Safe Harbor (8 page)

"I've been going crazy, Hannah, and they asked me to do a little job for them."

She was silent a moment, her blue eyes staring straight into his. "That's not the truth. Tell me the truth."

He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair in agitation. "Look, honey, I can't always tell you even when I want to."

"That's why you keep disappearing. What is this all about, Jonas? You seemed past all that, taking the sheriff's job, living in Sea Haven. You were happy again. It took you so long after you came back." It was true, his aura was nearly black at times, and when she touched him, even a small brief brush of her hand against him, the empath in her recoiled from the heavy darkness in him.

What could he tell her? His existence had been one long life filled with death and destruction, the seamier side of life, the dregs, the drug lords, terrorists and mobsters. He had retreated to Sea Haven needing to change his life before he drowned in the blood and gore and violence he never seemed able to walk away from. How could he tell her she had to save him? That would scare her to death, but it was the truth. Sometimes it just got too much to sit by and not do something real, like put his life on the line, and he needed her to pull him back from the edge of that precipice.

How could he explain how truly crazy he could be? When he'd seen Terry killed, he'd leapt into plain sight, with no cover, and begun firing at the attackers in a blind haze, somewhere between ice and white-hot rage, wanting to take all of them down. Hannah would run away and he couldn't blame her. Hell, half the time he couldn't understand why he did any of the things he did. He only knew that when he was with her, when he could see her and smell her and breathe her in, his life had sanity and meaning.

He needed to be like Jackson, able to switch off all emotion and get the job done, but he'd never mastered that art. He worried about his men, about his deputies, about the people he protected. Hell. He even worried about the families of the men he killed. He couldn't turn it off—he never had been able to—and he was damned good at what he did, so his old boss was always ready to hand him another job.

"Jonas," Hannah repeated gently, her fingers brushing his face. "What's wrong?"

There was desperation in his eyes, he looked driven, in pain—not physical—pure emotional pain, his heart beating too fast, his body almost rigid. He was holding on to her too tight, his grip hurting her, when he was always—
always
—gentle with her.

HANNAH didn't know what to say to ease Jonas's pain. She didn't even fully understand the desperation in him, but she saw he was at a breaking point and it shocked her. Jonas was a rock they all leaned on. Everyone. Every single person in Sea Haven. People up and down the coast. Deputies. Firemen. Jonas Harrington was the man to go to when there was trouble because he would find a way to get you out of it. For the first time, Hannah could see Jonas was in real trouble and not from a life-threatening wound.

"I don't understand what's going on, Jonas. Make me understand."

He closed his eyes, shutting out the sight of her, but there was no way to shut off his senses. She was everywhere, inside
him, and there was no getting her out. "I'm just lost without you, Hannah." And God help him, it was true. He'd been falling for a long time, and dangerous job or not, she had to drag him back into the light, where he could breathe again. He opened his eyes and looked into hers and found himself trapped there.

Hannah knelt on the floor in front of him and framed his face with her hands. Her heart was pounding so hard she was afraid she was going to go into another panic attack. She was offering herself to him, and if he turned her down, there would be no recovering from the heartbreak. She would shatter. But finding a way to ease that look on his face, his eyes, that was all that mattered now—not her pride or her fear.

She leaned into him and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He went very still, his breath hitching. She kissed the other corner, this time sliding her hand around to the nape of his neck to just hold him there. Hannah nibbled on his chin, his lower lip, pressed more kisses along his jaw.

Jonas made a single sound and his fingers tunneled in her hair, pulling back her head, his mouth fastening on hers. He simply took what she was offering and damn the consequences. He had to have her. He'd always known Hannah was the only one for him. Every other woman paled for him beside her.

He could kiss her forever. The silken heat of her mouth and the sweet taste of her became a craving. Once, he'd thought if he kissed her, his need of her would go away, but now he knew kissing her forever was not going to be long enough. He kissed her again and again, leading her into deeper, much more erotic kisses. She followed willingly, kissing him back, her hands sliding under his shirt to touch his bare skin. His body jerked, hardened, shuddered with need, but he couldn't stop kissing her, his mouth taking hers, tongue probing deep, wanting her sighs, needing her to kiss him back with the same building desire, so strong, so raw, it tore out his heart.

He had to taste her skin, and his mouth wandered from hers, just a little, following the contour of her face. He used his teeth, a small scrape, felt her answering reaction and continued down her long, beautiful throat. He'd fantasized about her throat right along with her mouth. There probably wasn't a square inch of her he hadn't fantasized about and he was going to explore every centimeter.

Her body trembled against his and he forced himself to pull back, breathing deeply, pressing his forehead against hers, keeping her close to him.

"I'm afraid, Jonas," she admitted. "This could be a terrible mistake, one we can never take back."

