[Magic Sisters 05] - Safe Harbor Page 5

  "Your bags are packed and you're wearing makeup. You never wear makeup unless you're going somewhere."

  "Hence the suitcases." She tried to slip past him, but Jonas trapped her against the banister and she was forced to halt. Hannah stared at his impressive chest and tried not to feel intimidated. He was so arrogant and with good reason. She couldn't stand up to him, she'd never been able to. And why did he choose this moment to show up? Why couldn't he have waited another hour? He always managed to find the exact moment when she felt the most vulnerable.

  "Where are you going?" His fingers caught her chin, forcing her head up.

  Her blue eyes flashed at him, letting him see her annoyance. "I told you last week. I have a job." And of course he wouldn't remember because she just wasn't that important to him.

  "I told you not to go. You're supposed to be looking after me."

  She was fairly certain her legs hadn't melted, but she felt dizzy being so close to him. She hated that he unbalanced her usual calm. Only Jonas could make her feel so combative and yet so needy at the same time. Her feelings for him were too complicated to sort out so she didn't bother to try.

  "You're not in any danger, Jonas," she pointed out. "Only bored. You hate not working and you're so crabby no one else can stand being around you." And you're working anyway, doing exactly what you promised you'd never do again. She didn't say the words aloud—it wasn't part of the "pretend it never happened" game they always played—but she wanted to. She even had a sudden urge to just lift his shirt and examine his ribs. She knew there would be a fresh wound or two, but she remained silent like she always did, letting him walk right over her. His faint, answering smile made her heart turn over and she was angry with herself for her reaction.

  "Unfortunately that could be true. All of your sisters have deserted me, not only going out of town, but the country. I'm going to starve. You know that, don't you? If you leave, I'm not going to get a decent meal and then how am I going to heal?"

  "Sarah will be back from her trip with Damon tomorrow. She'll fix you dinner while I'm gone," Hannah said and pulled away from him. She detested that, as she stepped away, her body felt cold as if his had provided untold warmth and safety.

  She hated more that she was torn between wanting to laugh and cry. "You aren't going to starve."

  "I like your cooking. And she doesn't give me hell the way you do. She just gets annoyed and tells me to go home."

  Hannah didn't want to be charmed by him. Jonas was everything she could never be—adventurous, courageous, a man who lived his life confidently. "I should send you home, especially if you're going to give me a hard time." She should, and if she had any backbone at all, she would. She turned away from him, afraid he would read the hurt on her face as she hurried down the hall.

  She felt his presence as he kept pace right behind her. It seemed sometimes that she'd always felt Jonas, as if he were a part of her, sharing her skin and her flesh and bones, crawling into her heart and stealing her soul. She blinked back tears, careful to keep her face averted as she made her way through the large house to the kitchen. She was so emotional lately, ever since Jonas had been shot and nearly killed a few weeks earlier. She had nightmares and spent most of the nights pacing or sitting up on the captain's walk watching the sea. She had to leave just to put some distance between them and get back her balance.

  The last four days had been pure hell. She had waited for hours that first night, terrified for him. Then she'd cried for a day, waiting by the phone, not leaving the house. And finally she had to accept that he took her for granted, and that he wasn't going to call and reassure her—or thank her—or even acknowledge that she might be worried. She didn't matter; her feelings didn't matter; once he no longer needed her, she slipped from his mind. She swallowed hard, her eyes burning.

  "Why are you insisting on going to New York? You don't even like New York. It's total bullshit, Hannah. And you can forget ignoring me like you do when you don't want to tell me things. We're going to talk." Jonas settled his fingers around her arm.

  The action brought her attention instantly to his strength. That was what Jonas was all about—strength. He had it all and she had none. He never physically hurt her, not even when he was angry with her. And she could make him angry in a heartbeat—it was the only protection left to her.

  As if reading her mind, he gave her a small, impatient shake. "Don't think you're going to drive me away with all your nonsense this time, Hannah. We have to settle this."

