“Right on schedule. I figure by the time I’m eighty or ninety, I’ll be the best damn consultant in the entire marketing industry,” Hannah drawled, rising to help clean up.
Maggie shot a frown at her. “No, seriously, how is it going for you?”
“Very well, actually,” Hannah answered, helping Maggie to fill the dishwasher. “I gave myself a raise by raising my fee in November. Not one of my clients objected. My end-of-year earnings have put me into a higher income tax bracket, and I don’t even mind.”
“That’s great,” Maggie exclaimed, rewarding her with a hug. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Hannah said simply, going on to candidly admit, “At the risk of sounding arrogant, I’m rather pleased with myself at the moment.”
“And why not?” Maggie demanded, her hands planted on her slender hips. “You should be pleased and delighted. You’ve worked your butt off getting yourself established. I know. I was there. Just as you’ve always been there for me. Remember?”
Hannah smiled, recalling the day the previous June when she had walked into Maggie’s apartment to witness her friend slashing the exquisitely beautiful, extremely expensive wedding dress to shreds. “Remember? How could I forget all the pain-and fun-we’ve shared?”
“Well, while you’re here, let’s just remember the fun, and say to hell with the pain. Deal?”
Hannah laughed. “Deal.”
They shared a hug and, sliding an arm around each other’s waists, strolled to the other side of the room to settle back down on the window seat behind the table, chattering away while they waited for Mitch.
With each passing moment, Maggie’s face took on a becoming glow, her eyes shining with anticipation. And with each of those moments, Hannah felt her own anticipation rise, as she wondered what kind of man this Mitch Grainger must be. Not to mention his enigmatic brother.
Two
Having listened to Maggie rave, through several long-distance phone calls, about how handsome, exciting, wonderful and flat-out sexy her employer and fiancé was, Hannah was prepared for the visual impact of Mitch Grainger.
So, when he arrived at the apartment a half hour later, she was neither surprised nor disappointed. Mitch appeared to be everything Maggie claimed him to be and then some. His manner was polite. He was gentle and tender with Maggie, and the perfect gentleman toward Hannah.
She couldn’t help but notice that every time Mitch looked at Maggie, his eyes gleamed with near adoration, joy and male sexual hunger. Strangely, that gleam of light gave Hannah an odd little twist in her chest.
Surely not envy of Maggie and the emotions the mere sight of her so obviously induced in Mitch?
Envy? Of her very best friend? The very idea was both confusing and shaming. Hannah might have examined her unusual feeling more closely if there had been just the three of them around the small table.
But Mitch had not come to the apartment alone.
While Hannah had been prepared for Maggie’s fiancé she hadn’t at all been prepared for the impact of Mitch’s older brother, Justin.
And what an impact he made. Hannah felt the reverberations in every molecule of her being-felt it and resented it. In looks, the brothers were quite similar, but altogether different in attire.
Mitch was dressed in a navy-blue business suit, ice-blue shirt, a striped, pale-blue and grey tie and a long gray obviously cashmere coat, the walking picture of the conservative businessman. Justin, on the other hand, had removed a brown, well-worn Stetson and shrugged out of a deep-collared suede jacket. Beneath his coat he wore a blue chambray shirt tucked into faded low-slung jeans plastered to his slim hips and long legs to cover the tops of smart-looking boots.
Justin Grainger towered over Hannah’s five foot ten by seven and a half inches. His raw-boned frame was rangy but muscular, a tower of powerful masculinity.
At once, Hannah understood how Maggie had found it hysterical when Mitch threatened to mop the casino floor with his brother if he said one word out of line. While Mitch appeared quite capable of wiping the floor with most men, she knew his brother wasn’t one of them.
Justin Grainger had dark hair, streaked with silver at the temples, and a little long at the nape. His eyes were gray, cold as the North Atlantic in January, sharp as a bitter wind, yet aloof and remote. And every time he turned his cold, calculating, but somehow tinglingly sexy sharp-eyed gaze on Hannah, she felt a chilling thrill from the tingling top of her head to the curling tips of her toes.
Hannah’s immediate assessment of the two brothers was that Mitch was forceful and dynamic, whereas Justin was a silent but simmering volcano of leashed sexuality, with the potential to erupt without warning all over any innocent, unsuspecting female to cross his path.
Fortunately, having survived that one unsuccessful and unsettling relationship two years before-a relationship in which she had been burned so badly she hadn’t even confided in Maggie about the affair or aftereffects-Hannah was neither innocent nor unsuspecting. To be sure, she was suspicious as all get-out.
On Maggie’s introduction, Hannah accepted Mitch’s proffered hand first. It was warm, his grip polite. But she barely registered his greeting, since all she could hear was the sound of static electricity as she took Justin’s extended hand. She not only heard it, she felt it zigzag from her palm to every particle of her body.
Hannah slid a quick glance toward Maggie and Mitch only to find that they had moved across the room to the hallway closet to put away the men’s coats.
“Miss Deturk.”
That’s all he said. Her name. Not even her first name. His voice was low, disturbingly intimate. Hannah’s hand felt seared. She hadn’t realized his fingers were still firmly wrapped around hers. She turned her gaze back to his, her mouth going dry at the sight of tiny flames flickering in the depths of his cold gray eyes.
Feeling slightly disoriented, and resenting the sensation, she slid her hand free, murmuring, “Mr. Grainger.”
“Justin.”
“If you wish.” She inclined her head, feeling like an awkward teenager, not having a clue she gave the impression of a haughty queen condescending to acknowledge one of her lowest subjects.
A smile shadowed his masculine, tempting lips. “May I call you Hannah?”
Oh, hell, she thought. His voice was even lower, more intimate, and too damn beguiling. Certain her brain had been rendered into nothing more than a small blob, Hannah could manage only to parrot herself.
“If you wish.”
“Well, ready for dessert?” Maggie’s bright voice dissolved the strange misty atmosphere seemingly surrounding her and Justin Grainger.
Thank heavens for small mercies, Hannah thought, turning away from him.
“Do you have coffee?” Mitch asked.
“Of course.” Maggie crossed to the small kitchen area.
Grateful for a moment’s respite from Justin’s nearness, Hannah hurried after Maggie to help. She served the coffee, careful not to look directly at him. She thought she had herself under control when she again seated herself next to him at the table.
The moment she was settled, she knew she was wrong.
Beneath Justin Grainger’s keen gaze, Hannah’s enthusiasm waned for the coffee and the surprise dessert promised by Maggie.
“What is it?” Mitch asked, eyeing the dessert dish Maggie set before him, which appeared to contain a mixed-up blob of ingredients.
Maggie grinned. “Karla calls it Heavenly Hawaiian Surprise. It’s got pineapple and cherries and pecans and marshmallow and sour cream, and trust me, it is heavenly.”
“We shall see, or better yet taste,” Mitch said, his teasing eyes alight with affection.
His brother beat him to it. Scooping up a spoonful of the mixture, he popped it in his mouth.
“Decadent,” he pronounced. “Delicious.”