Hook, Line, and Sinker (Bellinger Sisters, #2)(76)

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.