Safe Harbor (13 page)

HANNAH smiled and waved for what seemed like the thousandth time in ten minutes. She was at maximum overload and had signaled her agent, Greg Simpson, numerous times that she needed to leave. He was having none of it, deliberately ignoring her frantic motions. It had been difficult enough to do the show, let alone attend the party afterward, and Greg was aware of it. She had a good mind to spill his drink right down the front of him so he'd have to leave. She sent him a little warning buzz, but he just flashed her a quelling glance, turned his back on her, and continued talking to Edmond and Colese Bellingham, the up-and-coming designers of the season.

Hannah sighed, knowing he was angry with her for her decision to quit. She blew a quick kiss toward Sabrina, a model she genuinely liked. Sabrina smooched back and rolled her eyes, before turning her attention back to one of the many actors surrounding her who didn't have a chance in hell with her.

"Hannah, you look gorgeous tonight," Russ Craun greeted her and leaned in to give her a kiss, handing her a glass of sparkling liquid as he did so.

Hannah turned her head to ensure his lips landed on her cheek, glancing at her watch as she took the glass. Her sisters usually gave her a little boost to keep her from having a fullblown panic attack when she was working, but they'd all been out of town and she was very shaky.

Russ was a friend, a high-profile football player with a reputation for high jinks, yet she'd found him to be very sweet. He attended quite a few of the same parties and he always made an effort to talk to her without doing anything more than harmless flirting. More than once he'd come to her rescue when men were crowding too close around her.

"Russ! It's always so good to see you." She looked around him. "Who'd you bring with you tonight?" He usually dated young, pretty actresses who hung on his arm and stared adoringly up at him. They never lasted long, but they looked good in the magazines and kept his name on the front page of the newspapers.

"I came alone, hoping you didn't bring a date."

Hannah laughed. "You know I never bring a date." She took a small drink of the champagne and let the fire slide down her throat. She wasn't much of a drinker, but she needed something to get her through the next few minutes until she could extract herself from the crowd and get to the safety of her hotel room.

"Why is that?" Russ asked, taking her hand and leading her through the enormous room. The party was pulsing with life and music, the sound loud, the conversations pushing the noise level even higher. He opened the balcony doors and led her outside. "That's better."

Hannah nodded in agreement and stepped close to the railing. Setting her glass on the polished marble, she gripped the edge with both hands and threw her head back to inhale deeply. "Don't you love the night? The stars are like gems." She lifted her arms toward the moon, her long hair spilling around her, her face lifted to the darkened sky.

"Do you do that deliberately?" Russ asked. "The moonlight spills over you and puts you in the spotlight. Your hair turns platinum and gold and you look like the most beautiful woman in the world with soft, tempting skin and mysterious eyes and the most sinfully kissable lips I've ever seen."

Hannah blinked at him and then burst out laughing. "Tell me you don't use that line on your girlfriends. They couldn't possibly fall for it."

He grinned at her. "What woman wouldn't want to be told her lips are a sinful temptation?"

"That was my skin, my lips are sinfully soft," she pointed out.

"Hasn't your boyfriend ever told you that you're a sinful temptation?" he asked.

Hannah hesitated. The question always threw her. She didn't really have a boyfriend. She'd never really had a boyfriend. There was only one man she was interested in and he would eat her alive. She blushed thinking about it. He already had. But Jonas wanted someone very different and Hannah could never be that person. She'd tried. He hadn't noticed that she'd tried, but she had. Just looking at Jonas hurt. She touched her lips. She could still feel his kiss. A sizzling, dazzling moment that stopped her heart every time she thought about it.

Her body tingled, went warm at the thought of the other things Jonas Harrington had done. His hands on her, his mouth on her, his body filling hers, moving inside hers. She fought to keep from blushing, because the things Jonas had done would make anyone blush—but she couldn't say he was her boyfriend. They'd had great sex. Mind-blowing sex. The kind of sex she hadn't known existed, but as always, they'd fought and he had been furious and disappointed and cutting. No one could cut her down the way Jonas did. No, she couldn't say he was her boyfriend.

"Don't tell me you don't have a boyfriend," Russ said, crowding her close to the rail.

Hannah disliked most people touching her. She detested that odd little quirk in herself. She wanted to be friendly and easy the way Sabrina was, but any company started the beginnings of a panic attack and a crowd like this was devastating to her. It was humiliating to be a grown woman, successful at business, but be unable to control herself the way even a young child could.

"Why do you always make a try, Russ, when you know I'm going to say no to you?" she asked, holding her ground for pride's sake.

His grin widened, became devilish. "Two reasons, Hannah, my little temptress. First, I might get lucky and you'll change your mind. And second, I love that trapped look you get on your face right before you decide to let me down gently." He reached around her, caging her body, as he picked up her glass and handed it to her. Raising his own, he winked. "To another rejection."

