Plain Jane's Secret Life

Never dreaming what was going on behind her back, Dylan was willing to bet, recalling with chilling accuracy how he had felt when similarly betrayed.

“So basically I’ve got that amount of time—” Hannah speculated thoughtfully.

There was another pause, rife with meaning.

His curiosity killing him—none of this sounded like the compassionate older brother or the affable mechanic he knew—Dylan hazarded a discreet glance around the open doorway. There were no lights on and the room was shrouded in shadow, but through the semidarkness he could see Hannah with her back to the wall, staring up at Cal. The expression on her face was the same one she wore when she was trying to figure out a particularly thorny mechanical problem on one of the expensive automobiles she worked on at the business she owned, Classic Car Auto Repair. She narrowed her eyes at Cal. “You said the guy is loaded?”

Hands thrust in the pockets of his tuxedo pants, Cal shook his head in disgust. “Yarborough’s got so much money he doesn’t know what to do with it,” he replied in a voice that was equally calculating. Cal took his hands out of his pockets and spread his hands wide. “Which is, of course, part of the problem. Had R. G. Yarborough a little less—”

Hannah nodded in understanding. “You’d be able to deal with him a lot more effectively,” she said.

“Right,” Cal agreed.

Dylan, wary of being seen, ducked back out of sight again but remained within earshot of the low, urgent voices.

“Well, don’t worry. I’m sure I can manage him.” To Dylan’s mounting dismay, the smile was back in Hannah’s voice.

Even as Dylan’s brother got grimmer…

“And one more thing, Hannah,” Cal warned. “No one, and I mean no one, can know about what we’ve got going here.” His voice caught momentarily. “If Ashley were to get wind of it—”

No joke, Dylan thought, aware what Cal’s semi-estranged wife might think. The same thing he was thinking right now.

“I understand completely, believe me,” Hannah promised in sweet sincerity. “You don’t have to worry for one second, Cal. No one—and I mean no one—is going to hear about this from me.”

THE TROUBLE WITH eavesdropping, Dylan thought, was what you thought something meant, might be completely misconstrued. For instance, there was no way Cal was supervising and setting up the twenty-eight year old Hannah Reid’s secret nocturnal activity with a wealthy-as-all-get-out man she had never met. And might not, from the sounds of it, even really want to meet under normal circumstances. At least not for socializing.

So here he was, an hour later, getting out of a cab in front of Sharkey’s Pool Hall…never having had that dance he was supposed to request from her.

He walked in, not sure what to expect. Hannah was standing by a pool table, a bottle of beer in her hand. She was dressed in a short black skirt, stockings and heels that showed off her spectacular legs. A red knit tank top with a high neck and a racer back clung to her ample breasts, and made her slender shoulders and bare arms look incredibly feminine. A man Dylan assumed was R. G. Yarborough was standing next to her. He was fifty, at least, and attractive in that money-to-burn way. That was if you liked spiked gray-brown hair and an exceptionally hard body that appeared manufactured by steroids, fancy gym equipment and maybe even plastic surgery. Plus his appearance—college T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, baggy cargo-style jeans and an earring in one ear—practically screamed midlife crisis. All in all, not a good guy for an innocent-in-the-ways-of-the-world woman like Hannah to be tangling with.

Jacket hooked over his shoulder, bow tie hanging undone on either side of the open collar of his pleated white tuxedo shirt, Dylan skirted the large, rectangular hall and numerous pool tables to the long wooden bar along one side. Keeping to the shadows, he approached the bartender and asked for a bottle of light beer.

He leaned against the bar, watching. And he wasn’t the only one. A lot of male eyes were on Hannah at that particular second as she set a triangle on the green-felt tabletop. The bartender, included. “Know her?” he asked Dylan.

Dylan nodded, but even as he did he was wondering if he really did. The sexy-as-hell woman in front of him wasn’t even close to the lady mechanic and all-around tomboy he recalled growing up with.

“Yeah, well, she hasn’t been in here before. I guarantee I’d remember that little filly if she had been,” the bartender murmured.

And no wonder. Hannah’s pretty face was alight with feminine mischief and barely reined-in flirtation as she bantered animatedly with the group of men standing around the pool table. Color flooded her face. Her auburn hair was flowing in unruly waves down around her bare shoulders. Every time she moved, her hair brushed her silky-looking skin and drew attention to the sumptuous curves of her breasts. Worse, as she captured another loose ball and fit it into the triangle, the tank top rode above her waist, baring even more silky-smooth skin. Dylan felt a tightening in his groin, and was willing to bet, every other man there did too.

