Chapter Two
“It’s all done but the guacamole,” Molly said, setting the giant platter of tortilla chips on the coffee table. “I’m so glad we’re doing buffet style. It’s a lot less work.”
Hannah had to laugh. “I didn’t think less work was what you were going for. You have two kinds of chips, three different salsas, and four types of chili. How many armies are you planning to feed?”
“There will be ten of us. But the guys are big eaters, especially when they’re watching football,” Molly said, walking back to the kitchen. “I’m just glad I still had your Crock-Pot. It makes serving easier.”
Hannah raised an eyebrow. So that was what her parents had given her last Christmas. Molly was right, she wouldn’t have liked it. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No, no,” Molly said with a wave of her hand as she tasted the black bean and then the vegetarian chili. “Everything is ready to go. People should be arriving soon.”
“Okay. I’m going to go switch my laundry while I have a minute.” Leaving Molly to her constant sampling, Hannah bounded up the stairs. For her, chili came in a can. To Molly, it was a culinary adventure.
Hannah opened the door to the laundry room and paused. She lived in a third-floor walk-up, and her baby sister had a two-story house with a laundry room. When had this happened?
Shaking her head, she pulled open the dryer and started folding. Sure, she could buy a house. She had the money in the bank, but there just didn’t seem to be much point. She liked living with Kate, and their apartment was only a block from the light rail. All the Mendelssohn’s in the metro area were on the train line, so it made her commutable to any of them. She’d worked in five stores in the seven years she’d been with the company.
Beyond wanting the flexibility for work, buying a house would mean making a home. She didn’t want to do that alone. Not that she needed a man to complete her life. She got by just fine on her own, thank you very much. But her parents were so conservative, so old-fashioned, that they’d talked her out of it. She could hear it now. “A man wants to live in his own home, Hannah, not his wife’s.”
She laid her now-folded clothes in a basket and moved a load from the washer to the dryer. She still had sheets and towels to do tonight. If she had to be subjected to another matchmaking party, she could at least get some chores out of the way. She switched the machines on and turned to leave only to find Troy in the doorway.
“I brought my own soap,” Hannah said in reaction to his scowl and crossed arms. When she’d first met Troy, he’d been a scrawny fifteen-year-old, all googly-eyed over her baby sister. In ten years, he had gone from an awkward teen to a towering presence. Hannah looked up and smiled at the man he had become.
“We need to talk,” Troy said.
Hannah arched her eyebrow. Troy rarely pulled his serious face. “Okay, what’s up?”
“Molly’s worried about you,” he said, still maintaining his bouncer stance in front of the door.
Hannah rolled her eyes. “Molly’s a worrier. You knew that going in, so if you’re looking for a refund now, you’re out of luck.”
Not even a smile. This would be some party with him in this kind of mood. “You need to make a life for yourself outside of work.”
“Where do you get off?” Hannah said, straightening.
“I mean it, Hannah. I don’t care if you have to fake it, but act happy. Go out with one of the guys tonight, give her some hope.”
Hannah scowled back at him. “What is with you? Since when do you care about my love life?” She stared up at him with righteous indignation.
Looking into his eyes, she remembered exactly when he’d started caring. He’d been the one who had changed her locks, hired a private investigator, and had guts enough to stand up to her and make her face the issues in her relationship with Marty. Hannah dropped her glare to the floor. He had cared enough to make her realize what was going on.
“It’s been over a year, and you’re still moping.” Stepping out of the doorway, his voice softened. “Stop cutting guys off at the knees and have fun. You used to be fun.” When she looked up again, he smiled and his shoulders relaxed.
They both stood in an awkward silence and were startled as the doorbell rang. Troy bounded down the stairs to greet his guests, and Hannah sighed in resignation. She’d give the guys a chance tonight. She owed Troy that. If they annoyed her too much, she always had her laundry.
…
“There’s a biological basis for men having more spouses than women. Women have control over whom they will mate with. They have to be choosy because they can only have a limited number of offspring and so make fewer pairings,” Derek addressed the party.
