Safe Harbor (34 page)

She cupped his face in her hand, her thumb sliding along his shadowed jaw. "I want that from you. Just give me a little time."

His eyes searched hers, evidently saw what he needed, and he bent down to brush a butterfly-soft kiss across her lips before releasing her. "Whatever you need, baby, I'm your man." He began walking down the beach, a small, satisfied smile on his face.

Hannah tucked her fingers into his back pocket and walked beside him, the crushing weight that seemed to be ever present in her chest easing. He was her man, and even though she wasn't stupid and knew he was saying much more than on the surface, Jonas was willing to wait for her to figure her life out and that meant everything.

Gulls cried out and the water rushed toward shore, slamming into rocks to spray white droplets into the air. Water foamed and sizzled, leaving tiny holes in the sand as the waves retreated. They sauntered in companionable silence until Hannah glanced back at their footprints in the wet sand.

"You have big feet, Jonas."

He glanced down at her, straight faced. "I have big everything."

She rolled her eyes and laughed, unable to help herself. It felt good to laugh. "I walked into that one, didn't I?"

"Yep. So I've been thinking about this situation."

"Oh, Lord, that's scary. What situation?"

"Us. You and me. We're together, right? Solid. But basically we can't have sex unless I catch you off guard."

He had to quit saying "sex" or even thinking about it. She detested her body. She sure didn't want him looking at it, but every single time his eyes slid over her with that possessive
hungry
look, each time he spoke in his low, I'm-ravenous-and-going-to-eat-you-for-dinner voice, she melted. If she melted any more, she'd be a puddle at his feet. He would never take her seriously and she absolutely needed time to figure things out.

"You aren't going to catch me off guard, Jonas, so don't even go there. I might want to…" She trailed off, color rising.

"Have sex. Make love," he supplied, amusement tingeing his voice.

She scowled at him, although it was impossible to intimidate Jonas. "Yes. That. But in the end, I'd have to take my clothes off and I'd be self-conscious and it would be awful and you'd be frustrated and mad at me. So it's best just not to go there."

His grin widened enough to make her breath hitch in her lungs. He didn't have to be so good looking or sexy. And he didn't have to have that look on his face, the one that said he was a predator about to pounce and gobble her up. "I can think of quite a few ways to make love without removing all your clothes. The more I think about it, the more erotic it is, you with a nice long skirt and no panties. Or panties I can rip off. No, let's say you don't have any on and I just happen to slide my hand over your sexy little ass. Just because you look good enough to eat."

His hand cupped her body through the denim of her jeans, and made a leisurely slide as if searching for panty lines. Color crept into her face and damp heat curled deep inside her.

"No panty line. I'd say you were wearing a thong. Yeah, baby, that's sexy, but under this nice long mythical skirt, you aren't wearing anything but bare skin." His hand slid to her hips and then up her waist, under her blouse. His fingers skimmed gently, careful not to touch anywhere that could hurt. He cupped her breast, resting the weight in his palm. "And you wouldn't even be wearing this lacy little thing you call a bra. So when I bent my head like this…" His mouth closed over her breast right through her shirt, suckling gently through the material, his teeth tugging at her nipple, sending a flash fire sizzling through her body.

Her eyes went opaque, glazed, her breath catching in her lungs. Jonas was careful to ignore his own needs, forcing his mind away from the almost painful hardness between his legs. Hannah was all that counted to him. She had to know she was a beautiful, desirable woman and had needs of her own. The knowing would be enough for both of them for now. He pulled back, breathed warm air over the small wet spot, teeth lingering for just a moment on her nipple before releasing her.

"So when I bent my head like that, I could just shove the shirt, that lacy little peasant thing you wear that drives me crazy, right out of the way."

She didn't know her lacy peasant blouse drove him crazy. His mouth and hands did it for her. She stayed quiet wanting more of his fantasy, knowing that she was skimming the line of danger with him, but wanting it to go on a little longer, before she had to go back and face reality. She ached for him and it made her feel alive. She might be hyperaware of the cuts on her face, throat and body, but Jonas managed to make her feel as if her face—her skin—was flawless when he looked at her.

