Authors: Liz Matis
It was bad enough his teammates had posted pictures of Hannah from the Victoria Secret catalog all around the locker room to taunt him. To remind him of what he lost when she dumped him.
But last night he’d won her back.
Now he had to figure out how to turn this into a winning streak. The long months apart from Hannah had him questioning everything from his manhood to his sanity. He tried calling her at first, but when she didn’t return his calls his pride demanded he play it cool. Still, that didn’t mean he hadn’t listened intently to every word Samantha said in case she let some vital piece of information slip or relieved when Ryan would throw him a bone with the simple statement of ‘She’s not dating anyone.’ Then Jake would act like he didn’t care and even though his teammate knew the score he’d let Jake slide.
The gossip pages, where Hannah often appeared, offered nothing. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t sharing another man’s bed.
The not knowing was torture.
For a while he tried pretending she didn’t exist—that her loveliness was a figment of his imagination, but her soft moans along with her fevered pitch screams of his name haunted his dreams. Hannah was so right—he did dream of her.
So when he saw the deep rose color of the bridesmaid dress, the memory of the lingerie she wore that first night they made love lingered throughout the day. Jake wondered if she chose the color on purpose to torment him. During the ceremony he undressed her inside his wicked mind—the dress falling to the floor unveiling the bra and panties underneath and then down to nothing but the natural rose-colored areas of her banging body. God worked a true masterpiece when he created Hannah. Before he left he should’ve asked the priest for an emergency Confessional. Hell, when it came to Hannah he’d need a priest on speed dial to keep up with his sinful thoughts and deeds.
One thing was for certain she didn’t have to worry about re-purposing the dress, as it now lay shredded on the bedroom floor. His deep satisfied smile reflected off the window of the cab.
Yes, he won last night and this morning, but what next? Hannah tossed men to the side like they were her playthings she’d gotten bored with. She needed a strong man to call her on her crap.
She was used to men giving her anything she wanted but they never gave her what she needed. Jake could, if she’d let him.
Granted he mishandled her initial decision to pose nude. In the end she declined the offer and even though she said it had nothing to do with him, she lied. It had everything to do with him and his belief that she wasn’t a plaything.
What was up with models anyway? Jake dated quite a few and all of them were insecure behind the glitz and glamour. Paid to be pretty, models should be the most confident of women. He didn’t get it.
But he wanted to get Hannah because there was something so vulnerable about her that grabbed at his heart. Her smile could bring him to his knees faster than a three hundred pound tackle.
With eyes as big and blue as the Texas sky where he played college ball and long hair that swayed like the amber waves of grain, Hannah embodied the traits of the Mid-western beauties that won Miss U.S.A. pageants, but with the Jersey girl attitude that was her birthright.
Last night he’d beat out twenty of his teammates for the bride’s garter and the right to slip it onto the maid of honor’s long sleek leg. For a moment he felt like Prince Charming but then Hannah ruined the fantasy by ordering him to get it over with it and he turned into the Big Bad Wolf and rode that garter all the way up the stairway to Heaven and brushed her sex with his finger. It wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
But where did he go from here? Just show up at her doorstep tonight? Ask her out on a date? No, not after telling Hannah it was her move.
His cell rang with the ringtone to Roy Orbison’s
Pretty Woman
and he laughed wondering when she had the chance to download it. “Miss me already?”
“Hardly. My vibrator will take care of what you didn’t.”
“Go for it. We never did finish that phone sex experiment.”
He heard a frustrated sigh at the other end. Last time they tried it he ended up at her apartment for the real thing.
“I think that experiment was very successful.” Hannah finally said.
Jake laughed. “Remember that when the batteries die.”
“Hey, you’re the one who left.”
“Point taken. Now, what’s up?”
“I have a charity dinner to go to tonight and I was wondering…wondering…”
Jake let her stutter, he was a most patient man.
“…if you would escort me?” The words rushed out of her mouth.
Jake could feel the grin widening on his face. “Hannah, are you asking me out on a date?” he asked slyly.
“Noooo. No. Like I said—escort.”
