Hook, Line, and Sinker: A Novel (Bellinger Sisters Book 2)

Fox cracked open an eye that felt like it had been welded shut.

When he saw the explosion of sandy-blond hair draped across his chest, a smile spread across his face, his heart lifting into his throat like an elevator and lodging behind his jugular. Hannah.

He didn’t move a muscle. Yes, because he didn’t want to disturb her. But mainly because he wanted to savor every little detail, soak them into his memory bank. Like the slope of her bare back, the dusting of tiny freckles that popped up along that smooth column, like stars in the sky over the ocean. He’d look at those stars completely different now. He’d revere them.

Very slightly, he lifted his head so his gaze could traverse her spine, lower to the sexy backside she’d definitely begged him to spank last night in the middle of the third . . . fourth round? They’d barely made it in the door before he’d stripped her down and carried her over his shoulder to the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them. And there they’d stayed, only emerging once for chocolate ice cream and a sleeve of graham crackers.

To call it the best night of his life would be an inexcusable understatement. He’d been right to tell her everything. Because if he thought she was perfection on legs before, she’d completely unlocked now. Gone was the hesitation in her eyes. Apparently, opening up meant getting more in return. Considering he’d never get enough of Hannah, being honest was definitely the way to go.

What else could he give her, though?

Permanence, whispered a voice in the back of his head.

A sharp object materialized in his gut, prodding, digging in.

This morning he left for five days on the water. When he came back, the movie would be wrapped. Sweat broke out on his skin when he thought of her boarding that bus, but what the hell could he do about it? Ask her to move in? He’d just gotten over the hurdle of admitting his feelings—and not even the extent of them. Not the part about being in love with her. Not yet.

She had a job back in LA. The career she wanted as a music coordinator would almost definitely have to be based there. So what was the plan? Ask her to move to his empty-walled bachelor pad and spend three to five days out of every week without him? Or did they do the long-distance thing?

That second option gave him fucking hives.

His cute, perfect, freckle-faced girlfriend running around LA being cute, perfect, and freckle-faced without him? He’d want to bang his head against the wall nonstop. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her; it was the possibility of her finding a better, more local option. A long-distance relationship between them would incite the critics, too, no doubt. They didn’t know he’d been faithful to Hannah. They wouldn’t even believe it if he told them how easy it had been. How he couldn’t fathom wanting anyone else. Like he’d told Hannah yesterday, having their ridicule connected to her? Whether it be the implications that he’d break her heart, use her, or turn out just like his father and cheat?

That he couldn’t live with.

But what other option did he have but long-distance? For now, at least. Until they’d spent at least five seconds as boyfriend and girlfriend, right? Until she was positive that Fox was good for her. What she wanted. In a way, he’d been in a long-distance relationship with Hannah since last summer. Now that feelings had been acknowledged, being separated would be a lot harder, but he would do it. He’d get down to LA as much as possible and lure her to Westport any damn way he could.

And eventually, when they were both ready, there would be no luring necessary.

One of them would simply leave their life behind.

If Hannah was the one to do that, would she regret it, though? What would he need to do to ensure that didn’t happen?

Hannah yawned into his chest and smiled up at him sleepily, sending his pulse sprinting in dizzying circles. And he should have known. He should have known that the second she was awake, looking at him, everything would be all right.

I’ll just talk to her.

Problem solved.

“Morning,” came her muffled greeting against his skin.

“Morning.” He trailed his fingertips up and down her spine, eliciting a purr of appreciation. “How’s your tush?” He cupped the buns in question. “Sore, I bet.”

Her laughter vibrated through them both. “I knew you were going to bring up the spanking thing.” She lightly wormed a finger between his ribs. “I’m never going to ask again.”

“You won’t have to.” He grinned. “I know what you like now, freaky girl.”

“I was caught up in the moment.”

“Good. That’s exactly where I want you.” Fox caught Hannah under the arms and flipped her over, rolling on top of her, fitting their curves together with a groan and staring down at the most incredible sight imaginable. Hannah, naked. Tits decorated in love marks from his mouth. Blushing and giggling in his bed. How the hell was he supposed to leave for five days? Who could expect that of a man? “You’re so damn beautiful, Hannah.”

Her amusement died down. “Happiness does that to a person.”

Talk to her. It always, always works.

