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“Well, you must be excited to get back home to the city,” she said.
“How do you know I’m from the city?” He took a drink and enjoyed watching her pretty eyes run the length of him. Just her hot gaze was enough to get him hard.
“It’s obvious,” she finally said.
“A lot of things about you are obvious as well,” he countered.
Her throat bobbed, and her strong stare wavered. She looked like she’d lost a touch of confidence when she uttered, “Like?”
He never wanted her feeling anything but confident. Just like the night he’d met her—he’d seen right away how strong she was. Yet with that kind of steady strength came a loneliness behind her eyes, and he hated seeing that. Would do anything to chase it away. So he told her what he’d thought of her the moment he met her, which still rang true tonight.
He placed a single hand on her knee briefly, then took it away. “You’re beautiful. Straight to your soul kind of beauty. So powerful I can see it alive in your eyes.”
Her lips parted briefly, and Grant loved that she seemed to like his honesty. Because he was honest, damn it. Hannah was a uniquely beautiful person. Which was why he’d fallen in love with her so quickly.
“I’m also told I’m a pain in the ass,” she said.
Oh, she absolutely was, but that’s why he loved her. That’s why she was special in a way that he’d never found in another woman. Hannah was a fighter, even when she was a lover. Never just one—always everything.
“I have no doubt,” Grant agreed.
She laughed into her glass before taking another swallow. What he’d give to taste the whiskey on her lips in that moment. And her in that dress made him think of the night in the Blue Bar. She’d been wearing the same dress. Blue. Showing off all her curves and accenting her eyes. A waterfall of black hair and painted lips made him want to taste her.
With her looking at him like that and the soft scent of ocean air, he could alm
ost convince himself that were back on that ship.
“Well, I hope you find what you’re missing and that it actually is something you can take with you.”
He looked at her for a long moment. They both knew he was talking about Hannah. Knew she was what he’d been looking for. What he wanted.
“That’s my plan,” he told her.
She brushed off his words with a soft cough and changed the subject. “You have family in New York?” she asked.
“Yes. My mother.” This wasn’t what he wanted to talk about. He wanted to play with Hannah and talk about her. Get her to cave and admit she still had feelings—strong feelings—for him.
“And your dad?” she pressed. That single question made Grant’s ribs twitch. He wasn’t prepared to talk about his dad. So he stuck to blunt, quick facts.
“He died a few months ago.”
Her eyes shot wide and fastened on him. “I’m so sorry.”
There was a genuine concern in her voice, and Grant wondered if they weren’t playing anymore. Because she looked truly sad for him. How did she do that? One look at those expressive eyes made his chest raw, like his heart was beating on the outside of his body. Fleshy and vulnerable and on display. His mouth watered with the need to speak, but he didn’t. While he should open up—he felt the overwhelming thump in his throat to talk more—he held back. Not tonight. Because the way she looked at him had him thinking he’d tell her everything.
Instead, he’d be patient and stick to simplistic responses for now.
“Thank you. He was a good man.” Grant tried to get off this topic. It was his turn to take a drink, because this pretend game felt very real.
Hannah leaned in and put her hand on his hand. “Will you tell me about him?”
Grant looked at her. He hadn’t spoken about his father to anyone since he passed. No good friends he could share experience with. He definitely couldn’t talk to his mom. And he found himself wanting to share this piece of himself with Hannah. With his wife. Because it was Hannah who kept giving him that look. Like she genuinely cared. Maybe a few details wouldn’t be so bad. He could keep himself in check.
“Even though he got screwed over by a woman, he was a romantic at heart,” he began. Hannah’s lovely eyes fixed to his face. “He took calculated risks—never anything too brazen, though. He always made time for me.”
“You are his only son?”
Grant nodded. “Yes. And I’ve never lost anyone before. The weight of feeling like he’s in me, and I carry him where I go is . . .”
