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‘Damn it. I like picking scabs.’
He looks up at me from his bent position. ‘You’re gross, you know that?’
‘I’ve been called worse.’ Like whore. Tart. Bitch. An embarrassment. Useless. Stupid. And I laugh, for what reason, I do not know. Maybe because now I can. Though my life is anything but funny. My life is a poor excuse for a life. But at least it’s still a life. And at least I’m safe.
Aware that Ryan is studying me, I wriggle my way off the table, avoiding his gaze. He doesn’t make it easy, not moving back to give me space. Which means a brush of contact between us that has us both inhaling audibly. ‘Tissue will be fine,’ I murmur.
‘Tissue will stick to it.’
I ignore him, even though I know he’s right, and pull some off the roll in the nearest cubicle. Anything to put space between us. Things just get weird when he’s around. My mind isn’t my own. My thoughts are out of control. My body behaves as it pleases. Never once during the planning of my time in Hampton did I consider a man being part of it. Frankly, Mr Ryan all-hot- and-outdoorsy-and-without-doubt-an-incredible-lay Willis has knocked me off balance. He should have left me to crawl home after he ran me down, not be all attentive and nice and concerned. It doesn’t suit him. Or . . . is it me who doesn’t suit that kind of devotion? Do I repel it because it’s unfamiliar? Because I’ve forgotten what genuine caring feels like?
I huff to myself. Is it any wonder? I turn and walk smack bang into the door. ‘Oh!’ My hands fly up automatically, and it’s only when they come to rest that I realize it’s not a door, but a chest. And then the heat hits me, and I virtually melt where I stand.
I don’t jump back.
I don’t stiffen.
I don’t gasp.
Instead, I soften. Every part of me softens. I have no apprehension plaguing me whatsoever. I watch my fingers as they flex against his T-shirt, slowly exploring the feel of him. And he feels good. Strange but good. Unfamiliar but good.
Ryan remains silent and still except for the steady rise and fall of his chest. I stare at the collar of his T-shirt, studying the direction of the thread and the slight fade of the navy colour at the edge. And then I’m examining the dense covering of scruffy but even stubble on his neck. Perfect stubble. A perfect neck. He swallows, prompting me to look up farther. His lips. Right now, they’re straight and pressed tightly together, the scar on the top right corner faint.
‘A few more inches and you’ll be looking me in the eye,’ he whispers, his mouth moving slowly. Then his hands on my lower back shift a fraction, applying a light pressure that gently pushes me closer to him. ‘Do you think you can handle that, Hannah? Do you think you can deal with what you might read there? Or will you run again?’
I squeeze my eyes closed. ‘I won’t run.’
‘Then look at me.’ He moves one hand to between us and settles the pad of his finger under my chin. But he does no more than that. He just places it there, and I lift my face of my own free will. It’s as if he senses I need that. To take my time. To be in control.
I open my eyes, and the second I find his lazy gaze, I feel like I’m sucked into a vortex of craving. The rush of desire makes me dizzy, my body rolling with the most incredible feelings. ‘I’m not who you think I am.’ My mind’s scrambled, words coming that I don’t mean to say.
‘I don’t care who you are.’
‘Then kiss me.’
I expect him to follow my order without hesitation. I can feel his want thrumming against me, yet he holds back, the weight of his scrutinising stare becoming too much. I’m a heartbeat away from surrendering to the force trying to close the space between our mouths, but Ryan surrenders first, leisurely dropping his face, searching my eyes for . . . what?
The heat of his breath warms my face, my heart is beating a mile a minute, and my fingers claw into the material of his T-shirt and cling on.
So close.
I can almost taste him.
Nearly there.
And that first tiny brush of our lips hits me like a lightning bolt. I jerk in his arms, my hands flying up to his head as he tugs me into him.
Bang!
‘Hannah, are you okay?’ Molly’s loud slur cuts through the atmosphere like a knife, and I shoot back into the stall in a daze as Ryan steps out, making his presence known to Molly. ‘Oh,’ she says abruptly. ‘Where’s Hannah?’
He clears his throat and looks at me, and a few seconds later Molly’s bumped him out of the way to find me.