As she straightened, slowly, R. G. Yarborough reached out and stroked a hand along her hip. Hannah tensed visibly but didn’t resist as she turned to face him. She murmured something—Dylan couldn’t make out quite what—and the rich guy responded by pulling out his wallet and extracting several bills.

Hannah mocked whatever he was offering, but appeared ready to take him up on his proposal.

Normally, Dylan would have remained on the sidelines, no matter what was going on. But this was too much. He didn’t know what Cal had gotten the naive Hannah Reid into, but Dylan was for damn sure not going to stand idly by and watch someone he’d known from their elementary-school days get hurt.

He moved away from the bar and sauntered toward the pool table where Hannah was still flirting madly. “Money?” Dylan heard her say as she tucked the bills back into Yarborough’s hands. “Come on. Surely—” Hannah batted her eyelashes at him “—you and I can wager for something a little more interesting than that….”

Yarborough looked down at Hannah, a lecherous gleam in his eyes. “Well, maybe we could at that,” Yarborough flirted back as Dylan stopped just short of them. Determined to interrupt before this charade went any further, he said casually, “Hey, Hannah.”

She looked over and froze, the color draining from her face. Recovering admirably, she said, “Dylan. Fancy meeting you here.”

“What’s that saying?” Dylan asked, pretending to all those witnessing the scene that he had some claim to Hannah. “Wherever you go-est, I go-est?”

Yarborough looked Dylan up and down, then turned to Hannah and asked, “This your husband?”

Hannah’s smile tightened. “No. Most definitely not.”

“Boyfriend?” Yarborough persisted.

Dylan clamped a hand around Hannah’s shoulders. “Hannah doesn’t like the term boyfriend,” he said. “Too high school. But to answer your question, yes, she and I do go back a ways.”

Hannah glared at him in a way that said back off, then turned back to R.G. “It’s not what you think. Dylan’s like a brother to me.”

“A brother who does not want to see you hurt,” Dylan continued, looking at her just as meaningfully.

Hannah propped her hands on her hips as a crowd began to gather round them. She was so piqued with him that steam was practically coming out of her ears. “Since when are you my keeper?” she demanded, even as the two guys nearest them elbowed each other. “Hey,” one of them said, taking a closer look at Dylan. “Aren’t you that guy that used to be on W-MOL, doing the sports?”

“Yeah. Dylan Hart, isn’t it?” someone else asked, edging closer.

“You coming back to work on one of the local TV stations again?” another asked excitedly.

“Yeah,” chimed a fourth. “You were good!”

Looking relieved to no longer be the center of attention, Hannah patted Dylan on the arm. “Maybe you should attend to your fan club and let me continue here.”

Dylan looked down at her, still not sure what she had been about to wager. He couldn’t say why exactly, he just knew he was more certain than ever that she was doing something she did not want him, or anyone else in Holly Springs, to know about. “No way.”

Her soft lips took on a mutinous line. “Excuse us, will you?” Hannah tugged him aside. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking out for you.”

She drew a deep breath, clearly exasperated, as she apparently did not want to be kept away from the unsavory types, by him or anyone else. “How did you even know I was here?” she hissed.

Wondering if he would ever in a million years understand women and why they were drawn to rich losers over decent hardworking guys like himself, Dylan replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world, “I followed you from Holly Springs.”

That gave her pause, Dylan noted with grim satisfaction. “Why?” she asked a lot more cautiously.

Dylan shrugged, never taking his eyes from her face. This much at least he had been prepared to answer. “You’ve got my stuff in the van. My carry-on luggage. The clothes I was wearing earlier. It’s all in the back.”

Yarborough strode over. “Hey, babe,” he drawled so lasciviously Dylan wanted to punch his face. “You going to play or not?”

To Dylan’s chagrin, Hannah looked torn, as if she wanted to go off with R.G., just not in front of Dylan, or anyone else she knew from Holly Springs.

Not gonna happen, Dylan decided. He winked over at her with a playfulness he knew she would not appreciate. “I don’t mind.” He shrugged his shoulders lazily. “I can wait.”

Hannah dug into the front pocket of her tight black skirt. “I’ll just give you the keys and you can go on out and get your stuff.” She pressed them into his palm, her fingers warm against his.