Hannah And The Hellion (Silhouette Treasury 90s) by Christine Flynn

Author:Christine Flynn [Flynn, Christine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Contemporary Romance, Women's Fiction, Forever Love, Bachelor, Single Woman, Sensual, Hearts Desire, Life-Changes, Second Chances, Honesty & Trust, Home & Family, Pine Point MI., Bad-Boy Image, Notorious Rogue, Guarded Heart, Newcomer, Community, Risk Reputation, Worth Redemption, Feisty & Stubborn, Revitalize Feelings, Loner & Reclusive
Publisher: Harlequin Treasury-Silhouette Special Edition 90s
Published: 2011-07-15T04:00:00+00:00

She wasn’t in the café. Or if she was, she wasn’t answering his knock and neither of the keys he had fit the lock for the café’s inner door. Damon knocked once more, on the possibility that she was on the other side silently wishing he’d drop dead, and called her name again.

“Hannah, come on,” he coaxed, his deep voice echoing off the close white walls. “I need to talk to you.”

“I’m up here.”

He glanced up from where he stood on the landing. In the light of the single bulb illuminating the long stairwell, he saw her at the top of the second flight of stairs. A door stood open behind her.

“I need to explain something.”

“There are some things a woman doesn’t want to hear, Damon. And you don’t need to tell me you have a girlfriend.” Her glance darted toward the side of his neck. “I’ve already figured that out. It’s just nice to know there are still men around who don’t cheat.”

Abject confusion washed over his face. “What?”

“Isn’t that part of why you didn’t...”

“Kiss you?” he suggested, since she couldn’t seem to get it out.

He knew by her silence that was exactly what she meant, and he had no one to blame but himself for the conclusion she’d drawn. It was one he’d allowed, after all. It had served his purpose at the time, created the distance he wanted, needed.

With anyone else, he’d have let the impression stand. With her, he couldn’t. She’d never judged him the way everyone else had.

“May I come up there?”

She didn’t look terribly pleased by the request. Still, she held her hand palm out and motioned him in, then disappeared through the doorway herself. He followed, taking the steps one at a time, buying himself another minute to figure out how to say what he wasn’t totally sure he could explain to himself.

She was on the opposite side of the room when he closed the door behind him.

This was different from walking into the café. The café was hers, but it wasn’t personal. Not like this. This was private space, and it was filled with vibrancy, color and mementos of things she cared about. The end table and mantel held pictures of young people and old. Relatives and friends, he supposed. Every frame was different, as if it had been picked just for the person or people in the photograph. Pillows in lake-country shades of lupine and daffodil were scattered over a deeply cushioned navy blue couch. A yellow-and-white-striped overstuffed chair faced the end of the dark wood coffee table in front of it. Plants, a brass box and ornate vases were tucked among the books in the wide bookcase. Scraps of fabric filled a basket, some of the pieces fitted together in the beginnings of a quilt. It was as black as pitch outside, but the room seemed filled with sunshine.

Except for the faint chill coming from opposite him.

“What did you want to explain?”

“Can I sit down?”

“Go ahead.”

“Will you?”

He motioned to the sofa.

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