Lost in Me, Page 7

  Chapter Three

  I’m confused when we pull up outside a building near the town square. “Where are you taking me?” God, this is awkward. Max Hallowell is driving me home. Max Hallowell is my fiancé. Max Hallowell may or may not be abusive.

  No. I don’t believe that. I’ve known Max all my life, and he’s sweet. Tender. He wouldn’t have pushed me down the stairs. But who? And why?

  It’s all so unbelievable that, if it weren’t for these bruises, I’d think this was all some sort of elaborate practical joke.

  “You live here now,” he says softly. There’s a little crinkle between his eyes that tells me this is all as weird for him as it is for me. “You moved here in May.”

  “Oh.” I moved here. Not we. Is it weird that I don’t live with him? Probably not. Mom still thinks it’s 1950 and disapproves of “premarital cohabitation” as much as she disapproves of premarital sex. Probably more, because at least you can hide premarital sex from the neighbors. “Does Lizzy live with me?”

  He shakes his head and brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. “You live here alone.”

  That surprises me, but I can’t think about it too long because the feel of Max’s rough fingers on my cheek has my eyes fluttering shut. I wonder if I’ve come to take this for granted. Max touching me. Max looking at me with all that tenderness in his eyes. I can’t wrap my mind around the idea of this being the new normal.

  “Come on.” He pinches my earlobe lightly between two fingers. “I’ll walk you up.” He climbs out of the car and rushes around to get my door, offering his hand as I step out.

  He doesn’t release me when I climb onto the sidewalk, just twines his fingers through mine. The storefront before us says Coffee, Cakes, & Confections, and the idea of it being mine takes my breath away. I’ve loved the simple chemistry of cakes and cookies and scones since I was a child. The smells comfort me in a way nothing else can. Feeding other people those delicious things? The best.

  He nods to the glass double doors. “That’s your bakery. You have an office there to meet with clients and a kitchen in the back where you do prep, but the front is all about coffee and baked goods.”

  “Any good?”

  “The most amazing things I’ve ever tasted.” He presses a hand to his stomach. “I think I’ve gained ten pounds since you opened it.”

  I quirk a brow. “Can’t tell.”

  He squeezes my hand. “Your apartment is upstairs.”

  We walk to the paved walkway at the back of the building, and I have to stop and smile at the gurgling water of the New Hope River. I grew up here, playing along the banks, and nothing says home to me like the sound and smell of the river.

  I slow as we approach the stairs. They’re wooden and look sturdy enough. They aren’t especially steep, and it’s August, so it’s not like they’d be slippery with ice. Was the doctor right? Did someone push me down the stairs?

  Max touches my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  “This is where it happened?”

  “Lizzy found you. Thank God she came by when you didn’t answer your phone.”

  “Does that seem as weird to you as it does to me?”

  He shifts awkwardly. “I don’t know, Han. My best guess is that you forgot to eat again and maybe your blood sugar tanked.” He strokes my cheek with his index finger. “You’ve been pretty bad about that since you opened the business.”

  Forgetting to eat? That doesn’t sound like me at all. I’ve pretended that I “forgot” to eat before, but I’ve never truly forgotten. Eating is my coping mechanism. My go-to when all else fails. But then again, with all the amazing things happening in my life, maybe I didn’t need to cope anymore.

  We take the stairs to the second floor, and I find myself hoping to feel a faulty step or find something I could have tripped over. If I’d passed out from not eating and hadn’t been conscious to catch myself, would that explain the force of my fall?

  When we get to the door, I rummage through my purse for my keys, but Max just grins and opens the door with a key on his ring.

  He has a key to my apartment. Of course he does. We’re engaged.

  He flicks on the lights, illuminating a spacious, open-concept loft. To the left is a little kitchen, the right a living room, and on the back wall, against windows overlooking the New Hope River, a tiny pub-height table and four chairs.

  “Wow. This is… Wow.”

  He cocks his head, watching me as I take in our surroundings. “Doesn’t ring any bells?”

  I frown. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”

  He nods. We went over this again and again at the hospital. What I remember (everything before a day approximately eleven months ago) and what I don’t remember (everything since), but I imagine this is as difficult for him to comprehend as it is for me.

  “Well, this apartment is yours, as is the bakery.”

  “I still can’t get over knowing I started my own business.” And not just any business. A bakery. The dream.

  He steps closer. “A damn good one,” he whispers.