  She sent him the haughty, over-the-shoulder look she'd perfected while dealing with his arrogance for years. "You mean you'll talk and I'm supposed to listen. I don't think there's anything at all to settle. I have a job and I'm going to New York. There isn't anything else to say." She couldn't talk to him. Once she said the things she needed to say, she'd lose him forever. There would be no going back, no hope at all. She'd have to accept that she was absolutely nothing to him.

  "Really?" His hand transferred to the nape of her neck, his fingers brushing her skin intimately and sending a shiver of awareness through her body.

  She was fairly certain he did it on purpose—that he knew her physical reaction to him—but she couldn't be certain so she took the coward's way out and simply walked the few steps left to the kitchen. "I made you something to eat."

  "But you're not eating." He made it a statement, clipped and harsh—accusing.

  She took a breath and let it out, going straight to the stove to put on the tea kettle. Jonas stopped halfway across the room and she could feel his penetrating gaze on her, demanding an answer. "I have a show, Jonas."

  He said something ugly under his breath and she stiffened. "I'm not doing this with you again, Jonas. I model. I have an assignment. You don't have to like what I do, but it's my job and I keep my word when I say I'll be there."

  "I don't have to like it, Hannah, you're right about that, but considering what it does to you, you at least have to like it and you don't. Don't bother lying to me. I see liars every day in my line of work, and a child does a better job than you."

  She waved her hand at the stove, too tired to argue with him and make tea at the same time, although the ritual often soothed her. The stove leapt to life, burning with a ring of tiny flames, the tea kettle whistling a demand instantly. She caught up the kettle and splashed water into a teapot, pressing her lips together to keep from telling him to leave. She didn't want him to leave, she wanted him to sit quietly and have tea with her. She needed him to sit quietly and talk with her. Before she left, she had to reassure herself he was unharmed.

  She sneaked a quick glance. He looked a little pale, tired, lines etched into his face, but tough as nails. That was Jonas. Hard as a rock. He didn't need anybody, least of all her. She was fluff to him, nothing more. He'd always made that so clear. Her life was falling apart and he was like the sea, a constant, steady anchor she counted on.

  "You just can't resist being the Barbie doll, can you," he said bitterly.

  "Why do you have to do that, Jonas?" She turned, anger and hurt waning in her eyes. "I've never made fun of you being a sheriff. I could, you know. You're bossy and arrogant and you think you can control everyone and tell them what to do. I don't like that you risk your life, but you do that, too, and I never ask you not to do it." And she hadn't either. Her sisters had, but she had remained silent, praying he would give his promise, but supporting him in whatever choice he made. "I understand that it's who you are, who you have to be. Why can't you afford me the same courtesy?"

  "You want me to be okay with you showing off your body to every nutcase in the world? It isn't going to happen, honey. You're extraordinary and you know it. No one looks like you, and your face and body are recognized everywhere, by everyone. I don't think there's a person in the world that doesn't know your face. You talk about taking risks. I risk my life to help other people. You risk yours so everyone can see just how good you look."

  "Has it ever occurred to you just how utterl
y selfish you can be, Jonas?" She whirled around to face him, her back against the counter. She was a little shocked at the violence welling up in her. She had an urge to slap his handsome face.

  Up close he always surprised her with his size. He was so perfectly proportioned she didn't always notice his height, but so close to her, he looked down on her, his shoulders wide and his chest a little intimidating.

  He stepped even closer, so that his body crowded against hers, caging her, his heat warming her. "How am I being selfish by telling you a few truths, Hannah?"

  "Go to hell, Jonas."

  "Right back at you, baby."

  She took a deep breath and let it out, the air hissing between her teeth. "I guess on some level I've always known you didn't think very much of me, but I didn't realize just how much you despise who I am." She steeled herself to let him go—let her dreams go. "I want you to leave. And please respect the fact that I don't want to see you for a while, Jonas. I know you're part of our—"

  "Shut up, Hannah. Just shut the hell up."

  She stared up at him, shocked—stunned at the stark anger in his voice—the raw desire darkening his features, carved deep into every line on his face. Jonas caught her around the waist and jerked her body against his.

