Plain Jane's Secret Life

“Then how come you still look like you just lost your best friend?”

Close, Dylan thought with a sad sigh. Then finding he needed someone to confide in—someone with a guy’s gut sense when to stop with the questions—and a woman’s compassionate heart, he said simply, “It was my job.” He watched her carefully for reaction. “I got fired tonight.”

Hannah took the news in stride, as he had hoped she would, and opened the freezer compartment. “Then you’re going to be needing this,” she said wryly as she took out another pint of ice cream and handed it to him, along with a plastic spoon.

There was no judgment in her eyes, only silent sympathy.

His hand warmed at the contact of her fingers brushing his. He looked down at the label, fighting the feeling of failure. Six years and four jobs in the business had taught him that television news was a brutal medium in which to work. “You think mocha cocoa crunch will help?”

“Ice cream always helps. So does chocolate.” She reached over and touched his hand, more gently this time, before resuming her perch on the sawhorse. “I’m sorry about your job, Dylan.”

“Me, too,” he said honestly. He pried off the cardboard top of his ice cream. Although it had been irrational, he’d hoped to escape this bloodbath. Forcing himself to be a man about it, he looked into her eyes. “But that’s the way it goes in my line of work. New owners mean new management, which means new staff.” Usually in pretty quick order. Which was what had happened here.

She took another bite, then licked the back of the spoon. “Did you get severance pay?”

Telling himself to not even think about what her mouth would feel like under his, Dylan concentrated on answering her question. “Two months.”

“Well that’s good. Besides, a guy with your looks? You’ll probably find something right away. Meantime—” Hannah waved her spoon for emphasis “—you’ve got the support of the entire Hart family.”

Dylan let the rich chocolate slide down his throat and tried not to dwell on the fact this was the first time in his life he’d been fired—from anything. “I’m not telling them.” He paused to let his words sink in. “Not until I have another job, anyway. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t, either.”

If she was shocked she had the grace not to show it. “Whatever you want. Although that begs the question.” She looked deep into his eyes. “If you’re not telling them, why tell me?”

Why indeed? It wasn’t like him to trust someone he knew he shouldn’t trust. Not since he had been involved with Desirée, anyway. “’Cause I’m going to be needing access to a computer while I’m in town this week,” he said calmly. “And I was hoping you’d let me use yours.”

A teasing light crept into Hannah’s emerald-green eyes as she gave him the slow, thoughtful once-over. “Do I get to charge you?”

Depends, Dylan thought. How badly do you need the money?

Hannah’s phone rang. Her eyes still on his, she pulled the receiver off the kitchen wall. “Hannah. Yeah, hi. No, I didn’t, sad to say. Because we got interrupted. Not to worry. I’ve at least got him interested. Yeah, ten to one he’ll call. If I’m lucky, tomorrow or the next day. I promise. ’Night.”

“Anyone I know?” Dylan asked, wondering if that had been Cal and how he felt about that if it had been.

“I make it a policy never to talk and tell. So…” She gestured around her. Dylan could see chalk outlines on the floors, where all the appliances, and the sink and so on were to go. “What do you think about what I’ve done so far with my downstairs?” she asked.

“I like it.” Dylan studied the layout of the roughed-in kitchen that overlooked the backyard. “When will you be done?”

Hannah frowned. “I’m not really sure. Depends on the money situation. Materials aren’t so bad. It’s the labor that’s so costly.”

Dylan figured it would take thousands of dollars to finish what she had started. And although the upstairs was nice, the downstairs was barely livable. He couldn’t imagine living like this for the two years she said it had been going on. No wonder she was getting antsy. “You can’t get a second mortgage?” he asked helpfully.

“Already maxed out on that avenue. That’s how I got all the materials and the upstairs done.”

Dylan searched for alternatives. “What about doing the labor yourself?”

“I want it to look professional.” Finished with her ice cream, Hannah put the lid back on and slid it into the freezer compartment. “Besides, it’ll all get done eventually, as soon as I get my bank account built up.”

Finding he had little appetite, Dylan handed over his ice-cream container, too. “You could always moonlight.”

Hannah gave Dylan an even glance. But the confession he hoped to coax from her, about what she and his brother had been up to that evening, didn’t come. “I suppose,” she said eventually.

