Chapter Eight

Nate had made it all the way back to the motel before he realized that he'd forgotten to give Hanna something.

He'd picked up a prepaid cell phone so he could get his back and catch up on whatever calls he'd missed today. A few people had tracked him down in person, but he was certain there were some who hadn't.

He was just about to turn around and head back to the Yellow Rose when he saw his dad sitting in his SUV, under the shade of a giant walnut tree at the end of the motel parking lot. He was on his phone, his expression serious, almost grim.

Nate suffered a moment of panic, wondering what he'd missed while away from his phone. Had something happened to Grandad? Mom?

He slammed his truck in park, jogged across the parking lot and opened the passenger door.

"I'll speak to him," Dad said. "Thanks for calling."

Douglas Grace was at the end of his fifth decade, with thick black hair that had only recently begun going gray at the temples. His face was angular and sturdy looking, with as many smile lines as those attributed to stress. Mom had always called him handsome, but to Nate, he was like a magician, showing his sons what they'd look like in twenty or thirty years while at the same time, showing the world what Grandad had looked like that many years earlier.

The Grace family resemblance was strong, especially in the eyes. Nearly every Grace child born had the same pale green eyes that Douglas had, and those he'd inherited from his father before him.

Right now, Dad's eyes were filled with worry.

"What's going on?" Nate asked as his dad hung up. "Is everyone okay?"

"I tried to call you."

"I'm sorry. I didn't have my phone handy. What's going on?"

"It's your brother, Mason. Did you know about this?"

"About what?"

"What Diana did."

Nate shook his head. "I haven't talked to Mason in days. Maybe a couple of weeks." Now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen his oldest brother around much at all. He hadn't worried too much about it since Mason was a total workaholic. The man often went for months without taking a single day off. "What did Diana do?"

"She stole from him, and if your mother is to be believed, broke his heart."

"Diana?" Nate asked, shocked. "They're not together anymore?"

"Apparently not for a while."

It wasn't like Dad to get involved in things like this. Mom was the one who took care of splinters and broken hearts. As a small-town doctor, she was naturally more compassionate, and far more tolerant of gossip than her husband.

Which made Nate wonder, "Why are you here? Is Mason okay?"

"We don't know. He's not returning calls. No one has heard from him. Have you?"

"I didn't have my phone on me today. I've got someone working at the Yellow Rose. She doesn't have a phone and I didn't want her to not be able to call for help if something went wrong."

Dad's mouth tightened. "Please tell me she's not another project."

"I know you don't think that house is going to make a profit, but I—"

"Not that house, the woman," Dad said.

"She's stranded in town while her truck gets fixed. She has no money to feed herself. What should I have done? Let her sleep in her truck and starve?"

Dad let out a slow, quiet sigh. "Son, I love that you want to help people, but you can't take in every stray that comes through town. You know how much of a meth problem we have around here. Chances are she's a junkie looking for enough cash to get high."

"You sound like Flora."

"That's because your sister has a good head on her shoulders."

"Hanna isn't an addict."

"You don't know that."

"What happened to helping those in need? You and mom preached that to us from the time we were born. The Grace family is blessed. It's our duty to share that blessing. Help those less fortunate."

"Not if it means giving someone the tools to hurt themselves more."

"At least meet her before you go casting judgment. Or ask Declan or Flora. They've met her."

"Are you getting romantically involved with this woman?"

"That's none of your business. I love you, Dad, but I'm a grown man. You don't get a say in my love life."

"I didn't have a say in Mason's either, and look how that turned out." Dad ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. I'm just worried about him. I'm sure this girl is fine. I don't mean to take it out on you."

"I'll help you find Mason. Have you talked to Saxon?" His two older brothers were close in a way Nate envied. If Mason was in trouble, it would have been Saxon he called, not Nate.

"He said that Mason is fine and that we should give him some space to work things out," Dad said.

"Then why don't you?"

