Chapter 1

chapter

one

Hannah

My brother is famous. Like, he's been on Good Morning America famous. He's a bestselling writer of scary books. I don't read them. I buy one copy each and donate it to the local library in our home town. But I don't do scary.

I'm not brave or bold. I tried that once and now I have a six-year-old daughter to show for it. She's the light of my life, but she is also a bringer of chaos. She's the reason I get out of bed every morning with a smile, but also the reason my belly will never again be flat.

Right now, though I'm dressed in real clothes with a push-up bra on and make-up and matching shoes. Like an honest-to-God adult who has a social life. As far as I can tell, I don't have any food stains on my clothes. I don't even have any goldfish crackers in my purse.

Abby, that's my daughter, is with her grandparents for New Year's Eve. They're the only connection she has with her father. He's out of the picture.

So back to me being dressed up and out in public. I'm here in New York city with my brother, Eli and his girlfriend—nope fiancée—because they got engaged like a hot minute ago. Eli is having a big book signing and even though it's New Year's people are actually here.

It's pretty cool watching him be the big author up close and personal. I'm used to him just being my big brother. All the women here are fawning all over him, but he only has eyes for Joy. He's been like a new man since she came into his life.

I wasn't even planning on coming on this trip. I wasn't too keen on being a third wheel, but they both insisted. I think they just didn't want me alone on a holiday.

I'm leaning against the wall near the back of the room, rather than in the crowd that's sitting in the chairs. I wanted to save those spots for his real fans. But I'm taking it all in. I had to peruse my phone when he did the short reading because again, no scary for me. Now though the audience is just asking him questions.

"So if you don't like horror novels, why are you here?"

The quiet, deep voice comes from beside me. I glance over and then have to tilt my head to look up. I'm tall for a woman, five feet nine, but this guy towers over me. He's got to be several inches over six feet. When my eyes reach his face I gape.

He has the broad shoulders of a professional athlete and the chiseled features of a male model—one of those guys with enough scruff on their jaw to model flannel or advertise heavy machinery. He looks like a man who knows how to wield a chainsaw.

But looks can be deceiving, because I recognize him instantly and I know he doesn't model or compete professionally. At least not in a physical sport.

Despite that, I feel heat creeping into my cheeks and the thudding of my heart ticks up.

Dammit, do not have a reaction to him. Him, of all people.

"Don't talk to me," I hiss, pulling my gaze from him to stare blankly forward, so it doesn't look like we're talking.

When he doesn't say anything else, I shoot a look in his direction, hoping he's at least moved away. But he's still right there. Next to me.

His eyebrows shoot up and he gives me a wicked grin. "Why not?"

"Because you are the enemy," I whisper.

He puts a hand to his chest and looks surprised. "Me?"

"Yes, you. You're Colton Briggs and that," I point at my brother, "is Elijah Payne. The two of you are nemeses. Nemesis. Whatever. The point is I am here for him, not you."

He chuckles and the sound is so low and intimate, it makes my nipples harden. Well, that's weirdly unexpected.

"You're a spitfire. I like that."

"Spitfire?" I roll my eyes. "Who says that?"

"I said that." He jabs his thumb into his chest. "Colton Briggs. And you are?"

I am tempted to not answer. But he's clearly not going anywhere and refusing to answer seems childish. "Hannah Payne."

"Ah, now that makes sense. I know you can't be Joy because I've video chatted with her before."

I nod. "Gingerbread house thing."

"Horror house, but yes. So you must be the sister. Older or younger?"

I narrow my gaze at him. "Well, that's rude. You do not ask a woman her age or her weight."

His eyes take on a wicked gleam as they slide over my entire body.

Oh good heavens, why does he have to be so attractive? He's got long hair that I've seen him wear in a man bun, but tonight it's around his shoulders in luscious brown waves that most women would kill to have. He's got several days' worth of growth on his face, but it's not yet a full-blown beard. Just enough to make him look scruffy in that rueful, carefree kind of way. Though he's got a green Henley on, I can see ink peeking out at the ends of his sleeves and the top of the neckline.