She intertwined their fingers on the pillow, like she already knew. Of course she did. This was Hannah. The first and last girl he’d ever love.

“Your time here went so fast,” he said thickly, looking her in the eye.

Her nod was slow. Understanding. “Now we’re under the gun to figure it out.”

The pressure of shouldering the worry alone dissipated like it was never there. Just like that. The truth will set you free. Apparently that wasn’t just a generic phrase uttered by some politician three hundred years ago. “Yes.”

“I know.” She leaned up and kissed his chin. “It’s going to be okay.”

“How, Hannah?”

She wet her lips. “Do you . . . want me to be here when you get back?”

Pressure came spilling back in, caking his organs in cement. He scrutinized her eyes, finding nothing but earnest hope. “Was that . . .” He choked on the words. “Was it even a possibility that you wouldn’t be here? Jesus Christ. Yes, I want you here.” He swallowed a handful of spikes. “You better be here.”

“I will. Okay, I will. I just wasn’t sure if this was . . . if you expected me to know this was a one-time thing. Or casual, maybe. Like we could spend time together whenever I come to visit Piper . . .”

“It’s not casual.” Fuck. His throat had lit itself on fire. “How are you even asking me that?”

She inhaled and exhaled beneath him, seeming to mull something over.

“What’s going on in your head?” he asked, getting right up close, pressing their foreheads together, as if he could extract her thoughts. “Talk to me.”

“Well . . .” Her skin turned clammy against him. “It’s just, you know, Seattle isn’t far, and there are opportunities for me, for what I want to do . . . there. It’s a creative job, not a nine to five. I probably wouldn’t have to commute constantly. Just occasionally. I could think about relocating. To be closer to you.”

The first emotion he experienced was utter relief. Euphoria, even.

They wouldn’t have to do long-distance and he could see her every day.

The second was complete awe that he could make this girl want to uproot herself to be near him. How the hell had he managed to pull that off?

But the panic crept in, little by little, blanketing his awe.

She was talking about moving closer.

Now.

Living with him, really. Because that’s what it would be, wouldn’t it? When someone relocated to be closer to their boyfriend, they didn’t live in separate apartments. Was she sure about him? That sure? Look how many times he’d come close to messing up this entire thing with Hannah already. Pushing her toward another man. Trying to sexualize himself so she’d do the convenient thing and disregard him as a player like everyone else. What hope did he have of giving her a reliable future?

They would laugh at her, too. Behind her back.

They’d think she was out of her goddamn mind, moving all the way north for a man who’d never been serious about a plate of fries, let alone a woman. He’d never even nurtured a houseplant. Would he be able to nurture an up-close-and-personal relationship with a live-in girlfriend? In a way that was worthy of Hannah? He refused to take the helm of the Della Ray. He was a walking innuendo among his friends and family. Now he had the audacity to believe he could be the right one for this girl?

Maybe she needed the long-distance time to be sure. He wouldn’t be able to stand it if she dropped her life, her career for him, and then realized she’d acted impulsively.

“Hannah . . .”

“No, I know. I know. That was, like, really jumping the gun.” She sounded winded. So was he. She reached for her phone on his side table, lighting it up. “What time does the boat leave this morning?”

“Seven,” he responded hoarsely.

That was it? The conversation was over?

He’d had fifteen seconds to make a decision that would determine her future?

With an exaggerated wince, Hannah turned the screen so he could read it: 6:48.

“Christ,” he groaned, forcing himself to roll off her deliciously bare body, dragging the duffel bag out from beneath his bed without taking his eyes off her once. He hated the indecision on her face, like she was suddenly feeling out of place in his bed, but hell if he knew what to do about it. What could he say? Yes, move here. Yes, change your life for me—a man who just got the bravery to admit his feelings less than twenty-four hours ago. A really huge part of him wanted to say those things. Felt ready for anything and everything with this girl. But that remaining niggle of doubt kept his mouth shut. “Hannah, please be here when I get back.”

She sat up, shielding her body with the sheet. “I said I would. I will.”

Talk to her.

Fox stood and crossed to his dresser, ripping out boxers, socks, thermals, shoving them into the bag. Heart in his throat, he stopped to look at her, cataloguing her patient features one by one. “I don’t have enough confidence in myself to ask you to . . . change your life, Hannah. Not this fast.”

