Miah (Lane Brothers #2) Read online

  “But—”

  I stop myself before an honest whine comes out and fiddle a rose petal that’s fallen and landed on my blotter.

  “That sucks. If you’re staying I’ll need to reschedule the jet and call your housekeeper. She’s making you mac and cheese in honor of your imminent return.”

  I’m not sure Selena or I stand an actual chance with Greg. Rose, his housekeeper, worships him so fiercely I’m almost afraid to call her in case she bites my head off.

  “Yeah. I’ll call you in the morning and let you know.”

  We say goodbye and hang up. It’s pretty impersonal, and the complete opposite of the conversations I’ve heard him have with Selena, but I ignore it and assure myself he’s just busy.

  When the phone rings again, I answer with a grin and a purr.

  “You forget something, darlin’?”

  “Han.”

  “Tom?” I ask, flabbergasted to hear his voice.

  I’d never in my life expected to hear from Tom again. Never, not after the verbal assault we’d launched at each other across that courtroom. To say that we should despise each other for the rest of our lives is an understatement.

  “Hey, Han.”

  I hear the discomfort and uncertainty there and, being the new ‘let’s forgive and all sing Kumbaya’ Hannah, I decide to give him a break and don’t slam the phone down immediately.

  “Hi, um, what’s up?”

  “I, uh. I’m having…I mean, Shelly is pregnant and I…you know that locket my mom gave you when we got engaged?” he asks.

  Yeah. Of course I remember. I’d loved Grace and she’d loved me, and when she’d given me that locket, a family heirloom, and made me promise to always cherish it, I’d taken it seriously enough not to throw it at Tom the day he walked out on our marriage.

  “Yeah.”

  I kinda know what he’s gonna say, but as I wait I hope against hope he won’t say it. I mean, I want at least one good thought of the guy. Just one. Just the one where he doesn’t demand I return a gift that was given to me with love. Grace is dead now and she won’t ever know, but that’s not the goddamned point.

  “Could…I’d like to have it to give to my daughter.”

  And here lands disappointment. Un-fucking-believable.

  “How about no? How about you try to remember that your mom gave it to me, and that despite our divorce we weren’t enemies and she actually loved me?”

  “Hannah.”

  Ooh, here comes the ‘I will brook no arguments tone’. Predictable.

  “No. Congratulations on your baby, and tell your wife I send my regards. Goodbye, Tom.”

  As I put the phone down slowly, deliberately, so as not to beat it to pieces, I think of Gregory and the gifts he’s given me. He would never try to take anything away from me. He may be controlling and ruthless and relentless, but he’s the fairest man I know. Affair notwithstanding.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Gregory does not return on Friday. Or Saturday. Or even Sunday. Which is a damned shame, because if he’d been home I would have been with him and not on the subway, a place that has become my personal nemesis.

  Thursday I’d run down to my station, dodging rain and knee-deep puddles. By the time I’d gotten there and stood waiting for my train, I was wet and miserable and not concentrating hard enough to notice anyone or anything.

  That’s how I’d ended up falling down half a flight of stairs and broken my left arm. Pain is not something I deal with in any kind of acceptable fashion, so when I’d snapped back to reality at the bottom of the concrete steps, I’d cried like a child and sputtered my way onto the train despite needing to go to the emergency room.

  When I’d gotten home my arm had looked like ham, and Chris had gone into hysterics, which meant Josey had to stay over while we got Mr Clinton downstairs to drive us to the hospital.

  Saturday had seen me stumbling around and loopy enough that when Gregory called, I’d let Nana take it and fallen onto the sofa to watch old reruns of Friends.

  Funnier when you’re loopy. A lot funnier.

  Sunday I’d waited for him to call all day, and I have to be honest enough that when he hadn’t, it had hurt.

  Now I’m back in the office, and it’s ten and he still isn’t back. Dammit.

  “Thanks a lot, A-hole. Get me to like you and then don’t call. Just like a man,” I mutter as I pack another box and grab the tape to seal it.

