That did it. Nick pushed his way in. “Hannah!”
They both caught sight of her at once. Hair dripping, legs bare. And even from across the room, Stephen’s hot gaze made her tingle. He was barefoot, wearing only jeans, unbuttoned at the top. He looked exactly like a man who’d hastily dressed.
Nick had a very different reaction. “What the hell?” He stabbed his fingers through his hair. “Get some fucking clothes on.”
“Excuse me? It’s my house. You’re the one who barged in.”
“Me? You’re in the shower and he’s—” Nick gestured toward her room. “What the fuck, Hannah. What the hell is wrong with you?”
The sting of Nick’s words barely sank in before Stephen was in her brother’s face. “Watch yourself. Brother or no brother, you won’t talk to her like that again.”
“Please don’t tell me you slept with him.”
Stephen grinned at her brother like a wolf, though it did nothing to hide the temper simmering beneath the surface. “Well, there wasn’t a lot of sleeping.”
The air crackled with the testosterone of angry men. Nick shoved him back and that was it. Stephen slammed Nick into the wall behind them hard enough to rattle pictures and held him in place with a forearm to his throat.
Nick twisted, spun, and his fist connected solidly with Stephen’s jaw. It knocked him back a step, but he didn’t go down.
“Let’s go,” Stephen said.
Nick’s face was as dark and dangerous as she’d ever seen it. “Outside and gladly. I’ve wanted to kick your ass since the first time I saw you.”
Another punch had them backed onto the porch. The next took them the last two steps and they landed hard on the ground, where they rolled and grappled.
“Stop it!”
After several more seconds, they rolled apart, both breathing hard, swiping at lips.
Embarrassed, she turned and went inside, a mix of footsteps following. With the robe wrapped tightly around her, she stood at the counter as they came in. Both men were scraped and dirty; Nick had a leaf in his hair. Several pine needles hung on Stephen’s chest. Her distress must have been obvious because they looked repentant, their expressions like little boys in trouble.
Stephen stepped to her first and she touched the corner of his mouth. “You’re bleeding.”
He swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, shrugged. “Guys fight. It’s what we do.”
“Yeah,” Nick agreed from the door, opening and closing his right fist like he was stretching out his fingers. “No harm done. We’re both still standing.”
An uncomfortable silence hung around them.
“I need to talk to my sister.”
Stephen wrapped a possessive arm around her shoulder. “I’ll stay as long as Hannah wants me to stay.”
Her eyes flicked between them and she caught Nick’s wounded expression like she was choosing the opposing team. “It’s okay. Nick’s right. We should talk.” Plus she couldn’t quite look Stephen in the eye yet.
“You sure?” Stephen asked.
She nodded and Stephen went back to her bedroom. Neither she nor Nick spoke in the seconds it took him to return with shoes and shirt on.
Looking completely at ease, Stephen bent and kissed her cheek. “I like the robe.” He straightened and spoke in a louder voice. “I’ll call you.”
The door closed, leaving just Nick. “So? What’s with the FBI knocking down my door?”
“It’s Thursday.”
Right. The day Nick set aside to have breakfast with her. She moved to the sink and wet a dish towel. His lip was bleeding too. “Hannah, what were you thinking?”
“When?”
“When you let him…”
“Let him what, Nick? You don’t know what happened and I’m sure as hell not telling you.” She tossed him the damp cloth.
“I’m not letting that asshole hurt you.”
Would he hurt her? Maybe. Probably. But last night he’d made her feel amazing. Beyond amazing. Was it all because he felt guilty for before?
“He has a reputation, Han. He’s not the kind of guy to—”
“To what? You can say it. To want a girl who looks like me?”
“Jesus, Hannah. No!”
“Then what? He’s seen my scars. Have you?”
Nick pressed his fingers against his temples. “Don’t do this.”
She put her foot on the end of the couch and opened her robe, showing leg from the knee down. She watched Nick’s nostrils flare with his internal battle not to look away. “You can’t even look at them.”
He stared at the towel in his hand. “That’s not true.”
“It is.” And even though she understood, it hurt.
“You’re past all that.”
“Am I? How can I be past it when you remind me every single day?”
He opened his mouth to deny it.
“You do, Nick. I’m sorry, but you do.” Tears and her own guilt clogged her throat, but she had to say it. “Every time you warn me. Every worried look reminds me of what I did and how it hurt you. And you’re so afraid it will happen again, you make me afraid. I’m tired of being afraid, Nick.”
She shook her head. “I don’t need a reminder. I’m reminded every single day of what happened. What I did. Every time I look at myself, every time I move and something aches. But how can I trust myself when you don’t trust me?”