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

There was no filming on Saturday and most of the cast and crew headed to Seattle to take advantage of the time off. Hannah received a text from Christian at ten in the morning that read, You coming to Seattle, yes or no? I don’t care either way. And while it was incredibly hard to pass up such a kind and generous invitation, Hannah was anxious to get some sister time with Piper. With Brendan back on terra firma to entertain his parents, the captain very wisely handed Piper his credit card, grunted at her to be careful, kissed her like the sky was falling, and nudged a dazed Piper toward Hannah, who waited in the driveway pretending to get sick over the public display of affection.

“Okay, but seriously,” Hannah said, climbing into the passenger side of Brendan’s truck, which they were borrowing for the day. “Does your vagina ever get tired?”

Piper snorted. “Sometimes I swear it is, but that’s just my cue to hydrate.” Hannah fell sideways onto the seat laughing, her sister ruffling her hair with an indulgent smile. “When he’s doing it right, it never gets old.” Piper checked her makeup in the rearview, smacked her lips together, and started the truck. “Someday you’ll have a reason to agree.”

Hannah didn’t like where her mind went—and it went there immediately.

The way Fox stared at her last night as she’d walked into her bedroom.

He must not have expected her to glance back over her shoulder or he wouldn’t have had that look in his eye. Honestly, the word “seductive” normally sounded ridiculous to her. A word that reminded her of old Sharon Stone movie trailers. Or maybe she’d hear it once in a while flipping through cable where the coffee commercials lived.

Seductive blends. Seductive aroma.

She’d never really considered the true meaning of the word until now. Fox was attractive. Like, insanely so. That was a given. But last night, that look in his eye had accidentally given her a peek behind the curtain, and it was like setting foot in a new country with a different currency and climate. She would even venture to call his expression smoldering. He’d been thinking about sex—no mistaking it. And while she’d be lying to say there wasn’t always a current of physical tension running between them, she’d always assumed Fox just gave it off all by himself. It came with the territory of being in his vicinity.

Last night was different.

Last night, for that brief moment, all of that potent sexual energy had been concentrated on her, and she’d heated like an oven, the knobs on her awareness turned to the highest setting. Did he want to sleep with her? The fact that he’d given her advice on how to capture Sergei’s attention made the possibility seem remote. But the mere thought of Fox wanting her was like skydiving. A free-falling, leave-her-stomach-in-the-air event.

At UCLA, she’d dated one of her fellow music history majors, that relationship lasting just over a year. It was serious enough to introduce him to her parents and take a vacation together in Maui. But her interest in him had mainly been based on convenience, since they had classes together, and he didn’t make a fuss when Hannah retreated into her headphones. He’d just hop on the Xbox and zone out, too. After a while, the relationship turned into a competition of finding ways to ignore each other—definitely no reason to use the word “seductive.”

Even while nursing her crush on Sergei, she’d dated. An extra she’d met on set, fresh from a farm in Illinois, following his dream in Los Angeles. A stunt coordinator who spent the entire date hitting her with classic movie trivia, which she didn’t technically mind—they were social media friends now—but there’d been no viable connection.

In other words, she’d been playing in the minor leagues.

If that kiss at the party was any indication, Fox was in a major league all his own when it came to intimacy. Sure, she’d known that. In theory. He was a certified Casanova and didn’t even bother trying to deny it. Experiencing those skills last night, putting that knowledge into practice, had been eye-opening to say the least.

She was pretty sure her brain and ovaries had briefly swapped locations during that kiss.

If he wanted to sleep with her—and come on, it was entirely possible she’d misread him—what would she do with all of that . . . seductive smolder? Why couldn’t she stop thinking about it now? How he would move. How he would groan when the relief hit. What the fronts of his muscular thighs would feel like against the backs of hers.

He would do it right.

He’d dehydrate the shit out of her.

“Hannah.”

“What?” she shouted.

Piper squeaked and swerved the truck, shooting Hannah a wide-eyed look. “I asked if you wanted to stop for coffee.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Was she sweating? “Of course I do.”

Hannah shook herself, focused on counting the white lines painted in the middle of the road. Guilt settled into her stomach like sediment in a wineglass. No more thinking about Fox in those terms. Sex terms. The kiss, followed by that hungry look, had just thrown her for a loop. Now she needed to get back on track. Back to batting in the minors. Back to her harmless crush on the director. She’d probably misread Fox, anyway.