What an idiot. “Men just can’t keep it in their pants,” Hannah said from her perch on a barstool in Molly’s kitchen. This was bachelor number one? “Their wives keep divorcing them, and they keep remarrying so they never have to learn how to pick up their own dirty socks. That’s why men marry more than women.”
Derek pushed his glasses farther up his narrow nose. “Historically, women are the ones more likely to cheat, especially around ovulation. They seek out the alpha male to mate with, but the beta male to live with. It’s women who have their cake and eat it, too, not the other way around.”
“You have got to be kidding me.” Hannah plunked her beer down on the counter with a thud.
“He knows his stuff.” Bachelor number two tried to defend Derek. “He has a PhD.”
“I don’t care what his degree is. His theory doesn’t hold water,” Hannah said, her eyes narrowed and ready for battle.
“To be fair, Hannah, neither does yours.” Troy moved between the two warring factions. “You can’t reduce people to generalizations.”
Hannah pursed her lips together and squinted at her brother-in-law. For a brief moment, she thought about telling him exactly what he and his friends could do with their theories. But then half the room erupted into hoots and hollers when one team scored a touchdown.
Hannah retreated upstairs to finish her laundry. She slammed the dryer door shut and flipped the machines on before checking her watch. Her laundry would be done at about the same time the game ended. Which she’d planned for, but now she wished she could just bail.
She closed the laundry room door behind her and crept down the stairs. At the bottom, she turned to go into the kitchen and paused. Troy and Molly stood all wrapped up in each other, their heads bowed, and they shared secrets.
Retreating, Hannah went up a few steps and sat on the stairs. It wasn’t right to be jealous of her sister. She hugged her knees to her chest and allowed herself an indulgent moment of heartache. Why hadn’t she found a man who looked at her that way?
Troy wasn’t perfect—he was too tall and completely sports obsessed—but his quirks never bothered Molly. Why couldn’t she find a man whose oddities didn’t drive her crazy? Everybody had their faults, but she had a knack for finding the guys who needed professional help. The last guy she’d gone on a date with had major credit problems, and the one before him talked to his mother on his cell phone during dinner—twice.
Tonight’s pool of suitors wasn’t any more promising. One laughed like a cartoon character, another had reached thirty without leaving the nest, and Professor Know-It-All with his ridiculous notions. No one even remotely interesting, and yet she had to make some kind of date to get Molly and Troy to lay off. She just couldn’t win.
Things would be easier if she were attracted to just one of them. Adrenaline coursed through her as she thought of the way she’d reacted to the cheating pig at the laundromat. Sure, he looked like sex on legs, but something more about him stuck in her brain. And her dreams. Why couldn’t she just feel like that about one of these guys?
“Sorry, I didn’t know anyone had come up here.”
Hannah jumped at his voice. Professor Know-It-All in the flesh. Hannah scooted to the side of the staircase. “Take a left at the top of the stairs. The bathroom is the first door on the right.”
“Thanks,” Derek said, placing a foot on a riser. With his hand on the railing, he paused and looked down at Hannah. “I’m sorry if I upset you before. Sometimes I forget I’m talking to friends and not students. My brother tells me not to give my opinion to people who aren’t specifically paying to hear it, but I don’t listen to him as often as I should.”
Hannah smiled in acknowledgment. A wordy apology was better than none. “It’s not you. It’s a touchy subject for me.”
“Oh,” Derek said. His mouth formed the vowel far longer than the word hung in the air. “Adultery is interesting to me.” He sat below her on the stairs, looking up at her, and continued. “I’ve always found it fascinating. I’ve worked on all sorts of studies about what causes people to cheat. I’m working out a theory that married men may wander because women hit on them more.”
“What?” Hannah asked, feeling her temperature drop.
“I think women proposition married men more. Women would know going in the man is a provider, and there are women who only want sex without having to deal with the emotional side.”
“You’re insane.” Is that why she hadn’t seen the red flags in her relationship with Marty? “When a woman gets involved with a married man, it’s because she doesn’t know he’s married. And he doesn’t tell her.”
Derek shrugged and looked up at her. “You might be right, but you might be wrong. I’m looking to find out.”
