Raid (Unfinished Hero #3)(19)

“Thanks for letting us in. I’ll take those now.”

I avoided his eyes as he deposited my keys in my hand, my fingers closing around them instantly, and my hand dropped.

“Hanna, you gonna be okay?”

I looked up at him.

Raiden Miller in my foyer.

A dream come true then turning straight into a nightmare.

“I’ll take some ibuprofen and I’ll be fine,” I lied.

I wouldn’t be fine. Not for ever and ever.

“Can you hang on a second?” I went on to ask. “Before you go, I want to give you something.”

“Sure, honey,” he replied gently.

Raiden Miller calling me honey.

Gently.

Total nightmare.

I looked to my feet, tucked my hair behind my ear and hurried to the stairs. “I’ll just be a sec.”

I rushed up the stairs on the toes of my sandals.

I’d had the idea on the way home. It didn’t make sense at all, but the instant I had it I knew I had to do it. And I never knew I had to do anything the instant I had the idea, so I decided I was going to go with it.

I ran to my bedroom door and tossed my clutch and the keys across the room to the bed. Then I dashed to the spare bedroom where I kept my finished afghans and found the one I was looking for. A fluffy, black, loose weave cashmere already tied in a wide, dove gray satin ribbon with my signature tag on it. Heavy cream cardstock, and on it, in black, handwritten in the calligraphy I taught myself from a book after painstaking hours of copying, Made special… by Hanna.

I hastened down the hall, slowed my step at the stairs and again avoided looking at Raiden while I descended.

But I walked right up to him and held out the throw.

“I want you to have this.”

“Jesus, baby,” he murmured, his voice deeper than normal, and I looked up at him.

He was staring down at the afghan, his face strange.

He looked stunned, moved, pleased.

Really.

He was an amazing actor.

His eyes came to mine. “I can’t take this.”

I jerked it toward him. “Take it.”

He lifted a hand then dropped it and held my eyes. “It looks like a five hundred dollar one.”

“It’s a seven hundred and fifty dollar one.”

He did a slow blink. “Come again?”

“Cashmere,” I explained then jerked it at him again. “Please take it.”

“Hanna—”

“Take it.”

“Honey—”

“Please,” I whispered, my voice suddenly husky, “take it.”

He studied me closely as he took it then abruptly his head jerked down, and, as if he didn’t know his mouth was saying the words, he stated, “Fuck me, it feels like heaven.”

“Cashmere,” I repeated and his eyes came back to mine. “I had a nice night,” I continued, moving directly to the door, opening it then standing wide so he had plenty of room to get through. “Thank you.”

He looked at my feet then out the open door then at me.

He hesitated what seemed like days before he walked to me and stopped close. Too close. I had to tip my head way back (even in four inch heels!) and he had to dip his chin way down.

“Outside the headache, you okay?” he asked low.

“Outside the headache, peachy,” I lied and quickly concluded. “Thanks again for a nice night.”

Raiden didn’t move.

My heart kept breaking.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he told me.

Right.

“Okay,” I replied, though I didn’t know how he’d do that since he didn’t have my number. He also wouldn’t be able to do that because I was no way, no how picking up any call from an unknown number. And last, he simply wasn’t going to do that because he was totally lying.

“We’ll go to a movie,” he stated.

“Great. I like movies.” At least that wasn’t a lie.

He moved into me.

I moved back.

He stopped, his brows snapping together. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I should never drink red wine,” I shared.

Another lie. I loved red wine and it loved me, though in abundance it could make me maudlin, but I was three whole glasses away from maudlin.

Something else was making me maudlin.

“It always does a number on me,” I kept lying when Raiden didn’t move or speak. “But I just can’t seem to eat a steak without it.”

“Next time, beer,” he said.

Like there’d be a next time.

Raiden still didn’t move.

I didn’t either.

This lasted some time.

God! He wanted to “end this”? Why didn’t he end it?

“I should probably get some ibuprofen,” I told him on a prompt for him to leave.

“Doesn’t feel good, leavin’ you alone and feelin’ like shit,” he replied, and seriously, seriously, what was it with him?

He could just go.

Why didn’t he just go?

“I’ll be fine.” More lying.

“All right, baby,” he murmured.

I closed my eyes.

Baby.

“Hanna?”