, Dylan concentrated on answering her question. “Two months.”

“Well that’s good. Besides, a guy with your looks? You’ll probably find something right away. Meantime—” Hannah waved her spoon for emphasis “—you’ve got the support of the entire Hart family.”

Dylan let the rich chocolate slide down his throat and tried not to dwell on the fact this was the first time in his life he’d been fired—from anything. “I’m not telling them.” He paused to let his words sink in. “Not until I have another job, anyway. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t, either.”

If she was shocked she had the grace not to show it. “Whatever you want. Although that begs the question.” She looked deep into his eyes. “If you’re not telling them, why tell me?”

Why indeed? It wasn’t like him to trust someone he knew he shouldn’t trust. Not since he had been involved with Desirée, anyway. “’Cause I’m going to be needing access to a computer while I’m in town this week,” he said calmly. “And I was hoping you’d let me use yours.”

A teasing light crept into Hannah’s emerald-green eyes as she gave him the slow, thoughtful once-over. “Do I get to charge you?”

Depends, Dylan thought. How badly do you need the money?

Hannah’s phone rang. Her eyes still on his, she pulled the receiver off the kitchen wall. “Hannah. Yeah, hi. No, I didn’t, sad to say. Because we got interrupted. Not to worry. I’ve at least got him interested. Yeah, ten to one he’ll call. If I’m lucky, tomorrow or the next day. I promise. ’Night.”

“Anyone I know?” Dylan asked, wondering if that had been Cal and how he felt about that if it had been.

“I make it a policy never to talk and tell. So…” She gestured around her. Dylan could see chalk outlines on the floors, where all the appliances, and the sink and so on were to go. “What do you think about what I’ve done so far with my downstairs?” she asked.

“I like it.” Dylan studied the layout of the roughed-in kitchen that overlooked the backyard. “When will you be done?”

Hannah frowned. “I’m not really sure. Depends on the money situation. Materials aren’t so bad. It’s the labor that’s so costly.”

Dylan figured it would take thousands of dollars to finish what she had started. And although the upstairs was nice, the downstairs was barely livable. He couldn’t imagine living like this for the two years she said it had been going on. No wonder she was getting antsy. “You can’t get a second mortgage?” he asked helpfully.

“Already maxed out on that avenue. That’s how I got all the materials and the upstairs done.”

Dylan searched for alternatives. “What about doing the labor yourself?”

“I want it to look professional.” Finished with her ice cream, Hannah put the lid back on and slid it into the freezer compartment. “Besides, it’ll all get done eventually, as soon as I get my bank account built up.”

Finding he had little appetite, Dylan handed over his ice-cream container, too. “You could always moonlight.”

Hannah gave Dylan an even glance. But the confession he hoped to coax from her, about what she and his brother had been up to that evening, didn’t come. “I suppose,” she said eventually.

“Or you could ask your friends to help you out.”

Hannah planted her hands on her hips. “Like who, for instance?” she asked drolly.

Dylan held her gaze, not sure why he was volunteering, just knowing he was. And not just for Cal’s sake. “Like me.”

Hannah’s auburn eyebrow arched. “Are we friends?”

Good question. And one he intended to answer. “I don’t know.” Dylan took her into his arms, cupped her chin in his hand and tilted her face up to his. “Let’s see.”

Chapter Three

The way Dylan had been looking at her since they’d met up at Sharkey’s Pool Hall, Hannah could swear he knew what she was up to. And more—disapproved of her methods of getting his brother what Cal wanted and needed to turn his life around.

Not that Dylan could possibly know anything of the secret she was sharing with his doctor-brother, Hannah reassured herself bluntly as Dylan’s lips came impossibly closer to hers.

“You’re not going to kiss me,” Hannah murmured as she splayed her hands across the hard, warm surface of his chest.

Dylan’s sexy grin merely widened. “Want to bet?” he said.

And then his lips were on hers, and so many emotions poured through Hannah all at once. Shock that he dared to put the moves on her, amazement that she was actually letting him. She had never felt anything like the sweet seduction of Dylan Hart, never melted in anyone’s arms this way. The depth of her response, the way she got caught up in the unhurried pressure of his lips, and the liquid stroking of his tongue shook her to her soul.