"Because your mother is beside herself, convinced that he's curled up in a ball somewhere, weeping hysterically over his loss."

Nate grunted. "Have you ever known Mason to do anything in hysterics? Or cry, for that matter."

"Not since he was four. Not even when Grandma died."

"Then leave the man alone, Dad. Give him some time to deal with things in his own way. If he needs you or Mom, he knows where to find you."

Dad shook his head, suddenly looking older and more tired. "Knowing one of you kids is hurting and not doing something…it's more than I can stand. I need to fix it." He pinned Nate with a knowing gaze. "You should understand that better than anyone, even if you don't have kids. You're a born fixer. It's why you can't let those old buildings fall down, and why you can't walk by a woman in need without getting involved."

Nate was done talking about this. He'd done right by Hanna, and no one could tell him otherwise. Not Dad. Not Flora. Not Mom. In the end, he had to walk with his conscience and hold his head high. If he'd left Hanna on the side of the road in the rain, or watched her go without food, that wouldn't be possible.

"If I hear from Mason, I'll be sure to let you know."

"Is that your way of saying you're done with this conversation."

"And then some." He flashed a brief smile. "Love you, Dad. I'll see you at Grandad's birthday party, okay?"

He got out of his dad's SUV and got back in his truck. The whole ride back out to the Yellow Rose, his mind worked on the puzzle of Diana.

She'd seemed like such a nice girl—completely devoted to Mason. They'd been together for two years, and everyone was expecting an engagement announcement any day.

Apparently, they'd all been wrong.

He'd text his brother later and try to make contact. Chances were Mason wouldn't respond to him, either, but he still had to try.

Like Dad said, Nate was a fixer, and he couldn't stand knowing his brother was in pain and not trying to fix it.

By the time Nate reached the Yellow Rose, the sun was just starting to dip below the thick, green canopy of leaves. There was enough cleared pasture out here for him to see the rolling dip and swell of the low Ozark Mountains. The day had grown hot and thick, but they weren't yet in the worst heat of summer, when even the bugs were too hot to do more than lounge around in the shade.

As he pulled into the ravaged driveway of the old Victorian, he saw Hanna heading back up the porch steps with an empty trash can in her hands.

Even covered in grime and sweat, she was sexy as hell. All those luscious curves made to fit a man's hands called to him. Her hair was still bundled high in that messy bun, hiding her locks under a layer of dust and broken bits of plaster. The sway of her hips as she mounted the stairs made his pulse speed and his skin heat.

She'd made her position clear in a way he had to respect. No dates, no sex, just a job—that was all that connected them. Still, disappointment clashed uncomfortably in his chest, beating the stuffing out of the acceptance he should have felt.

She wasn't going to be here long, and he wasn't the type to have a fling. He preferred the depth a longer relationship could bring. Not to mention the sex was way better once partners knew what each other liked and how their bodies best fit together. Why should he deprive himself of great sex simply to have mediocre sex with more women?

This was a concept he and Declan still argued about frequently, but in that good-natured way of brothers—or cousins who were as close as brothers, at least.

The last curvy bit of Hanna's calf disappeared into the house before Nate was able to drag his thoughts away from sex with her and focus on what he needed to do.

He grabbed the prepaid cell phone and headed inside.

There was no electricity on in the house, leaving the inside a gloomy collage of shadows compared to the bright light outside.

Nate stripped off his sunglasses and headed toward the scraping shuffle upstairs.

He found Hanna bent over, her ass on lovely display, as she scooped up an armload of debris from the floor. The plaster and beer cans landed in the trash can with a dusty thud.

As she bent over again, he knew he should have looked away or at least announced his presence, but instead, all he could do was stare at the shape of her ass, the way the round curve tapered to sleek thighs and firm, toned calves.

The urge to strip her cotton shorts down and uncover the secrets they hid was almost uncontrollable. He didn't know what it was about her that turned him on so completely, but it was potent and fast, hitting his blood like liquid fire.

