Just Like a Man (35 page)

He clamped his jaw shut at that. For all of ten seconds. "He's on to us both now," he said. "You realize that."

"I suspect it," she agreed. "But I don't know for sure."

"There's no way you're going to that reception with him Friday night."

"Of course I'm going to the reception with him," Hannah said. "Why wouldn't I?"

Michael took his eyes off the road long enough to turn and stare at her in openmouthed astonishment. "Why wouldn't you? Why
would
you? It's too dangerous. He knows you've been helping me out. He's not going to misstep or say anything helpful around you now."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know Adrian. He won't make a mistake like that. There's absolutely no reason for you to get within a hundred feet of the guy after what happened today."

"I'll be surrounded by people Friday night," she said. "He won't have the opportunity to do anything to me."

"That's not good enough," Michael said.

"You'll be there, too," Hannah reminded him. "I won't be in any danger. And I think there's still a small chance he might trust me. We should take advantage of that if it's still even a remote possibility."

"Yeah, and you also thought he had a legitimate favor to ask you today, too."

She said nothing for a moment, then, very evenly, she told him, "Don't start that again."

God, why were they so angry at each other? he wondered. Yeah, they'd done a stupid thing, but they'd survived it, and there really had been no harm done. In fact, they were better off, because now Michael could be sure of what he'd been suspecting for a while, that Adrian knew Hannah was helping him. Now he could give his boss a reason for pulling Hannah out of the operation. And now he could go back to concentrating on Adrian without the added distraction of worrying about Hannah's safety. Because that could be the only reason for slipping up as egregiously as he had today. Yeah, it had been five years since he'd done this, but even a greenhorn fresh out of basic training could have handled this assignment better than Michael had. Because a greenhorn fresh out of basic training wouldn't be halfway in love with Hannah.

Ah, dammit. He really hadn't wanted to admit that to himself. But hell, the minute he'd heard Adrian coming home this afternoon, his first thought had been not for himself, but for Hannah. And he'd known then that he was indeed in love with her. What he didn't know was what he was going to do about it.

"How did you get down to the garage anyway?" she asked him now.

He smiled. "Old trade secret. If I told you—"

"You'd have to kill me," she answered for him.

"Maybe for Christmas I'll get you some top-secret clearance," he said. And he was only half joking when he said it. He wouldn't get her top-secret clearance, of course. But he did hope he'd be around to get her something for Christmas.

She blew out another impatient sound and tapped her fingers anxiously on the dashboard. She'd been doing that ever since they left Adrian's place, he realized. Tapping her fingers on the dashboard with one hand, the other fiddling impatiently with the radio. She'd opened his glove compartment and examined the contents—several times—then slammed it shut again. Now she flipped down the visor and inspected his CD collection, pulling the discs out one by one and shoving them back in again, so quickly that he wasn't even sure she could tell what they were.

By the time they pulled up to her house, Michael was feeling nearly as agitated as she was, and he was eager to be on his way. He didn't need to be feeling edgy around Hannah when she felt edgy, too. Not having discovered what he just had about his feelings for her.

"Next time you want to search somebody's house," he said as he threw the car into park, "call someone else, okay?"

She smiled, and there was something in her expression that seemed almost genuinely happy. "Could you come inside for a few minutes?" she asked.

"Why?" he wanted to know.

"Just… I think you should come in for a little while," she repeated. "It's kind of important. Do you have to get home right away? School won't be out for another hour."

Michael did some quick calculating. Alex had chess club after school today, then he was going home with a teammate who was a friend of his for dinner. Michael had intended to use the extra time to himself to finish some work at the office. But if Hannah had something she needed to talk to him about…

"Okay," he said. "I can stay for a little while."

She nodded, and he noticed the gesture was a little jerky. "Good. That's good."

The moment they were inside, she pushed the front door closed behind them and turned to look at Michael. Judging by the expression on her face, she seemed to want to tell him something very important indeed. So Michael waited, expectantly, to see what it would be. Then he waited some more. And then some more. And then some more. Probably a good two or three minutes passed with just the two of them standing there in the living room, staring at each other in silence. And then, finally, Hannah moved. She took a step forward. Toward Michael.

