# Rock Solid

Samantha Hunter

Opposites ignite…Champion stock car driver Brody Palmer's bad-boy reputation has forced him into early retirement. What no one knows is that his «retirement» is actually a publicity stunt. All Brody has to do is clean up his act and settle down. Unfortunately, every single woman with a pulse is now gunning to become the new Mrs. Palmer.Hannah Morgan needs to shake things up, and Brody is the best way to do just that. So they strike a deal–a fake relationship…with all of the sexy strings included! Brody gets his improved image, and Hannah gets a whole lot more of Brody's unpredictable wildness. Hot days, hotter nights–it's the perfect plan! Provided, of course, they don't do something to wreck it, like fall for each other…

Opposites ignite...

Champion stock car driver Brody Palmer’s bad-boy reputation has forced him into early retirement. What no one knows is that his “retirement” is actually a publicity stunt. All Brody has to do is clean up his act and settle down. Unfortunately, every single woman with a pulse is now gunning to become the new Mrs. Palmer.

Hannah Morgan needs to shake things up, and Brody is the best way to do just that. So they strike a deal—a fake relationship...with all of the sexy strings included! Brody gets his improved image, and Hannah gets a whole lot more of Brody’s unpredictable wildness. Hot days, hotter nights—it’s the perfect plan! Provided, of course, they don’t do something to wreck it, like fall for each other...

She tried to say his name...but no words came out.

Brody stood in the doorway looking equally shocked to see her after so long. His green eyes seemed glued to her. His six-foot-plus frame filled the space. He hadn’t shaved. Mussed brown hair that had been cut shorter when she’d been with him had sprouted waves, and a few curls brushed his neck behind his ears. His jaw was strong, but tense. His lips, as tempting as ever.

Then his face broke into a welcoming smile, his eyes warming from surprise to pleasure. Hannah didn’t have a chance to move away as he encompassed her in a bear hug. Soon, those delectable lips were all over hers.

His beard scratched her a little, but Hannah was so blindsided by the unexpected embrace that she held on for dear life, her internal temperature skyrocketing as Brody’s tongue parted her lips and sought out hers.

Stop this, her brain said.

Just one more minute, her very happy heart argued. It was like getting a charge from a lightning bolt.

She couldn’t help but smile into his kiss. This was Brody.

He was never what she expected. But it was always good...

Dear Reader,

If you have read I’ll Be Yours for Christmas (and if you haven’t, go get it right now!), you met racing champion Brody Palmer and accountant Hannah Morgan in the subplot of that book. When I sent these two off on a wild month in Daytona, I knew there was more to the story—what happened after that month? So Rock Solid came to be. Though not easily; these characters made sure I found the right story for them.

Writers talk about their characters making decisions about the book, and I’d never experienced that, exactly...until I wrote Hannah and Brody. When Brody made his big plot move in the middle of the book, I didn’t even see it coming, let alone poor Hannah. He really is a wild man, and he surprised us both with his daring ways. Watching him grow from a playboy into the solid man that Hannah loves was an adventure in itself.

If you want to chat about Rock Solid, or any of my Mills & Boon Blaze books, you can find me on Twitter or Facebook most days, and I’d love to hear from you.

Samantha Hunter

Rock Solid

Samantha Hunter


www.millsandboon.co.uk

SAMANTHA HUNTER lives in Syracuse, New York, where she writes full-time for Mills & Boon. When she’s not plotting her next story, Sam likes to work in her garden, quilt, cook, read and spend time with her husband and their dogs. Most days you can find Sam chatting on the Mills & Boon Blaze boards at www.MillsandBoon.com, or you can check out what’s new, enter contests or drop her a note at her website, samanthahunter.com.

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Thank you to Brandi H, who was named in this book in gratitude for her generous donation to the 2013 Brenda Novak Auction.

Many friends saw me through a long

winter when the writing was difficult, most specifically the ladies at Chocolate Box Writers (chocolateboxwriters.com) who fielded many emails from me with grace, patience and a multitude of helpful suggestions. You are all amazing. Lucky me.

Brilliant writers Anne Calhoun and Serena Bell, who read the manuscript at various stages, brainstormed and also helped me figure out what wasn’t working and what was—amid their own very busy schedules. So many hugs to you.

Cari Quinn offered companionship and a lot of laughs and motivation during working lunches at Panera. She also thinks it’s funny when I talk back to my book—out loud.

And always, for Mike—for everything you do,

thank you is never enough.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

“I’M NOT RETIRING,” Brody said definitively. “You asked me to think about it, and I thought about it. The answer is no.”

Jud Harris, the lead publicist and marketing liaison for the corporate sponsor who had made his racing possible for the past five years, leaned in.

“Brody, I’m afraid it’s not optional at this point. After that fiasco at the club, it was all I could do to talk the heads of the company into keeping you on at all. You need to play ball and seriously clean up your act.”

Play ball. Yeah, right. Brody curled his fists under the table, trying to control his anger as he kept his voice level.

“I’ve got a pretty healthy bank account, Jud. I can finance my own car and team.”

It would probably take everything he had, but he could manage it for a year or two, until he could get another sponsor.

If you can get another sponsor, a traitorous doubt in his brain taunted.

“C’mon, Brody, we drop you, it looks bad. Your other, smaller sponsors would follow. We’ve put up with a lot over the years, but now we need to do damage control. We’re just asking you to lie low for a while. Stay out of trouble and the gossip pages.”

Brody bit out a curse, knowing Jud was right. Sponsorship was about more than money, as well—sponsors were a part of the team’s image and a vote of confidence. They also created community—people who worked for or were customers of that sponsor supported the car and the team.

“I told you why I was there—”

“It doesn’t matter what really happened. It matters how it showed up in the news.”

Brody stood, needing to get some distance before he really lost his temper. He knew what Jud said was true, and that was what was eating at him.

He’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time, helping a friend—a married friend—who’d called from a notorious kink club, too drunk to drive. Reporters who hung around those places waiting for a story revealed Brody coming out of the club at three in the morning.

He was judged in the eyes of the media, and caught in a situation where he couldn’t reveal his real reason for being there. Not publicly. He didn’t care as much about protecting his friend, who shouldn’t have been there in the first place, as he did the three kids the guy had at home. They didn’t need to see their father’s picture on the news. Not like that.

So Brody let the public think what they wanted.

The playboy image he’d earned over the years meant it would be passed off as one more chapter in the story of wild Brody Palmer.

Jud took his silence as possible receptivity and continued to press.