He was hard—unbelievably, uncontrollably hard. His poor cock didn't realize that she was off limits, or that they'd decided that there was nothing more between them than this job.

Or, rather, she'd decided and he'd agreed.

He knew he was a fixer. He knew he'd often chosen the wrong women simply because he felt like they needed him. He also knew that not one of those relationships that had started with such good intentions had ever ended well.

His family was right. It was time he quit trying to rescue or fix women and found one who wasn't broken.

With that thought in mind, he scraped his gaze away from Hanna's perfect ass and beautiful legs and focused on a crack in the ceiling.

"I brought you something," he said.

She yelped and turned around, her gloved hand pressed to her chest. "You scared me."

"Sorry." He held out the plastic sack. "I got you a prepaid phone so I could have mine back."

She eyed the bag as if it were filled with live snakes. "I don't need it. And I really don't want you buying me things."

Irritation raced along his skin, making his tone sharp. He took her hand and thrust the bag into it. "Just take the damn thing. You need a phone and I need mine back. People have been trying to reach me today."

She took a step backward as she dug in her pocket and pulled out his cell. "I didn't answer any of the calls except Declan's. I swear."

"I don't care if you answered or not. I told you I have nothing to hide. But I do need to be reachable in case my family or employees need me."

"Or your girlfriends," she added.

Was that jealousy he detected?

"I don't have one at the moment."

"For a man without a girlfriend, you sure had a lot of women call you."

"Jealous?" he asked, grinning.

A warm, satisfied feeling suffused his chest as he realized she was. He could already see her gearing up for a denial, but the truth was right there on her pretty face, plain as day.

"No," she said, and even a child would have known it was a lie from her tone of voice alone.

He moved closer, drawn to her in a way he didn't understand. The need to touch her skin, to slip a silky strand of hair behind her ear—it was a living, thrumming beast inside of him that wouldn't stop until it got what it wanted: his hands on her body.

He reached up and plucked a bit of dry grass from her hair.

She flinched until she saw he'd had a reason to touch her, then relaxed slightly. Her lips parted, and her cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink.

In the dusty light filtering through the upstairs bedroom, he could see the faint lines of strain around her eyes and mouth. With one finger, he traced the crease between her brows, following the narrow contour of her nose.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and a deep exhaustion settled over her.

She'd worked hard today. Too hard. He didn't know if she was used to this level of physical activity or not, but even he would have been worn out after accomplishing what she had today.

When she opened her eyes, revealing their pretty gray centers, he could see a frosty ring of ice blue chips floating near her irises. A single black fleck marred the perfection, but even that only served to make her more intriguing.

She stood completely still, her body poised on the edge of fleeing. A slight tremor shook her shoulders, and there was no way either of them could mistake it for a chill.

Afraid? Aroused? Excited?

He couldn't tell, but all of those options invited him to move a little closer to find out.

Everything about her appealed to him, all the way down to the layer of dust coating her long fringe of dark eyelashes. And even after hours of hot, sweaty work, she still smelled good. He didn't know what kind of girly secret caused that magic to happen, but whatever it was, it was powerful.

She smelled like sunshine and rain all mixed together, with the slightest hint of something wild and sweet, like blueberries. It was such a striking combination that his mind spun, trying to figure out the secret ingredient that drove him crazy.

He wondered if she'd taste half as good as she smelled. If he kissed her, he'd know. Mystery solved.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth as if she was thinking the same thing, only she couldn't be—not after all that talk of keeping their relationship professional.

No dates, no sex, just work.

He'd agreed, and was kicking himself for it now. He didn't know how to be around her without wanting more.

His hand moved to the side of her face, barely touching the smooth skin beneath her cheekbone with his thumb while curling his fingers through the warm, damp hair behind her ear.

She didn't move away. If anything, she leaned into his hand, making the contact firmer.