Furious at both him and herself—she didn’t give this part of herself away to just anyone!—she clamped her lips together. To no avail. He subtly traced the seam and worked them apart using a mixture of pressure and temptation that was unlike anything Hannah had ever dreamed or felt. Pressing her even tighter against his hard, muscled length, he kissed her again and again as if there were no tomorrow for either of them. And as desire swirled inside her and caught flame, she could almost…almost…believe it. Probably would have, if the hard lessons of life hadn’t taught her to protect her heart.

“Darn it all, Dylan,” Hannah told him breathlessly when at last he lifted his head. “You had no business laying one on me—especially like that!” She felt herself flushing as he cupped her face between his hands.

“I still want to do it again,” he whispered, looking down at her.

And so did she, Hannah thought on a beleaguered groan as she surged right back into his arms. Right or wrong, who cared, when it felt so darn good…

Dylan had started this on impulse. Mostly as a test. To see if Hannah kissed like the experienced lady of the evening she had acted and sounded like back at the Wedding Inn, when she had been receiving instructions from Cal. Instead, the delectable Hannah Reid kissed as if she was all of sixteen, sweetly and awkwardly at first, tentativeness turning to enthusiasm, shy reserve to passion. And it was that mixture of innocence and ardor that was nearly his undoing. Because when their mouths were fused together like this, when he felt the responsiveness of her lips moving with sweet deliberation against his, it was all he could do to hold his own passion in check. It had been so long since he’d felt anything genuine or spent time with anyone this complicated and challenging. And he needed that, he was beginning to realize. Needed this…unbridled passion.

Unfortunately, because of the situation with his brother and his suspicions about Hannah, he couldn’t give in to it. At least not yet.

Hearts pounding, regrets already forming—on both sides—they drew apart. Hannah looked at him as if she wanted to kiss him and smack him for his audacity simultaneously.

He knew how she felt. He wanted to kiss her and smack himself, too.

Then, as he sort of knew she would, she composed herself admirably. Becoming the cool, unflappable Hannah who hung out with the guys and never ever let anything faze her, once again. “You really have to leave,” she told him firmly, in responsible-grown-up mode again.

He found himself wishing the reckless teenager would come back. For just one more kiss. Maybe two?

“Now,” Hannah continued, giving him an even look. “Before we do something we’re both going to wish we hadn’t.”

Dylan nodded, knowing that was the shrewdest course. Now all he needed was a plausible excuse to stay close enough to her to be able to find out what she was up to with Cal. His being fired was it. “Can I come back in the morning? Hang out here during the day so I can make phone calls and do e-mails and start looking for another job?” After all, she wouldn’t be here, she would be at her auto repair shop.

Hannah studied him as if wondering what he was up to. “Why not go back to Chicago if you want to do that?”

“There’s too much tea and sympathy waiting for me there,” Dylan told her truthfully. And frankly, he didn’t want to hear it. “And it would raise my family’s suspicions if I were to cut my visit short again and go back without warning.” He’d done that the previous week and ended up missing Janey and Thad’s wedding rehearsal and dinner. He was still in the doghouse with his mother over that one.

“And you’re hanging out here at my place all day long won’t draw their curiosity?” Arms folded in front of her, Hannah regarded him skeptically.

Dylan shrugged, and moved his glance away from the soft, rounded curves of her breasts beneath the clinging tank top. “I’ll tell them I volunteered to help you get a handle on your renovations,” he temporized. “Help you finish some drywalling or painting or something.”

She continued studying him astutely. “And why would you do that?”

“As penance for inconveniencing you so much this afternoon and almost making you late for Janey and Thad’s wedding, too.”

She didn’t disagree that he owed her. “You’ve got all the angles covered, don’t you?”

“For tomorrow, anyway. So, do we have a deal?”

“On one condition.”

Dylan waited.

“No more kisses.”

“Unless, of course, you initiate them.” He grinned.

Hannah scoffed. “I wouldn’t hold your breath waiting for that to happen.”

Given the way she was looking at him now, he wouldn’t either. Still, he owed her. “You’re a real pal, Hannah,” Dylan told her as they headed companionably for the door. “Not that it’s any surprise you’re so understanding,” he continued, glad the mood was relaxing between them once again.

The shift from potential lover to platonic buddy was not as welcome as Dylan had hoped it would be to Hannah. “And why is that?” she asked him warily. She paused, her hand on the doorknob.