  “I didn’t call because I thought you needed the rest. Besides, Nana told me not to bug you while you were ‘under the influence’ in case you said something you’d regret.”

  I jump to my feet at those words and spin around to see him leaning against the doorframe of our joined offices, his pose casual.

  “Like what?” I ask, striving for a calm I do not feel.

  I want to jump him and kiss the hell out of him. Instead I mirror his casual pose, leaning a hip against my desk, and watch his lips twitch with amusement.

  “Well, she said, and I quote, ‘Hannah is a very loving person and would never have sexual intercourse with a man she doesn’t have feelings for.’ Or something along those lines.”

  Nana is so going to another home if she can’t keep her opinions to herself.

  “Well, what Nana thinks she knows and what’s true aren’t necessarily exclusive,” I aver, watching him prowl toward me.

  “What the hell happened to you?”

  I shrug and allow him to pull me into his office, gratified to hear the snick of the lock turning. Making out with my boss, at work no less, is not a good idea, but I pull his head down and kiss him anyway, putting all the pent-up desire and longing I feel into it.

  I’ve missed him, and waiting another moment to feel his passion is not an option. Our tongues meet, and he’s kissing me back, taking control of the kiss, ravaging my mouth desperately.

  I pull back, sucking in air, and stare at him, drinking in his loss of control and the wild look I’ve never seen before.

  “Jesus, I missed you,” he says, cupping my face to bring me closer.

  Our breaths mingle, our mouths are so close, and I feel the urge to bite him, lick at him, anything just to still the fierce ache of lust coiling in my belly.

  When I lean in to do just that, he pecks my lips and firmly sets me away. His eyes lose that heat I crave, and I flinch when he curses and takes my injured arm, turning me to inspect the bruise at my temple and then dropping to his knees to lift my skirt and look at my knees.

  “You look like hell,” he growls, coming back to his feet.

  “Gee, thanks. What happened to you missing me?”

  So sue me. I’m frustrated and unhappy. Whereas I want nothing more than to throw him to the sofa and lick him from head to toe, and then some other parts in between, he’s only interested in cataloguing my injuries.

  “Be serious, Han. What the hell happened to you?” he mutters.

  I shift away and walk to the sofa, shrugging slightly as I sit down.

  “A very bad week, apparently. Thursday some schmo almost jostled me onto the tracks, and then Friday I took a header down the subway steps. It was raining, and apparently I am not the most graceful of beings in the rain.”

  So humiliating to admit I can’t walk for shit when it’s raining.

  “You fell twice on the subway?” he asks skeptically. “That seems coincidental.”

  I snort and lean back.

  “Nope. I am the epitome of clumsiness, unfortunately. Are you about done with the inspection?” I ask, fiddling with the top button of my blouse.

  His lips twitch and he leans back against his desk, his eyes lowering suggestively.

  “Why?”

  I answer by flicking the button open and progressing down to the next one.

  “Oh, I thought we could…” I let the thought peter off and keep going until I am bare from the neck down, the black bra he’d sent me last week pushing my breasts up in an enticing display.

  I see his eyes narrow whe
n I lift my hips slightly and unzip my skirt, looking up at him as I spread the fabric and allow him a brief glimpse of the matching thong.

  It’s so naughty taunting him this way, and even more dangerous when I consider where we are, but I know the risk is worth it when his lips thin and he pushes upright, watching me predatorily.

  “You want to be fucked?” he asks.

  I nod and prove the point by pushing the skirt down and kicking it away. With my shirt open and hanging off my shoulders, I open my legs and stroke my right hand over my thighs, moaning at the sensation.

  “You missed me too, didn’t you?” he growls, and I know it bugs him that I haven’t said it yet.

  I remain silent and watch him frown slightly.

  “You won’t tell me?”

  I shake my head and run my hands up to cup my bra-covered breasts, trying to recapture the mood. Gregory takes an audible breath, his eyes focusing where my fingers glance over my nipples, and I know I have him back where I want him.

