Laughing with genuine amusement, Hannah retrieved the long, heavy plastic dress bag and held it open while Maggie slipped it onto a padded hanger and beneath the garment bag.
“Okay, I’m outta here.”
“Wait,” Maggie ordered, stopping Hannah as she turned toward the door. Bending to a low table, she scooped up her bouquet and shoved it into Hannah’s free hand.
“What are you doing?” Hannah demanded. “You’re supposed to toss that to the single women downstairs.” She tried to hand it back to Maggie, who refused to take it.
“What single woman?” Maggie backed away. “As far as I’m concerned, you are the only single woman here…which means, you’ll be the next bride.”
“But, Maggie, you know there is no-”
“I know, I know, but who knows what’s in the future? Mr. Right might be just around the corner.” Laughing at Hannah’s skeptical expression, Maggie backed up another step. “Will you just take it and get out of here?”
Hannah heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, you win. But only because I don’t want to be here to cramp his style when Mitch arrives.”
“Thanks, love,” Maggie fervently said, rushing to Hannah to give her a hug. “For everything, especially being my friend. I’ll call you after Mitch and I get back.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Hannah said, holding the bag up from the floor as she moved to the door. “Be happy.” She smiled, opened the door, then turned back to murmur, “Love you.”
Maggie’s return smile was misty. “Back at you.”
Five
Avoiding Justin as she made her escape, Hannah didn’t breathe fully until she locked the door behind her in Maggie’s cozy attic flat.
Nervous, edgy, both afraid-and secretly hopeful-that she’d hear Justin rap at the door any second, she carefully hung Maggie’s dress away before removing her own dress. After a quick shower, Hannah slipped into her nightshirt and robe, then proceeded to collect her stuff. She was leaving, going back to Philly, first thing in the morning.
She was not running from Justin, Hannah kept telling herself, knowing all the while she was lying. She knew, without a shred of doubt, Justin would not force any issues or hurt her in any way. Why she was convinced he would honor her decision, whatever that might be, she didn’t know, but she felt certain she was right.
So, if she was not running from fear of Justin, what was she running from? She was attracted to Justin, fiercely attracted. She had never, ever wanted a man, his touch, his kiss, his possession as much as she wanted Justin Grainger.
It scared the hell out of her.
He scared the hell out of her.
Not physically. Emotionally.
As sure as Hannah was that Justin would never physically harm her, she was equally sure he could devastate her emotionally.
She had been warned. Justin himself had told her he was the family “bad boy,” and to protect her, Mitch had instructed Maggie to inform her of his brother’s love-’em-and-leave-’em reputation with women.
Perhaps, Mitch had had a heart-to-heart with his wayward brother because, by 2 a.m. he had neither rapped on the door nor rung Maggie’s phone.
Hannah knew the exact time, because by 2 a.m., she had not slept, had not so much as closed her eyes. Her restless, wakeful state had nothing to do with not having heard from him, she assured herself. She absolutely did not feel let down, disappointed…damn near bereft.
Sigh. She had done a lot of sighing.
Somewhere around 4 a.m., well, actually, 4:14 to be exact, Hannah faced the cold hard fact that Justin had been amusing himself by teasing her, stringing her along. For all she knew, he simply might have been deliberately coming on to her to rile his brother Mitch.
If that had been Justin’s aim, he had scored a direct hit. Problem for Hannah was his barb had scored a direct hit on her, as well.
Her own fault. She had walked fully conscious into the cross-hairs. Served her right if she was feeling the sting of his arrow. She deserved the piercing stab in her chest. She had known full well that his make on her was all about sex, anyway.
So, the hell with Justin Grainger. She’d forget him in no time once she was back in Philly, back to her real life of work and friends.
But first she had to get some rest. She had a lot of driving in the morning to get to the airport in time for her flight. Sleep, stupid, Hannah scathingly told herself. Clenching her body against the aching emptiness inside, she shut her eyes tight, denying the sting burning her eyelids, and concentrated on the word sleep.
Her alarm went off at seven, approximately one hour and twenty minutes after she had finally drifted off.
Groaning, Hannah levered herself off the cot and stumbled into the bathroom. Even though she had showered last night, to get an early start this morning, she pulled off her nightshirt and stepped under a spray of tepid, wake-up water.
It helped, but not a helluva lot. Heaving a deep sigh, followed by a wide yawn, she brushed her teeth, applied a layer of concealer on the dark half-moons beneath her eyes, and finished with a light application of tinted moisturizer and blush to each cheek.
Frowning at her image in the mirror above the sink, Hannah left the bathroom, made up the cot. Deciding to grab something to eat in the terminal concourse, she skipped breakfast for a fast getaway. Quickly dressing, she stomped into foul-weather boots, pulled on her coat, gathered her baggage and sent a final glance around the cozy flat, checking that everything was in order.
Swallowing another sigh, which she adamantly refused to admit was of regret, Hannah left the apartment and clattered down the stairs to the second-floor doorway. Yanking open the door, she stepped into the hallway and practically into the arms of Justin Grainger.
“What kept you?” he said, a lopsided smile on his smooth, clean-shaved face.
Startled, rattled, Hannah stared at him. “Wh-what?”
“I thought you’d never get it together this morning.” His warm gaze caressed her face, settled on her mouth. “I heard your alarm go off all the way down two flights of stairs-what the hell have you got, anyway, a miniature Big Ben?” Before she could open her suddenly tingling lips to reply, he caught her by one arm to lead her along the hall to the other stairs. “I hope you didn’t waste time eating. I’ve been holding breakfast for you.”
“But…but…” Hannah stammered. Dammit, she never stammered. “Why?” she demanded, allowing him to relieve her of her suitcase and carry-on with the other hand as he urged her down the stairs and to the open door of the apartment where Karla and Ben were staying.
“Why not?” he asked, ushering her inside and firmly closing the door behind them.
More unsettled than she would have believed a man, any man could make her, Hannah ignored his question to ask one of her own. “Where are Karla, Ben and the baby?”
“They left before daylight. I helped them load the SUV. They’re going to visit her folks in Rapid City before heading back to the ranch,” he explained.
“So, why were you holding breakfast for me?” But before he could respond, she went on, “And how did you know I’d agree to have breakfast with you?”
Justin held up one finger. “I thought you might be hungry.” He grinned-too darned sexily-and held up another finger. “I didn’t know. I hoped. Will you?”
He had done it again. Thrown her off track. “Will I…” she blurted, before she collected her senses. Never in her adult life had a man held the power to so fluster her.
“Share a meal with me.” His grin turned into a sensual smile; his lowered voice was sheer temptation. “Among other even more satisfying pleasures.”
“I, uh…” Damned if she wasn’t stammering again. Grabbing a quick breath, she stammered, “I…really…I don’t…uh…think that…would be wise,” she finished, all in a breathless gush.