“Besides, it’s not actual retirement, we’ll just play it that way to the press. It will amp up interest. Your fans love you. They’ll miss you and want you back. Then you return, we build it up and it’s a big deal. It’s been done before, in a lot of sports.”

“And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

“You settle down. Maybe find a nice girl and get married...or at least engaged. You can always break it off later. We’ll stage your comeback, you’ll come back the season after next, bigger than ever. The game is changing, Brody. People are more family oriented these days. Your lifestyle... Well, we have to protect the brand. Our brand,” Jud said firmly.

Brody thought his head would explode as Jud kept talking. He’d always enjoyed himself—in the car, he was all business, but in his life, he did what he wanted. He made his own rules. Until now.

Racing was his life. Driving was like breathing to him. The idea of losing it... He couldn’t let that happen.

If the sponsor bailed, it would affect the whole team. This wasn’t only about him. Other livelihoods, reputations and futures were on the line, as well. They might be able to move to other work, but not right away. And not all of them.

“You’ll keep paying the team salaries?” Brody interrupted.

“Absolutely. We’ll say it’s part of your retirement deal that they are paid out for the season, but they can’t know the truth. No one can. If this gets out, it would be a mess for everyone. Understand? Then the deal’s off, period.”

Brody nodded.

“Trust me,” Jud said. “This will work. But you need to do your part and really change your behavior. Ten years ago, you could get away with this stuff, but people are less willing to accept it now.”

Yeah, he understood. He had to stop racing for a year and lie to everyone he knew. Brody understood just fine. It didn’t sit well. There were some lines he didn’t cross: he didn’t sleep with married women, he never broke a promise and he didn’t lie. He had enough other vices to keep him in the news, but those were three he’d always held true, until now.

Every bone in his body rejected the idea, but he had to think of his team and his future. It was only one season, and then he would come back, stronger than ever.

He’d make sure of it.

“Fine. Draw up the paperwork.”

Brody walked out the door before he even heard Jud’s reply, but when he made his way out of the office building in downtown Manhattan, he stood on the sidewalk, feeling lost. Blending himself into the crowd on the street, he couldn’t help but wonder: What the heck was he going to do with himself for the next year?

[1]

HANNAH MORGAN SAT alone in a dimly lit Atlanta bar, a plate of ribs sitting untouched to her left, a bottle of beer to her right, and her laptop opened directly in front of her. Growling in frustration at the laptop, she pushed it away to grab the ribs and dig in.

Quitting her accounting job had seemed like the right thing to do two months ago, but now she was having serious doubts. At the time, she’d been passed over for yet another promotion and had finally asked her boss why she was always being rejected for promotions at the firm she’d always given her best to.

You play it too safe to handle the bigger clients, Hannah, her boss had told her. They need someone who can think outside the box, find creative solutions.

Too safe?

She hadn’t been aware that being sensible or responsible was a bad thing in financial management, she fumed for the thousandth time as she tore into a rib.

Well, she’d shown them. She’d quit. That was hardly playing it safe, right? Neither was taking off around the country to explore her options and try to start a new career. Now she was operating completely outside the box.

Take that, she grumped as she licked the spicy, smoky sauce from her fingers and then took another from the plate. She’d missed lunch while working on her photo blog, Hannah’s Great Adventure, which so far hadn’t been very adventurous at all.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t tried, but adventure and risk taking had never come naturally to her.

She eyed the few comments she did have on her blog.

Nice.

Pretty.

Then there was the one that asked if she had any pictures of herself, and when would she come to his town?

Ugh. That was not the kind of adventure she was looking for.

Unfortunately, though she was active on social media and always posting on her blog, traffic was low. But she was still new at this, right? It would take time to establish and make a name for herself.

Sighing, she pushed the plate aside and bolstered her resolve as she pulled the laptop back, front and center. At least she could finish an assignment for the online writing course she was taking. Years as an accountant had left her writing skills somewhat rusty.

Just as her concentration took hold, someone slid into the seat opposite her.

“You don’t like the ribs?”

A gorgeous guy, complete with a sexy Southern accent and a wicked smile, looked at her inquiringly, making her mind stutter for a moment.

“Um, no, they’re wonderful,” she replied, and then saw the shirt he was wearing had the name of the bar stamped over one well-defined pectoral muscle.

“Well, I thought I should check, as you pushed the plate away. I have to make sure customers are satisfied, especially the pretty ones,” he said with a sexy wink, making her laugh.

He was flat-out gorgeous and charming to boot. And flirting with her. Suddenly her blog wasn’t all that interesting.

“Thanks,” she said, cringing inwardly as she wished she was a better flirt.

“My name’s Jarvis,” he said, holding his hand out. “You work nearby? Or are you a student at the university?” He looked at the laptop inquiringly.

She took his hand, finding his grasp pleasant and warm, strong but not smothering. Hannah let him hold on for another second or two, and liked the gentle squeeze he offered at the end.

“Neither. I’m a photojournalist. Well, I want to be one. It was something I wanted to do in college, but never followed through on. So I’m taking a year to travel the country to explore, to...blog. Try to develop, you know, a focus...or something,” she said, realizing she was babbling and stopping before she made a real fool of herself. This guy wasn’t really interested in her life history, she was sure.

“So you’re only passing through?” Jarvis asked with even more pronounced interest this time. Clearly not looking for commitment, which was fine with her.

Hannah was about to respond when a sportscast from one of the televisions positioned all around the bar caught her eye, stealing her attention away from her companion.

Brody.

Supersize on the screen, the stock-car champion’s image still made her catch her breath. Well, former racing champion. It seemed as though there was always something around reminding her of him. A magazine cover, a news item or a fan wearing his number on a T-shirt or on a sticker on their car, even after his retirement six months ago.

She couldn’t hear the story, but the picture they showed was from a year before, shortly after she’d parted ways with him. The headline noted five drivers who had recently left the track.

“You’re into racing?” Jarvis asked, watching her watch Brody.

Hannah tore her gaze from the screen.

“Oh, no, not so much. I... He’s a, um...a friend. But we haven’t seen each other in a while.”

“You keep interesting company.”

Once. Once, she’d kept company for a wild month with Brody Palmer, and it was one of the best experiences of her life. Her only true adventure, ever.

She smiled at Jarvis, trying to get Brody out of her mind.

Hannah didn’t have a whole lot of experience picking up men in bars, or letting them pick her up—but things were different now. Or at least, she wanted them to be.