He pictured her checking out her flawless manicure as she said it. And while he loved when those blood red nails scratched and dug into his back when she came he knew he had to be strong. “Escort? Sorry the name does not fit the man.”
“Oh, and you don’t consider me a trophy girlfriend?”
“Girlfriend.” Jake considered the term for a moment. “Now that’s more like it. But trophy?” He gazed out the window thinking of all his past accolades and felt the weight of the Super Bowl ring on his finger “I’ve got plenty of trophies. None of them keep me warm at night.” He lowered his voice on purpose knowing Hannah would cave.
“Fine, it’s a date thingy then.”
“Great, pick you up at 7:00.”
“7:15.”
Jake wore down her defenses and he’d gained a lot of yards on this play so he’d let her have this. “Be ready.”
H
annah meditated as Brooke, make-up artist extraordinaire, put the finishing touches onto the face People Magazine named to their most beautiful list. Without the special effects like airbrushing, and the proper lighting she could be the girl next door. The reality of what it took to create an image that women aspired to be amounted to a magic show. Hannah never left the house with what she called her ‘face’. She’d never get caught on one those Stars Without Makeup pages. Jake had been the only man ever to see her sans make-up. To his credit, he didn’t even seem to notice and would ravage her in the morning light. Except this morning, of course, but she knew he was trying to prove a point. That she wanted him.
Nerves tightened inside her stomach. The man always set her on edge. Of course it could just be hunger pangs. Yes, that’s all it was.
The doorbell rang, and she pictured her assistant Nate, dressed in black skinny jeans and a neon green blazer, answering the door and then Jake impatiently glancing at his watch, upset that he had to kill time in her living room, especially after ordering her to be ready. He’d wait and he won’t complain one bit. Not once he laid eyes on her. She was pulling out all the stops.
“All done.”
Hannah peered into the adeptly named vanity mirror. “You’re truly an artist, Brooke. In every sense of the title Make-up Artist.”
“Please, you’re not a challenge.”
“I barely look like I’m wearing any.”
Brooke was a beauty in her own right but was several inches shorter than the average model. “Well, yes that is the trick.”
“See? Genius. The Leonardo Da Vinci of the make-up world.”
“Hmmm, maybe I should put that on my business card,” said Brooke as she packed up her case filled with the tools of the trade.
Nate opened the door and poked his head in. “He’s pacing. He reminds me of a Latino Rhett Butler.”
Hannah shook her head. “What? He’s bald. No moustache. And I don’t think he’s even Latino.” Jake’s light caramel color starkly contrasted with Hannah’s almost ghost like skin. A fleeting picture of what their children would look like faded before it could fully form.
“Whatever. He’s yummy all the same. Besides it’s all in the attitude.” Nate snapped his fingers.
Brooke closed up her case. “Oh, I have to check him out before I leave.” She rushed out of the bedroom as Nate entered.
“You know if you’re going to keep this one you should think about changing the décor of your boudoir.” Nate helped her with the clasp of a pink diamond necklace.
Hannah glanced around the room and noted the frilly lace pillows, pink walls, and sparkly chandelier. “Who said I’m keeping him?” Walking over to the huge full-length mirror propped up against the wall she added, “Besides, if you ask him what color my walls are he wouldn’t be able to tell you.”
Nate came to stand beside her. “You look like a life-sized Barbie doll,” said Nate.
“And in my living room is my so-not-like-Ken doll.”
“Thank God. Ken is not anatomically correct.”
A naughty smiled appeared on Hannah’s face. “Jake is beyond correct.”
“Don’t make me hate you, girl,” said Nate with dramatic flair.
“Hannah!” bellowed Jake from the living room.
“I wouldn’t keep him waiting any longer. He’ll come in here and get you himself.”
Hannah laughed. “Can’t let him ruin my grand entrance.” She twirled out of the room pretending she was in the middle of a fairy tale. As long as she didn’t expect a happy ever after at the end she could pretend all she wanted.
“Your lat—”
Hannah performed her Red Carpet pose. The overhead lights danced off the sparkles of the deep pink dress. “You were saying?”
