Page 46 of Safe With Me
“Because it is.”
“--and my Hannah wouldn’t stand for that.”
“That Hannah’s gone.”
“Nah.” I wasn’t having any of that. No way would I accept the idea I wouldn’t see my girl again. “Knocked down, maybe, but she’s there. Just needs to feel safe again.”
Her little scoff hung in the air between us. “I don’t think I’ll ever feel safe now.”
“I felt like that when Daddy went.” I laid down the cracker I’d just pulled out of the pack. “Didn’t think I’d ever feel okay after that day.”
“I remember.” Her soft voice shivered over me.
For the longest time, I’d been a zombie during those Saturday outings with her, Sara and Trace. She’d made sure I ate, cajoled me into talking, even gotten the occasional chuckle out of me.
“Me, too. Those Saturdays with you . . . I didn’t know what was coming each day, how I’d feel, what memories would be in my head, but I knew come Saturday night, I’d be with Sara and Trace and you. And then . . . I’d be with you.” I shrugged. “Saturday meant I was safe.”
Lips parted, she stared at me, gaze holding mine. “I’m being a baby, aren’t I? Hiding like this when you’ve lost–”
“No.” I stepped around the island and laid a finger on her lips. Her shaky breath puffed over my fingertip, warming my skin. “It’s a loss, Hannah. A lot of losses all at once. It’s tough.”
The tiny sound she made vibrated from my finger up my arm. She glanced away, blinking, then swung her damp gaze back to me. “I’m so tired of this being my life.”
I shot a glance at the wreath. “We’ll make it what you want it to be.”
“I want my life back, the one I built that she had no right to. Isharedwith her.”
“And she took advantage of that. She’s wrong, Hannah. What she's done is wrong. But I wish you wouldn't give her any more of your life, baby.”
She blinked, hard, and the glimmer of tears along those thick lashes of hers about killed me. I tilted my head toward the living room. “You got popcorn? We should watch a movie.”
For a moment, she hesitated, and I sure as shit thought she’d say no. Finally, she nodded, winding her fingers together. “Okay.”
With relief pouring through me, I tossed the popcorn packet she unearthed in the microwave and dumped the contents in one of her large bowls while she flipped through the movie options.
The Hallmark Channel and Christmas music greeted me when I strolled in. I settled beside her on the couch, close enough our knees brushed, and propped the bowl on my lap. “It’s not even Thanksgiving.”
“You always say that then enjoy it as much as I do.” She dipped a hand in the bowl for a couple of kernels.
“Enjoy is a strong verb, sugar.” I slumped deeper into the sofa.
The movie was okay – they all had similar plots but Allison Sweeney could act – but really, I loved sitting and watching Hannah love these movies. She was always all in, completely invested in the plot and the couple’s inevitable happily-ever-after.
Relaxed, I rested my arm along the couch behind her. We’d done this dozens of times at Sara and Trace’s house. But this . . . man, I wouldn’t trade this, being almost hugged up on her couch, in her home, for anything.
Heaven might be a little like this, Hannah warm along my side, her hair brushing my arm, her subtle floral and herb scent not hidden by the buttery aroma of popcorn.
Watching Allison Sweeney’s heart break, I played with the edges of Hannah’s hair before dipping my fingers down to trace a circle on her shoulder. She snagged the nearly empty bowl and leaned forward to place it on the coffee table.
My brows tugged downward. I wasn’t finished with that yet. “What are you doing?”
Shifting, she turned into me, wrapped an arm about my neck and pressed her mouth to mine so I tasted salt and butter and Hannah.
Definitely heaven.
I opened my mouth, sliding my tongue against hers, and she giggled, so I tasted her smile, too. Her hands slid under my shirt, fingers skimming over my skin, raising goosebumps that faded into pleasure. A groan rumbling in my throat, I buried a hand in her hair and kissed along her jaw to the sweet curve of her neck. A weighted tingling went off in my balls, and my dick jerked, swelling against my zipper.
She rubbed down my belly, tracing muscles and my navel, playing just above my jeans, and I grunted. Fuck, that was good, having her touch me. I was hard as hell, and all I wanted was more. Sucking at her collarbone – fuck me, she smelled good, clean and fresh like walking along rows of pecan seedlings – I dragged my shirt up and pulled away long enough to tug it over my head.