He takes a step closer and leans down so that his ear is dangerously close to my ear. His scent is all yummy man…hints of spice and mint and sex. No, that's not right. I just clearly have sex on the brain. It has been a long time.

"Here's what I think," he says.

His breath flutters against my ear and my nipples tighten further and it makes my clit throb. Evidently this man's voice is the equivalent of porn for me.

"I think you look like you're old enough to know when a man is hitting on you. And you look like the perfect weight for me to hold up against a wall."

I suck in a breath and swallow wrong and end up choking on my own saliva. Yes, folks, I am this cool. Try not to be jealous.

He pats my back and Eli looks up at me, then frowns when he sees who's standing next to me. One of the clerks from the bookstore hustles over with a tiny plastic cup of water and a look that seems to reprimand me for daring to choke during Eli's Q&A. Several people in the audience glare at me for interrupting him. And now I've made an ass of myself in front of everyone.

I'm tempted to tell them they should get over themselves. My brother may be stupid talented, but I remember when he was seven and he used to cry during rainstorms because he was afraid of tree branches.

Before I can muster my indignation, something unexpected happens.

Colton's big hand is no longer patting my back, he's rubbing soothing circles and it's been so very long since a man has touched me like this.

I wave my hand to let my brother know that all is fine, but he's got a laser eye aimed right where Colton's arm disappears behind my back. And now the other women in the room have realized who else is here and I'm fairly certain there will be puddles of drool on the carpet before the evening is over.

A couple of the women shoot me envious looks, like they think I'm actually here with Colton.

Clearly, these readers have overactive imaginations.

Because this man next to me, while incredibly sexy and obviously charming, is way too young for me. And no matter what he said, I don't believe he's actually interested in me.

"I'm more than old enough. And I'm way too old for you. Why aren't you flirting with some of the pretty young things in the audience?"

"Because when I stepped into this room, my eyes locked on you and as far as I can tell, there are no other pretty women in sight."

Oh wow. He's good. I school my features into sardonic skepticism, because I can't let him know that. "I'm sure you say that to all the women. But I'm old enough to know better."

"You keep mentioning your age. Why is that?"

I turn my head to face him and looking at him head-on is dangerous. He's so handsome I nearly forget what I was going to say. And yeah, he's tall. Like maybe six foot, five. And so broad. How the hell does a man end up with shoulders like that when I know he spends his days behind a keyboard writing scary stories just like my brother?

"I don't know what game you're trying to play or if this is just your attempt to goad my brother, but it's not going to work."

His gaze moves over my face, his lips quirking up, as though my admission amuses him. "You're gorgeous."

I roll my eyes. Was I pretty once? Yeah, I guess I was. There was a time, in my early twenties, when I got enough attention from men to gratify my ego. Then in my mid-twenties, I got enough attention from one man in particular to learn that attention from men is an empty promise. So, yeah, he isn't saying anything I haven't heard before.

So I arch a disdainful eyebrow in his direction. "I sit on my ass most of the day designing websites and the spread of said ass shows exactly that."

I don't add that I haven't been on a date in nearly eight years and I live in a town where I know everyone so there have been no casual hookups in that time either. My flirting skills are as rusty as the tricycle my daughter left out in the rain when she was three. And that I still haven't thrown away, because what single mom has time for that shit?

His eyes sweep over my body again and linger on my hips, then my boobs. I'm not a small woman. I'm what some would call big-boned. I carry my extra padding fairly well because I'm tall, but the truth is, I could definitely afford to lose probably fifteen pounds. Okay, more like thirty, but no one has a scale here.

"What I hear is that you desperately need a man to spend some time reminding you that you're a desirable woman."

I snort.

"And I'm offering."

"Wow, don't do me any favors."

He shakes his head and for once that cocky smile of his slips. He leans in further. "Hannah, you're the most beautiful woman in this room. Fuck, I'm pretty sure you're the most beautiful I've ever seen. I've had half a hard-on since I laid eyes on you and I'm dying to touch you, kiss you."

