orders.
God, he was beautiful. His long hair brushed the collar of his white Henley shirt, which was tucked into ancient blue jeans. Despite the casual attire, her imagination could easily morph him to secret agent - Secret Ser vice agent - wearing a Men in Black dark suit and sunglasses. Surely he'd have had a different haircut too, right? And she could see that as well, those straight golden strands sheared close to his head, leaving nothing to soften the lean planes of his cheeks and his hard, square jaw.
Suddenly she remembered the bristly caress of his chin along the line of her calf. Her whole body flushed, her breasts swelling to push against the cups of Desiree's decadent, demicut bra. Why couldn't she remember more of New Year's night? Every time she convinced herself he'd dished her up a plate of baloney, that in truth nothing more intimate had happened between them than what she could recall, she would hear the word "explosive" whispering in her head and...she'd wonder.
Surely she would have felt the echo of any, uh, activity between her thighs? But God, she'd been so aroused, so surprisingly and incredibly ready for sex, that he could have slipped right inside -
"Jesus," Tanner said now, striding forward to shove one of the two coffees he held into her hand. "I should have ordered it iced."
She cleared her throat and pretended intense interest in the plastic top. Had her thoughts been so clear on her face? "I don't know what you're talking about."
"It's the way you - " He broke off, shaking his head. "Never mind."
Then he muttered something about the American flag and grabbed her hand to tow her away from the line. "Hey, wait," she protested. "What do you think you're doing?"
He glanced over at her, still walking. "I'm getting going on our day. I pegged you for an early riser and I can see that I was right."
"Our day?" It would be bad enough without a witness. "Nuh-uh. I thought I made it clear to you yesterday I don't need or want a babysitter."
He'd managed to drag her outside, to the portico and steps that led to the parking lot and then to the street. "What about a driver? Don't you need one of those?"
Hannah had already asked for directions, and knew it didn't require a car to get where she was going. She freed her hand from his. "I have feet. I'm walking."
"To where?"
She shrugged. "Nowhere in particular." Lie. The park on Orange. "I'm going to explore." Deal with the woman who had done her wrong.
Tanner frowned, eyeing her and then glancing up at the sky. "Looks like it might be a wet morning."
"Everybody knows it never rains in Southern California." Oh, she hoped it didn't anyway. The last thing she needed today was wet weather. She'd hated it for over twenty years.
"Hannah..."
It was time to get firm with him - though hadn't she already? She narrowed her eyes, pretending he was seven years old and trying to take cuts in line. "Tanner Hart, that will be enough."
He stared at her a moment, then burst out laughing. "Or what, you'll take away my hall pass?"
Her neck burned, and then the flush rose higher. How often in how short a time could one person make it so clear to her? She was truly no good with men. (Or if not "no" good, at least woefully out of practice.) God. Face it, Duncan's long absence had turned her into the proverbial old maid schoolteacher - albeit one who'd worn an engagement ring on her finger. She could hate him -
No. She couldn't really hate Duncan.
Instead she silently swore at Tanner and started to move past him.
He caught her around the upper arm, just as a bellhop trundled out the entrance with a brass rack filled with luggage. Tanner released his grip, only to slide his arm around her shoulder and pull her near, out of the other man's way. They were chest to breast, the light jacket she wore brushing the long-sleeved cotton shirt he had on. This close, she breathed him in, smelling coffee, the tang of something citrus - his shampoo? - then a deeper note that reminded her of his sheets - and his skin.
Swallowing hard, she stared at the clean line of his tan throat and silently swore again. Why did he have to smell so good? Why did he have to feel so strong and firm against her body?
For years she'd figured