Her arms circled his neck and he pulled her closer, letting his hand drift from her hip upward to the underside of her breast. Just far enough to tease the curves that had teased him in the barn. His fingers skated under the edge of her shirt, and he wanted to relieve her of the entire thing.
She pulled her mouth from his at the same time her fingers clamped down on his wrist. “Don’t.”
He’d reached the no-go line. His hand came to an abrupt halt but his heart raced ahead.
She stretched the hem of her shirt down over the top of her jeans. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was soft, breathy, and it took him a second to come back to himself. As much as he wanted her, he had to slow it down. Making out on the couch was evidently way different than kissing against the barn wall.
With a finger under her chin, he gently raised her face. Again he wanted to ask if someone had hurt her. Was there some weird brotherly power thing going on? But her eyes seemed to beg him not to, implored him to let it go. So he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, sat back, and pulled her into his side. “Maybe we should do some of that TV watching.”
—
An hour later he stood on her front porch working himself up to goodbye. This shouldn’t be so hard. He was open and honest with women. No games. And Hannah didn’t want games. She’d asked him, begged him, not to play with her. But that’s all he did. Anything more serious with a woman just thrust him back to a time of loss and pissed him off.
Hannah stared up at him, all wide-eyed and innocent, her cloud of hair blowing gently around her shoulders. He opened his mouth to say I don’t do relationships. “Thank you for dinner.”
“You’re welcome.”
Well, shit.
He tried again. Started to say something like, I’m not sure where this can go, I’m not looking to get involved, even as his hand slid around her back and the other snaked up and into her hair. Then Hannah wound her arms around his neck and he was kissing her.
His lips moved over hers and it was unlike any good-night kiss he’d ever given or received. Still shocked by what just kissing her did to him. But with Hannah, there was no just. Everything about her was magnified into a tangle of confusion. Her lips felt like heaven against his. Her taste the sweetest he’d ever known. But he pulled back. If he didn’t do it soon, he’d never leave. “I’ll be traveling the next few days.”
“Okay.”
He peered into the dark woods, not feeling too good about his important trip at the moment. “You need a dog.” Or three.
“I had one.”
He followed her gaze to two silver dog bowls on the end of the porch, empty, stacked one on the other.
“That day in the grocery store…”
Shit. There was a reason she’d been crying, of course there was, though he’d never asked. “Ah, baby, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. He was old.”
But it wasn’t okay. “Your brothers live nearby?”
“Yes.”
He nodded, looked around again, needing to go, fighting the urge to stay. He made it halfway to his motorcycle when he spun back, climbed the steps, and pressed one more kiss on that sweet mouth.
“Lock up.” He waited until she did, then left while he still could.
Chapter 16
Stephen’s private jet touched down at JFK International. He was met by Robert Sinclair’s personal driver, who whisked him into the city during the height of rush hour. Tired of the back-and-forth over this deal, he was ready to make a billion-dollar decision. If his backing wasn’t going into Sinclair Resorts, it would go somewhere else. You didn’t make money by sitting on what you had.
He leaned back against the black leather and watched the world rush by as the workday ended and nightlife began. New York, the city of money and power. The heartbeat of the business world.
But Trace Development was in Virginia, because that’s where his fiancée had wanted it. He’d thought to move a hundred times since, and a hundred times pushed the thought aside. He couldn’t run from memories. Couldn’t run from the fact that she was gone. Murdered by two teenagers who had nothing better to do than follow an unsuspecting woman home.
If he’d had his way and they’d married sooner, he’d have been left a widower. As it was, he’d just been really close. Close to vows, close to rings, then left with nothing to show he’d been weeks from binding himself to one person for life. Nothing but pain and fury eating away at him. Like all the McKinneys, he’d considered himself a one-woman man. That’s who he’d been. Who he wanted to be.
A certain woman with golden-brown eyes was threatening that.
A single horn honked, then a chorus, as the car came to a stop in lower Manhattan. The driver opened the door and Stephen went from the silence of his thoughts to the noise and pulse of the city. A few steps took him through another door and into the dark and quiet of the restaurant.
The maître d’ led him through a room done in deep reds and dark wood. The kind of place that fifty years ago wouldn’t have allowed women. They continued down a narrow and dimly lit staircase to a century-old wine cellar turned private dining room.
“McKinney.” Sinclair’s voice boomed and the large man struggled to stand and offer a hand. “I trust Marcus got you here in style.”
“He did, yes. Unnecessary, but appreciated.” Stephen shook the hand of the man he knew wavered between wanting to crush him and wanting to bring him into the fold. Robert believed the old guard should hold the power and the riches over the young. Too damn bad.