And she began to unbutton her jacket.

He told himself it was just because she was home now, and wanted to, understandably, shed her jacket in an effort to make herself more comfortable. But when she shrugged the jacket off, she didn't hang it on the coat rack by the front door. Instead, she tossed it aside without even looking at it, oblivious to how it landed in a heap on the floor. Then she took another step forward. Toward Michael.

And she began to unbutton her blouse.

"H-H-Hannah?" he stammered once he understood her intentions. "Wh-wh-what are you doing?"

"I'm taking off my clothes, Michael," she said as she tugged her shirttail free of her skirt and unbuttoned the rest of her buttons. "Then I'm going to take off your clothes," she added. "And then you and I both are going to have sex."

"O-o-oh."

Obviously intending to make good on her promise, Hannah shed her blouse, too, and Michael went hard at the sight of her luscious breasts surging out of the top of a sheer lace brassiere the color of a seashell. It was one of those bras that stopped halfway up, and he could see the very edge of her aureolas peeking out from the tops of the cups. She had a mole on her left breast that he found incredibly sexy, and his mouth opened involuntarily as he envisioned himself tracing it with the tip of his tongue. And then Hannah was reaching behind herself and unhooking her bra, and her breasts spilled completely free.

Oh, gee, had he thought he was hard before? Gosh, he'd had no idea.

By now she was standing in front of him, and she reached down to take his hands in hers, lifting them to her breasts in invitation. Like Michael really needed one. Eagerly, he filled his hands with her, palming the ripe flesh, kneading, squeezing, thumbing the taut peaks to even greater distinction. She was so soft. So warm. So incredibly beautiful. As he bent over, he lifted one breast to his mouth and pulled her nipple between his lips. He brushed his mouth over her once, twice, three times, four, then drew her inside for a more thorough taste. He darted his tongue against her, then lapped more eagerly, marveling at how sweet she tasted, how fine she felt.

Her hands moved to his hair, her fingers threading and weaving, silently bidding him to continue with his exploration. So he did. Then her hands moved downward, over his shoulders and flat torso, along the waistband of his trousers, over the belt buckle and lower still, her palm flattening, hard, against the part of him that had swollen in response to her little striptease. Then her fingers were closing snugly over him, her palm curving over the long, hard ridge of him. He pulled back, sucking in a harsh breath at the contact, then released one of her breasts to cover her hand with his, holding it firm as he linked their fingers together. Slowly, deliberately, he pushed both their hands downward, over his trousers and his taut flesh, to the very base of his shaft. And then lower still, until their hands were between his legs, and she was cupping him completely in her palm.

He ducked his head into her neck as she caressed him there, panting against her damp skin, his breathing ragged and heavy, his body tight with his need. Still pushing her fingers hard against himself, he drew their hands back up again, growing even harder and thicker against her palm. Again and again, he helped her stroke himself, until their fingers began to grow damp from the friction and perspiration. And then, abruptly, he halted her and drew her hand away, jerking her body against his almost roughly.

"No more of that for a bit," he gasped. "I want to make this last as long as I can."

"But school will be out soon," she said.

"Alex has plans this afternoon," he told her. He reached behind her, locating the back zipper of her skirt. "And so do I."

Hannah had no idea what had come over her, to be behaving so brazenly. She only knew that once they were safely away from Adrian's place, she'd been overcome by a fierce agitation unlike anything she'd ever felt before, as if there were some powerful force bottled up inside her too tightly, an uncontrollable chemical reaction that was about to explode with the strength of an atom bomb if she didn't do something to release it. She had recognized it as a purely sexual response. But to what? She had no idea. She only knew that she had been frightened out of her wits for Michael's safety, but even knowing he was all right, she couldn't let go of the anxiety. It had kept building and building, all through the drive home, until she felt as if she were going to come apart at the seams with it.