She focused on Jarvis. He was real, and right here in front of her. Not an image on TV or a memory from the past. Maybe the sexy bartender was exactly what she needed in order to make some new, adventurous memories.

“I planned to leave tomorrow, but I’m flexible,” she said, proud of her own flirtatious innuendo, taking a sip of her beer and peeking at him over the top of her glass.

Fifteen minutes later, they were kissing in his office.

It turned out Jarvis owned the bar, which was an added bonus, since he had a very nice office with a delicious leather couch and a large desk. Hannah had a feeling they might make use of both. Right now, he was wrapped around her with his warm, strong hands finding their way up to her bra strap.

Jarvis moved fast, and Hannah let him, trying to enjoy what this hot guy was doing to her and not letting the image of Brody’s face on the TV screen—and the memories of his kiss, and his touch—ruin her fun.

But it was too late.

All she could think of was Brody. What was he doing since he retired? She’d considered contacting him, but it didn’t seem wise.

As Jarvis was trailing his lips lower, her mind wandered.

Maybe Brody would like to see an old friend? Maybe...he could help her out? Be her first real, exciting story for her blog?

Why not? She was trying to write about something exciting—and the most exciting person she’d ever known was only about eight hours away.

Would he see her? Would he talk to her?

What if he said no?

“Hannah?” Jarvis’s sexy voice broke through her thoughts.

He pulled back and looked at her questioningly, aware she had gone elsewhere, at least in her head. She backed away.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done this. We have to stop.”

“What?” He seemed more disconcerted than angry, but Hannah couldn’t go through with this. “Did I do something—”

“No, I promise, it’s totally me. I’m too distracted. It’s not your fault at all, I just... I have to go.”

Jarvis’s arms loosened and she apologized again, barely taking in his dazed look as she pictured meeting up with Brody. If she could take some pictures of him for her blog, that would put her on the map. He was retired. What was he up to? That was a blog she could write that would get some attention.

If he would agree. And why wouldn’t he? They’d parted on good terms, and they were friends, right? If she wanted to make this work, she had to be bold.

Hannah tugged her clothes straight before she went out into the kitchen and then the bar, convincing herself that this was the right thing to do, and that Brody would want to see her again, as much as she wanted to see him.

* * *

BRODY JERKED AWAKE, suddenly alert as he peered around his room. Sunlight peeked through a crack in the curtains, making him squint as he checked the clock. It was just past nine. He didn’t even recall when he’d gone to bed, though it had been late. The days all seemed to slide by recently, one blurring into the other. He peered at the half-empty bottle of Scotch on the dresser, and the glass by his bed.

That reminded him that his shoulder had been hurting like hell last night, and the alcohol was better than the pain pills the doctor prescribed. Well, somewhat anyway.

His shoulder was dislocated and sprained when his horse had thrown him. Luckily, nothing was broken.

Some luck.

If he’d been driving his stock car instead of riding Zip—the Thoroughbred colt he’d adopted from a rescue organization—none of this would have happened.

Racing might be dangerous, but the “quiet” life might kill him yet. Brody wasn’t built for quiet.

At least he was getting back to where he could do some light work with the horses and drive. For several weeks after he’d been thrown, he thought he would go out of his mind with boredom. He was counting the days until his mandatory “retirement” was over; it couldn’t happen soon enough.

Then he realized what had awakened him as the aroma of coffee drifted through the open door.

Someone was downstairs.

Was he with a woman last night? He didn’t think he’d had so much to drink that he wouldn’t remember. Though his sponsor had told him to behave, Brody wasn’t much good at that, either. There had been a few women since he’d left the track. He had to have something to do.

He’d had contractors in for several months, renovating the old farm house from top to bottom, and he’d adopted some new horses, but apart from all that, sex was at least a temporary reprieve. Though, since that news item appeared saying he was looking to settle down he couldn’t bring a girl home without her wanting to stay for good.

Now he tended to not go out. It was like being in prison. Walking to the window, he groaned when he saw a familiar car parked out front.

He must have drunk more than he usually did to have Jackie over. What a mess.

“Hey, sexy. Hungry?”

Jackie stood smiling inside his bedroom door, then she crossed the room to link her arms around his neck and kiss him before he could say anything. He turned his head, breaking the kiss and loosening her hold.

“Jackie, what are you doing here?”

She shrugged, pouting.

“I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d come over and surprise you with breakfast.”

Brody brightened slightly. “So you just got here?”

“About an hour ago. I brought some muffins from the bakery you like, made coffee and I could put on some eggs, too. I thought you might like to work up more of an appetite first, though...”

He stepped away, putting some distance between them—he’d been trying to put a lot of distance between himself and Jackie. He’d explained it to her several times, but she was more persistent than he’d expected. She’d been a high school girlfriend and more recently...an impulse. A mistake.

He was thankful that at least he hadn’t made it worse. She knew where he left his extra key, and had let herself in, obviously.

Grabbing some jeans from the chair, he pulled them on.

“Don’t get dressed on my account.”

Brody’s only response was a withering look as he left the room. He could hear her heels on the hardwood stairs close behind as he went to the front door.

“Jackie, I appreciate your making breakfast—”

“Then show me,” she said, sidling up to him again and putting her arm through his.

Brody sighed, stepping back and putting her away from him, his patience threading thin. He wasn’t interested.

“You need to go,” he said bluntly. “We’ve already talked about this.”

Her eyes turned diamond-chip hard as she set her hands on her hips, ready to argue. A knock at the door startled them both, and Brody almost groaned aloud. Who else was here this early in the morning? He was relatively private about where he lived, but still, fans and reporters seemed to find him more often than he liked.

“Hold on,” he said, turning away from Jackie to see who it was.

When he swung open the door, though, he couldn’t have been more shocked to see a familiar pair of blue eyes staring back at him.

[2]

HANNAH STARED AT BRODY, who wasn’t on television this time, but standing only two feet in front of her.

She froze, unsure what to say, her bravado evaporating like the morning fog in the sun. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.

She’d driven all night, wanting to see him before she lost her nerve, but apparently she had lost it anyway. She’d gotten the address of his family’s ranch from Abby, but he’d been hard to find, especially since she’d ended up navigating unmarked farm roads where her GPS had also lost its signal.

She was exhausted and hungry, but she was here. Part of her mind registered that it was one of the most flat-out beautiful properties she’d ever seen. The sprawling colonial farmhouse with its black shutters, enormous porch and pretty red door were classic. The brass race-car knocker on the door had let her know she was in exactly the right place. Lush green fields and trees surrounded the house, and several horses grazed in the pasture—it was like something from a postcard.