  I tilt my head up to look at him. He’s half a foot taller than me. I wonder if that makes it difficult to kiss while standing. I’m sure I’ve kissed him before. How many hundred times do you kiss a man before wearing his ring?

  My heart pounds as his gaze travels from my eyes to my mouth and back. For as sweet as he’s been since I woke up in the hospital, for as many times as he’s kissed my hand or cheek, for as many times as he’s touched me, he has yet to properly kiss me.

  And I want to properly kiss Max more than I want to breathe.

  Without the memory of his kiss, this might as well be the first time.

  He skims his thumbs along either side of my jaw. “When Lizzy called and said you were at the hospital and unconscious, I was so damn worried about you. I felt like I’d lost half of myself. Don’t do that to me again, okay?”

  I force a laugh. “Right. I’ll try not to.”

  His gaze dips to my mouth again. “I want to hold you and never let go, and at the same time I’m too afraid that if I let myself touch you, I’ll hurt you.”

  “You’re not going to hurt me,” I whisper. Kiss me. Please kiss me.

  Then he does. He lowers his head and sweeps his lips over mine as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. As if he’s done it a million times. His kiss is soft but warm, and I slide my hand into his hair to encourage him. It doesn’t take much before his mouth opens over mine and I can taste his gum, his heat, his carefully harnessed control.

  He’s good at this, and my heart quickly goes from a nervous hammering to a stuttering, aroused racing.

  He pulls me close until my breasts are pressed against his chest and I can feel the long ridge of his erection against my stomach. When he breaks the kiss and nuzzles his face into the crook of my neck, he leaves one hand at my hip, his thumb skimming the skin just above the band of my jeans.

  This is my life. It doesn’t seem possible.

  I know he’s holding back, stopping himself. By the way his fingers are curling possessively into my hip, I can tell he wants more—and I want to give him more. My heart stumbles at the idea. More. With Max.

  Max lifts his head and runs his gaze over my face. His blue eyes have gone dark and smoky. Is that how he looks at me when I’m naked? God, I hope so. And yet, even with the changes in my body, the idea of his eyes on my nude form makes me painfully self-conscious. I’ve seen the women he’s dated. I’ll never compare to them.

  “Do you need to rest or do you want me to stay for a little bit?” There’s a painful edge to his voice.

  “Stay.” I flush and my teeth sink into my lip. “I’m a little nervous,” I confess, but even as I say it, I tug his shirt from his pants and slide my hands underneath it. I’ve had a crush on Max since I was thirteen years old, and now I finally have permission to touch him the way I’ve only dreamed of before.

  His stomach is washboard flat under my fingertips. As I trac
e the soft line of hair from his navel to the band of his jeans, his eyes float shut. His breath rushes past his parted lips. I remember admiring these abs when he was working on the deck at Arlen Fisher’s cabin. I guess that would be almost a year ago now. He had sweat trickling down his chest, and he was laughing with William Bailey about something. I remember looking at him and wishing I was the kind of girl he liked. Wishing I stood a chance.

  And now I’m wearing his ring.

  That knowledge fills me with confidence I never imagined having, and I release the button on his jeans and slide my fingers into the band of his boxers. He hisses and staggers back half a step.

  I flush with embarrassment. I shouldn’t have been so bold. I shouldn’t have assumed that—

  “You just got out of the hospital.”

  One look at his face and my insecurities fall away. He’s breathing hard, and there’s something tortured about the way he’s looking at me.

  “You’re not going to hurt me, Max. Please don’t worry about that.”

  He takes my hand and leads me to the couch. He sits first, but instead of taking the seat beside him, I grasp on to this newfound confidence and straddle his hips.

  He groans. “You’re determined to tempt me, aren’t you?”

  I shift side to side, adjusting my knees until his erection puts delicious pressure between my legs.

  “Hanna,” he breathes.

  There’s something in his eyes. Something so much beyond the tenderness he showed me in the hospital. Heat. “I don’t want you to hold back.” I press my mouth to his, and his hands instantly find my hips, his curling fingers betraying his true desires. I want more of that, more of this evidence that this is really happening, that this is really my life.

  “I can’t wait to marry you,” he whispers against my mouth. His fingertips roam over my jaw and across my collarbone as he shakes his head. “How did I get so lucky?”

  “Tell me about our first date.”

  His face splits into a grin. “You want to hear about how nervous you were or where we went or—”

  “How did it happen?” I settle my hand on his chest, loving the solid heat of it under my hand, the feel of his steady heartbeat. “I’ve had a crush on you for so long, but I thought you only had eyes for Lizzy. Did I finally work up the courage to ask you out?”