After they stopped for giant lattes smothered in caramel and whipped cream, Piper drove Hannah about forty minutes south to an outdoor shopping mall. They spent the day browsing racks but were too busy talking and catching up to buy much of anything, although Piper walked out of the lingerie store looking very superior with a little pink bag, and Hannah bought a new pair of round tortoiseshell sunglasses. They spent most of their time together lingering over lunch at a cozy French bistro, continuing to order more and more coffee so they wouldn’t get kicked out.

The sky was darkening by the time they headed back to Westport, Hannah singing along to the radio, badly, but her sister was used to it.

“Hey,” Piper said when the song had ended. “Brendan is bringing his parents into Cross and Daughters tonight. Come and meet them?”

“As if I would pass up a chance to meet those responsible for spawning the Mean One?” She tugged the phone out of her pocket. “Let me just text Fox.”

Piper sniffed loudly.

“I’m staying with him. It’s the polite thing to do.” Hannah started to fire off a quick text, then hesitated. “Should I invite him?”

“It’s Saturday night—he doesn’t have”—her sister looked at her meaningfully—“plans?”

“Plans, like . . . oh.” Her stomach had no right to drop. “I—I mean, he didn’t mention anything. Like a date. But if I invite him, the worst he can say is no.”

Why was she nervous he would turn her down? Tell her he was headed to Seattle for his usual recreational activities? What Fox did with his time was none of her business. Her fingers hovered over the screen for a few more seconds before she tapped out a text.

HANNAH (7:18 PM): Heading to Cross & Daughters with Piper if you’re interested.

A minute later, he answered.

FOX (7:19 PM): See you there, Freckles.

Hannah let out a slow breath and tipped her head back against the seat. The speed with which her stomach calmed was alarming. But it did. Like a raging sea turning into a tranquil lake in the space of four words. What was that about? Did she simply covet the short length of time she had to spend with a friend? That was totally possible, right?

They walked into Cross and Daughters a little while later, the evening crowd only starting to trickle in. Hannah’s heart squeezed the moment she stepped over the threshold, bombarded by images of her and Piper sanding the old, neglected bar, finding that photograph of Henry behind a piece of plywood, sprinting to the door with a flaming frying pan, getting ready for the grand opening. So many memories packed into such a small space. And there was a definite satisfaction that came from looking up and knowing she was the one who hung the gold, spray-painted fishing net from the ceiling.

Piper slipped behind the bar to consult with Anita and Benny, the newly hired waitress and bartender Piper had told her about over lunch. Her sister looked so confident, pointing out things on the drink menu, answering a question about how to operate the register. A year ago, Piper had never seen a checkbook, let alone balanced one. Now she owned and operated a successful bar.

God, Hannah was proud of her.

“You okay over there?”

She turned at the sound of Fox’s deep drawl, finding him leaning back on a bar stool, one arm resting along the back of the seat, the other steadying a beer bottle in his lap. There was no help for the prickles that ran along her scalp, down her neck, and around to the front, hardening her nipples into points. It happened so fast, she didn’t have time to think of something to counter the effect, like slugs or snot or foot fungus.

Fox watched it happen knowingly, too, the blue of his eyes deepening a shade as they dipped to her breasts, the beer bottle lifting to his sculpted lips for a long, hard pull.

Get yourself together, Hannah.

This was simply the effect Fox had on women. But she didn’t have to be like everyone else and let it become A Thing. She could acknowledge his attractiveness and remain objective, right?

“Hey. Yes. I was just, um . . .” Begging herself to stop being an idiot, Hannah hopped onto the stool beside him. “I was just remembering all the work that went into this place.”

He nodded. “You girls brought it back to life.”

She nudged him with an elbow, sighing inwardly when his firm muscle didn’t budge in the slightest. “You helped.”

“I was just here for the company,” he said quietly, holding her gaze long enough to turn her stomach into a jungle gym. Then, as if forcing himself to switch gears, he reached over and tapped her nose. “What do you want to drink?”

“Hmmm. No liquor. I filled my yearly quota last night. Beer, maybe?”

“Beer it is.”

Fox nodded at Benny and ordered something vaguely German-sounding. A moment later, Hannah was sipping on a cold pint glass full of a golden substance, an orange wedge stuck on the rim. “This is good. This is beer?”

He grinned. “Uh-oh. Someone is going to fill their yearly beer quota, too.”