She tried to say his name, but no words came out.

Lifting her hand uselessly—to do what? Wave? Shake his hand?—she let it drop to her side again.

Thoughts scattered as she remembered how he used to look in the morning...naked, mussed head of hair, gleaming eyes...and sexy. Extremely sexy.

Brody’s six-foot-plus frame filled the doorway. He hadn’t shaved. Shaggy brown hair that had been cut shorter when she’d been with him had sprouted waves, and a few curls brushed his neck. His jaw was strong but tense. His lips as tempting as ever. He was shirtless, the top button on his jeans undone, as if he had only now gotten out of bed.

That brought back a wave of memories that nearly did send her running back to her car. What had she been thinking, coming here?

Then his face broke into a welcoming smile, his expression switching from surprise to pleasure. The next thing she knew, Brody encompassed her in a bear hug. Then his delectable mouth was all over hers, his bare torso flush against her.

Hannah forgot to breathe.

His beard scratched her lightly, but she was so blindsided by the unexpected embrace that she held on for dear life, her fingers pressing into his bare shoulder blades, her internal temperature skyrocketing as Brody’s tongue parted her lips and sought out hers.

Stop this, her brain said.

Just one more minute, her very happy libido argued, getting a sudden charge from the kiss, as if she’d been hit by a lightning bolt.

She couldn’t help but smile into his kiss. This was Brody. He was never what she expected, but whatever happened around him, it was always good. At least, it had been.

Hope flooded her. He was glad to see her. Very glad.

“Excuse me,” an annoyed voice hissed somewhere behind them.

As Brody released her, breaking the kiss, Hannah found the source glaring daggers at her over his shoulder.

Tall, busty blonde, dead ahead.

Brody kept one arm around her, which was a good thing, because Hannah’s knees were definitely suffering from a slight wobble.

“I’m so glad you’re here, honey,” Brody said to Hannah, dripping with his own special brand of charm. But something about his tone hit her as fake; it was the tone he often used around groupies. “Jackie was just leaving.”

Hannah saw the other woman’s fingers clench. Angry, icy gray eyes and thinned lips emphasized her displeasure as Jackie looked Hannah up and down.

“Who is this?” Jackie asked Brody as if not hearing the dismissal.

“This is the reason you need to go,” Brody said simply, delivering a kiss to the top of Hannah’s head.

Hannah tried to step away—clearly she had walked into the middle of something awkward—but Brody’s muscular arm held her fast against him.

The tension thickened as Brody and the blonde stared each other down for a few seconds.

Brody won.

The woman grabbed her bag from the table and came to the door, standing only inches from Hannah.

“Jerk,” she spat back at Brody before she stalked out, marching to a white Mercedes that Hannah had parked beside.

The door closed, and Brody let out a breath.

“Good timing, sweetheart. Maybe that will finally get her off my back for good,” Brody said, dropping his arm from her shoulders and retreating through the foyer.

Hannah was immobile, still warm from his kiss as she watched through the window as the blonde kicked up a cloud of dust on the road that led away from the ranch.

“Wait. What the...?” Hannah sputtered.

She was pretty sure that the heat rebuilding in her system wasn’t from the kiss, but from anger.

“Did you just use me to get rid of a woman who’d spent the night?”

He looked at her from across the hall, leaning laconically on the door frame.

“She didn’t spend the night—not last night anyway. Come on in and have a muffin. There’s coffee.”

He headed into the recesses of the house. Hannah followed him. She was starving after her overnight drive, and lured by the aroma of coffee. She stopped in the kitchen and watched him pour two cups.

She also noted the half-empty beer bottle on the counter near the sink. Several empties, in fact. While the outside of the farmhouse was pristine, the inside was a wreck, as if no one had cleaned in several weeks. There was also some funky odor coming from the trash basket near where she was standing, so she moved. It was like the house of an eternal frat party. Brody was far from a neat freak, she knew, but he wasn’t a total slob, either.

He grabbed several muffins and took the food and his coffee into the adjoining dining room. Hannah’s stomach growled. She needed to eat something more substantial than muffins, but a fistful of carbs would tide her over. She grabbed the other mug and a blueberry muffin with coffee-cake crumbles on top.

In the dining room, she took a seat across from Brody at the long harvest table. She had to clear a spot to do so, moving old newspapers and takeout boxes that were stacked everywhere. When she was done eating, she seriously contemplated getting another muffin, but sipped her coffee instead.

“Are you even going to ask why I’m here?”

He looked at her over the top of his coffee cup. “I know why you’re here. You obviously needed some more top o’ the line Brody lovin’, right?”

Hannah coughed, her coffee going down the wrong way. When she caught her breath and started to protest, Brody chuckled.

“Calm down, Hannah. I’m teasing. So, why are you here?” he asked dutifully.

Hannah shifted in her chair, frowning. In spite of the kiss at the door—which had obviously just been for effect—he seemed distant. The connection she’d always had with him wasn’t there.

Something was off, and suddenly she didn’t feel comfortable asking him for his help. Not until she knew what was going on.

“I was in Atlanta, and I thought I’d come down and see how you were doing. Just a lark,” she said. It was mostly true. “How’s retirement?”

“You had business in Atlanta?” he asked, ignoring her question.

“Sort of,” she hedged.

“’Fess up, Hannah.” He sounded irritated. “Did Reece send you here to check on me?”

She sat back. “No, why would he?”

“He seems to think I’m not dealing with my retirement or my accident well.”

Another surprise. “What accident?”

He cursed as he leaned forward and shook his head. The gesture made him look even more tired.

“I forgot how to handle a horse. Got thrown, hurt my shoulder and lower back. It’s not the end of the world. I’ll be fine. Really. I’m just sore and stiff, but mostly better now.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.”

“You expect me to believe that?” he said, pinning her with a look. She could see faint circles around his eyes, a tightness around his lips.

“Are you saying I’m lying?” she challenged him, but now she was worried. She’d never seen Brody like this, and maybe Reece had been concerned for a reason.

He looked away. And then he began to tap his fingertips on the table as if he was holding something back.

“I never knew you had horses,” she said, changing the subject.

“There’s a lot you never knew about me, sugar,” he drawled as he roughly pushed his chair back and returned to the kitchen, apparently done with the conversation.

This wasn’t the Brody she’d known. Not by a long shot. Brody had always been a wild man, a partier and to a certain degree, a player—which was how she’d met him in the first place. But he wasn’t ever a jerk about it.