“Or you could ask your friends to help you out.”

Hannah planted her hands on her hips. “Like who, for instance?” she asked drolly.

Dylan held her gaze, not sure why he was volunteering, just knowing he was. And not just for Cal’s sake. “Like me.”

Hannah’s auburn eyebrow arched. “Are we friends?”

Good question. And one he intended to answer. “I don’t know.” Dylan took her into his arms, cupped her chin in his hand and tilted her face up to his. “Let’s see.”

Chapter Three

The way Dylan had been looking at her since they’d met up at Sharkey’s Pool Hall, Hannah could swear he knew what she was up to. And more—disapproved of her methods of getting his brother what Cal wanted and needed to turn his life around.

Not that Dylan could possibly know anything of the secret she was sharing with his doctor-brother, Hannah reassured herself bluntly as Dylan’s lips came impossibly closer to hers.

“You’re not going to kiss me,” Hannah murmured as she splayed her hands across the hard, warm surface of his chest.

Dylan’s sexy grin merely widened. “Want to bet?” he said.

And then his lips were on hers, and so many emotions poured through Hannah all at once. Shock that he dared to put the moves on her, amazement that she was actually letting him. She had never felt anything like the sweet seduction of Dylan Hart, never melted in anyone’s arms this way. The depth of her response, the way she got caught up in the unhurried pressure of his lips, and the liquid stroking of his tongue shook her to her soul.

Furious at both him and herself—she didn’t give this part of herself away to just anyone!—she clamped her lips together. To no avail. He subtly traced the seam and worked them apart using a mixture of pressure and temptation that was unlike anything Hannah had ever dreamed or felt. Pressing her even tighter against his hard, muscled length, he kissed her again and again as if there were no tomorrow for either of them. And as desire swirled inside her and caught flame, she could almost…almost…believe it. Probably would have, if the hard lessons of life hadn’t taught her to protect her heart.

“Darn it all, Dylan,” Hannah told him breathlessly when at last he lifted his head. “You had no business laying one on me—especially like that!” She felt herself flushing as he cupped her face between his hands.

“I still want to do it again,” he whispered, looking down at her.

And so did she, Hannah thought on a beleaguered groan as she surged right back into his arms. Right or wrong, who cared, when it felt so darn good…

Dylan had started this on impulse. Mostly as a test. To see if Hannah kissed like the experienced lady of the evening she had acted and sounded like back at the Wedding Inn, when she had been receiving instructions from Cal. Instead, the delectable Hannah Reid kissed as if she was all of sixteen, sweetly and awkwardly at first, tentativeness turning to enthusiasm, shy reserve to passion. And it was that mixture of innocence and ardor that was nearly his undoing. Because when their mouths were fused together like this, when he felt the responsiveness of her lips moving with sweet deliberation against his, it was all he could do to hold his own passion in check. It had been so long since he’d felt anything genuine or spent time with anyone this complicated and challenging. And he needed that, he was beginning to realize. Needed this…unbridled passion.

Unfortunately, because of the situation with his brother and his suspicions about Hannah, he couldn’t give in to it. At least not yet.

Hearts pounding, regrets already forming—on both sides—they drew apart. Hannah looked at him as if she wanted to kiss him and smack him for his audacity simultaneously.

He knew how she felt. He wanted to kiss her and smack himself, too.

Then, as he sort of knew she would, she composed herself admirably. Becoming the cool, unflappable Hannah who hung out with the guys and never ever let anything faze her, once again. “You really have to leave,” she told him firmly, in responsible-grown-up mode again.

He found himself wishing the reckless teenager would come back. For just one more kiss. Maybe two?

“Now,” Hannah continued, giving him an even look. “Before we do something we’re both going to wish we hadn’t.”

Dylan nodded, knowing that was the shrewdest course. Now all he needed was a plausible excuse to stay close enough to her to be able to find out what she was up to with Cal. His being fired was it. “Can I come back in the morning? Hang out here during the day so I can make phone calls and do e-mails and start looking for another job?” After all, she wouldn’t be here, she would be at her auto repair shop.

Hannah studied him as if wondering what he was up to. “Why not go back to Chicago if you want to do that?”