“Oh no. Not me. I have to be on set in the morning.”

“We’ll see.” Cockily, he crossed his arms. “You haven’t been here in a while.”

Hannah paused midway through a sip. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She never got her answer, because at that same moment, Piper poked her in the shoulder, presenting Brendan’s parents with a flourish. “Hannah, this is Mr. and Mrs. Taggart. Michael and Louise, this is my sister, Hannah.”

Oh, these were Brendan’s parents, all right. No mistaking it. They were stiff shouldered and serious, not at all comfortable in the bar setting. But they were trying, even if their smiles were distracted. Without looking at Piper, Hannah could feel her sister’s nerves over having her future mother- and father-in-law in the bar, so Hannah did what she did best. She called forth her inner hype girl.

Putting on a broad smile, Hannah slipped back off the stool and leaned in to kiss the cheeks of the older couple, squeezing their hands at the same time, drawing their full attention. “It’s so lovely to meet you. Are you enjoying your time back in Westport?”

Louise’s tension unlocked slightly. “Yes, we are. Not much has changed about the town and I find that quite comforting.”

Like mother, like son, huh?

“Piper has been telling me all afternoon how incredible it has been to have you visiting them. You should be worried about her locking you in the house and not letting you go.”

Louise chuffed a little, her cheeks tinting with pink. “Oh. Well, isn’t that sweet.”

Hannah nodded. “She even created a signature cocktail for your visit. The . . . Taggart-tini. Right, Pipes?” Her sister stared back at her unblinking, a smile frozen on her face. “What are you waiting for? Get back there and make them one.”

Piper turned and circled around to the other side at the pace of a sloth.

Wanting to buy her sister some time to actually create the Taggart-tini, Hannah laid a hand on Fox’s arm. “You must know Fox, right? He grew up with Brendan.”

It was impossible to mistake the slight cooling in Louise’s temperature. Very subtle, but Hannah detected it in the pinch around the corners of her mouth. “Yes, of course we do. Hello, Fox.”

Fox turned slightly and nodded at the couple. “Good to see you, Mr. and Mrs. Taggart.” His smile seemed forced. “Hope you’re having a nice visit.”

“We are, thank you,” Michael said, equally stiff.

Hannah frowned inwardly at the exchange, itching to address it with Fox, but Piper chose that moment to slide two cloudy red martinis across the bar. “Here it is!” Piper sang through her teeth. “The Taggart-tini.”

“Oh, well, I couldn’t possibly . . .” Louise started, clutching her collar.

“Oh, but you will, won’t you?” Hannah passed the drinks to the couple, helping them clink their rims together. “One sip won’t hurt.”

Twenty minutes later, Louise had Piper’s face in her hands, her words ever-so-slightly slurred. “I have never seen my son so happy. You are an angel. An absolute angel, isn’t she, Michael? Our son smiles now! It’s almost disconcerting how often he smiles, and you—you are going to give me grandbabies, aren’t you? Oh please. You angel. My son is a lucky man.”

Piper looked over at Hannah, blinking back grateful tears.

Thank you, she mouthed.

Hannah let out a satisfied exhale and went back to her beer, which was unfortunately warm now, realizing after several moments that Fox was staring at her. “Damn, Hannah. That was nothing short of masterful.”

She gave a subtle bow. “The power of alcohol, Peacock.”

“Uh-uh.” Adamantly, he shook his head. “That was all you.”

“Piper was having a hard time relating to Louise. They just needed a little push, that’s all. Who doesn’t love Piper?” She looked back over her shoulder to where Louise was now attempting to slow dance with Piper to a power ballad. “Let’s see if my sister is still grateful tomorrow when she’s got a hungover future mother-in-law on her hands.”

Fox chuckled. “Nothing some greasy potatoes can’t cure. The important thing is, the ice is broken.”

Don’t bring up the weird exchange between Fox and Louise. Don’t. Why do you always have to address every little thing? “Speaking of ice . . .” Nice segue, Barbara Walters. “Did I imagine a little awkwardness between you and Brendan’s mother?”

He took his time answering. “Nah, you didn’t imagine it.” His laugh crackled as he shifted in the chair. “Nothing serious. They were just protective of Brendan growing up, and I was, you know, the bad influence on her otherwise perfect kid.”

There was no bitterness in the way he said it. Just making a statement.

“Do you think you were a bad influence?”