“I don’t know exactly.” Dylan struggled to put into words his feelings about her natural ability to put a man at ease. “Maybe because you’ve spent so much time with the guys, growing up, you’re almost like one of us. And bottom line,” he said as he patted her on the back in lieu of the kiss good-night he would have preferred, “guys help their buddies out.”

“ONE OF THE GUYS,” Hannah was still fuming the next morning when she went to work at the garage. Didn’t that just take the cake!

“I don’t think he was trying to insult you, honey,” Slim Kerstetter said. Hannah’s only employee, the sixty-year-old Slim had worked at the garage since he was a teenager himself, staying on after Hannah’s grandfather died and the business came into her hands. “He was probably just trying to compliment you, and it came out all wrong. Guys do that, you know.”

Hannah glanced at Slim. As usual, Slim was wearing baggy jeans and a short-sleeved shirt rolled up to expose his biceps. He’d been to the barber the day before and his salt-and-pepper hair was shorn down to a quarter-inch. “Not in this case,” Hannah said. “In this instance, Dylan Hart knew exactly what he was saying.”

Slim sent her a sly look. The fact he was a lifelong bachelor with only one real love—NASCAR—did not keep him from dispensing romantic advice. “If you want him to see you as a girlie-girl, start dressing and acting like one.” Slim removed the fuel pump from the Lexus he was working on while Hannah continued running diagnostics on a Mercedes.

“If I did that, no one would want me working on their cars,” she said.

“Then you got yourself a dilemma, don’t you, sweetheart?” Slim teased as a familiar Lamborghini pulled in.

“Hey, Hannah,” Emma Donovan-Hart waved at Hannah cheerfully as she got out of the car. “I brought my dad’s car in for servicing.”

“That was nice of you,” Hannah said to her good friend, who was the premiere wedding planner in the area. She wished she could feel even one tenth as blissfully in love and contented as Emma looked these days.

Emma strode closer, her cap of dark, chin-length curls bouncing as she moved. “Yeah, well, Dad’s having a crisis with the hockey team. Seems one of the Carolina Storm’s announcers quit yesterday to take a job with the Cable Sports News network. He’s getting his own weekly interview show, so it’s a great opportunity for him. My parents both wish him well, but now they’re in a mess because they need to hire his replacement by week’s end.”

“Do you need a ride to work at the Wedding Inn?”

“Thanks, but Joe’s taking me over.”

No sooner had Joe and Emma driven off than Cal Hart pulled in. “You want to get that or shall I?” Slim said.

“I’ll handle it,” Hannah said, walking out to Cal. The six-foot-two surgeon had ash-blond hair and gray eyes and an easygoing, compassionate nature Hannah warmed to. Whereas Dylan was her age—Cal was thirty-four. Because Cal had been so far ahead of her in school, she hadn’t known him all that well until two years ago when he returned to Holly Springs to practice medicine. Now he was like a brother to her.

“Let’s go up to my office,” Hannah said. “It’s more private there.” She led the way through the garage, up the stairs at the back, down a short hall, past the garage’s only bathroom, to a small room that overlooked the alley. It was crowded with file and supply cabinets, two chairs, a desk, phone and the computer she used for looking up parts and obscure repair manuals on the Internet. These days, a computer and all the information that could be gleaned from one was a mechanic’s best tool.

“Sorry I phoned so late last night,” Cal said.

Hannah knew how upset Cal had been lately. Her heart went out to him. It was rough, not knowing where you stood, or if and when things would ever work out. “No problem.”

“I got the feeling I was interrupting something,” Cal said.

No kidding, Hannah thought, her mind going back to the fevered kisses that had left her reeling, both physically and emotionally. “Your brother Dylan was there.” Briefly, Hannah explained how Dylan had tracked her down to get his suitcase.

Cal sighed and shoved his hands through the short, traditionally cut layers of his hair. “So you didn’t even have time to shoot a game of pool with R. G. Yarborough,” he noted, obviously disappointed.

About that, Hannah felt only relief. “No, but I had plenty of time to size him up,” she told Cal grimly. “Yarborough’s every bit as narcissistic and self-centered as you said. To get what we want from him we’re going to have proceed carefully.”

