Last Light(40)

I tilted my head and waited for her to say more, but she only smiled at me. Mm … beautiful Hannah with her little secrets. Fair enough.

“It’s better that I don’t know,” I said after a while. “As long as it’s not a tell-all memoir about me, hm? Suddenly you’ll be auctioning off my e-mails.”

We returned to the bedroom with our arms around one another. A small part of me refused to relax, and it pricked at me as we dressed and chatted.

Really, how could I be so stupid? I thought removing Night Owl from the Net would solve all our problems, but it only made more.

That morning, Hannah and I went for a walk in the woods. I showed her where I jogged and told her about the owls I sometimes heard at night. I displayed my giant pile of firewood. “Impressive.” She giggled. She was all levity again, and I found myself smiling as I watched her.

We attempted to build a snowman in front of the cabin, but the powder wouldn’t hold. Hannah flung snow at me and I tackled her soundly.

When we got back inside, Hannah showed me a pair of long underwear and told the story of her anxiety-fueled packing. We cackled.

“I’ll wear it sometime,” I said, “and take a few hot pics for you.”

She made tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch, and I gave her a glass of white wine. We settled down to watch Luhrmann’s new version of The Great Gatsby.

I watched Hannah more than I watched the screen. It was pure pleasure, to see the nuances of emotion playing over her face.

I refilled her glass and she frowned at me.

“Matt, are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Mm.” I wedged the cork in. “Drunk on cheap wine so I can have my way with you.”

“It’s not that bad.” She sipped her wine and squinted. “But I … don’t want to be all tipsy and silly while you’re sober. I feel bad.”

I leaned in to kiss Hannah’s neck. I felt her pulse against my tongue. “I think you’ve seen enough of me drunk in a cabin for one lifetime, Hannah. Besides…” I set the bottle on the coffee table, “my tastes are way too refined for this shit.”

Hannah huffed and smacked my arm.

I loved Hannah “all tipsy and silly,” with her ready blushes and laughter. I knew that only I saw that side of her. When it came to work, she was professional and brisk. In social settings, she was friendly and polite, but finally reserved. She bloomed for me.

And I did have my way with Hannah that afternoon. When the movie ended, I took her out onto the deck and made her hold the rail while I slid a hand into her pants. I exposed her to the cold bit by bit, lifting her sweater and unclasping her bra, peeling down her pants and thong. I spanked her until her moans rang through the forest.

When I was ready, I made her tell me how she wanted it—hard and fast or sweet and slow. Hard and fast, she said. A good answer.





Chapter 23


HANNAH


Sunday arrived with the unsettling feeling of departure. I woke alone and shuffled into the main room, where I found Matt seated at his desk. The set of his shoulders—just that—told me we were going to have an argument.

He didn’t turn.

As I was fixing my coffee, he said, “I’m not happy about this.”

I frowned over at him. God, I couldn’t get used to seeing that silky black hair where I expected dirty blond. I wondered how long he’d been awake. He wore a pale long-sleeved shirt and black fleece pants, and even those casual clothes fit him so elegantly. He must have looked like that when he was alone, relaxing at his desk, writing. Without me.

Matt turned and caught me staring.

“What? About what?” I said.

“You leaving. I’m not happy about it.”

He rose and began to prowl through the cabin, stopping at windows to study the landscape. I watched him again, and I smiled. He couldn’t be happy with a weekend. He was angry all the time—in his passion, in his contentment—as if he needed anger to survive.

“Matt, I’m not happy about it either.”

“Then call Pam and take a sick day.”

“No.” I blew steam off my coffee. “I’m sorry, but I won’t do that.”

“Why? Why not?”

“Don’t be childish, Matt. It’s my job, it’s my dream job, and you of all people should know that Pam can smell a lie for miles.”

Matt glared a challenge at me from across the room. I met his gaze and shook my head. In bed, he could boss me around all night—and all day, for that matter—but not outside of it.

“Besides”—I swirled the spoon in my mug—“I’ll drive up next weekend.”

“Don’t you want to spend another day with me?” Having failed with anger, Matt shifted into a far more persuasive mode: Mopey Matt. He flopped onto the couch and snatched a pillow, which he began to pick at and examine. When I said nothing, he set aside the pillow and went for Laurence, opening the rabbit’s cage and leaning in to talk quietly to him.

Oh, Lord. He was like an outsized nine-year-old but with a man’s guile. I grinned down at my coffee. To laugh at him now would be a mistake.

“Baby, of course I want to spend another day with you. I want to spend every day with you, but we can’t, and you know that. You wanted this…”