His eyes were bleary, and she noticed now that his gait was off, his walk more hesitant than usual. He held himself stiffly, his legs moving only with concentrated effort, as if each step was painful.

She followed him.

“If you’re fine, why is this place such a mess? Are you too hurt to pick up things? Maybe you need a cleaning service to give you a hand?”

He turned on her, eyes narrow, as if his patience was worn out.

“Listen, I don’t need help. Just because you and I had some fun together doesn’t mean I’m going to spill my guts to you or anyone else. So if that was the plan, forget it.”

Hannah took a steadying breath. “Something is wrong. Tell me.”

“You don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

Ouch. Hannah straightened, held her chin high.

“Maybe not. But I’m telling the truth, Brody. No one sent me. But since I’m here, I’m not going away until you tell me what’s going on.”

Her blog problems fell by the wayside. Hannah knew firsthand that people didn’t care as much about their health or their surroundings, or even people they loved when they were depressed. Brody was no dummy; he had to know that she could see this.

Her mother had reacted similarly after Hannah’s dad had died, until her mom had gotten some help. Hannah, though only ten, had been the one to take care of the house, the food and her mom in the meanwhile. Brody didn’t have anyone, from what she could tell.

She stepped forward, putting a hand on his arm. He flinched, and she pulled back.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Brody, I didn’t mean to—”

His eyes were fierce as they looked down into hers. They were so close, the heat of him burned right through her. She stared at his mouth, her mind drifting back to the kiss at the front door. Hannah had always loved his mouth. She’d enjoyed his smile, his kisses, and many other wonderful things he did with those lips.

“You think you know me, Hannah? You want to help?”

She was unsure, not knowing what to do with Brody in this mood.

His gaze was intoxicating, his body hard and solid. Brody could always turn her inside out with merely a look. Even now, even when he was acting so strangely, that still held true.

“Then help,” he said, intention clear in his eyes.

She started to speak, but he stopped her with another kiss. All Hannah could do was hold on.

* * *

BRODY’S BODY WAS going to suffer for this later, but he didn’t care. Hannah was here.

She was possibly the last person he’d expected to see at the door. When he looked into her sweet face and had her back in his arms, at least one thing about the world seemed right.

He hadn’t meant to kiss her again. He was going to send her on her way, but now here they were, and she was making those soft sounds she tended to make when she was turned on.

Even as he deepened the kiss, he tried to tell himself to back off. Hannah didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve his lies or to be the answer for his frustration and restlessness. She didn’t need to be part of this sham he was involved in.

Any minute now, he would cut her loose and show her the door.

Or to his bed.

There’d never been anyone like Hannah, and all he wanted was to have her again. To lose himself in her body and forget about everything for a while. Being with her was the last time he could remember anything really good, and he wanted that back more than he could say.

He bunched his fingers in her thick, dark hair—shorter now, and curlier. Angling her mouth so he could go deeper, he walked her back toward the wood island that dominated the center of the kitchen. It was lower than the counters and would work for what he had in mind.

He kept kissing her—Hannah loved lots of kissing—as he covered one full breast with his palm, feeling the nipple bud against his palm.

“Damn, I missed this,” he muttered against her lips, tweaking the hard bud between his fingers and catching her gasp with another deep kiss.

She was wearing jeans, and he slid his hand down, working the snap with one hand. Slipping his hand inside, his fingertips brushed her soft curls. He laid his palm flat against her lower belly.

She murmured something against his mouth, but he continued the kiss, tasting more. He was hard, getting harder. He hadn’t felt this alive in some time.

This was what it had been like between them since the first time they’d met: spontaneous combustion.

He slipped his hand between her legs and swallowed her responding sigh. She tried to move against his hand.

“Not yet,” he whispered against her ear.

He used his other hand to push her shirt up, moving the lace of her bra out of the way at the same time.

Hannah had the prettiest breasts he’d ever seen. Full and perfectly shaped, the pert, peachy nipples were like dessert to him, and he savored each one in turn.

She cried out, and he saw her grip the edge of the island tight. His back was starting to ache, so he removed his hand and got onto his knees, working her jeans down her legs as he went.

Then he spotted it—the small racing flag tattoo that he’d talked her into, right beneath her belly button. He leaned in, kissed it and looked up to find her watching him.

“You kept it.”

“Of course I kept it.”

He smiled, remembering the day when she’d gotten the tat, and how they’d celebrated after, made him even hotter.

He nearly lost control then, as he kept looking into her eyes. Hannah, who was so cool, collected and composed most of the time. His responsible, serious Hannah, who wore boring suits and talked about accounting, now looked back at him with wild hair, flushed cheeks and eyes glittering with desire.

But there was more than desire there. There was warmth, need and...affection? Expectation? Concern?

He’d seen that soft look before, and wondered if they had more between them. That was a problem—then and now—because they couldn’t have more than sex. Sex was all he wanted. All he needed.

That was an even better reason for her to go.

He couldn’t do this, use her to entertain himself, to take his mind off his life for a little while. Brody backed off, his breathing heavy, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, Hannah. This shouldn’t have happened,” he said stiffly, closing his jeans as he walked to the sink, washed his hands, his face. Washed the past few minutes away.

“Brody?”

“Just leave, Hannah. Please.”

Hannah fixed her clothes, straightened her hair. She still looked amazing and turned on. Brody peered out the window, fighting for control.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s happening.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, can’t you get that? I’m fine. I don’t need you here. Despite what you might think, you mean nothing to me.”

He heard her sharp intake of breath. It was low for him to speak to her like that, but he needed her to go. If he had to insult her to get her to do it, fine. It was better than insulting her even more by letting her stay under false pretenses. By taking her here in his kitchen, with no plans for anything more than that.

He didn’t warrant her concern, and he certainly didn’t want her pity.

“Listen, whether you like it or not, I’m your friend. I want to help, whatever the problem is.”

He watched incredulously as she stormed over to the small dinette, sat down and looked at him. He’d never seen such a stubborn, determined woman.

There was only one thing to do.

“Fine, I’ll go, then,” he muttered, grabbing his hat and keys. He walked out the back door, letting it slam, hating himself in about a dozen ways.

He felt like dirt. He wanted to apologize, to beg her forgiveness or to go back and finish what they started.

But he couldn’t do any of those things.

Climbing up in his Charger, he wasn’t even sure where he was going. All he could think about was Hannah and all the memories of their time together.