  Some emotion I can’t identify flashes over his face. “I asked you.”

  “Really?”

  “You joined the gym, and I could tell you liked me.” He shrugs awkwardly and slides his hands around from my hips to my ass. “Asking you to dinner was definitely the best decision I ever made in my life.”

  I’m engaged to Max Hallowell, and he says these amazingly sweet things to me. “Where did you take me?”

  “Sebastian’s.”

  My eyes go wide. “Fancy.”

  “I was determined to impress you.”

  “Ha! I liked you so much, you could have taken me to McDonald’s and I would have been impressed.”

  “Hanna—”

  I cut him off with my kiss. I press my lips softly to his and feel him relax underneath me. When his lips part and his hands tangle in my hair, I’m not kissing him anymore. He’s kissing me. His lips are gentle and persuasive, and I’m swept into that feeling that this is all some elaborate dream. And I don’t want to wake up.

  By the time our lips part, we’re both breathing heavily, and I lean my forehead against his. “What are we going to do if my memory doesn’t come back?” I whisper. The question has been nagging at me. “We’re supposed to be getting married and I’ve lost the entirety of our relationship. This must be so terrible for you.”

  His eyes go wide. “You’re worried about me?”

  “It doesn’t seem fair to ask you to start over.”

  “I’m not marrying your memories. I’m marrying you. And I would start over happily for you.”

  “This is all so surreal. I just keep waiting to wake up and find out it was all a dream.”

  He untangles his hands from my hair and slips them under my shirt. His touch is light and cautious of my bruises, but when his fingertips skim the underside of my breasts, he’s confident and sure—a wanderer returning to familiar territory. His thumbs find my nipples and my breath draws in with a hiss. I collapse forward, resting my head on his shoulder.

  “I’m here,” he whispers in my ear as his fingers work delicious magic under my shirt. “And I’m real.”

  I roll my hips against his erection, and I can’t deny it. He’s real. And he’s amazing.

  I slide my hand between our bodies and find his hard-on.

  “We shouldn’t do this,” he groans. His lips sample the side of my neck between his words. “Not until you’re better. Not until we’ve really had a chance to talk.”

  I know this isn’t the first time we’ve touched. It couldn’t possibly be. If I wanted to release him from his jeans and take him into my mouth, it surely wouldn’t be the first time for that either.

  In the war between my desires and my self-conscious nerves, my nerves are winning, and I won’t have that. If this is my new amazing life, I’m going to live it up.

  “I guess it’s stupid that I’m so nervous,” I whisper.

  “It isn’t. Not at all.”

  Anything else he planned to say is cut off by his groan as I unzip his jeans and release him from his boxers with one bold move of my hand.

  My breath catches at the sight of him, long and thick and hard. For me. I lick my lips, wrap my hand around his shaft, and stroke.

  “Jesus.” His eyes float closed and his hips buck instinctively, moving him hard against the grip of my hand.

  My nerves flitter away as he gets lost in my touch. He fights to keep his eyes open, his control intact. I may be a little on the inexperienced side, but I know how to give a damn good hand job. I had one asshole boyfriend my freshman year in college who demanded them regularly. Once, I regretted that relationship, but suddenly it feels worth it because I love the pleasure on Max’s face—the way he looks at me through his lashes, the way his nostrils flare as I use my thumb to test the moisture at the tip of his cock.

  “Hanna,” he chokes out, and I squeeze him a little harder. I can tell he’s close by the way he’s swelling. Harder. Thicker.

  I push off him and to my knees on the floor, never releasing him.

  He reaches for me, but I ignore his hands and lick the swollen head of his dick.

  “Oh, fuck.”

  I grin because he’s lost the battle with his self-control I never intended to let him win.

  I release him just long enough to slide my tongue up the underside of his shaft, and his body shudders. When I stretch my lips over him and take him deep, he groans, and I feel beautiful and powerful. My body winds tight with arousal.

  Max puts a gentle hand on my face. “You don’t have to—”

  I pull him deeper before he can say anything else. I don’t remember doing this before—blowjobs are definitely not in the limited realm of my remembered experience—but sixty seconds in, I can already tell what feels good to him and what makes him nearly lose control.

  I work my tongue over the underside of him and add more suction to my movement. His gentle hand moves to my head and slides into my hair. He leads me to take him half an inch deeper. Before I can even adjust to the new depth, he’s coming, filling my throat in a way I never would have imagined could be so sexy.