  "You think I don't want to walk away?" He gave her a little shake. "You know damn well I can't. I can't breathe without you. I couldn't leave you even if I tried. I've accepted that you cast one of your damned spells and I'm lost—I'll always be lost. So if I'm a little angry with you when you take off your clothes for the world, then you can damn well put up with it."

  For a moment she couldn't think or breathe. He had just insulted her beyond imagination, but… "What are you saying, Jonas? Are you trying to convince me that you're interested in me as a woman?" She felt behind her for the counter, afraid she might faint from sheer shock. There was a terrible buzzing in her ears and her breath caught in her lungs, refusing to move through her body. Her heart began to accelerate, racing as though it might burst through her chest. She began to tremble uncontrollably, her body shaking, toes and fingers tingling as she gasped, strangling, unable to get air.

  "Oh, hell," Jonas muttered. Then louder and more commanding. "Breathe, Hannah."

  "My sisters…" she croaked.

  "They aren't here, baby, but I am and I'm not going to let anything happen. You know I'd walk through fire for you." Jonas pushed her head down. "You're just having a panic attack, honey, no biggie, you've had them before. Just relax and breathe. Do that little thing you do with counting."

  How had he known about that? Her heart beat even faster. Her sisters had helped hide her condition for years, yet now, in front of Jonas, the one person she had worked so hard to keep it from, she was having a full-blown panic attack. And he knew. He even knew the small things she did to try to overcome the attacks.

  Hannah sank to the floor, back against the counter, and drew up her knees, closing her eyes and forcing her mind away from terror. She tried to wave him off, wanting him to leave and not witness the utter humiliation of being such a coward. There was nothing to be terrified of—yet it happened all the time.

  Jonas sat on the floor beside her, drawing up his own knees, his shoulder brushing hers. He pushed back her mass of curly hair with gentle fingers. "This is what was wrong in school, isn't it? All those years everyone thought you were so stuck up, you were hiding the fact that you had panic attacks."

  His fingers slid around the nape of her neck. Strong. Sure. So like him. The slow massage distracted her as nothing else could have done. She leaned her head against the wall and let his fingers work their magic.

  "It s-started the f-first day of kindergarten." She forced the words out, stuttering—the one thing she hated beyond all others. "I-I didn't want to go. I could have s-stayed home another couple of years, but M-Mom and Dad thought I should be in s-school because I could already read and do math at a fourth-grade level. So they insisted."

  Her voice was so soft he had to strain to hear her. He bit back his first angry response. Attacking a decision her parents had made years earlier wasn't going to accomplish anything other than upset her further. Any communication with Hannah was tentative at best if she wasn't surrounded by her sisters. And if she was stuttering in front of him, she had to be really upset. It had taken too many years of frustration to discover Hannah's secret and the fact that her sisters helped her speak in public.

  He took a deep breath and let it out, continuing with the slow massage on the nape of her neck, easing the tension and fear out of her. For the first time, she wasn't running from him and he was determined he wouldn't lose his opportunity. "I'm part of the family, aren't I? Why didn't you tell me?" He pushed the hurt away, far more comfortable with his temper. He'd been angry for a long time on her behalf—and at her.

  "I-I was humiliated that I c-couldn't control it." She paused, drawing in a deep breath and forcing herself to stop the stuttering. Her sisters had helped a day or two earlier, and if she just stayed calm and talked slow, she'd be all right. "Someone like you, Jonas, someone so in c-control of everything could never understand what it's like to be so out of control—so afraid of everything. I don't think I've ever seen you afraid of anything or anyone."

  She wasn't looking at him, and her voice, so small and forlorn, broke his heart. "Maybe not, Hannah, maybe I don't have a hope in hell of understanding what you go through, but shutting me out isn't going to help. I want to be there for you. I want you to trust me."

  Hannah glanced at him, her eyes wide, tears swimming, but not falling. "I trust you, Jonas."

  He shook his head. "No you don't. Not really. You thought I'd make fun of you, didn't you?"