  “God you’re beautiful,” he growls, pausing just feet away, so close and yet far enough that I’m left disappointed.

  “And you’re still dressed and too far away,” I retort, sliding my hand between my breasts and down my belly, pausing at the low-riding waistband of the thong.

  I’m hot and ready and so achy I have to press my thighs together for a small relief.

  “Ah, but you haven’t given me what I want,” he drawls, prowling over and dropping to his knees to insinuate himself between my legs. “Should I tease you, Hannah, darlin’?”

  I moan when he leans in and blows a breath over a nipple.

  “Tell me what I want to hear, darlin’.”

  Another moan escapes when he licks a path from my parted lips down through the valley between my breasts, stopping to dip his tongue into my navel and then pull it down to the edge of the thong.

  I feel his breath there, almost but not quite where I need him, and I push up, groaning when his hands clamp around my hips and hold me in place.

  “Nuh-uh, Hannah, I told you what I want, darlin’. I’ll give you what you want as soon as you surrender.”

  “Please.”

  “I like the sound of that, babe, but it’s not quite what I’m going for.”

  Without warning he dips his head and settles his mouth over me, rubbing at my clit through the lace in a slow swirl of his tongue. I reach my right hand out and spear my fingers though his hair as I bite into my lips.

  “Greg, please.”

  He looks up and holds my eyes, rubbing me just to the point of need and then stopping, his eyes demanding when I still refuse him.

  “You’d better tell me, Han. Tell me, or I’m going to put these clothes back on you and send you back to work,” he warns, closing his teeth gently around my clit. “Tell me, and I’ll make you come.”

  My resistance crumbles, toppling like a stack of cards when he intensifies the pressure and breathes heavily along my folds. I’m so close now, so strung with need I’ll give him whatever he wants if only he’ll take me to that place where nothing exists but him and me and the pleasure we give each other.

  “I…oh, harder…I missed you,” I moan, almost yelling my satisfaction when he grabs my hips and yanks me to the edge of the sofa, burying his face deeper and licking with the force I need.

  “Good girl,” he growls, rubbing and nipping at me until I’m wet and so close to orgasm I’m begging for him to get me there.

  “You’re so beautiful, darlin’, so perfect,” he snarls, lifting his mouth away from me to hook his fingers into the thin band and jerk, ripping my underwear in half.

  His eyes are wild, and yet he’s gentle and teasing when he lowers his head again and licks me from my opening to the edge of my crease, his eyes closing in ecstasy.

  “Jerking off while trying to remember your taste is not satisfying,” he mumbles against my folds, the tickling sensation of his words pushing me closer to the edge.

  “Greg, let me come. Please.”

  My hand is in his hair, pulling as I grind closer. He grunts, and I realize I’ve bonked his head with my cast.

  “Sorry.”

  “You’re really impatient for a woman who wouldn’t tell me she missed me,” he teases, sitting back to stare mockingly at me.

  “I told you I did.”

  I need him now, with a desperation that’s eating at my insides, and he wants to tease. God, he’s so frustrating.

  “I think it’s your turn to show me, darlin’. Come on and show me how much you missed me,” he whispers, and I look down to see a strange look in his eyes.

  Need, and something indefinable.

  Uncertainty crashes through me, but I squash it down and sit up, wanting to give him what he needs, wanting to be what he needs. Always.

  “Take off your pants, Greg,” I purr, falling to my knees in front of him and unhooking my bra as he complies.

  When he’s naked, his muscles rippling with every breath, I lean forward and take him in hand, stroking slowly as I reach up and fuse our lips in a kiss that is all tongue and burning desire.

  He’s panting into my mouth and thrusting his hips into my hands, growling softly when I collect the moisture from his tip and use it to stroke him to the edge of ecstasy.

  I’ve gone past need and into a realm of desperation that makes my movements jerky and harder than I would have used on his cock.

  He doesn’t seem to mind, though, and soon his hand is covering mine, squeezing to tighten my grip as he thrusts faster.

