11. Arthur

11

ARTHUR

I waited for Hannah in the kitchen, hands tight around a cup of tea, my heart residing in my throat. Had we pushed things too far last night? Memories of her ecstasy argued with my sense of propriety. She was drunk. We’d taken advantage. I had to make things right.

The kitchen door opened. Footsteps drifted my way, then stopped. “Arthur?” She spoke with a husky, sleep-ridden voice. “Planning another food fight?”

I grinned despite the tension riding my shoulders and threatening to pull my face into a scowl. “Not today.” I forced a sip of tea down my throat. “Did you sleep well?”

Hannah rounded the counter and stopped in front of the coffee pot. “How do you work this thing? I need caffeine. A lot of caffeine. And aspirin.” She rubbed her temples with the heels of her hands.

“What kind of coffee would you like?” I slid off the stool.

“Coffee. The regular kind. Nothing fancy.”

I chuckled and made her a plain black coffee.

Mug in hand, she shuffled over to the kitchen island and sat. “I slept fine. You?” Eyes closed, she blew on the hot liquid before taking a slow sip. “Now that's good coffee.”

“We get it from a special company in California. They slow roast their own beans.” I was getting sidetracked. Hannah acted pleasant enough, but the hangover symptoms worried me. Had she been more inebriated than I thought? If so, we’d well and truly screwed up. “I’m sorry about last night.”

She sat up straight, her eyes flying open. “What do you mean?” Cold anger deepened her blue gaze, followed by a flush that crawled up her neck. “Never mind. Of course you’d be sorry and regret what happened. Look at me,” she pointed at herself, then flipped her fingers in my direction, “and look at you. We’re not even in the same ballpark. It’s like a bad version of Pretty Woman.”

“No.” I held up both hands in a stop motion. “Wait a minute.” I delved deep into my core and dredged up the words I knew I needed to say but found disconcerting to admit out loud. “I do not regret last night.”

“You don’t?” Surprise took over her expression. “Then why the apology?”

I was aware of my tendency to assess situations and come to traditional conclusions without any input from outside sources. I’d assumed Hannah would feel ashamed of our actions and ran with that thought in mind. “It’s been said that people sometimes feel I am judging them.” I winced at the bitter tang of regret rolling up. “It drove my ex crazy. I’m a traditional man.”

“Nothing you did last night was traditional.” She wiggled her hips and scooted back onto the stool. “What’s this really about?”

All this sharing made my nerves jangle but I forged ahead. “I enjoyed every minute of last night. I was worried you would have regrets. Last night was unconventional. But make no mistake, I have no misgivings about what we did.” Morals and respect demanded that I ensure Hannah felt at ease. The large kitchen shrank to nothing more than the island where we sat. Nothing mattered except knowing how she felt.

Both hands around her cup, she stared at me over the rim. “Arthur, I had a great time. It was single-handedly the best sex of my life.” A devilish grin appeared on her lips. “Maybe not single -handedly, but still.”

A laugh surged out at her audacity. “You’re incredible. I’m glad we were able to please you.”

“Your ex is a bitch if she can’t see how amazing you are.” Hannah hopped off the stool and walked toward me. Her pajama shirt hung loose off one shoulder, exposing her clavicle and the hollow of her throat, along with the slightest curve of her breast. She reached my side and placed both hands hesitantly on my chest, the look in her eyes almost cautious, as though she needed permission. I nodded, and she rose onto her tiptoes.

Her lips skated over mine and I returned the kiss, sliding my hand around her waist and pulling her between my knees. Her hands roamed my chest, then moved up to my face and into my hair. We stayed that way until we both ran out of air and came up gasping for breath.

“Is it okay if I ask about your ex?” Hannah traced the line of my jaw with her fingers. “What happened between you two?”

I’d never talked about it with anyone other than Scott and Ryland. They both sided with me, but they were men and my friends. Perhaps a new perspective was needed. “I am not much of a talker. My ex called me a brick. Said I was a cold and unfeeling bloke who refused to discuss his feelings.”

“Is she right?” Hannah asked it with a directness that I found refreshing. “A lot of men have trouble talking about their feelings. It’s not anything new.”

“You’re more understanding than she ever was.” I tugged her close enough to wrap my arms around her waist. “When she left me, she blamed my lack of emotions, citing my callous demeanor as a hostile environment for our daughter to grow up in.”

Hannah stilled. “You have a daughter?”

“Yes. Her name is Megan. She’s nineteen.” My desire for Hannah to understand eclipsed my usual need to back away. “We’re estranged. I haven’t seen her in a few years.”

Her surprise ebbed. “I hate that for both of you. A girl needs her father. And you don’t strike me as the kind of man who would neglect his child if given the chance to know her.”

The fact that she understood me so well after so short a time deepened the connection between us. “I’ve reached out multiple times. All to no avail.”

“Tell me more. What brought you to America?” She grinned, adding, “That sounds like a line from a movie.”