  She pressed a hand to her stomach. "I hate it. I hate you seeing me so—so—cowardly."

  "Is that how you see yourself? A coward?" He kept his voice gentle, when he wanted to throttle her. She was the last person on earth who was a coward. Why did she persist in seeing herself in such a negative light all the time?

  "You know I am. You even called me a rabbit when you were in the hospital."

  "I was drugged up and mad as hell. Someone shot me, Hannah, and you and your sisters were in danger. I knew you were giving me your strength. You sat there day after day getting pale and weaker as I grew stronger. It made me crazy. I still get crazy when I think too much about it."

  He leaned close, framing her face with his hands, and told her the truth as he knew it. "I'm supposed to look after you. That's the way it works in my world. Maybe it's chauvinistic or whatever the political term is, but I like looking after you and your sisters. I don't want it to be the other way around, especially when I can see you fading away."

  He ran the pad of his finger down her cheek, traced the shape of her lips and leaned in to brush the softest of kisses over her mouth.

  Startled, her lashes lifted and her gaze collided with his. Her heart nearly stopped beating. One little touch and she was nearly in meltdown, forgiving everything, every insult, his overbearing, arrogant ways. Forgiving him for leaving her alone, frightened and angry for the last four days.

  "Kiss me back, Hannah," he coaxed, an ache in his voice.

  She heard his raw need and her body responded, even when her brain told her there was some mistake. His mouth was sheer magic—just as he was. Dark and sensual and so soft when everything else about him was hard. No one kissed like Jonas, she was absolutely sure of it, his tongue sliding along hers until she was lost in his taste and scent and his pure masculine sensuality.

  His hand cupped her face, thumb sliding over her skin, his body moving closer, arms tightening with possession. He was gentle, tender even, and she felt cherished—wanted and cherished.

  Jonas lifted his head and looked at her, into her large blue eyes. A man could get lost there, trapped for all time—and he had. He didn't even care. He didn't want to escape. Her lashes were blond, but thick and curly and so damned feminine it made him ache inside. Her skin was the softest thing he'd ever t
ouched. She was so soft, so fragile. And the look on her face, she looked frightened of him, but she wanted him. He saw it there, right along with the fear.

  He could deal with her fear. He just had to go slow, not letting her see he wanted to devour her, share her skin, lock himself inside her until all the troubles of the world dropped away and he found peace again. He just had to stay in control—and wasn't he famous for control?

  He traced her classic bone structure with the pads of his fingers, trying to absorb her into his own skin. No one had bone structure the way she did—it was one of the things that made her so famous and sought after. Her skin was every bit as soft as it looked, so flawless he was always amazed to see the sprinkling of light freckles across her small, straight nose. Her mouth was lush, made for kissing, made to bring a man straight to his knees, to bring him more pleasure than he ever deserved. He'd had enough fantasies about her mouth to fill a library.

  He shifted his weight, and brought his head the scant few inches separating them to take her mouth again. What had he been thinking about control? The minute he sank into her dark heat, his tongue stroking along hers, taking her sweetness, tasting her, he knew all control was going to be lost fast. He needed more, needed her skin against his, her body wrapped tightly around his. He had known all along it would be like this, nothing ever enough until he had all of her—until every last inch of her belonged to him.

  She trembled, somewhere between desire and fear. He stopped the hand inching up beneath her shirt and pulled back to look at her again.

  Hannah took a deep breath and flashed him a tentative smile. "Come with me to New York," she invited, her gaze shy—hopeful—the invitation unexpected. "Come to the fashion show and see what I do."

  Everything in him went still. He drew away from her, putting space between them because he sure as hell couldn't touch her now and he wanted—no needed—to do just that and it would be disastrous. Hannah was an empath and they had suddenly gotten into very dangerous territory. "I can't go to something like that." He winced at the sudden harshness in his voice, but damn it all, she'd shocked him. She'd never so much as suggested he accompany her. He didn't dare appear in public with her. Duncan was certain no one had leaked his name, but Jonas wouldn't take a chance with her life.