Page 39 of Bagging the Blueliner
She shrugged. “Is there a problem?”
“Where are your pants? Kids live in this building!” I roared.
The spark of fire was alight in her blue eyes. “You live in the penthouse. You have the top two floors all to yourself.”
I tried again. “How did you get past security?”
A mischievous grin curved on those perfect lips. “Who needs security . . . neighbor?”
“What did you just say?” There was no way I’d heard her correctly.
She sauntered closer as I stood frozen to the spot. “Imagine my surprise when I tried to call a car the night you brought me home, only to discover I was already inside my building.”
The sight of a pantless Hannah—in my jersey—was enough to tempt the beast I kept leashed when around her. But the idea of her sleeping only a few floors away? It was too much.
I swallowed as my heart beat so fast I feared I might pass out. “What are you doing here, Hannah?”
Quirking an eyebrow, she asked, “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Why don’t you explain it to me?” I didn’t trust my traitorous brain to read this situation correctly.
“You lose your mind at the idea of me with another man. If you’re going to keep me from other men’s cocks, the least you can do is offer me yours. We might as well fuck so you can get it out of your system. I will not allow you to hold my pussy hostage. She has places to be and people to see.”
Staggering back a step, I stared at her in disbelief. When had I given her any idea that she drove me to the point of jealous insanity? It was true, but that was beside the point. I went to great lengths to make her believe I hated her.
Shut up. She’s here, offering herself up on a silver platter. Fuck her, and save the sound of her screaming your name as your ringtone.
Denial. That was my only hope.
Digging my heels in, I narrowed my eyes at the half-naked woman standing in my entryway. “What makes you think I want you? Is that how it works in the brain of Hannah Moreau? I try to save you from making a public fool of yourself one time, and you think I’m jealous? Dream on.” I threw in a scoff for good measure.
“Final answer?” Hannah taunted.
“Not. Interested. Get it through your thick head.”
The smug look on her face gave me pause, but I held my ground. Reaching into the neck of the jersey, she pulled out her cell phone.
Was she keeping that in her bra?
“Don’t say I didn’t give you a chance to come clean.”
Tapping the phone, she held it out in my direction as my own voice filtered through the speaker.
“You think it’s funny to tease me, Hannah? To make it so I can’t get hard after watching some loser put his hands on you? I have wasted too many years watching you, wishing I could be the one making you scream. Well, guess what? I’m done. Get the fuck out of my head.”
Terror pierced my heart. There was no denying that was my voice, but I had no recollection of calling her or leaving a damning voicemail.
“Ready to change your story yet?” Hannah’s voice filtered through my panic.
“It’s not what it sounds like,” I explained.
“What it sounds like to me is that you had your first brush with erectile dysfunction and freaked out. Is this the part where I tell you it’s normal and happens to every guy? Not sure anyone really believes that, but whatever helps you sleep at night, big guy.”
Hannah walked past me to leave, throwing over her shoulder, “Guess it was a mistake coming here. Damaged goods and all.”
I lunged, gripping her arm and snarling, “Don’t test me, Hannah. You wouldn’t be able to handle me.”
Smirking, she taunted, “So which is it, Cal? You want me, or you don’t want me? Or maybe you simply want a studio recording of my best porn star voice for you to jerk off with?” Closing her eyes, she let out a breathy moan, “Oh, Cal. Yes, right there. Harder. Yes!”
