No Holding Back

Gulp.

He was standing, towel wrapped around his, um, hips, ohhh, yeah, and, um, his chest was…whew. He…Wait. He was smirking. She apparently amused him. Or maybe he thought it was funny because he’d called a SWAT team, which was pulling into his driveway right now and unloading bazookas.

“I was, um…just saying that your door was open.”

“You pushed it open.”

“It was—” She realized just in time what he meant. “No. Downstairs. The front door. Was open. My car is outside with a tree on it. What I mean is, I got lost and the roads are bad and then, so I saw your gate open and then the car-crushing thing happened and I came in because you’re unlocked in front, and I was freezing and thought the place was empty, so I started looking around, but…uh…but it’s not, is it. Empty that is.”

Silence. He looked even more amused, but as if he were trying hard not to be. God, he was gorgeous. Gor-gee-usss. If this was Jack Brattle, then he had to be emotionally bankrupt or deeply miserable because it was just not fair that anyone could have all that money and all that…everything and look the way he did.

“No, the house isn’t empty. I’m here.”

“Right. Right. I see that. I’m so sorry. I just needed shelter because I didn’t…have any.”

“Okay.”

Are you Jack Brattle? She couldn’t ask, because she wasn’t supposed to know this was his house. But, of course, who else could be naked in the master bedroom? Stunningly naked, she might add.

“I’m Hannah.”

“Jack.”

Jack! Jack! It took every ounce of energy not to light up like a tree angel, blast off like a rocket, or fizz like a shaken Coke. Bless Dee-Dee and her gravity-defying boobs.

“Nice to meet you, Jack. I’m truly sorry to barge in on you like this. Especially—” She gestured to his towel without looking at it even though she really wanted to look at it, and at him. All of him. “—like this. My phone is in my car, which I can’t get into. If I could use yours to call the—”

“Wait here.”

She nodded demurely, then when he went back into his room and closed the door, she did a silent, hopping, fist-pumping victory dance in his hallway. Besides a front-page spread in Lester’s “Rack of Glam” article, she owed Dee-Dee a hundred lunches with D. G. “Highbrow” Jackson for this. No, a thousand.

Hannah stopped dancing and put a hand to her hammering heart. Regroup. She was a pro. He was her subject. When he came back out, she needed to talk less—since she’d just broken the world record for disjointed babbling—and observe more. So far she’d observed that he wasn’t very chatty, not that she’d given him much of a chance, and that he had no problem giving orders. “Wait here” was not the most charming way she’d ever been asked to linger. Though for all he knew she was a lying con-artist thief, so maybe a lapse in manners was forgivable.

She had also observed that he was the kind of male eye candy she liked best. Thick dark hair, none of this California surfer-dude stuff for her. A strong face, very masculine, stopping short of head-clubbing-caveman. Tall. Dark brown eyes that sent out a shock of attraction on contact, and that indicated copious brainpower behind them.

And—gravy on her stuffing—the man obviously worked out. Good shoulders, flat stomach and that great sculpted butt that—

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Oh. Well. That’s okay.” He’d put jeans over the great sculpted butt, which was disappointing because while she liked him naked just fine, she always thought of Jack Brattle in a tuxedo, kind of James Bondish. Were they thousand-dollar designer denim? Looked like Lees to her. “You certainly don’t need to apologize. I’m the one who intruded on your—”

“I saw your car out my window. Impressive.”

“I do things thoroughly.”

“Uh-huh.” He moved forward unexpectedly and took hold of her wrist—not very gently. “So what are you really here for?”

She gasped at his harsh tone, which took her completely by surprise after his initial pleasantness. “To keep from freezing to death?”

“You’re sure that’s all?”

“Yes.” In spite of her shock over his Jekyll-Hyde act, she felt a crazy pang of sympathy and a dose of guilt. Guys like Jack Brattle probably had people with ulterior motives surrounding them 24-7. Including her at the moment. “Why else would I be here?”

“You’re not a reporter, are you?”

She laughed nervously, unable to lie to this man’s face. “Of course I am. Breaking into strangers’ houses on major holidays is how I work.”

“I see.” His lips half smiled, and she realized with more guilt and a twinge of satisfaction that he thought she was joking. Advantage Hannah. Except then he started looking her leisurely up and down in the short clingy sequined dress and she didn’t feel like she had an advantage anymore. At all. “You didn’t come here with…other ideas?”

“What? Why would I do that? I didn’t even know you were going to be home.” Oops. Because I thought you’d be in Europe, Jack Brattle. “I mean here.”

His brow went up. “Where did you think I’d be?”

“I have no idea. I thought the house was empty, then I found out it wasn’t. You left your door unlocked, so I—”

“You told me. I’m sorry if I insulted you. Women have—It’s happened before, though not at this house.”

“You have others?”

“Yes.” He started looking her over again, and she got all flustered and a little heated up, when she really wanted to be annoyed and insulted. “And that is a very seductive dress.”

“I was at a party.”

“Where?”

“Malvern.”

“You live in Philly?”

“Yes.”

“Strange way of heading back to the city from there.”

“I got lost, I told you.”

“Yes, you did.” He held her eyes and she controlled her hot and flustered self enough to look back fairly steadily.

Except the second she relaxed her guard, she started thinking about how much she wanted him to kiss her, and how sexy and romantic it would be right here in his twilit hallway. He could back her up against the wall and have his multibillion-dollar way with her.

Mmm.

What would he do if she leaned forward right now and—

Stop it. Just stop. Had she learned nothing about herself and about men in the years since puberty? Not to mention she’d just become outraged when he suggested she was thinking exactly what she was thinking.

“Sorry about that.” He relaxed his interrogation-stare, so apparently she’d passed the test. “I just have to be careful.”

“Why?”