As for why she was here—it didn’t really matter. He’d still have had to turn her away rather than lie to her. Brody wondered how long it would take before she’d give up on him and take off. He hoped it was sooner rather than later, because he wasn’t sure how well he could hold up if he saw her again.

[3]

HANNAH WOKE UP on a strange sofa, not knowing where she was for a moment, but the faint irritation left by Brody’s stubble on her skin brought back the events of the morning, quickly reminding her of her surroundings.

It was midafternoon the same day, Friday. The house was quiet, and she stood, stretching and then looking out the window. Hers was still the only vehicle in the driveway.

Brody was no doubt waiting her out, but in truth, she was waiting him out, too. She had her own stubborn streak, and... Well, she was worried. She didn’t want to be, but she was.

Her stomach growled again, and she caught sight of her hair in a mirror on the opposite side of the room. She looked as though she’d crawled out from under the couch, and she seriously needed a shower. Heading out to her car, she grabbed her bag, and then went in search of the main bathroom.

As she undressed and stepped under the hot water, she firmed up her resolve. Hopefully, she’d have a chance to talk to Brody again, but if he wasn’t home by breakfast the next morning, she’d go. She could leave him a note with her phone number and an invitation to call her if he needed her—in a purely platonic way, of course—which would put the ball in his court.

It took practice, walking away, making boundaries, but she was getting better at it.

Abby always said she was overly responsible. Hannah never really understood that before; a person was either responsible or not. You either did the things you were expected to and made sure you kept your promises and were there for the people who needed you, or you weren’t. How could someone be overly responsible? It was like saying rain could be too wet. Impossible.

But Hannah knew when she’d returned from her month with Brody that Abby was right.

Her employer treated her like crap because Hannah was so dependable. So responsible. When her father died, Hannah had tried to take his place from a very early age. She worked as soon as she could, helped her mother in any way possible. She never wanted to disappoint.

Content to let her hair air dry in the Florida heat, she hung her towel neatly, then threw on a sundress and sandals. She packed up her supplies and went downstairs in time to hear the doorbell ring.

That couldn’t possibly be Brody—why would he ring his own bell? Struggling with whether she should answer the door, she did, and found a very pretty young woman in a very scanty cotton summer dress on the other side, holding a pie.

Her pretty smile collapsed when she saw Hannah. She pushed up on her tiptoes, looking over Hannah’s shoulder.

“Is Brody here?”

“No, I’m sorry, he’s not.”

The woman narrowed her eyes for a second, as if trying to assess whether Hannah was being honest.

“I brought him a pie.”

“That’s nice. I can put it on the counter and let him know, if you’d like me to.”

“Oh, I’d rather do that myself,” the woman replied, taking a step forward, but Hannah gently blocked her path.

“I’ll be happy to take it for you, or I’m sure Brody will be back later if you want to return.”

“Well, I suppose I could leave it. Tell him it’s from Jenna, J-e-n-n-a. And I’ll be sure to make sure he got it,” she warned Hannah in an overly cute Southern accent.

As if what? Did she think Hannah was going to eat the pie herself? Or pretend that she’d made the pie instead?

Hannah met Jenna’s fake smile with a super sweet one of her own as she closed the door, inhaling the scent of the buttery crust and...cherries. Oh, yum.

Maybe she would eat it.

Though after muffins for breakfast, she needed some real food, and pie didn’t quite fit the bill. Hannah doubted Brody had anything edible in his kitchen, given all of the takeout bags. Surprisingly, she found the refrigerator fairly well stocked and the cupboards, as well. Someone had gone grocery shopping. One of his many female admirers?

The bigger problem was the kitchen itself, she thought as she took note of the mess. She couldn’t cook in this chaos; she could barely find a clear spot where she could put the pie down.

She tried to resist it, but as she started straightening up, her compulsive side took over. It was part of her nature. She cleared clutter and bounced back and forth between that and putting a pot of meat sauce on the stove to go with some pasta she found in a cupboard.

As she worked, the phone rang twice—two women left syrupy messages for Brody, then a third female caller left one that was rather X-rated.

Hannah huffed a laugh. She wasn’t completely surprised. Brody’s reputation as a ladies’ man—and that was the polite term for it—was quite well established when she met him. It was part of what attracted her to him, actually. He was wild, different and very, very experienced.

She’d wanted to be with someone like that to create a few memories she could carry into old age once she settled down. She hadn’t been disappointed. When they’d been together, she and Brody were exclusive, even though he’d had offers rolling in steadily, and Hannah had been the recipient of many bitter female glares. Not unlike the one she’d received from J-e-n-n-a.

After a while, the place was looking better, homier, and the sauce smelled amazing. Hannah felt much calmer. She was looking forward to her dinner in the now-tidy kitchen when someone walked in the back door.

It definitely wasn’t Brody. Instead, a slim, petite honey-blonde stood gaping at Hannah.

Wow, this one had nerve, waltzing right in.

“Can I help you?” Hannah said, offering a cool glance that she hoped cautioned the woman about entering any farther.

“Yeah, is my brother here? I need to talk to him.”

“Brody... Um, no, he isn’t here. He left this morning, hasn’t been back. I don’t know where he went.”

The woman regarded Hannah with open suspicion.

“Who are you, then, and what are you doing cooking dinner if he’s not here or coming home soon?”

“We had an argument, and he took off. I’m waiting him out,” Hannah answered matter-of-factly. “But I needed to eat in the meanwhile. And the place was a mess, so I cleaned up a bit.”

“Okay. That’s either really admirable or really scary.”

Hannah realized that she sounded like a stalker.

“I’m sorry,” she said, rushing to explain. “I’m a friend. Brody and I know each other through Reece Winston and his wife, Abby? I’m Abby’s best friend. I don’t know if you know—”

“I do. I know Reece pretty well, though I only met Abby once.”

“Brody and I spent some time together last year, at the track, and I was in the area, so—”

The other woman’s eyes suddenly widened. “Oh, wait, you’re Hannah? The Hannah?”

“I guess. Is there more than one?”

“Could be. Anyway, I’m Brandi.”

“Nice to meet you. So...Brody mentioned me?”

Hannah felt silly asking, but the words slipped out before she could stop them.

Brandi’s lips twitched as she looped her thumbs in her jeans. “Oh, you could say that. When he was under the influence of the drugs they gave him at the hospital when he fell off the horse, you were a very frequent topic. But I won’t share details since he wouldn’t have, either, except that he was pretty out of it.”

