Out Of The Blue (The Wrong Bed #12)(4)

"Hannah? Is that you?"

"What—what are you doing here?" Oh gee, wonder why she couldn't catch a man. But she was truly stunned to see him since only six weeks ago he'd nearly been killed in the line of duty, shot down by some gangbanger.

Alexi had taken the news very hard, and it had been Hannah who held her best friend while she cried during that first agonizing telephone call. "I thought you were still recuperating," she added. "Are you okay? Should you be up and about?"

"Yep to both, especially since I've only one week left on my first vacation in ten years." He grinned again, and it quite simply took her breath.

It was all coming back to her, the horribly humiliating teenage infatuation—which had absolutely not been reciprocated. He'd been kind to her, yes, and as she was a friend of his baby sister, he'd also been indulgent and protective.

But other than that, Zach had been far, far out of her reach; too wild, too gorgeous, too everything. Avila had smothered him, he'd hated the tight confines, the lack of adventure. Which had been everything she loved about the peaceful, sedate town.

Then he'd left her world to become a cop of all things, and they hadn't seen each other since.

Why should they?

He lived the wild, exciting life he'd always wanted and she … she lived hers the way she'd always wanted, with a few exceptions. Okay, one exception—her lack of a love life, which of course brought all sorts of erotic images to mind, images best not thought about at the moment.

Why? Because Zach was standing right in front of her looking a bit wicked, definitely gorgeous, and just a tad dangerous. He was back and her tummy had gone all tight, her toes were still curled and all sorts of currents were racing through erogenous zones she hadn't even known existed.

Because of one simple smile.

Damn Alexi and Tara for putting thoughts of wild sex in her mind.

Toilets, she reminded herself. Eleven of them in the inn. They were hers.

"Who knows when I'll have a whole week to myself again," he said, leaning back against the doorjamb and studying her in an openly assessing way. "I've been promising Alexi I'd come ever since the three of you opened this place."

And he'd finally come.

Right now, tonight. Just as she'd decided maybe she should lose her virginity once and for all. At the thought of losing it with this tall, leanly muscled, rugged man she'd once known, she nearly slid to the floor in a boneless mass of jelly.

"It's nice to be here," he said, still smiling, still gorgeous.

Darn him.

"Well, it's nice to have you," she said, meaning it more than he could know. Alexi had been so worried about him, they'd all been. He'd nearly died, yet it seemed so surreal to think of that when he was standing there in the flesh, looking so … so alive. "Are you really okay?" she asked softly.

"Yeah, I'm really okay … or I will be after I sleep for a week." He shook his head as he studied her. "It's hard to believe how long it's been. You've…" His gaze dipped downward slowly, past the ever-so-lovely apron she wore—not!—all the way to her sandals, then slowly back up again. "You've gone and grown up on me, Hannah."

Oh boy. So had he.

He was still big, still powerfully built, standing there with the casualness of someone totally at ease anywhere. There was a toughness to him that reminded her of what he did for a living, an edge that hadn't been there before, a dangerous one, tempered with restraint.

But it was just Zach. She knew him. Or she had. He dressed the same, in a simple polo shirt and faded, soft-looking jeans.

Nothing else looked soft though, not those long, powerful legs or—

A warm flush stole over her and she guiltily jerked her gaze up to meet his, and found herself just as fascinated by what she found there.

His mouth might still be curved in that sexy, slow, lazy smile, but he wasn't amused, not really. In fact, Hannah would have bet her next paycheck that those fine lines fanning out from his baby blues were from exhaustion, maybe even pain. So was the slight slump to his mile-wide shoulders. His dark, silky-looking hair was on the wrong side of long, curling over his collar, and disheveled, as if he'd run his fingers through it often.

But it was the faint shadows beneath his eyes that grabbed her, and the tense way he held himself in spite of his smile, as if he were close to keeling over. He didn't look like the decorated cop she knew he was. He looked tired, almost brooding, and unsettled.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Confirming her suspicions, he yawned. "I'm just really beat," he said simply, rubbing a hand over his face. "Long drive, long day. Six weeks out of commission and I'm out of shape."

He didn't look out of shape to her, not then, and not now when he stretched, the movement slow and unconsciously sensual. Hannah found her gaze glued to all those long limbs and fabulous muscles, her mouth suddenly dry.

"I really need a bed," he told her.

Unbidden images flashed through her mind; silk sheets, bare, hot skin pressed against more bare, hot skin; long, drugging kisses… Oh my.

Could she really do it? Could she really make love with him?

As he stretched again, he let out a low, rough sound from deep in his throat.

Oh yeah. She could. Definitely. "Um… Does Alexi know you're here?" An idea stirred, formed. "Never mind," she said. "Just sit." Gently, she pressed him into a chair, her hands burning from just touching his broad, exhausted shoulders, her mind racing with the possibilities. "I'll go get you a room."