SLIM KERSTETTER GRINNED as Dylan walked up. “Beginning to look like a regular Hart family reunion around here,” he drawled as he moved a car up in the air via hydraulic lift.

“Say again?” Dylan blinked.

“First Emma and Joe.” Slim picked up his tools and stepped beneath the belly of the vehicle. “Then Cal. Now you. And not a one of you had an appointment to get your car fixed. Yep. I’d say that’s a record, all right.”

And Cal’s Jeep was still parked in one of the spaces. Dylan pushed away the feeling of unease. “Where is Hannah?” he asked.

“In her office.” Slim pulled a kerchief from his pocket and mopped the sweat from his forehead. “And Dylan—a word to the wise. You plan to get anywhere with that gal, you got to stop treating her like one of the guys.”

What the hell was that about? Hannah couldn’t have told him about the kisses they’d shared, or had she? “I’ll take that under advisement.” Pulse picking up, Dylan rounded the corner, past the hydraulic lifts, to the stairs at the rear of the garage.

He mounted them silently and strode just as soundlessly down the short hall, beyond the restroom. The door to her office was closed. Through the glass top half he could see Hannah sitting on the desk, her face tilted up at Cal. They were talking intently. Or so it appeared. As Dylan neared, their voices drifted toward him. “Difficult but not impossible,” Hannah was saying. “Trust me. If there’s anything I know, it’s men and their—”

“Well, yeah,” Cal concurred, his voice cutting off whatever it was she’d said.

“Everyone has a weakness,” Hannah continued matter-of-factly. “Something in his life that’ll make him prone to deal. We just have to find his. And as soon as we do—”

“I feel kind of sleazy just talking about this,” Cal lamented, running both hands through his hair.

Jealousy twisted Dylan’s gut as he watched Hannah reach over and pat Cal’s arm.

“I wouldn’t lose any sleep over our…” She hesitated, as if searching for the proper word.

“Manipulation?” Cal guessed dryly.

Hannah dropped her hand. “What is important is that we get what you want and come out ahead,” Hannah continued sternly.

“It still feels like a con job,” Cal protested in a low, guilty voice.

Hannah shrugged her slender shoulders. “So what if it is? You’ve got to think about the end result here, Cal, and what you stand to gain. Forget about R. G. Yarborough’s feelings and well-being. I guarantee he isn’t giving a thought to either yours or mine.”

So what was this? Dylan wondered, stepping back out of sight of the office door and into the restroom. Some type of con job? Last night he’d thought it was Cal pushing Hannah to do something she didn’t want to do. This morning it sounded as if it was the other way around.

The office door opened. Cal walked out briskly and headed right down the hall. Dylan waited until his brother had disappeared from view then stepped around the corner and into the office. Hannah was in the process of booting up her computer. Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink when she saw him, but that could have been as much from the memory of the kisses they’d shared the evening before as anything. Certainly, she didn’t look as though she knew he had been spying on her.

“What brings you here?” she asked.

Easy, he thought, glad for the excuse. “Your house key.”

DYLAN WAS DOING IT AGAIN, looking at her almost suspiciously, as if he knew what she was up to with his brother. But that was impossible. No one but she and Cal knew about the transaction they were trying so hard to pull off.

“Oh yeah.” Hannah fished the spare out of her desk and handed it to him. “Don’t lose it.”

“I won’t,” Dylan promised.

Their hands brushed. Their gazes meshed. And in that instant, Hannah knew Dylan had slept lightly, if at all, the previous night. Not that she could blame him. Losing your job, especially when your work meant as much to you as Dylan’s did to him, had to be devastating. She would have lain awake all night, staring at the ceiling, too. Wanting to help him, she said, “You ever thought about announcing instead of sportscasting?”

Dylan made a face. “Different talent.”

“Yes, but if you had the chance, would you do it?” Hannah persisted.

He shrugged his broad shoulders amiably. “Sure.”

“What do you know that I don’t?” he asked, studying her face.

Delighted to be able to deliver some good news, she said, “One of the Storm’s announcers just quit. They’re filling the position by week’s end.”

HANNAH WENT HOME PROMPTLY at six that evening. Dylan wasn’t there. Nor was there any note for her, or any way of knowing if he would even be back that evening. No painting or drywalling had been done, but there was plenty of evidence of his job search in the neat stacks of paper all over her bed.