Hannah’s jaw dropped, her face heating as she tried not to imagine what Brody might have said about her. After a few seconds, she saw the humor in it and started to laugh. Brandi joined in.

Soon, a more serious thought occurred to her. “Can I ask, is everything okay with Brody? He didn’t seem like himself.”

“I agree. He hasn’t wanted to talk about much since he retired from the circuit. He just sort of sticks around here and works on the ranch, but doesn’t say anything about what he’s doing next. Believe me, we’ve tried, but it’s like poking a bear most of the time. Our parents think he just needs time and space to adjust, but I’m not sure.”

Hannah nodded. “I was surprised to hear about his accident, though he seems to be recovering. Still, he does seem...off.”

“He is. Anyway, I’m sorry I thought you were another, well, you know...”

“Oh, I know. Believe me. There was someone here this morning, then that pie was dropped off by another young woman, and a few phone messages since... I thought you were, um, a female friend, as well.”

Brandi rolled her eyes. “It’s as though they come out of the walls. You’d think they would lose interest since he retired, but it’s been even worse. I guess they all want to be the one who finally snags him. The one who brings Wild Brody Palmer to heel. It didn’t help that one of the reporters let leak something about him wanting to settle down.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that.”

Brandi grinned. “Believe me, if there’s anyone less likely to settle down on this earth, it’s Brody. I don’t even know why he retired. At first we were glad. It was getting hard on my parents, watching him take his life in his hands every day. Whenever there’s a crash, we all hold our breath, you know?”

Hannah did know. Being at the track was exciting, but it had also been frightening, watching what he did for a living.

“But he’s not happy, especially since his accident,” Brandi added with a sigh. “Maybe you’ll have better luck at getting him to say what’s been bothering him.”

“It is hard to imagine him no longer racing. Didn’t he and Reece talk about owning their own car, having their own driver?”

Brandi shrugged. “Maybe, but Reece has settled into the winery, and Brody’s never been one to sit back and watch.”

That sounded exactly like Brody, and it made Hannah wonder, too: Why had he retired? He’d never talked about it when they were together, except to say “in the future” or “in time.” Retirement had been forced on Reece because of a horrific accident on the track. That hadn’t been the case for Brody.

Unless there was something none of them knew. Was he keeping a secret? Was he sick? Worse?

Hannah’s mind reeled with new, awful possibilities. Something so serious that he wouldn’t want to tell his family or friends? And that was why he was so surly?

“Anyway, whatever you have on the stove there smells great.”

“Thanks. Just some sauce and pasta,” Hannah responded, still distracted—and even more worried—by her dire thoughts. “Would you like some?”

“It’s nice of you to offer—Brody said you were nice—but I have to get home to my son. I’ll catch up with Brody tomorrow. Good to have met you, Hannah.”

“Same here.”

Brandi left through the back door and Hannah had her dinner alone. She distracted herself by working on her writing and enjoying a bottle of wine. By the end of the evening, she was deflated by the fact that no one was responding to the blog. She hadn’t taken any pictures that day, and Brody was nowhere to be found. For the first time since being in New York, she didn’t have anything new to post.

Brody said you were nice.

Nice. Bland. Boring.

Like her photos.

Maybe she should call her blog Hannah’s Lack of Adventure.

As she stood and paced, she noticed a display case on the far side of the room. There were trophies and awards, of course, from his racing, and pictures of Brody with various celebrities, friends, and even one with a US president. A scale model of almost every car he’d raced sat on a shelf.

There was a section of the wall devoted to these shelves. Mostly family pictures and personal items. Brody, she assumed, as a boy with his father, holding up a huge fish. His enormous, toothy grin made her chuckle. He must have been around seven, she guessed.

Hannah had been ten when her father died, and she still felt a slight, dull pain when she thought about it. He’d been a good man and the moon and the stars to her. Her dad had been the kind of solid, dependable man she’d hoped to find for herself. He’d farmed his land, provided for them and worked part-time at the local feed store in summer to earn extra income.

She remembered him as always being happy and laughing, telling her to work hard and do what was right. Those words had stood by her when he’d had a fatal heart attack, and there was no way she and her mother could keep the farm. So Hannah had done the right thing and worked diligently to support herself and her mother as soon as she was able.

She reached out, touching the picture of Brody with his dad. He’d never said anything about his family, which made sense. Theirs was a particular kind of relationship.

Not a relationship at all, really.

There were also some scouting badges—another surprise—and several sports awards, including high school baseball and college swimming trophies. On a table near that display were pictures of Brody in mountain-climbing gear with a group of people all clearly celebrating some sort of victory, and one of him...surfing?

And there were pictures of a very young Brody by a race car—his first one? He had to be only twenty or so.

She’d only known him as a champion driver, but clearly there was a lot more to the man. He’d done and accomplished a lot. She looked at some of the framed news articles and magazine covers. Words that came up often were things like brash, risky, and pushing the edge.

Brody said you were nice.

What did Hannah have to put on her walls? Her diplomas, certainly, and she was proud of those, along with her certified public accountant recognition. She had some pictures from school—mainly her and Abby and a few other friends having fun in Ithaca and at the senior dance. A few 4-H awards from the local fair. Not that she was ashamed of any of those moments—she held them dear, in fact—but in her thirty years, what else had she managed to accomplish?

Her work had been her focus. Creating the stable, perfect future that she had always planned on. She’d be thirty-one in a few months, and she had no job, husband, kids or house.

And here she was, cleaning Brody’s place and making him dinner and wondering why everyone, even the strangers on her blog, only thought of her as nice.

Maybe it was time to do something that wasn’t so nice? Something daring and un-Hannah-like.

The question was...what?

* * *

BRODY’S HEAD FELL back against the headrest of the seat when he saw Hannah’s car still in his driveway. Man, she was stubborn. And caring, warm, generous, gorgeous, sexy, funny... Brody bit off a curse, making himself stop there.

He didn’t want to lie to her. If he’d been a bad bet before, he wasn’t anyone Hannah would be interested in now. She needed security, stability. He’d never been a poster child for either quality, but that was especially true at the moment.

He could only think of one way to convince her to go. It was dangerous, but it was his only play, really. Entering the house through the back door, he stopped short for a second, taking in the gleaming counters and lack of clutter. Something smelled mouthwatering, and his gaze traveled to the pot still on the stove. There was a pie on the counter and he walked over to read a note next to it—“Jenna dropped this off.”

Brody shook his head, and then he checked the messages blinking on the phone in the kitchen. He kept the landline precisely so he could screen calls like this; only friends and family used his cell number. He winced, thinking about Hannah overhearing the messages, especially the last one.

