I had it bad for you. If the convention didn’t make it obvious, I thought for sure the Fleetwood Mac album would do it. I’ve got it so bad for you, Hannah.
Really . . . really bad.
Was she remembering those words, too? Is that why she raised her chin another notch and delivered yet another blow to his resolve? “Look, I’m not going to fight you on this, Fox.” She rolled a delicate shoulder. “You’re ending whatever this was developing into and that’s fine. It’s your right.”
He watched helplessly and miserably as she wet her lips.
What happened now? They just walked away from each other?
Was he really strong enough to do that?
“Could you do one last thing for me?” she asked, brushing their fingertips together ever so slightly.
“Yes,” he said hoarsely, his temples beginning to pound.
Hannah tilted her head, and he eagerly memorized the curve of her neck.
“I want a good-bye kiss.”
Fox’s eyes flew to Hannah’s, lust racking him, along with . . . panic. Flat-out panic. No way he could kiss her and leave it at that. Was she aware of how difficult that would be? How impossible? Was that her game? Her expression was so innocent, it didn’t seem possible. Nor was it possible to deny her request. To deny her anything.
He’d kiss her here. In public, where it was safe.
Right.
Like anything about touching her was safe when he was on the verge of breaking. Shattering into a thousand tiny pieces.
Fox licked his lips and stepped closer to Hannah, his hand settling on her hip as if magnetized. His thumb encountered a very slight shape, almost like a . . . tiny strap, and he looked down, watching his fingers feel it out. “What panties are these?”
“I don’t see how that matters. This is just a kiss.”
It’s a G-string. I know it’s a fucking G-string.
Jesus, she’d look so hot in it.
“Right.” He exhaled, pulse hammering at the base of his neck. “A good-bye kiss.”
“That’s right.” She blinked at him slowly. “For closure.”
Closure.
Case closed.
That was what he’d decided. That was what needed to happen.
She’d thank him someday.
Her mouth was so soft-looking, lips parted just a touch, waiting for him to place his own on top of them. One kiss. No tongue. No tasting or he’d be a goner, because no one on the planet had her perfect flavor, and he needed the memory of it to fade, not grow stronger.
Nice try.
The memory of her is never, ever going to fade.
Fox, apparently self-destructive, lowered his head anyway, desperate to get his fill of her one last time—
A bell started ringing behind the bar, Piper yelling, “Last call. Pay up and hit the bricks, kiddies.”
Hannah tugged out of his arms, shrugging. “Oh well.”
His mind struggled to play catch-up, the fly of his jeans infinitely tighter than it had been upon walking into the bar. “Wait. What?”
Despite her flushed complexion, her tone was casual. “Bad timing, I guess.”
“Hannah,” he growled, stepping into her space, twisting his hands in the sides of her dress. “You’re getting the kiss.”
She made a wishy-washy sound. “I mean, I guess I need to grab my bag from your apartment, anyway. The bus leaves at seven in the morning.”
His head swam, stomach bottoming out, crashing straight down through the floorboards of Cross and Daughters. He’d known the bus would eventually depart, but somehow he’d blocked out that information. No staving it off now. She was going. Leaving. Her decision had been hinging on him, and they both knew he’d made it.
You’re doing the right thing.
“I’m going to change out of this dress, too,” she muttered, half to herself.
Oh, but he heard it. And definitely pictured her stepping out of the turquoise material in nothing but a G-string and heels. Definitely imagined his mouth on her skin and, Christ, that utterly perfect coming-home feeling only Hannah gave him.
Piper rang the bell again, and the bar lights flashed.
“I guess we better go,” Hannah said, breezing past him.
Worried he might very well be walking to his doom, Fox was helpless to do anything but follow.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Hannah’s heart was breaking.
He’d done it. He’d really done it.
She’d been concerned, of course. That Fox would return from his trip, having been duped by his best friend, and strain under the pressure of simultaneous shifts in his career and personal life. But she’d hung on to her faith, positive he wouldn’t be able to look her in the eye and put a stop-work order on what they were building together. He’d done it, though. He’d really, actually done it, and as she clipped up the stairs to his apartment, her heart bumped along behind her, bruised and bloody.