“No,” he said slowly, after several seconds had ticked by. “I was, uh . . . promiscuous before the other guys my age were ready. But I’d never put pressure on anyone else to do . . . what I did. What I do,” he amended quickly. “God, no. I’d never do that.”

It seemed like he wanted to say more. A lot more.

Hannah wanted to hear it. That explanation masked something deeper, but he was already restlessly ordering them both another beer, changing the subject to what she’d done that day. The obviously sore topic was forgotten, and soon they were laughing. Other members of the Della Ray crew steadily made their way through the door and joined the group, until they were all crowded around two stools, telling stories, Hannah getting reacquainted with the locals who’d come to mean so much to her last summer.

She didn’t have this in LA. And she’d missed it. A lot.

Back home, she went to work and went home. Every once in a while, she’d go out for a drink with her coworkers at Storm Born, but she never got this feeling. The one that said she was in the right place. That she was home and would be accepted here, no questions asked. Every time. During a particularly long-winded story from Deke, Hannah felt Fox watching her and looked back, the alcohol thrumming along in her veins, sending goose bumps riding in a slow wave up her arms and neck.

Right, it’s the alcohol.

In a daze, she watched as he wet his lower lip, rubbing the moisture together with the top one, leaving his mouth looking fresh and male. His heavy-lidded blue eyes never leaving her.

Seductive blends. Seductive aromas.

Sharon Stone.

Go home, you’re drunk.

“It’s time for quarters!” Benny called out behind the bar, ringing a bell that was mounted above the register. “Who are tonight’s victims?”

Fox took Hannah’s wrist and raised her hand before she knew what was happening.

“How about sister versus sister?” Brendan shouted from the back of the bar.

Hannah and Piper locked eyes through the crowd like two western gunslingers.

“It’s on!” Hannah cried.

The bar erupted in cheers.

So much for going home.

* * *

Fox tipped back on his stool to get a better view of Hannah where she was holding court in the middle of the bar, competing against her sister in the silliest game of quarters he’d ever witnessed.

The game had one rule.

Bounce the quarter off the table. Land it in the pint glass.

But in Cross and Daughters, there was a twist. Every time a player landed a quarter in the glass, they had to tell the entire bar an embarrassing fact about themselves. The tradition started one night when a sunburned tourist decided to play quarters and was somehow convinced this rule was the norm. What started as a way to razz an out-of-towner had become standard game play.

Hannah hadn’t even flinched at the rules, just nodding as if they made perfect sense. Not for the first time, he marveled over how easily she fit into this place, like she’d always been there. She’d come here last summer and gotten a part-time job at Disc N Dat, melding seamlessly with the younger generation slowly making their mark on this old fishermen’s town. What would life here be like if the pair of Bellingers hadn’t shown up? Brendan would still be wearing his wedding ring, years passing as he turned harder, more closed off. Fox . . .

Nothing would be different on his end, he thought hastily.

He’d be exactly the same.

So, all right. Maybe he wouldn’t be standing on the edge of the crowd, with a smile on his face a mile wide, watching Hannah laugh so hard she could barely stand up. There was no helping it. She felt like the sunrise coming up over the water after a bad storm. And she was terrible at quarters. Her only saving grace was that Piper was worse.

Both of their quarter rolls had run out before getting a single one in the glass. Now they were scooping quarters off the floor into their pockets and getting back in position, trying to compete while doubled over in laughter. Fox wasn’t the only one held in complete thrall, either. The locals were enamored with both sisters, but he couldn’t for the life of him take his eyes off Hannah. The entire place surrounded the girls, cheering them on—and finally, finally, Hannah got a quarter in the glass, sending the customers into a frenzy.

“What’s your embarrassing fact?” Fox shouted over the noise.

Hannah cringed. “I failed my driver’s test because I kept changing the radio station.” She held up some fingers. “Three times.”

“What she lacks in concentration behind the wheel, she makes up for in driving me home from jail,” Piper added, laying a kiss on Hannah’s cheek. “Just kidding, Louise!” she called to her gaping mother-in-law, sending her and Hannah into a fit of hysterics. She almost lost her balance completely, and Fox figured that was his cue to take her home.

He set his half-empty beer down on the closest table and approached Hannah, acutely aware of everyone within earshot, including Piper and Brendan. They were already wary of Hannah staying in his spare room. Every word out of his mouth, every action was being scrutinized to gauge his interest and intentions. The last thing Fox wanted was another “talk” from Brendan. He’d had enough of those on the boat.