She'd known she would stay wound too tight like that unless she could find some kind of release. And the only way to release it, she knew, was to let it out, and let it be what it was. A raw sexual need to be with Michael.

Now she would be with him. Sexually. Rawly. Because never had she needed a man the way she needed him in that moment. And having touched him the way she just had, the way he had made her touch him, she knew he needed her that way, too.

As he drew her zipper downward, he pushed her body close, her pelvis connecting with his, his erection surging against her belly. She moved her hands to the waistband of her skirt, pushing the garment down as he opened the zipper wider, unable to wait for him to finish before she took it off.

She wiggled out of her stockings, too, rolling them down over her legs as gracefully as she could, kicking them aside to join the rest of her discarded clothing. Michael watched her as she undressed, his gaze roving hungrily over her nearly naked body, and there was just something terribly arousing about that. He continued to watch her as she hooked her fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulled them down, too, stepping out of them and casting them away almost frantically, unable to tolerate being dressed a moment longer.

And then she was back in Michael's arms, and his hands seemed to be everywhere at once, first framing her face, then cupping her breasts, then curving around her waist, then stroking her fanny. When had he stripped her naked? she wondered hazily as she reveled in his touches. Then she remembered she had been the one to do that. But why hadn't she stripped him naked, too?

She loosened his tie and reached for the top button of his shirt, but there was something so fundamentally erotic about being pressed naked to his still fully clothed form, and she hesitated, drinking in the sensation. The brush of his cotton shirt over her tender nipples made her gasp her delight aloud, and she rubbed her body more sinuously against his. He groaned at her action, opening his hand wide over her bare bottom, pushing her forward until the damp heart of her was pressed to the hard ridge beneath his trousers. He dipped his head to her neck, kissing her, nibbling her flesh, darting his tongue over the tender wound, then nibbling her again. Finally, though, Hannah wanted to know what he was like beneath his garments, too, and she shoved his jacket over his shoulders, tugged the knot in his tie free, and went to work on the buttons of his shirt. Michael helped by removing his belt and unfastening his trousers, and with both their fumbling efforts, they finally had him naked, too.

They should go to the bedroom now, she told herself. Somehow, though, she knew they'd never make it…

As she fell back onto the sofa, Michael knelt before her, parting her legs with one fluid move. Instantly, shamelessly, he pulled her ankles wide apart and pressed his face to her center, laving her, licking her, savoring and devouring her. Hannah cried out loud at the jagged jolts of heat that shot through her every time his tongue moved against her. Never, ever, had she felt such a wild conflux of sensations. His tongue darted over her, inside her, as if he wanted to drink deeply of her essence to quench a long-unassuaged thirst. Her head rolled back against the sofa and her eyes fluttered closed, and she tangled her fingers in his hair as he relished every taste of her. Vaguely, she registered the feel of his hands moving up her legs, over her calves and shins and knees, then higher still, over the outsides of her thighs, then moving inward. His thumbs joined his tongue in parting her, pleasuring her, then she felt him slip a finger inside her, deep inside her, before withdrawing it slowly again. She thought she gasped his name aloud, but she wasn't sure. She wasn't sure of anything then, only that she'd never have enough of this man.

He slid his finger inside her again, moving the other hand above his mouth to find the sensitive little button of her clitoris. He stroked it once, lightly, and she gasped at the wave of pleasure that rolled through her. His finger moved inside her again, a second joining the first, and she nearly came undone.

He pulled back then, with obvious reluctance, but joined her on the wide sofa, pulling her up to her knees, her back to his front. He took a moment to free her hair from the untidy bun it had become, plucking the pins out one by one and tossing them aside, sifting the long strands through his fingers reverently, as if they were spun gold. Then he reached around her with both arms, dipping one hand between her legs to gently plow the flesh he'd made so wet and hot with his mouth. The other hand found her breast, covering it with sure fingers, squeezing and massaging, catching her taut nipple tight between index and middle finger. In response, Hannah pressed herself backward, more intimately against him, the press of his hard member parting her buttocks and rubbing against her sensitive flesh with a delicious sort of friction she hoped would never end.