Jake slowly approached her—no, not so much as approached as in stalked. He reached out and curled a tendril escaping the upswept ponytail around his thick finger and rubbed the texture with his thumb. Then he stepped in closer. Hannah couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. He had frozen his prey and all he had to do was go in for the kill.
“You’re the beauty to my beast, Hannah.”
A thrill shot up her body and settled in her chest making it hard to breathe. Jake may act like a caveman from time to time, and though he sported an Armani black tuxedo with a dark, gray silk shirt he still looked like a bad boy, but he was no beast. He only proved her right when he unwound the strands and caressed her cheek as if she were a delicate orchid.
She leaned into the caress for a moment, savoring his touch on her skin, scared to tell him she thought he was gorgeous and sexy but then opened her eyes and bravely admitted, “You’re handsome.”
Jake’s tongue slid along his lips like a wolf ready to devour it’s prey. “I’m glad you think so, but I was referring to how I’m feeling on the inside.”
Under the influence of his low, sultry voice, Hannah’s knees buckled and she thought she might actually swoon. Now she understood Nate’s Rhett Butler comparison.
Get a grip. This isn’t some 20
th
century romance novel. I just need to breathe
. Or perhaps it was those hunger pangs causing her to feel faint.
“Baby doll, if you don’t stop staring at me like I’m your next meal I won’t be responsible for another torn gown.”
“Sounds like I’m going to need a leash.”
Jake shook his head no. “You’re going to need chains.”
Chains? But all he needed to enslave her was his words.
He brushed a light kiss across her frosted lipstick. “Hell, maybe even a whip.”
His kiss deepened and so did her growing need. He was probably ruining all of Brooke’s hard work but Hannah didn’t care. Make-up could be re-touched. If only the heart could be so easily mended then maybe she’d risk loving Jake.
“Seriously Hannah, you’re going to have to be the strong one here or we’ll never leave,” he said in a thick whisper.
Fueled with feminine power, Hannah stepped back and pulled him to the door, adding a sashay in her step and laughed when Jake practically grunted.
Once settled in the limo she asked him if he wanted champagne, which he declined with a shake of his head. “I’m a scotch man.”
Hannah sipped from the flute since she didn’t know what to say. They never really talked before. Their past relationship—if you can call a one-week affair a relationship—had been solely based on sex. The one time they talked seriously was the one time they argued and then promptly broke up. Jake fiddled with his tie and she supposed he struggled with the right words as well. If only their minds connected as well as their bodies joined together. “I wonder what Samantha and Ryan are doing,” she ventured.
“What I’d rather be doing to you right now.”
“Oh.” His words conjured visions of last night. Of his hands sliding possessively over her body. Of his mouth claiming hers. Of him entering her gently. It hadn’t felt like sex. Well, the second time hadn’t. The first time—oh yeah, definitely hot and raw sex.
Silence descended again and so did Hannah’s nerves. Maybe she was kidding herself. Just because Jake triggered explosive orgasms deep within the well of her being didn’t mean anything other than that he had a lot of practice. Once football season started he’d probably go back to his low-maintenance, groupie bimbos.
Stop thinking! Talk. Say anything. Just stop thinking!
“Nate thought you were Latino,” she blurted.
“Did he?”
“Yeah. So I was wondering—”
“Does it matter?”
Hurt filled her heart. “Well, no, obviously it doesn’t. I was just making conversation.” She wouldn’t admit it to him now but she was trying to get to know him. Other than his occupation, gift for making women melt and mixing up a batch of waffles that would make any woman sigh, Hannah knew nothing about him. And he brushed off her first attempt to reach out to him. Obviously she was a trophy.
Just shut up and look pretty Hannah.
She looked out the window before Jake could see the tears welling up.
“Hey, Hannah. Don’t get mad. Growing up I put up with a lot of shit. Didn’t know where I belonged. Even within my own family.” Jake reached out and tilted her face back to his. “I didn’t want to think it made a difference to you.”
“I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Are those tears?”
“No.”
Jake didn’t call her on the lie, merely brushed away a lone drop with his thumb. “I’m quarter Black, quarter Italian, and the other half so mixed up I make a mutt out of the pound look like a candidate for the Westminster Dog Show,” he said adding a laugh.