Hannah watched him take a drink, a small frown pulling at her mouth. "Don't be silly. You ask me out when you have a woman on your arm. You've never been serious."

"Of course I'm serious. Any man would be serious over a chance at you, Hannah. Who is your mystery man and why doesn't he ever come with you?"

Hannah touched the glass to her lips, but didn't actually drink, a trick many of the models used when attending major events. "This isn't his thing."

"You mean guarding you from other men isn't worth his time? Because if you belonged to me, I'd be right at your side, making sure men like me didn't come near you." He took another drink, tilting his head to study her face. "Maybe he doesn't deserve you."

Hannah shrugged and this time she did take another swallow. It burned all the way down, but she needed a little false confidence with this strange and unexpected conversation. Jonas would probably laugh if he knew she thought of him as hers. Worse, he'd be angry with her and accuse her of using him to keep other men at arm's length—and maybe she did. There had never been room for any other man. Jonas had occupied all of her thoughts from the moment she'd met him—and she feared it would always be that way—even long after he married someone else and settled down to have a family of his own. They'd had mind-blowing sex and he was going to marry someone else and she was going to end up an old strange lady with cats all around her.

It made her want to cry. The liquid in her drink began to bubble and she automatically put her hand over the rim of the glass. She had to stay in control and any thoughts of Jonas always stole her control. She could still hear her own soft cries as his tongue made a leisurely foray over every square inch of her body. She took another swallow and let the fire settle in her stomach.

"See, there you go." Russ brushed his fingers across her face as if wiping away her expression. "You look so sad. I don't like you looking sad, Hannah. Give me a shot. I wouldn't put that look on your face."

She forced a quick smile. "Russ, you're a flirt and a bit of a hound dog. I've never seen you with the same woman twice. I would last one night and you'd be on to the next one."

"Maybe I just need a good woman to straighten me out."

"You're fine the way you are, Russ. When you find the right woman, you'll want to settle down." She glanced at her watch, anxious that the growing fear in her was from the knowledge that the boost her sisters had given her to stave off the panic attacks was wearing off. They'd been too long out of the country and her anxiety level was rising faster than normal, her lungs fighting for air when she should have felt so much better outside away from the crowd.

To stay calm, she took another cautious sip of the champagne. She didn't touch alcohol very often, and the drink hit her already churning stomach hard. Heat and then cold swept through her. She was suddenly nauseated. Her heart reacted, racing as she turned away from Russ, handing him the glass as she did so.

Russ set the glasses on the rail and took her arm. "You look like you're dizzy. Are you okay? I can drive you to your hotel."

Hannah remained silent, assessing her body. She was a Drake and Drakes had special gifts. Her body violently objected to the drink all of a sudden. How strange. She pressed her hand against her mouth and tried to step back away from him. Russ tightened his hold as she swayed.

"Hannah? Are you ill?"

"Miss Drake. Lovely to see you again."

Hannah stiffened when she heard the distinctive Russian accent. She turned slowly to find Sergei Nikitin, the Russian mobster, smiling at her with shiny white teeth. He enjoyed the good things in life; his Italian suit and shoes cost as much as a small car. Everything he had, he had gotten through someone's suffering.

Hannah felt the evil in him when she was so close, and it didn't help the nausea churning in her stomach. She glanced past him and her gaze was caught and held by Ilya Prakenskii. For a moment she couldn't breathe, unable to look away from his cold, merciless eyes. He was reputed to be a hit man for Nikitin, and at one time had been trained by Russia's secret police. Strangely, Hannah couldn't feel anything—good or evil—when she was close to the man.

"Miss Drake." Ilya nodded his head, moving past Nikitin to take her elbow and remove her from Russ's hold. He drew her to him. "You look ill. Do you need help?"

Hannah swept back her hair with a shaky hand. She felt dizzy and disoriented. She needed to lie down. She should have been afraid of Ilya, maybe she was, but he was strong and holding her up and she felt confused so she remained still, afraid if she tried to get away, she'd fall flat on her face. If she answered, she might get sick.

"Hannah?" Ilya asked again, his voice low, but commanding. He tipped her face up toward his, staring down into her eyes.

"I was just about to take her home," Russ said, frowning at the bodyguard's high-handed proprietary manner.

Hannah shook her head, one hand pressed to her stomach. Models didn't throw up at parties right after the biggest fashion show of the season in the United States. Desperate, she wiped the beads of sweat from her face and tried to step away from Ilya.

Ilya glanced over his shoulder to the two glasses sitting on the railing and a low hiss escaped between his teeth. As he reached for Hannah's glass, Russ stepped back to avoid his arm and knocked into the railing, sending both glasses crashing to the garden below.

"Stay put, Hannah," Ilya instructed. "If you want to get back to your hotel, we'll be more than happy to escort you."