So he tried to sound as casual as possible when he stopped in front of Hannah, ducking down a little to her level until their eyes met. “Hey, I’m heading home if you want to walk with me.” Briefly, he met Brendan’s eyes. “Or stay and get a ride. It’s up to you.”

Without a doubt, if she went with option number two, Fox knew he’d sit in his room and wait until she was safely inside.

“I should definitely go now if I don’t want to be a zombie on set tomorrow,” she said, turning and throwing her arms around Brendan and Piper. “I love you guys. See you soon.”

“We love you, too,” Brendan said, patting her on the head and earning heart eyes from his wife. Not that he saw it, because he was busy giving Fox a death stare.

Right.

It was easy to see what his friend was trying to communicate to him.

Walking out of the bar with Hannah would send the wrong signal. A bad one. Get everyone’s tongues wagging and ultimately make her look bad. God, that was the last thing he wanted. He needed to be more careful. As of now, they’d kept her temporary stay in his guest room pretty quiet, but leaving the bar together on a Saturday night would whip up any speculation that might already be brewing.

“I’ll meet you outside,” Fox said in a rush, turning and walking blindly through the crowd with a pit in his stomach. When he stepped out into the cool spring mist, he couldn’t resist looking back through the window from where he’d just come, watching Hannah wave to everyone on the way out, getting caught up in long good-byes, until finally she joined him in the nighttime shadows.

Without a word, Hannah linked their arms together, laying her head against Fox’s shoulder, the show of trust cementing right over the hole in his belly.

“Jesus, Freckles,” Fox said, tracing the part running down the center of her head. “We need to work on your quarters game.”

She gasped. “What do you mean? I won!”

“Ah, no. You were the least-worst loser.”

Her laughter rang down the misty street. “What is the advantage of winning when you have to tell people something embarrassing about yourself? It’s backward.”

“Welcome to Westport.”

She sighed, rubbed her cheek against his arm. “On nights like this, I think I could live here.”

Fox’s heart lurched so hard he had to wait a moment to speak. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. But then I remember what a crazy idea that is. I can’t live in Westport and continue working in entertainment. And the bar . . .” She smiled. “The bar is Piper’s.”

Well, that’s that. Right?

How the hell would he handle it if Hannah moved here, anyway? He’d see her constantly. Every Saturday night would be like this. Pretending to her and everyone watching that he didn’t want to take her home. Really take her home. And once that happened, well. He’d be screwed. He’d have broken his own rule about not hooking up in Westport, fucked his relationship with Brendan, and potentially hurt Hannah’s feelings. It was best for everyone if she stayed in LA.

But tell that to the disappointment so heavy that it almost dragged him down to the cobblestones.

They turned right on Westhaven and crossed the street, walking along the water without verbally agreeing to it. “Do you love the ocean as much as Brendan does?”

There she went, asking him questions that made him think. Questions that wouldn’t allow him to skate by with a quip—and he didn’t really like doing that with Hannah, anyway. He liked talking to her. Loved it, actually, even when it was hard. “I think we love it in different ways. He loves the tradition and structure of fishing. I love how wild nature can get. How it can be more than one thing. How it evolves. One year, the crabs are in one place, the next they’re in another. No one can . . . define the ocean. It defines itself.”

Hannah must have been holding her breath, because she blew it out in a rush. “Wow.” She looked out over the water. “That’s lovely.”

He tried to ignore the satisfaction of being acknowledged and understood because of something that came out of his mouth. It wasn’t often that happened to him. But he couldn’t shrug it off, so he just let it settle in.

“Okay, I think you’ve convinced me. I want to hunt king crabs.” Hannah nodded firmly. “I’m going to be your newest greentail.”

He couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.

She better be joking.

“A rookie is called a greenhorn—and that isn’t happening, babe. You can’t even keep your balance during quarters.” An actual shiver blew through him thinking of Hannah on the deck, fifteen-story waves building in the background. “If you hear me screaming in the middle of the night, you’re to blame for my nightmares.”

“I can just be in charge of the music on the boat.”

“No.”

“You got me feeling all romantic about the ocean. It’s your fault.”