I know better. God knows, I know better.

Still, I feel the heat of his words working their way under my skin, painting pictures in my mind.

Despite myself, my gaze flickers in the direction of his groin. Not that I have to look to guess at the size of that half hard on he mentioned. A guy this this? This tall, this broad? Yeah. I'm guessing basic biology means he's proportional.

Suddenly, I feel a little light headed. Like maybe I've been subconsciously holding my breath, imagining his cock.

Which is just silly.

But, still … when was the last time I saw a naked man in person?

Actually, I don't have to wonder, because I know exactly. Abby's sperm donor had come over, late one night, hoping no doubt for a quick hook up. He was mostly naked when I blurted that I'd just realized I was pregnant.

Pretty sure no man in the history of the world has gotten dressed that fast. If he'd been a cartoon, he would have left a male-shaped hole in my door as he fled.

Since then, it's been vibrator city for me. Which is fine. It's enough.

But it's still not like being touched by a man. Being held. Feeling a man's skin under your fingers. Holding the weight of him in your hand.

And, God help me, I miss all those things.

Of course, the upside is a vibrator doesn't get you pregnant and then abandon you. A vibrator doesn't toy with your emotions or your expectations.

Despite all my good judgement, I feel like my expectations are already being toyed with.

Well, maybe not my expectations, so much as the expectations stirring in my lady bits.

Expectations which are only growing, since Colton is still so close. And so yummy smelling. So I elbow him in the ribs. "Go find another way to torture my brother."

"This isn't about your brother. I came over here to meet you and I had no idea you were related to Eli. Besides, that guy's my hero." His gaze flickers to the spot where my brother sits still glaring in our direction while answering a question from the audience. "I have no war with him, no animosity. That's all internet marketing."

Not from Eli's end, though I've never bothered to ask my brother for details. Maybe it is just a silly competition between them.

Of course, it doesn't matter one way or the other if the rivalry between Colten and Eli is real or fabricated. It has zero impact on me. It isn't my business. Because Colton isn't my business.

Just like it doesn't matter how ridiculously hot he is. Because nothing is going to come of this. Nothing at all.

Because I'm a mother, for goodness sake! And he's?—

I search Colton's face. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-four."

"Oh my God, did you like just graduate from college? I could have been your babysitter."

His waggles his eyebrows. "That would have been so hot."

The humor in his voice does nothing to diminish the effect of his murmur.

Which is just stupid. Because I'm not buying it, falling for it, or imagining what he looks like naked. Yep, that last part is just a damn lie.

I roll my eyes. "You're ridiculous."

Then his hand slides down my back and grips my waist, and that steady pulse in my long ignored lady bits beats a little faster. God, it has been so long.

Colton leans closer again and when he speaks, I can feel his breath on my ear. "Just have a drink with me."

The sensation of his breath on my neck is so intense I nearly shudder. Jesus, am I really that desperate? Am I really so hard up for an actual physical man—not an imagined man, not the vibrator I sneak into the shower late at night, but a living, breathing man—that I'm actually considering this?

"One drink," he coaxes in that low, voice of his.

Yes. Yes, I am.

I am that desperate. I am the needy. I am considering it.

I look over at my brother and his table is not surrounded with readers waiting to get their books signed.

Then, quickly, before I change my mind or common sense returns, I blurt, "No drinks."

I look up at Colten. How is it possible that a man's lips can look so soft? Does he moisturize them?

"One night," I say, keeping my words pragmatic to hide the tremor in my voice. "No strings. And it has to be at your place because I can't risk my brother seeing you at the hotel."

His eyes darken a shade and I think his pheromones are making me lust-crazed.

"Let's go now while Eli is occupied," I say.

He holds his hand out to me and I take it. Once we're in the back of a cab, I send a quick text to Joy to let her know that I've gone back to the hotel without them and I'm not feeling well. At least then maybe they won't worry about where I've gone.