“I have confidence in you,” she whispered. “I have faith.”

“Great. Would you mind sharing it?” God, why was he speaking to her so angrily, when all he wanted was to crawl back in the bed and bury his face in her neck? Thank her for having that faith, reward her for it with strokes of his body until she was delirious? “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking to you like that when you’ve done nothing wrong.” He gestured between her and the duffel bag. “You think you could fit in here so I could bring you with me? Because an hour from now, I’m probably going to be sick over leaving like this.”

“Then don’t leave like this.” She came up on her knees and shuffled to the edge of the bed, still clutching the sheet between her breasts. “Kiss me. I’ll be here when you get back. We’ll leave it at that.”

Fox lunged for her like a dying man, dragging her body up against his and fusing their mouths together. Tunneling his fingers through her unbrushed hair, tilting her head, slanting his open mouth over hers, rubbing their tongues together until she moaned, her body sagging into him. He’d be leaving the harbor with a hard dick, but so be it. She was well worth the discomfort.

His fingers curled around the top of the sheet with the intention of ripping it off, giving her one more orgasm just to hear her call his name in that husky way of hers, and Fox knew he had no choice but to go. He’d never leave otherwise. He’d stay inside her all day, wrapped up in her scent, the sound of her laughter, the drag of skin on skin. And it would be the best. It would feed his fucking soul. But it didn’t feel right to make love to her when he couldn’t even commit to a course of action. Be confident in where they were headed, the way she was prepared to be.

He couldn’t do that. Not to Hannah.

Fox broke the kiss with a curse, shoveling unsteady fingers through his hair. He held her tight for too-short seconds until, regretfully, he pressed her back into the pillows and tilted her chin up. Making eye contact but already missing her like hell. “Sleep here while I’m gone?”

After a second, she nodded, her expression unreadable.

“Be careful out there.”

Her concern was like standing in front of a radiator, taking away the chill like only she could. “I will, Freckles.”

Leaving her there, he dressed quickly, pulling on a long-sleeved thermal shirt, jeans, and a sweatshirt. Tugging thick socks onto his feet and shoving them into his boots. Fitting a cap onto his head. Restless now, he took one last look at her and walked out of the room.

Outside, morning mist enveloped him so that he couldn’t see his building after a few hundred yards, and the pit in his stomach grew with every step he took toward the docks.

Go back.

Tell her to move here.

That seeing her on a daily basis would be your version of heaven.

God knew it was the truth. A few minutes away from her arms and he was already back to being cold.

He stopped halfway across the street, purpose beginning to settle over him. What if he could make her happy? What if they could prove everyone wrong? What if she just stayed and stayed and stayed, so he could wake up every morning and feel fucking substantial and alive, the way he’d done today? He would do everything in his power to give her that same feeling, so she’d never regret leaving LA—

“Fox!”

Brendan’s voice beckoned him through the fog, and he took a few reluctant steps forward, the mist moving out of his way to reveal the harbor, the Della Ray in her usual slip in the distance. He nodded at his friend. They pounded fists.

Guilt he didn’t want to feel tripped and fell in his belly.

He’d been so consumed with Hannah and the separate reality they’d created together that he’d all but forgotten Brendan’s request that Fox keep his hands off his future sister-in-law. Realistically, nothing could have stopped him. His feelings for Hannah were too powerful to heed any kind of warning. That was obvious now. But the guilt wouldn’t be pushed aside. Not when Fox knew Brendan’s concern was warranted. After all, they’d been friends for a long time. While Brendan had been studying, learning the fishing business, Fox had been participating in very different extracurricular activities.

“What’s up?” Fox asked, shouldering his duffel bag.

Brendan’s gaze was unusually elusive. The captain was the type to look someone in the eye when speaking, impressing upon them his Very Important Words. “Something came up and I need to drive my parents home.”

Fox processed that. “They’re not flying?”

“No. There was some flooding in their basement while they were gone. Figured I’d drive them home and get it straightened out.”

“All right,” Fox said slowly. What was going on here? Brendan had never missed a job. Not once since Fox had known him. And surely if this was going to be the first time, he would have called and saved everyone the hassle of packing and hauling their asses down to the harbor. “So . . . the trip is canceled?”

The utter joy that blared through Fox almost knocked him over.