“Don’t waste your time. If women see a ring, they look the other way.” Hannah examined Derek’s face as he spoke. Something struck her as vaguely familiar. She must have seen him at one of Troy and Molly’s parties before.
“Not all women.” Derek shifted on the step and his eyes widened. “Hey, your eyes are two different colors.”
Ignoring his comment, Hannah continued. “Men don’t cheat because some woman comes on to them. They cheat because they’re pigs and can’t keep it zipped. Cheaters get off on fooling women into thinking they care. They do it for the thrill, not because a pretty girl makes it easy.”
“Did you…were you…” Derek stammered. Finally, Mr. Opinions didn’t have one. Hannah hoped he wasn’t trying to ask exactly why the subject was touchy for her. He cleared his throat. “So you have never propositioned a married man?”
“Never would.” Marty had romanced her for months before she’d slept with him. She never would have even had a drink with him had she known he had a wife and kids.
“And if a man came on to you that you suspected was married?” Derek asked, leaning back. Hannah noticed he stared directly into her eyes instead of looking her up and down the way a lot of men did.
“If he had his ring on, I wouldn’t let it get that far. Most guys take it off. You can’t tell they’re married if their pocket is full of gold.”
Derek shook his head vigorously and swallowed hard. “Do married men hit on you?”
Hannah laughed. “I’m something of an anomaly. It seems like every man who hits on me is married. Just last week some guy tried to pick me up at the laundromat. His wife’s clothes were probably in the washing machine. The pig didn’t even bother to take off his ring. But he had a stellar excuse. He said he forgot it was on. Can you imagine?”
Derek laughed at her misery. It would be funny if it had happened to someone else, if she hadn’t dreamt of the man every night since.
Clearing his throat, Derek said, “I’d like to talk more about your theories. Maybe we could meet for coffee. Do you live out this way?”
Coffee? She hated coffee. But it would get Molly off her back. “I live downtown, not far from the university campus actually. I’m swamped with work though.”
“My schedule is pretty flexible,” he said with a smile.
“Wednesday morning? I don’t have to be in to work until the afternoon.” Hannah gave him directions to the coffee shop next to her apartment. The man looked as pleased as punch. Her good deed was done for the day.
…
Hannah’s ears pricked to the conversation while her eyes stared blankly ahead. A group of women of every shape and size sat in the corner of the usually quiet coffee shop, ignoring their laptops and talking up a storm. The best Hannah could make out was that they all belonged to some writing group. Fighting the urge to eavesdrop, Hannah sank into a plush purple wingback and held her peppermint tea closer to her nose.
As the women discussed salacious plot twists, Hannah gave in. She always wondered how her favorite writers came up with their ideas. After all, it would be easier to ignore the stench of coffee than overlook these women.
“But is it romantic or scary? You can’t be too careful these days,” a redheaded woman said with a slight Southern drawl.
“I’m writing a romance novel, so it has to be romantic,” a tiny brunette answered back. “I’m telling you it was fate. There I sat, staring at a blank page, and I overheard him say how he just had to find this woman. A gift from the writing gods.”
“It’s just not right,” the matron of the group said as she stroked the head of a nervous terrier she kept in a papoose. “You said he was a stalker. You might be using some poor woman’s demise as inspiration.”
The brunette waived her hand in dismissal. “He’s too cute to be a stalker.”
“I know,” the redhead chimed in. “You can write it as a romance, and I’ll write it as a thriller. Like parallel universes. I hate what I have so far anyway.”
“I’m so glad I write fantasy,” the elderly woman said, still petting the dog. Hannah looked away quickly, not daring to be caught eavesdropping. Sometime while she’d been listening, Derek had arrived. About time. Hannah checked her watch. Eight minutes late, as if his time were more important than hers.
He made his way toward her with an oversize mug Hannah dreaded would be coffee. She took a long whiff of her tea and braced herself. At least the writing club would get a kick out of him. If some man’s plight to find a mystery woman inspired two novels, Derek and his theories would send this group reeling.