  “God, Greg,” I moan, loving the unrestrained look of lust on his face and the growling moans that whisper over my lips. “I need you. Please.”

  “Then take me, darlin’,” he whispers, unfurling my hand and hoisting me up to straddle his hips.

  He pauses and reaches back, coming back with a condom that takes seconds to unwrap and roll on.

  “Take what you need, Hannah. Give me what I want,” he orders.

  I comply with a moan, reaching down to center him as I balance on my knees and lower myself, holding my breath as my sex opens, swallowing him down till every inch fills me.

  We freeze, panting, sharing breaths as we savor the moment before he grips my hips and lifts, pulling back before lowering me slowly.

  “I’ve been dreaming of this.”

  Me too. I’ve lain awake at night thinking about his touch, his kiss, and wanting him so badly I’ve barely slept since he left. He wants this, needs my capitulation and confessions of need.

  I am too breathless to answer at this point, so I use my body instead, clenching around him as I lift up and down, riding him in a desperate rhythm that has me screaming my pleasure scant minutes later.

  My pleasure triggers his own, and he tenses, coming with a groan muffled against my neck.

  “I missed you too, so much.”

  And that scares me because Gregory Lucas has now become more than my lover. He’s a necessity that I can never hope to keep.

  Chapter Twenty

  “This is ridiculous. Just come, Hannah.”

  “No. You said you wouldn’t force me to do this again. You may not feel guilty about a damned thing, but I have a conscience, and I’m not eating dinner with your family and fiancée! And most especially not with Nana in tow.”

  Is he being deliberately obtuse? My nana thinks we’re dating, like boyfriend and girlfriend dating, and now he wants me to go to some dinner with him and reveal my completely immoral lifestyle choices? Not in this goddamned century.

  As far as I’m concerned, what Nana doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Or me.

  “Of course she won’t come with. Josey will remain here with her until we get back.”

  “You want me to leave my nana alone on my birthday?” I ask incredulously, shooting him a look of total indignation.

  Today is my twenty-ninth year of life on this not so great planet, and I’ve been walking on clouds since I woke up. Nana made me a truly scary-looking omelette and served me breakf
ast in bed before presenting me with a pair of shoes that look eerily similar to a pair I already own.

  It’s been wonderful and happy, and I breezed into work with a smile on my face and enough cheer to light up New York. Until now.

  “It’s a business dinner. I want you there in case I have to leave early,” he says stonily, giving me his usual look of command.

  “Greg, be reasonable.”

  Why is it always like this? One minute I am convinced he’s a good guy, and the next he’s showing me how truly awful he can be. I’ve given in recently and admitted to myself that I feel a lot more for him than plain, old-fashioned lust or like.

  Obviously I’ve been sleep-smoking crack cocaine, because I seem to have done the dumbest thing I could and fallen for him. Like, love and babies — yikes — kind of fallen.

  It’s been hard and is getting harder to hide the soft feelings I have, feelings I know he does not share. If anyone ever tells you that love is all you need, kick them in the balls and get running, because it’s bullshit.

  I love a man who not only is getting married to the world’s sweetest socialite, but is so heartless he’s willing to make me go wedding shopping with her.

  And then today he’s decided to add insult to injury and wants to introduce me to his family. Now I know why I’d been so against getting together with him in the first place. I am and will always be nothing more than his mistress, a piece of ass he’s currently interested in but will eventually tire of.

  If miracles happen and he does want me for, say, a year or more, something he’s been hinting at, I will be worse off than I am now. At least now he’s still not married. Very soon though he’ll have a wife, a good woman who deserves more than this, and I will be that woman, the one nobody likes, the one who’s left a broken wreck, waiting for a man she can never own.

  But see, as much as I know this is true, giving him up is not possible. Not as long as I have this useless hope clawing at me. It’s idiotic, but I keep imagining that soon he’ll realize he loves me and he’ll break off his engagement to be with me.