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She looks over her bare shoulder to the shirt in my hand, and I immediately see something in her expression change before she quickly corrects it. What was that? ‘I’m fine in this.’
Is she for real? My arm drops to my side. ‘Hannah, you’re freezing and wet.’
‘No, honestly, I’m fine.’
I don’t like the thought of being firm with her, but I can’t let this slide. If she doesn’t want to wear the white shirt, that’s fine, and I don’t care why, but she’s not staying in that saturated dress. ‘You’ll catch a chill.’ I move across to the couch and pull a throw off the back. ‘How about this?’
She nods, agreeing to the blanket easily, no fuss at all, and now I suddenly do care why the shirt is such a problem. Then it dawns on me. Does she think other women have worn it? Shit, have they? I look down at the shirt in my hand and cringe. Yes, they have.
‘Thanks,’ she says as she unfolds herself from the floor and comes to me. Her smile is perturbed, and I don’t like it at all. A few minutes ago, we were completely at ease. Now it’s difficult. Horrible.
She reaches for the blanket, but she doesn’t take it, just holds it, and I don’t release it. She looks up at me, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. And the atmosphere shifts again.
I understand her unspoken demand.
I drop the shirt and release my hold on the blanket, then take my hands to the hem of her dress and pull it up her thighs and over her waist. The blanket falls to the floor, her arms lifting, her eyes never straying from mine. I don’t look down. I don’t surrender to the part of me that’s desperate to take in the rest of her. Because there’s a bigger part of me that’s content with my current view of her face. And then she’s only in her underwear, and the tides change. I have to squeeze my eyes shut to stop them from straying, and for the first time I acknowledge the demand pounding behind my sweatpants. The blood flowing there is fierce. Hot. I try to shake off my wandering thoughts, try to tamp down my growing need. My jaw tenses along with my muscles, and I dip, blindly feeling the floor for the blanket. Cover her. Just cover her up. I find the throw and rise. And stupidly open my eyes before I’m back to standing, coming face-to-face with her tummy. I freeze. Get hotter. The need in me intensifies.
No.
I blink away my temptation and stand, taking the blanket over her shoulders and wrapping her up. But as soon as I step back, she rolls her shoulders and it falls back to the floor, my eyes following it down. And while I stare at the pile of fabric, something else lands on top of it. My stomach flips. Her bra. God help me. I breathe in, just as her leg flicks out and her knickers join the heap. ‘Hannah,’ I warn on a swallow, daring to look at her.
‘Don’t you want me?’ she asks timidly, definite uncertainty threaded through her words.
Her question is ridiculous, but it also prompts me to take in every piece of her body for the first time. Shapely legs, a seamless, smooth curve from her hip to the small of her waist. Boobs the perfect size. Flawless skin, elegant collarbones. A long, slender neck. Do I want her? Jesus, I’ve never wanted anything more.
A rush of blood zooms south, and a low, broken moan vibrates at the back of my throat. For a second, I wonder why I’m punishing myself, why I’m fighting this, why I’m reluctant to take what Hannah’s making clear she’s willing to give. The revelation is daunting: I don’t want sex with her to be like all the other women I’ve slept with. Rushed. Meaningless. I need Hannah to know how much I want her, beyond the physical signs my body is radiating. My sole purpose isn’t to get her off and then myself. I actually just want to be as close to her as I can. Not just physically, either. Fucking hell.
But what will happen after, because I’m sure as shit this woman doesn’t sleep with just anyone? What will she expect from me? A future? A relationship? Of course she will. Am I capable? It’s always just been me and Alex. My priority since my daughter was born was to be a father. To bring her up as best I can. Women have only ever been a pastime. A bit of fun.
Alex’s words from the other day stampede through my mind: You need someone to love other than me.
Could Hannah be that someone? My game changer? And what would Alex really say? Does she appreciate the meaning of another woman in my life? She’s used to having me to herself.