Five added days with Hannah.

He was going to be back inside her warmth in two minutes flat. And tonight he was going to take her to dinner. Wherever she wanted to go. A concert. She’d love a concert—

“No, it’s not canceled. I’m just handing over the captain duties for the trip.” Before Fox could react, Brendan was dropping the keys to the Della Ray into his palm. “She’s all yours.”

Fox’s relief screeched to a halt. Brendan was now busy folding back the sleeve of his shirt with jerky movements. His friend had never been very good at deception, had he? Yeah, he’d even showed up at school on senior ditch day while everyone else had gone to the beach. This was a man who’d stayed faithful to his deceased wife for seven damn years. He was as honest as the ocean glimmering with the sunrise behind him, and there was no way he’d forgo a fishing trip for a flooded basement. His responsibilities and his customs were stitched into his very fabric.

For the first time, Fox was envious of that.

Even while annoyance nagged at the back of his neck.

Brendan had absolute conviction when it came to making decisions and sticking to them. He knew exactly what he wanted the future to look like, and he executed the steps to make it happen. Proposing to Piper. Commissioning a second boat to expand the business. The only place Brendan seemed to fall short was the absurd belief that Fox belonged in a wheelhouse. Believed it so much that he’d stand there and lie.

Fox nodded stiffly, flipping the keys over once in his hand. “Did you really think you could pull this off?”

Brendan squared up, firming his jaw. “Pull what off?”

“This. Lying to me about some imaginary flood so I’d be forced to captain the boat. What did you think? If I did it once, I’d realize it’s meant to be?”

Brendan thought about holding on to his story, but visibly gave up after 2.8 seconds. “I hoped you’d realize the responsibility is nothing to be scared of.” He shook his head. “You don’t think you’ve earned the right? The trust that comes with it?”

“Oh, you trust me now? You trust me to captain the boat, but not with Hannah. Right?” His bitter laughter burned a path up his chest. “I’m all good to take the lives of five people in my hands. But I better keep my filthy hands off your future sister-in-law. I’ll break her heart. I’ll go behind her back. Which is it, Brendan? Do you trust me or not? Or is your trust just selective?”

Until Fox asked the question out loud, his voice absorbed by the mist around them, he didn’t realize how heavy the weight of that worry, that distinction had been. Just perched on his shoulders like twin stacks of bibles.

For once, Brendan seemed at a total loss, some of the color leaving his face. “I don’t . . . I never would have thought of it that way. I didn’t realize how much it bothered you. The whole Hannah thing.”

“The whole Hannah thing.” He snorted. What a paltry description for being so in love with her, he didn’t know what to do with himself. “Yeah, well. Maybe if you paid a little closer attention, you’d realize I haven’t been to Seattle since last summer. There’s been no one else. There will never be anyone else.” He pointed back at his apartment. “I’ve been sitting there for months, thinking about her, buying records, and texting her like a lovesick asshole.”

He closed his fist around the keys until they dug into his palm.

Was this what it would be like if he was with Hannah?

Constantly trying to convince everyone he wasn’t the careless tramp he’d once been? Even the people who were supposed to love him—Brendan, Kirk and Melinda, his own mother—had looked at him and seen a character beyond repair.

Hannah has faith in you. Hannah believes in you.

Fox was caught off guard by the hesitant vote of confidence that came from within, but it made him think maybe . . . just maybe there was a chance he wasn’t a lost cause.

Still, he allowed the thought to germinate. To grow.

If he could be a worthwhile friend to Hannah, if he could make that tremendous girl stick around and value him, his opinion and company, maybe he could do this, too. Be a leader. Captain a boat. Inspire the respect and consideration of the crew. After all, he had changed. He’d changed for the girl who was lying drowsy in his bed. In the beginning, she’d made some of the same assumptions about him that other people did. But he’d shifted her opinion, hadn’t he?

Could he do it with the crew? Could he be the more that Hannah deserved?

He’d never know unless he tried.

And when he thought of Hannah in the recording studio the day before, bravely voicing her opinion—taking chances and succeeding—he found the courage to reach down and tap into an undiscovered reserve of strength. Strength he’d gotten from her.

Fox forced a patient smile onto his face, even though his insides had the consistency of jelly. “All right, Cap. You win. I guess . . . I’ve got the wheel on this trip.”