Feeling glum, she had rushed to get home to see how his day had gone to no avail, Hannah dropped her grimy clothes in the hamper and stepped into the shower to scrub off the day. Mindful of the steamy August heat, she put on a dark green V-necked T-shirt and denim shorts, and was still combing out the tangles in her hair when she heard the front door open and close.

She walked down the stairs from the loft just as Dylan walked in to the open downstairs area. He was wearing the same suit and tie he’d had on the previous day at the airport. One hand held two large carry-out sacks from the root-beer stand they had been at the evening before; in the other was a cardboard carrying tray containing two large drinks.

“What’s all this?” Hannah asked as the delicious aroma of chili, cheese and onion rings filled the air.

“The rain check on the dinner I owe you—one of everything on the menu plus some extra chili dogs with cheese and onion in case you’re still as wild about them as I am. Are you?”

Hannah nodded. There was nothing like it, in her estimation, as far as junk food went. Funny he would think so, too, when in every other way they were so different. Usually guys wanted to buy her very hip or gourmet food—when they even asked her—and that was usually as payment for taking a look under the hood of their car or diagnosing a particularly perplexing electrical or mechanical problem with their vehicle. Nobody ever just bought her dinner for the sake of it, or went out of their way to spend time with her, one on one. Which begged the question. Why was Dylan suddenly so eager to spend time with her? Why was he suddenly hanging around, when he could just as easily have avoided her, the way he had at Janey’s wedding reception?

Was it because he wanted to continue to use her house as a temporary office while she was at work? Or was there something more going on here? Something that had to do with those series of kisses last night?

Dylan tilted his head at her, as if wondering what was on her mind. “I hope you haven’t eaten,” he said.

As if on cue, Hannah’s stomach growled. “Ah, no, I haven’t,” she said, embarrassed.

“Good.” He looked around them with a bemused grin. “Although where we’re going to eat is a good question. Where is your furniture?”

“I sold everything in a tag sale, to make more money to spend on the interior. I figure when it’s all done, I’ll just buy some new stuff that will fit the space.”

“Makes sense. In the meantime, where do you usually eat?”

“Perched on one of the sawhorses. Or upstairs, on my bed,” Hannah continued. “Sort of depends on what I’m eating.”

He nodded at her, considering. “So where are we going to do this?”

It was so hot outside. The mosquitoes were fierce this time of year. “My bedroom, I guess,” Hannah allowed finally. “You can sit at my desk. I’ll sit on the floor.”

He arched his eyebrow. “Not the bed?”

Hannah smiled wryly. “Somehow, eating chili dogs on a white bedspread doesn’t seem like a good idea. And speaking of chili dogs.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you really going to eat this dressed in a suit?”

Dylan shrugged, unperturbed. “Unless you want me to strip down to my skivvies again.”

“Uh, no,” Hannah said hastily. She held up a hand in stop-sign fashion. “Once was enough.”

He grinned again, in an appreciative male way that made Hannah think he was considering making love to her then and there. Which was silly. Except for the kisses the night before, there had never been anything between them. And since he was leaving at the end of the week, off to Chicago or parts unknown again, there never would be. Unless…

“So. How’s the job search going?” Hannah asked after they made their way upstairs to her bedroom. She settled picnic style on the rug in front of her walk-in closet and was surprised when Dylan bypassed the chair she had offered him and sat cross-legged opposite her. “Did you check out the announcing job for the Carolina Storm hockey team?”

Dylan took off his jacket and tie and tossed them onto her bed. “That’s where I was this afternoon. I went over and auditioned.”

Hannah watched as he undid the first few buttons on his shirt and rolled up his cuffs. “Already?”

He nodded, looking a lot more relaxed as he leaned against the wall and they divvied up the food. “Yeah. They were already vetting résumés and doing preliminary interviews, and anyone who passed muster was then eligible to get in line and go into a taping room. Basically, they handed us roster lists for both teams on the tape, as well as specific information they wanted worked into the broadcast. We all ‘called’—or announced—the first twenty-minute period. Then we were taken into another room to videotape a mock interview with one of the public relations staff, who was pretending to be either a player or a coach, and that was it. They’re going to review all the applicants by week’s end and have a decision no later than Monday.”

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