"I love that look on your face, dreamy and sexy and a little bit mischievous. I have no idea how you can look seductive and innocent at the same time."

"I wish I could see myself through your eyes." He certainly made her feel beautiful, even if she couldn't see it for herself.

He tugged at her hand and they began walking again, leaving prints side by side in the wet sand, stepping around kelp and several small jellyfish to round the cove where the tide pools were. The tide was in, so they skirted the rocks and stayed up on the beach, watching the waves crash against the barnacle-encrusted caves and boulders. Birds flapped their wings impatiently, waiting for the sun to break free of the fog before launching into the air for breakfast.

"When I take you out, Hannah, wear that long flowing skirt that moves with every step you take. It's light blue with swirls of darker blue and goes with your lacy blouse."

She couldn't help being pleased that he could describe one of her favorite outfits. "I wish you could risk taking me out. I feel like I'm locked up and someone's thrown away the key. And now that I know the danger is still present, I'm going to be sitting in my room forever."

"You can't let this make you a prisoner. We just have to be a little inventive. We could go to my house tomorrow evening, or maybe the lighthouse. Inez has the keys."

"How would Inez get the keys to the lighthouse? She runs the grocery store."

"Inez has the keys to the entire town. How do I know how she got them? We could have a private picnic there, at the lighthouse. No one would know. It's easily defensible. And you don't have to pack your bags and run away."

She was a little ashamed of that. Of course the house had protected them, she'd heard it for years growing up, but she'd never actually seen it. She'd even had a little doubt, but she wasn't going to admit it out loud. "You want to take me to the lighthouse on a picnic with people trying to kill me?"

"It's that or sit in your room, and Hannah, another day or two and you're going to be climbing down the side of the house, trying to escape. We can sneak away. Your sisters can distract everyone and we'll slip out in the dark."

She was touched that he'd suggested it. She was already going stir-crazy, but with the reporters, and now with the knowledge that whoever wanted her dead was somewhere close, directing assassins, leaving the protection of the house seemed terrifying. She didn't want to go anywhere alone.

Jonas caught her around the waist and lifted her over a wide channel of cold water streaming across the sand toward the sea. She rested her hands on his shoulders, feeling the muscles bunch. It seemed so effortless for him to swing her over the distance. It was a little like flying, yet she was safely anchored. He set her on her feet and kept walking away from the house.

"The fog bank isn't going to hold forever, Jonas," she reminded him.

"No, but you and your sisters can handle a few photographers."

She squared her shoulders. It was true. Why had she been so afraid? Jonas was so sure of her. He believed in her and it was difficult not to believe in herself when he had such absolute conviction. "So if I was wearing my blue skirt and peasant blouse, and we went to the lighthouse, what exactly would we do?"

"I'd bring music so we could dance."

She knew he was a wonderful dancer. It had been one of the things about him that set him apart in school. He had danced with the Drakes, learning every type of dance from ballroom to salsa, and it had made him a hit at every school dance. She loved to dance and Jonas knew it. Even as a child she'd floated around the house, pretending to be everything from a ballerina to a ballroom competition dancer. Jonas had even done the Lindy and jitterbug with her.

"This picnic is starting to sound tempting."

"Strawberry Italian soda," he bribed, knowing her weakness. "And French bread." Two of her favorite things.

The lighthouse would be deserted and it would be easy enough for Jonas to get permission to go there. If they could really sneak away, it would be such a relief to have a few hours when she wasn't feeling trapped. And she loved being with Jonas. It was really that simple. She needed time to sort herself out, but she loved every moment in his company. "Do you think we could really get away with it?"

There was hope in her voice. Jonas flashed her another cocky grin. "Tomorrow night I'll sneak you out," he promised.

"Sarah will have a fit," Hannah warned.

"No she won't. She knows you can't stay cooped up in the house and you can't go in public, so this is the next best thing. No one will think of looking for you there. You'll be safe, Sarah will approve, and I'll get to wonder whether or not you're wearing thong underwear or nothing at all."

"You're awfully obsessed with my underwear," she teased.

"Or lack of," he admitted. "I think about it more than I should."

She glanced up at the honesty in his voice. How in the world could that simple admission make her hot all over? "Let me assure you, I almost always wear underwear." She had to clench her teeth together to keep from laughing at his expression.