“Pretty sure it is.” I relaxed my grip so she had the chance to leave if she wanted to. She stayed, and the warm feeling that started last night fisted around my heart. “I came here to attend university. Met three cool blokes at Harvard when they shoved us all into a room together.” Years of memories played out in my mind. “We shared everything.”

“Even women?” A cute wiggle of her hips slid her between my thighs.

I nodded. “A few times, yes. It isn’t a thing we do regularly though.”

“What about the fourth man?” Her scent muddled my head. She was all sweet heat and fiery passion. “What happened to him?”

My desire fizzled as grief took over. I dropped my hands to my legs to force space between us. Talking about Henry always put me in a foul mood, but I answered Hannah’s question because she deserved the whole story if she was to have any chance at understanding us and what we’d lost.

“He passed away several years ago from an unexpected illness.”

Hannah sank onto the stool beside me and took my hand between both of hers. “I’m so sorry. I know that’s not an adequate condolence, but it’s all I have to offer. Death sucks, and I think it’s especially hard in situations when it happens suddenly or due to unforeseen circumstances.” Her lower lip trembled. “I lost my dad a few years ago. It’s not the same kind of grief, but I do understand.”

I stacked my hand on top of hers, connecting us in a shared bond of grief and understanding. We shared our sadness and let each other linger in the moment. Emotions I’d put away years ago roared to the surface, blotting out the rest of the world. Stunned silence infiltrated my mind as I realized Hannah and I shared a natural connection through loss.

“What was he like?” She whispered the question as though to offer reverence.

I stroked my thumb over her knuckles and rewound the years. Henry lived in my memories, his presence bright and full of life. “He was a traditionalist like me. We both wanted the same things. A wife and family.” I stopped and kissed her palm. I had always been more willing to explore than Henry. He knew about our sharing but never wished to participate. We’d respected his wishes and never gave him a hard time about his preferences.

“He sounds like a great man.” She squeezed my fingers. “Did he marry?”

“Yes.” Strangled memories ground out the word in a harsh rasp. “He found love and marriage and had a family. But it was not all happily ever after.”

Hannah’s head tipped to the side. “What do you mean? There’s more heartbreak beyond his death?”

Sadness threatened to drown me. “Henry’s tale is indeed tragic. His wife died in childbirth. The love of his life was taken to bring his family to fruition.”

A deep, shuddering inhale raised her shoulders to her ears. “That’s awful.”

“Yes, it is. And then, for him to pass at such a young age…” Why did tragedy strike Henry’s family with such brutal efficiency? He’d been gone from our lives for years. We’d lost contact with his daughter and had no reason to seek her out. We were strangers to her, strangers who had nothing to offer except tales of a father she barely remembered. Perhaps we should have tried harder to stay in the girl’s life. We’d been locked in our own grief, allowing it to cause us to immerse ourselves in our businesses. Ryland left the country for eight months, his longest consecutive trip. He’d sent messages to let us know he was okay, but it hadn’t stopped me from worrying that grief would pay us a second visit.

Warm fingers gripped mine tightly. Hannah leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “I’m sorry, Arthur. And I hate to leave this stool, but I need to prepare breakfast.”

“It’s okay.” I released her hands. I’d learned to deal with everything on my own. Life had taught me never to rely on anyone. Scott and Ryland were slight exceptions, but even they were not privy to the full extent of my inner turmoil.

Hannah broke the moment of connection at the right time. Had we stayed like that much longer I risked more than attraction. She walked away from me, and a premonition that I accept her absence as fact invaded my thoughts.

I longed for it to be wrong. I’d yearned for the kind of closeness I felt with Hannah. She made the days tolerable, changing the tapestry of my daily routine and calming the chaos in my life. I’d developed an aversion to change. Or perhaps I’d always possessed it, simply allowing it to take control after losing access to my daughter. Routine turned to misery after years with nothing to brighten my life.

The brutality of my marriage falling apart and losing my daughter, it was all part of me, locked deep inside. I hoarded pain so that it kept me from feeling anything else.

Hannah threatened that shield. She offered a chance to take back the beauty of my life and shape my future into something bright and bold.

“No pancakes today.” Hannah turned on the stove and grinned at me over her shoulder. “We used all the pancake batter and I forgot to buy more.”

“I suppose we’ll have to make do.” I pretended to frown, but it refused to stay in place when Hannah bounced my way. “What are your plans for today?” I asked her.

I needed the distraction to keep from dragging her back into my lap and burying my grief in a rousing fuck fest. Knowing she’d enjoyed last night opened the door to many possibilities; causing me to almost share my conversation with Scott and Ryland after he’d put her to bed. Would Hannah consider expanding all our horizons for the summer? We had more to offer than one night beside the pool.

Hannah cooked as she talked, her words and actions full of life and vitality. She looked my way, and the same look of desire I felt shone in her. We were not done. Not by a long shot.