He looked down into her face and finally, thank God, was positive she was joking. And goddamn. In the moonlight, her amused features, her shining eyes . . . they were a masterpiece. His body thought so, too. It liked her mouth most of all, how she moistened the lush pillows of her lips, as if preparing for a kiss. Who wouldn’t kiss this beautiful girl, so full of life, in the moonlight?

Fox lowered his head slightly. “Hannah . . .”

“Be careful of that one,” someone shouted from across the street. “Run while you can, girl.”

Laughter broke out, and Fox knew, before turning to look, that it would be the old-man regulars from Blow the Man Down, smoking outside in their usual spot. The same men he’d made jokes to hundreds of times about his exploits in Seattle. Because it was easier to give them what they wanted. Laugh with them, instead of being laughed at. Make the joke, instead of being the joke. And above all else, don’t let them see how much it all bothered him.

Hannah blinked several times and stepped back from him, as if becoming aware of her surroundings and what had almost happened between them. They’d almost kissed. Or did he imagine that? It was hard to think with the warning signal going off in his head. Jesus, he didn’t want Hannah to hear the kind of garbage that came out of these men’s mouths.

“Who are those guys?” she asked, leaning slightly to look past him.

“No one.” He took her wrist and started walking at a fast clip, glad she’d worn sneakers so she could easily keep up. “Just ignore them. They’re drunk.”

“Your mama didn’t warn you about tomcats like this one? Make sure he shells out the cab fare—”

Hannah skidded to a stop beside Fox, yanking her arm free.

Before he could get ahold of her again, she’d marched halfway across the street.

“Hey, scumbag! How about you shut your mouth?” She jabbed a finger at the leader, and his cigarette froze on the way to his mouth. “Mamas don’t bother warning girls about jerks like yourself, because no one would come within ten feet of you. Smelly old ball sac!”

“Now hold on. It’s just a bit of fun,” offered the man.

“At whose expense?” Hannah shouted, turning in a circle, searching the ground.

Fox, who’d been standing behind her completely dumbfounded, caught between awe and self-disgust, forced his throat to start working. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for something to throw at them,” she explained patiently.

“Okay, how is Piper the one that ended up in jail?” He wrapped a forearm around her waist and shuttled her down the street toward his building, no idea what to say. None. He’d never had anyone stand up for him like that.

And he didn’t want the breathless warmth winging its way into his chest. Would never be ready for the . . . dangerous hope that started to rise to the surface. Hope that if this girl believed he was worth a damn—enough to defend him in the street like this—maybe he was worth the effort?

No. Been there, done that whole dance with optimism. Wanted no part of it.

Right?

“Hannah, you didn’t need to do that. In fact, I wish you hadn’t.”

He really didn’t enjoy the flash of hurt in her eyes. “They were way out of line.”

“No, they weren’t.” He laughed, even though it felt like razor blades. “They know it’s okay to make those jokes to me, because I make them about myself. It’s fine.”

“Yeah, it really sounds fine,” she murmured, allowing Fox to pull her up the stairs of his building, standing silently as he unlocked the door. Part of him, honest to God, wanted to throw his arms around her and say thank you, but no. No, he didn’t need a defender. He’d earned that ridicule, fair and square, hadn’t he?

The last seven months were nothing but an anomaly.

Even if his celibacy, even if the constant of Hannah’s friendship, had made him feel better about himself than he had in years.

They walked into the apartment, and Fox turned on the one and only lamp.

He wanted to shut himself in his bedroom, before the shame of Hannah witnessing that ridicule on the walk home seeped out through his pores and turned visible, but he couldn’t let her hurt expression be the last thing he saw that night. So Fox did what he did best and made light of it. “Have to admit, I’m pretty impressed by your creative use of the term ‘ball sac.’ Ten out of ten.”

Her lips crept up into a smile on one end. “Are we okay?” She wet her lips. “Are you?”

“Everything is fine, Freckles.” He laughed, the empty apartment mocking him. “Get some sleep, huh? See you in the A.M.”

After a moment, she nodded. And that’s where he left her, staring after him thoughtfully, halfway between the kitchen and the front door.

As soon as Fox was alone in his bedroom, he dropped his forehead to the cool door, barely resisting the urge to bash his head against it. Obviously he hadn’t fooled Hannah into thinking he didn’t give a shit about anything. That life was just a series of pleasures and amusements for him. This girl, she saw through it. Worse, she wanted to reach him. But he couldn’t let that happen.

And he knew exactly how to prevent her from looking too deeply.