  Yet a smile curves my lips as I release him, as happy as I am turned on. And fuck am I turned on.

  He pulls me into his lap and gathers me against him.

  “That was amazing,” I murmur into his chest.

  His body shakes with his nearly silent chuckle. “I’m pretty sure that’s my line.”

  “I know you were trying not to go there tonight, but…” I sigh and grin up at him. “I couldn’t help myself.”

  He kisses me firmly, tongue sweeping into my mouth, teeth nipping my lips. Then his hand is under
my shirt again, doing delicious things to my nipples, and I hope he never stops.

  “I like that so much,” I breathe into his ear, and he moans and rolls a nipple between two fingers. He slides his other hand between my legs. I come up on my knees to get a better angle. As I rock into his hand, a desperate moan slips from my lips, and he gives me the extra pressure I need. My body might be beaten and tender, but I’ve had years of fantasies about this man. I don’t have the patience to wait now that I have him at my fingertips.

  More pressure between my legs. The hem of my jeans presses into my swollen clit, and I grind harder, but I need more. I need slick skin and rough fingers and—

  “Ack!”

  The sound of a woman’s screech has me jumping off the couch. My feet tangle under me and I go down, falling to the floor and knocking my head on the glass coffee table.

  Max’s eyes go to the door, where my mom’s standing, her back already turned to us, her hand thrown over her eyes.

  “Shit,” he mutters.

  “I didn’t see anything,” Mom sing-songs. “Just here to check on my daughter and drop off some groceries.” She hoists a plastic bag into the air as evidence.

  Max quickly pulls himself together, zipping his pants before sinking to the floor next to me. “Are you okay?”

  I rub my head where it hit the table. “I’m fine.” A little mortified that my mother just walked in on me grinding myself against Max’s hand. But hey, I’m an optimist, and the optimist in me is just glad she didn’t find her way in the front door, say, five minutes earlier—when I was on my knees.

  “We didn’t lock the door, did we?” he whispers.

  “Apparently not.”

  “Yeah, next time—”

  “Absolutely.”

  He helps me off the floor, and I give my girlie parts a silent little lecture about patience because they’re down there whimpering, “Not fair! Make her leave! Things were just getting good!”

  “Is everyone decent?” Mom asks, already turning around.

  “Now we are,” I say under my breath. “Mom, maybe you should knock next time?”

  “You just got out of the hospital. I didn’t think…” In her defense, her cheeks are beet red, and I’m fairly confident she will be knocking next time. And every time after. “I was young once too. I remember those weeks leading up to my wedding. Your father and I could hardly—”

  “Mom. Please?” Somehow I don’t think hearing about how horny she was before marrying Dad is actually going to make this situation less awkward.

  “I’m just here to make sure you don’t need anything, but obviously Max was taking care of you—”

  “Mom!”

  She throws her hand over her mouth, but I can see her smile peeking out the sides. “I didn’t mean it like that.” She drops her hand and sighs as she sets the single bag of groceries on the counter.

  “Thanks for checking on her and”—Max rubs the back of his neck—“sorry about that.”

  She waves away his apology. “So we haven’t had a chance to really celebrate your engagement, what with this accident nonsense. Max, would you allow me to host an engagement party at my house? I don’t want to be the over-intruding mother-in-law, but I would really love to celebrate.”

  Max wraps his arms around me from behind and kisses my hair. I love that he seems to always be touching me. Like he can’t help himself. “That would be wonderful, Mrs. Thompson. There’s nothing I want to celebrate as much as Hanna agreeing to marry me.”

  She presses her hand to her chest and tears swell in her eyes. “It does my heart good to see you two together and so happy. The news of your engagement was what really got me through worrying about my daughter.”

  “I’m okay, Mom.”

  She nods and blinks away her tears. “I know, I know. But it was a shock. Oh, look at me! Keeping you up when you should be getting your rest.”

  Even after her touching display of emotion, I want her to leave so I can be alone with Max again. I blame those girlie parts down south. They apparently have a mind of their own, and an active imagination to go with it.

  Mom adjusts her purse on her shoulder. “Try to sleep tonight. I know it’s hard, but it’s important if you’re going to recover.”

  “I will,” I promise.

  Mom turns her smile on my fiancé. “Max, would you be a doll and walk me out? I know you need to get going too.”

  Max nods, and it takes everything in me to keep the smile on my face. Effing seriously? He’s leaving me?

  “Of course I will.” He winks at me. “You know how to get me if you need me.”

  If I need him? I would have thought that was obvious.