Since the nightclub story, he’d gotten several offers like that. Weekly.

Speaking of Hannah, where was she?

“Hannah?”

He walked farther into the house and discovered her sitting on his sofa, quiet, staring at her laptop. There was a bottle of wine—half-finished—and an empty glass on the table next to her. When he came in, she just looked up at him.

“Oh, hi,” she said, her brow furrowed as she turned her attention back to the computer screen.

That was all.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“No. I’m boring.”

Brody didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t that. He assumed she’d be ticked off or concerned or whatever, but this threw him. So he went over and sat next to her, and saw on the screen, a page about...

“Why are you reading about alligator wrestling?”

“Because it’s exciting and crazy, and risky. Meaning, all of the things I’m not. A decent photojournalist needs to take risks. So I found this place that teaches people to alligator wrestle, and it’s not far from here. Do you know about it?”

“Hold on a second. You mean you’re actually considering learning how to wrestle an alligator?” Brody’s tone was incredulous, but he couldn’t help it.

Wait. Photojournalist? Hannah was an accountant. Wasn’t she?

“How much wine did you have, Hannah?”

“Only a few glasses. See, on the website, they take you through it step-by-step. Here’s a picture of a woman doing it, so it’s not just for men,” Hannah said, pointing.

Brody looked at the screen. “She’s twice your size—and a game warden, according to the caption, Hannah. Have you ever seen a real alligator?”

“No, but I have to do something, and soon. You can’t help me, and people aren’t going to look at my blog for pretty pictures of ocean waves or... Hey, wait. Do people surf down here? There are sharks, right?”

Brody put up a hand, interrupting her. “Let’s back up a few steps. One, why do you think you’re boring? Two, why are you trying to commit suicide by wildlife? And three, what’s this about being a photojournalist?”

She took a deep breath and poured some more wine. Brody suspected she’d had enough, but she was a big girl.

“I quit my job,” she said after a swallow, and then told him the whole story, showing him her blog and some pictures of oyster farmers and kids in a decrepit playground in Atlanta. She was pretty good, and he was about to compliment the pictures, but she slammed the laptop shut.

Brody was stunned at her ferocity. He was also somewhat ashamed of himself for having had no clue that Hannah was going through all of this. He was so busy focusing on his own issues that he’d assumed everything with her was status quo—which was how she always liked it.

But apparently there had been some big changes. That had to be why she had come here. Out on the road, on her own, she’d been looking for a friend, and instead he had... Brody rubbed his temples with his fingers, completely disgusted with his previous actions and how he’d spoken to her.

She was worried that he wasn’t okay, even though she was having her own professional crisis.

“I don’t know what else to do,” she said in frustration, standing, albeit unsteadily, as she walked over to his display case.

His grandparents had started the case, keeping everything he acquired since the time he was a kid, and Brody had added to it after he’d bought the house. Some of the things he’d thought about donating to Jackie’s auction, but he found most of the items were too difficult to part with. They represented the life he loved. The one he hoped he hadn’t left behind him.

“You see? All of this? All the things you’ve done? You know how to live adventurously. I do not,” she said, sounding totally disgusted with herself.

Brody ran a hand through his hair, unsure what to say. He’d had a plan, but with Hannah three sheets to the wind and obviously in the middle of a personal crisis, all bets were off.

“Hannah, take it from me, you are not boring,” he said, trying to find some foothold in this weird situation. “You’re...exciting in your own way.”

As he heard the words come out, he regretted them instantly.

“No,” she argued. “I’m not. The only time I’ve ever done anything exciting was with you.”

She walked back over, standing a few feet in front of him, her eyes taking on a softer quality. “Do you remember how exciting some of it was, Brody? Like that time at the track, with all of those people around—”

Brody swallowed hard, remembering all too well. Vividly, in fact. How he’d kept the pretty sounds she made quiet with his mouth as his nimble fingers had made her come behind the bleachers. It had been after a great qualifying race, and when he’d gotten out of the car, all he could think about was making his way to her and celebrating. They’d done that a lot, and it had been one of his best seasons.

“Why did you retire?” she asked bluntly.

“Um—”

“I knew it. You’re sick, aren’t you? How bad is it?”

Her eyes welled and her lip quivered and Brody stood, pulling her in close and wrapping his arms around her.

“No, honey, I’m not sick. I promise.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Except for my back, which is getting better every day, I’m healthy as can be.”

She pushed back, looking up into his face.

“Then why? And why are you here, so unhappy and not cleaning up?”

Brody shook his head, fighting a small smile at her focus on the mess. His cleaning lady had moved, and he wasn’t motivated to find another one. But that was unimportant.

“It’s complicated. Let’s focus on you right now.”

She made a noncommittal noise, her eyes dropping to his mouth. She licked her lips, and Brody had to hold back a groan.

He and Hannah had had some pretty good times now and then after they’d both finished a bottle of champagne or the like, but this was entirely different. He wasn’t about to take advantage, though it was really tough to keep his head straight as her hand slipped down over the front of his pants, squeezing.

“Hannah, oh, um, hon. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Be adventurous with me again, Brody,” she said, pushing up on her toes to drag her tongue along his lower lip as she touched him in a way that made his head spin.

“Hannah, this isn’t a good, um, idea,” he managed, closing his eyes as she touched and kissed him as he walked her to the stairs.

“I’ll show you how good an idea it is,” she responded in a purr.

Brody helped her up the stairs, his body liking what she was up to way too much for his own good. She was testing his control.

He deftly steered her into his room and set her down on the bed.

“Aren’t you going to take my dress off?” she asked prettily.

Brody looked down at her, his entire body hard, wanting. Her hair was mussed, her lips parted in the most delicious way. The dress she mentioned was pushed up on her thighs, and Brody knew how soft she was underneath.

He walked over to the other side of the bed, lowering himself down, fully clothed.

“Come here, Hannah. We have time. There’s no rush,” he said.

He gathered her up next to him, torturous as the contact was, since he had no intention of giving her what she thought she wanted.

“You feel so good. I missed you,” she murmured against his chest, and Brody closed his eyes.

He didn’t say another word, but kissed her hair and stroked her shoulder until her breathing evened and eventually, something he’d forgotten, she offered a soft Hannah snore.

Extracting himself quite gently, he pulled the sheet up over her and left, closing the door. He’d sleep downstairs—after a very cold shower—and hopefully by morning he could figure out what the heck he was going to do.