His animal instincts cheered and urged him to back her up against a wall and pin her there. Hold her still so he could touch her more, wherever he wanted.

"Have dinner with me," he heard himself say before he could stop the wayward thought.

She gave her head a slight shake, but even she didn't seem convinced.

"You have to eat."

"I can't," she said.

This was the part where the gentleman backed up, respecting the lady's wishes. This was where he gave up his pursuit and left her alone. He was supposed to drop his hand from her face where it nestled perfectly, all warm and cozy against her soft skin.

But none of that happened. He knew the script, but couldn't make his body follow along.

It wanted her. Too much.

He lowered his mouth to hers, hovering just above so that only their body heat touched. He could feel her breath rush across his face, as fast as if she'd run up ten flights of stairs. A tiny tremble vibrated through her, shaking him to his core.

She was as affected by this as he was.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and her hands crept around his waist.

That was his undoing.

Nate completed the journey, pressing his mouth fully against hers in a kiss. It started as a soft press of flesh to flesh, but ignited into a firestorm within seconds.

She opened for him, her tongue sweeping into his mouth as if desperate for his taste. Her lips moved over his in frantic need, while her gloved hands clenched and dug into the muscles riding along his spine.

Before he realized what he'd done, he had her body pinned against a crumbling wall, lifted high so he didn't have to bend to reach her hungry mouth.

She tasted better than she smelled—something he would have said was impossible only seconds ago. But the truth of it hit him hard, making him reel and sway on his feet.

He leaned into her harder, using his weight to keep her captive. Her feet dangled above the floor. His hands slid down over her curvy hip, past the bunched cotton of her shorts, onto the smooth, warm flesh of her thigh.

She let out a low, desperate sound and lifted her knees up high until her ankles were locked behind his ass and the damp heat of her pussy was right there against his fly, scalding him.

So good. Too good. He knew he should stop, but there wasn't a force on earth strong enough to pull him away from her now.

She fit against him just right, their bodies lining up as if they were a single unit cut into two parts. Her soft curves, his harder edges—they melded together seamlessly in a way he'd never before experienced.

Hanna ripped her mouth away from his. For an instant he thought she might try to stop him, but instead, she kissed a path down his jaw and onto his neck.

Hot, stinging kisses mixed with the sharp edges of her teeth danced down his skin until the collar of his shirt stopped her in her tracks.

He pulled back just a little, intent on stripping away the offending garment so that nothing could get in her way. In that small space of time—a mere instant—she seemed to find herself again.

Her body went still, then stiff. Her hot, panting breaths seized on a gasp of shock and dismay.

Nate didn't have to see her face to know it was over. The kiss had died an early death before it could become anything more.

Her legs fell away from his hips. He eased her feet back to the floor. Her hands slipped back to her sides, and her head bowed in shame.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't have done that."

"You weren't alone," he said, though his voice sounded too rough for the moment.

She swallowed twice before speaking again. "One of us should go, and I'm not sure I can walk yet."

His legs were a little wobbly, too, but he was too proud to admit it.

"I'll go," he said. "But first tell me you're not mad at me."

Her face jerked up then, as if his words surprised her. "Mad at you? Hardly. I don't blame others for mistakes I make."

There was still a deep flush of lust painting her cheeks, and her lips were gloriously red and puffy.

Anyone who saw her now would think she'd been fucked the way a woman should be, and all he'd done was kiss her.

In that moment, he would have given anything for more.

But more wasn't what she wanted.

Kissing him was a mistake. He hated it, but even as he did, he knew it was true.

"I'll go, Hanna. But I'll be back tomorrow morning."

"We won't do this again," she told him, her tone one of dead ends and crushed hopes.

Nate didn't agree, but only because he couldn't right now—not with his cock aching and his skin itching for more of her mouth. Instead, he said, "I'll see you tomorrow. We'll talk then."

Before she could argue with him more, he turned on unsteady legs and left.