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The woman was lovely in all the soft, inhumanely delicate ways she was not. Her face was a heart, with big round vivid green eyes with thick lashes, plump cheekbones, and small cupid's-bow pink lips. Her hair was cut short, barely brushing her shoulders in a rich, chocolaty velvet color. She was petite in the way she had always admired, short but not too short, with pixie small bone structure and thinness, but with a gentle curve to her hip and breast that made you acutely aware she was definitely a woman.
She was breathtaking. And quite dirty, Hannah realized. Her black yoga pants were covered in powdery light brown dirt from ankle to knee like she had been gardening. She also had dirt caked on her hands and under her fingernails. There was even a small, charming smudge across her jawbone.
She had been talking, a quiet, feminine voice all air and honey until she looked up and spotted Hannah. She fell suddenly silent, her mouth slightly open, creating an O. Hannah felt her eyes run her up once and she was painfully aware of her nearly naked legs and braless-ness.
Hannah watched as a stream of emotions crossed the girls wholly unguarded face. Surprise, sure. Then confusion. A quick flash of distaste. Before finally settling on heavy-lidded, down turned-lip hurt.
So Sam did have something going on. With this adorable, dirt-stained slip of a girl. Now she was in his house, half nude in his kitchen and this girl was hurt. Hannah felt guilt and sympathy well up until Sam finally noticed that the girl's gaze was aimed at the doorway and he looked over.
"Oh Hannah..." he started, still smiling. Silly, oblivious male.
Hannah held up a hand, "Hold that thought, I didn't realize you had company. I'll go get dressed."
Then the girl seemed to have recovered, her face a complete mask of indifference and Hannah had a surge of sisterly comradaree.Good for you, girl."No no," she said, waving a small, long-fingered hand, "it's alright. I was just leaving," she claimed, lying through her teeth. But she turned quickly and pulled open the French doors in a flash of angry woman.
"Annabelle..." Sam's voice trailed off as the door slammed shut.
He looked at Hannah, his eyebrows furrowed in an uncharacteristically severe way. "Go, you idiot," Hannah said, rolling her eyes and waving toward the door.
"Right," Sam said, making it to the door in two strides.
Hannah closed the door behind him watching as he took across the field with the ease only long legged people can, trying to catch up to the running figure of the lovely Annabelle who was making painfully slow progress with her small legs. Hannah felt a wave of pity. Maybe she should have told Sam to leave her alone. But no. What woman didn't want, though they might deny it until they were in the grave, to be chased by a gorgeous man and have him fix your hurt feelings? It was all so wonderfully dramatic, so disgustingly romantic.
Annabelle was one lucky girl.
Hannah felt jealousy ebb and flow away. She was never going to be the kind of girl who got grand romantic gestures. She was the kind of girl who liked dark, mysterious, jerks and got stalkers. Yeah, that was her thing.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Elliott felt an unusual frustration settle into every last nerve ending, into his very bones. She couldn't just run away. He needed to talk to her. He needed to settle her nerves about this whole affair. Affair. He felt a unusual, almost hysterical laugh rise up in his throat at that word. Affair. He was actually having an affair. He couldn't call this one of his one-night stands or a hookup. He was a married man and he had a woman in his life that he was planning to keep as a mistress.
It was all so horribly cliché. He was a textbook typical, successful, arrogant man. He felt like he should be embarrassed of himself. But the fact of the matter was he was never really supposed to marry Dan.
How the hell that had even happened was a weird blur.
She had blown into his life, a hurricane of impossible-to-ignore proportions. She had been a different woman then. Or, maybe it was more appropriate to say, she wore the mask of another woman then. Dan had been every man's ideal, gorgeous in an intimidating way with a brilliant smile and husky laugh. She had pushed herself into his social circle thanks to her father and made herself hard to ignore in her multitude of bright red dresses that screamed sex.
He had brushed her off, like a man accustomed to women who wanted to be near successful men. But she hadn't been like those other women. She had grown up wealthy, had been raised in high society. Even the way she enunciated her words screamed of private schools and her quick wit spoke of the kind of confidence only wealthy people can wear readily. She had been an equal. And she knew it. And she knew that men loved a good challenge.
She would appear, flirt, suggest things. Then she would rebuff you when you came onto her in return. She made herself approachable, but not touchable.
It was only when she knew, she was absolutely certain she had him by the short hairs, that she fell into bed with him. And she did so with such wickedly wild abandon, such complete lack of shyness, that he found himself agreeing to whatever she wanted.
It had been sad and pathetic of him. The sex was so great that he married her?
Elliott raked an angry hand down his face. He knew he shouldn't be bothered by the whole Dan situation. He was weeks from divorcing her, having agreed to give her way more money than he should just to shut her up and get her claws out of his life. He wasn't mad at her per say. She saw an opportunity. She took it. It was a smart move for her. But, unfortunately, her smart move made a fool out of him. And that was what kept him awake at night. That was the thing that had made him especially cruel and clipped toward her.
He didn't like to be the pawn.
But the point was, Dan was hardly a wife. But that was another thing that he never really got a chance to tell Hannah. She was probably furious with herself for being the other woman. No sane, self respecting woman was comfortable with that. He respected that. And he wanted to clear the air.
She wasn't a mistress.
Though, then, what was she? She wasn't his... girlfriend. Elliott felt a wave of embarrassment at that word. Teenagers had girlfriends. Grown men didn't. Elliott got up and paced his office floor. The last thing he had expected was to wake up in his office, cock out, and Hannah gone. Again. Thank God the phone had rang and woken him up. Then to come in a few scant, sleepless hours later, to find that note... he was not in a good mood.
Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe she wasn't running away from him. Maybe she wasn't trying to put distance between them to try to get her head straight. It could have been anything. There might have been some kind of family event or family emergency.
But she hadn't said anything about that to Tad.