“What are your theories on stalkers?” Hannah asked as he sat down opposite her.
Derek froze halfway between sitting and standing. His eyes were wide as saucers. “What did…why would…” he stammered before remembering to sit down. “I don’t understand.”
Hannah shrugged. “I figured you had an opinion on everything.” She took a long, slow drink of her tea to fight against the wafts of coffee invading her senses. If only it were warmer and she could sit outside.
“Hannah, I’m not sure what you’ve heard.” Derek set his mug down. Definitely coffee, mocha by the looks of it.
Hannah chuckled. She’d actually made the professor uncomfortable. Score one for her. Leaning in, she whispered, “I was just eavesdropping on a conversation. Never mind.”
Relief washed over Derek’s features. She exchanged pleasantries with him, enjoying his confusion. He made this far too easy for her to write him off. He’d shown up late, was too opinionated, and had probably been accused of being a stalker before.
“I’ve been wondering about something,” Hannah said, schooling her face into an aloof expression. “Have you ever looked at adultery from the other side? Why married men are attracted to certain women? Is there a type they go for?” She absently rubbed the side of her mug, hoping she hadn’t given herself away too much. She wanted to know what kept bringing these jerks her way.
“There are quite a few studies about women who prefer to be mistresses,” Derek said, leaning back in his velvet chair and checking his watch.
Hannah shook her head. “No, I mean what kind of women these men choose to approach. Is there something similar about them?”
Derek sucked in his bottom lip as his eyebrows knit together. After a brief moment, he said, “That’s a great idea. I’ll research it.” Derek snuck a quick look at the door.
We have a winner. Not only had he been late, he couldn’t help her, and obviously had somewhere else to be. “Don’t let me keep you.”
“What?” Derek asked, picking up his mug.
“You’re very interested in your watch, the door. You know what? I’m going to head off to work.” Hannah gathered her purse from her feet.
“No!” Derek nearly jumped out of his seat. “I, uh…there’s something I wanted to ask you.”
Just great. A psychologist who couldn’t read people. He wanted to ask her out again. Hannah took a deep breath and rounded up her best I’m-really-busy-at-work excuse. He was a friend of Troy’s after all, no need to be bitchy. Yet.
“Remember that story you were telling me at the party?” Derek asked.
Hannah nodded without bothering to hide her annoyance. Must she talk about this again?
“It’s him,” Hannah heard the brunette from the writing group squeal. The inspiration for two novels must be more interesting than Derek. She turned toward the door and her heart froze.
Him. It was him. In the flesh.
Molding herself to the back of her chair, she tried to make the wheels turn in her brain. Adulterer. Stalker. Haunter of dreams.
Great job, Hannah, you’ve gone from bad to worse.
…
This had better be good. The very last place Mason wanted to find himself after completing his second twenty-four-hour shift of the week was the coffee shop he’d been thrown out of. If this was Derek’s idea of a joke, he’d be paying in blood.
He quickly made his way past the counter, hoping the barista wouldn’t see him. Hearing her gasp as he walked by, he shook his head. This had better be damn good, and it had better be fast, because they were probably both about to get the boot.
“It’s him,” a woman squealed. Mason turned to see the writing group that met at the shop all staring up at him. They’d all witnessed the embarrassing scene with the manager. Great, now he’d become a pariah in his own neighborhood.
“Mason, over here.” He shifted his glance and spied Derek sitting in one of two purple chairs by the window.
He made a beeline toward his brother. A week of mornings in the coffee shop had acquainted him with the writers’ group. He didn’t have the patience to get dragged in to a conversation with that chatty bunch.
With her back to him, a woman rose from the chair facing Derek.
Even before she turned around he knew. Her. It was her. Mason took a deep breath, pulling her into his lungs, and willing himself to think. Stunning. Sensual. Every man’s fantasy.
Good luck, Mason, you finally have your chance.
As he watched her spin on her heel, his whole body came to attention. He met her gaze and grinned. Even more beautiful than he remembered with her hair swept back into a bun and only a few fringes accenting her face. Her intense gaze bore holes in his soul. Then she narrowed her eyes into slits as she turned to Derek.