He went still inside. He couldn't lose her now. He couldn't. He was going to shatter into a million pieces if he lost her and he'd never recover—never find all the pieces and be able to put himself back together. Hell, he was already so unraveled, Hannah was his last hope. He needed her desperately.

"I haven't slept in four days, Hannah. To tell you the truth, not in weeks. I can't stop my brain and I'm drowning." He wanted to shut up. It was pretty much guaranteed that whatever he said was going to scare her even more, but he couldn't let go of her and he couldn't take back the words. His hands were clamped around her arms, fingers pressing deep. Her mouth had slid him toward sweet oblivion until all he could think of was being deep inside her, of her body wrapped tightly around his.

He felt her gaze move over his face. Her heart beat so wildly he was afraid she'd hyperventilate again. Abruptly he stood, cementing the decision that had been made for both of them a long time ago. "How much time do you have before you leave for the airport?"

For a moment she couldn't speak. The enormity of what she was doing hit her hard. She already knew it would be impossible for someone like her to live with him. If she did this, how would she face him day after day when he came to her house? How would she survive if he avoided her?

"Jonas…" She trailed off, standing close to his heat, wanting him with every cell in her body. "If we do this, there's no going back. We won't be able to pretend it didn't happen. If it doesn't work out…"

His arm swept around her waist and he pulled her tight against him. He wasn't about to let go of her. He'd waited more than half of his life for her. Now that she was really looking at him, now that her eyes were saying yes and her body was soft and pliant and molded against his, he wasn't about to let her get away. And what the hell was he saying anyway? She'd always been his.
Always
. Throughout the years, when other men came near her, he'd warned them off immediately.

Jonas kept her locked against him, letting his body tell her what he needed. He'd had enough of words. He could say everything he needed to say to her with his hands—and his mouth—and all other parts of his anatomy.

Her body melted into his, but she still pulled her head back, the look in her eyes uncertain. "I don't know anything at all about sex, Jonas."

He grinned at her, laugh lines crinkling around his eyes. "I know enough to get us by, honey. You don't have to worry on that score." He couldn't help the hint of satisfaction in his tone at the thought that there'd been no other man. There was no other way to feel when he'd loved her since he'd first laid eyes on her and she threatened to turn him into a toad—frogs could be princes and he was no prince. "Sarah's not due home tonight, is she?"

"No. She and Damon are off somewhere, she'll be back tomorrow evening."

"So we have the house to ourselves?"

She nodded and he was kissing her again, finding her perfect mouth with his and losing himself in the erotic heat of her. He buried his fingers deep in her mass of silken hair, taking two fistfuls, holding her close to him as he absorbed the texture of a long curl, all the while exploring and taking the kiss deeper and deeper. He wanted to live here, with her, in her magic and mystery forever.

He could sense her growing desire, but there was also fear, uncertainty. Jonas brought her up closer against his body and buried his face in her neck. "I need you, Hannah. I never thought I'd ever be man enough to admit that to you, but I do. I need you in my life."

He was making her weak with his dominating mouth and the strength of his steely arms around her, but it was his words, low, wrenched from him, that stripped her of every defense. He needed her. Jonas, the strong one every person in Sea Haven depended on, needed
her
. In a way no man ever had. She felt the ripple of his muscles beneath his shirt and wanted to feel the texture of his skin. She wanted the heat of his body, and the feel of his hands moving over her, making her his. She wanted desperately to belong to Jonas Harrington.

Even if it was just for a night. She'd take that and the consequences be damned. Maybe in every other part of her life she was so screwed up, she didn't know what she wanted, but this was different. This—him—she wanted with every fiber of her being. She always had. He was part of her, so entwined with her life, her family, her very existence, that she couldn't imagine a world without him beside her.

Hannah took a breath, let it out, and made the commitment. "I've never been with anyone else, Jonas. I'm not experienced like all your other women."

His eyebrow shot up, a faint smile softening the hard edge to his mouth. "My other women? I don't have other women. It's been you and only you for a long time now." Years ago when Hannah had been so haughty and elusive and so beautiful it hurt to look at her, he'd tried to prove to himself he could get any woman he wanted. The problem was—once he got them—they weren't Hannah and he didn't want them. His "women" had been a string of one-night stands, transient relationships filled with temporarily satisfying but ultimately empty sex, after which he'd always lain in bed, hard as a rock, and fantasized about Hannah. Yeah. He wasn't proud of that, but he couldn't go back and relive those days.

"I'm just saying…" She broke off, blushing.

"Don't worry, honey. I might want to strip you naked and take you fast and hard, but there's a part of me that needs to just go slow and savor every single second I have with you." He pushed the hair from her neck and kissed her, gentle featherlight brushes of his lips, and then open-mouthed, his tongue swirling and his teeth finding intriguing little places to nip and taste.