"Almost always? That's just wrong, Hannah. Now I'm never going to have a moment's peace around you."

She looked smug. "I know."

Jonas laughed, the sound deep and real, filled with amusement and making her heart soar. She did a small dance pattern in the sand, throwing out her arms, for a moment forgetting entirely she was disfigured and someone hated her enough to kill her. She glanced at the sky. "We could probably build a sand castle before the fog is gone."

"We don't have any tools."

"Tools?" She gave a sniff of disdain. "Amateur."

"You did not just call me an amateur."

"I did. You build your sand castle over there. You have twelve minutes. That's it and we have to go."

He was already crouching down, digging for wetter sand. She was on her knees doing the same. A few minutes later, when Jonas glanced over at her, she was cheating, directing little wind flurries to etch out the castle walls. He opened his mouth to call her on it, but she looked so absorbed, a child playing, carefree and happy, and he wasn't about to interrupt even to tease her.

Hannah dug her hands into the sand, absently guiding small bursts of wind to carve the castle. The sand felt good, earthy and grainy, the castle taking shape quickly. She formed a bridge over her moat by sending a spear of wind blasting a tunnel through the sand. It burst out the other side, spraying Jonas hard enough to sting him.

She covered her mouth, muffling her laughter when he whirled around so fast he lost his balance and fell into the wet sand which he'd been carefully avoiding. "Poor baby. And your sand castle looks a little anemic." She leaned over to push her finger into the sloping side where the sand kept caving in. "You have to pack it solid, Jonas."

He caught her arms and tugged until she lost her balance and fell across him. He took both wet, sandy hands and rubbed them dry on her denim-clad butt, leaving smears all over her bottom. "You deserve that for cheating."

"I didn't cheat."

"You used the wind."

"I can't help it if it likes me and not you." She stayed sprawled across him, lifting herself up to look down into his eyes. "You're a beautiful man, Jonas Harrington. You really are." She brushed the hair from where it spilled across his forehead.

"I'm glad you think so, Miss Drake."

"If I kiss you after all, will you think I've lost my mind?"

"Kissing doesn't mean we're going to have sex, Hannah."

"I know, but you've given me…" She broke off.
Hope
. The word shimmered in her mind and she sent it to his.
Laughter
. She bent to brush a kiss on his chin.
My life back
. She kissed the corner of his mouth, rubbed her lips over his.
I felt broken, Jonas, and you make me feel whole
.

She settled her lips over his, sliding her tongue shyly along the seam of his mouth, uncaring that he was seeing her face in the early dawn. She needed to kiss him, to find a way to show him she loved him. Because she did. Bone deep. Her entire heart. Even her soul. She poured her love into her kiss, opening her mind a little, wanting him to feel what he meant to her. Wanting him to know what he did for her. She could face her future. And she could be strong even when she felt as if she wanted to crawl into a hole.

"You gave me that," she murmured against his mouth. "Thank you."

He reached up to cradle her head, holding her to him. "I love you, Hannah. Whatever you need, I'll be it for you."

She smiled into his eyes. "So the whole bossy thing was just an act?"

"Of course, to impress you. And it worked." He lifted his head to cover the few inches separating them and captured her lower lip with his teeth, tugging gently. "Kiss me again."

He didn't wait for her, taking the initiative, sliding his mouth over hers, gentle, tender, small kisses, like butterfly wings, over and over, rubbing her lips with his, teasing the corners of her mouth with his tongue, savoring her taste, slow and languid, taking his time, taking her with him on a journey of texture and taste. Of melting heat that began as a slow bum but grew hotter degree by deliberate degree.

His fingers tangled in her hair, held her in place while he took her over, letting passion slip slowly past control into desire-laced love. When she didn't pull away, he pressed further, his mouth hot and demanding, deepening the kiss, storming her every defense. He had waited so long to claim her. She'd been too young, then he'd been gone, then he'd been too hard and wild, and then he'd made too many enemies. But he'd dreamt of her, his body aching, starving for just this—the taste of her on his tongue, the feel of her silken skin beneath his hands, her body soft and pliant and belonging to him.