“You know him?” she snapped.
“Yes, I uh-actually that’s um—” Derek stammered. Mason began to put the pieces together. Derek had found her and called him. This was damn good.
She turned back to him as she made a few deductions of her own. “Where’s your ring?”
“I’m not married.” Relieved to finally have the chance to say it, Mason turned to Derek. “You haven’t told her?”
“I hadn’t gotten that far.”
“Don’t bother, either of you.” She reached down for her purse. Mason shot Derek a pleading glance. She’d never believe it coming from him. Hell, he could barely believe it. Derek needed to explain, now, and fast.
“Look, Hannah, he’s never been married,” Derek began. “He wore the ring for one of my experiments. I hypothesized more women would come on to him if they thought he was married. I told you about my theory, remember?”
She paused, but only for a moment. “I did not come on to him. He approached me.”
“I know,” Derek continued. “Mason told me what happened. When you told me the story at Troy’s party, I put two and two together.”
“Why didn’t you tell me then?” she asked, pulling on her charcoal-gray peacoat. “Why lure me down here to fill me in? Why fill me in at all? Is this some kind of sick game you two are playing?”
Mason stepped forward. “He didn’t tell me anything, Hannah.” Hannah, such a pretty name. Soft and strong, like her. “Derek just asked me to meet him here. I wanted you to know the truth. I don’t want you thinking I’m some jerk who cheats on his wife.”
Her gaze ricocheted between the two men. Hitching her purse higher on her shoulder, she addressed Derek first. “You were wrong to trick me into this.” She then turned an icy gaze on Mason. “Are you stalking me?”
Mason’s eyes widened. “What? No. No.” He looked around him. Someone must have told her about his run-in with the store manager. “I wanted to find you again so I could explain. I want to get to know you better. I wanted to clear things up so we could start over.”
Hannah huffed a short breath his way. “We’re clear. I’m leaving.”
“Wait,” Derek said. “You’re not going to go out with him?”
“No,” Hannah said much too quickly.
“But you have to,” one of the women from the writing group butted in.
“You’re the one who said he was a stalker,” Hannah said to the woman.
“Honey, if stalkers look like that I’m going to have to get one. You have to at least go out with him,” the woman pleaded.
“No, she doesn’t,” Mason said, stepping toward her.
“She doesn’t?” a voice squeaked from the peanut gallery.
Wide-eyed, Hannah looked up at him. He reached out as if in a dream, tucked his fingers underneath her chin, and angled her mouth up to accept his. He brushed his lips softly against hers, wondering if she’d resist him. Her eyelids drifted closed, and he let himself taste her. Gently, he kissed her, fighting the urge to push and plunder. She crept her hands up his body and flattened her palms against his chest, resting them there for a second before she firmly pushed him away.
As her heavily fringed lids fluttered open, she said, “I don’t know you. You have no right to kiss me.”
Cocking his head to the side, he wondered if she was more upset that he’d kissed her, or that he’d stopped. From the way her chest hitched with every breath, he’d bet his paycheck on the latter. Still, she denied the attraction.
“That was not a kiss.”
“Excuse me? I know when I’ve been kissed,” she said breathily.
“This is a kiss.” Mason reached for her and molded his hands on either side of her creamy oval face. Energy pulsed through him as he pressed his lips to hers. He had one chance to assault her senses the way she did to him with just her presence. A physical expression of just how she made him feel. No softness this time, no holding back.
He pressed his body against hers, his lips firm where hers were pliant. He swallowed her moan as she parted her lips, allowing him inside. His head rushed with the refreshing minty taste of her. He seduced her with the kiss. Caressing. Nipping. Inviting. Taking.
When she ran her fingers through his hair, he relaxed his grip. Reluctantly, he pulled away and gazed at her expression, eyes closed, lips still parted. He grinned down at her as her eyes flickered open, the dichotomy of a single blue and a single green eye studying him intently. Derek was an idiot with his ideas about symmetry. The play of the two colors against each other was amazingly sexy.
“That was a kiss,” she whispered, licking her lips.