Slowly, Hannah removed her clothes, still staring at the mirror. Her throat, breasts and ribs looked far better, just as her face did. The deeper injuries were a little redder, but still, even those had healed so much faster, thanks to her sisters. She frowned as she tried to see what others saw--what Jonas saw. Was she beautiful like everyone said? She wanted to be for Jonas. And maybe in the end, all that mattered was the way he saw her. If Jonas thought her body was beautiful and he enjoyed it...
She blushed, thinking of how much he had enjoyed touching her. He took command of her, almost as if he meant it when he said her body belonged to him. She filled the bathtub and poured scented salts into it, wanting to give him more pleasure than he'd ever known. She wanted her body to belong to him, she wanted to see that same look of absolute possession and fierce hunger on his face and in his eyes.
Hannah took special care with her appearance, soaking herself in her favorite fragrance so her skin would have the light scent of peaches. She used lotion to make her skin soft and washed her hair with the same scented shampoo. Her makeup was applied with care, a professional's touch--using just enough to enhance her natural looks, play up her eyes and mouth without overdoing it.
She stood for a long time in her underwear, a lacy bra and matching thong of shimmering blue. What had been his fantasy? She reached for the flowing skirt, the soft sea blue swirled with midnight, and sprinkled with silver stars. She loved the feel of the soft, sensual material sliding over her hips and brushing her ankles. She wrapped a chain of silver stars around her left ankle and another around her hips. Staring into the bathroom mirror, she cursed herself for breaking her full-length one. She wanted to see if she could get away with no panties.
Her breath caught in her throat and her heart thundered at the idea of being so daring. Just to see how it would feel, Hannah slipped off her underwear and walked across the room. Only she would know. She'd be so aware that she was naked and ready for him. Would he see it in her eyes? She made a small twirl and watched her skirt flow out. There was no hint, not even when she walked and the folds settled along the vee at the junction of her legs, but she felt sexy.
She reached up and unhooked her bra. In the mirror, she caught sight of her bare breasts swaying as she turned slowly around. Dragging the peasant blouse Jonas loved so much over her full breasts, she took another look. She was covered completely, no hint that she was bare beneath her clothes, waiting for his touch.
"Hannah?" Joley stuck her head into the room. "Elle gave me this file for you. She said it's the one you asked for on all the nutcases writing to you. Are you certain you want to read it?"
She had been certain when she'd first woken up in the morning, but now she was not so sure. "Just put it on the dresser. I'll think about it."
"Well? Are you going to turn around so I can see you?"
Hannah nodded, holding her breath as she did so, waiting to see if Joley noticed anything different about her.
"You look beautiful. Jonas will love that outfit."
No sly teasing. Only Hannah was aware of her own daring. For some reason, that secret knowledge gave her courage. She picked up the scissors she'd set out and extended them toward her sister. "I want you to cut my hair."
Joley stared at the scissors without moving. "What are you talking about?"
"I want to cut my hair."
"You have beautiful hair, Hannah."
"Everyone else loves my hair, but I don't. I want you to cut it. You do all kinds of things to your hair. I'm not asking you to dye it pink or anything, just to cut it."
Joley took the scissors reluctantly. "Are you certain?"
"Absolutely. And while you're at it, tell me what happened when Nikitin showed up." She led the way to the balcony. The birds would appreciate her hair for their nests.
"Sarah said Nikitin really turned on the charm. He asked about you and said how sorry he was about what happened. He said he was glad he and Ilya were on hand to stop the madman."
"Ilya did the stopping. Was Nikitin anywhere close?"
"I'm just repeating what Sarah said. He wanted to see me. Libby told him I was resting, that I was shaken up by what had happened."
"Did he buy that?"
"I don't think he had a choice. He told Sarah that he wanted me to be careful because the coast was filling up with Russians."
"What does that mean?"
"I have no idea, neither did Sarah. Apparently Prakenskii didn't say one word with Nikitin in the room. At least now I know how to shut him up. If I have to talk to him, I'll make sure his boss is around." She stepped back to admire her work. "This is really sexy. Sexy and sassy and more you than ever. Check it out in the mirror. See if you like the way I shaped it."
Hannah held her breath until she looked. The heavy fall of hair was gone, leaving her curls falling to her shoulder and feathering around her face. It felt light and Joley was right. She did look different and she felt different, too.
"I love it, thanks, Joley."
"Well, I'm heading downstairs to eat. Jonas should be here any minute," Joley said as Hannah trailed her to the door to take the scissors. "Sarah thinks she's going to put me on restriction or something. She's afraid for me to go out for a while until we know the Reverend's reaction."
Hannah stiffened, one hand on the closed door as she stared down at the sharp scissors in her hand. Someone hated her enough to try to destroy her. The realization hit her hard and she felt sick--panicked--her newfound courage turning to dust. She swallowed hard and looked over at the file sitting on her dresser. It was a lot thicker than she had ever conceived it of being. Did all those people hate her and want her dead? How could she have ignored it all the years she'd modeled? How many were there? And what had she done to make them feel that way about her?
Chapter Seventeen
SOMEONE hated her enough to want to kill her. They had already made three attempts and would make another. What had she ever done to make someone loathe her so much?
Hannah shivered, feeling the black hatred sliding into her room. Desperate to get outside, where the wind would protect her, would wrap her up and keep her safe, she snatched up her blanket, drew it around her and hurried out to the balcony to sit in her chair. She'd have to refuse to go with poor Jonas. Oh, Lord, what had she done? She was naked under her skirt and blouse and she'd cut off her hair. She was an absolute idiot to think she could blithely go out for the evening and seduce Jonas. She felt like a fool. Thank God he didn't know what she'd been thinking all evening, getting ready for him. If he saw her in her skirt and blouse, he'd know what had been on her mind. It would be so humiliating to have to refuse him and... She buried her face in her hands. He'd know she was falling apart again.
JONAS swore and stared for a moment at the locked door. He'd spent hours going through suspect files and working to find out who was trying to harm Hannah. All day he'd thought about nothing else but getting back to Hannah. He'd worked out the steps of escaping safely with her, paying attention to the smallest detail so she wouldn't have to feel a prisoner in her own home--so she could be empowered. And now--once again--she'd locked him out.
The sweep of anger shaking him was definitely out of proportion, but he'd had enough of locked doors. Hannah knew him better than that. Resisting the idea of breaking it down, he picked the lock and let himself in.
The French doors leading to the balcony overlooking the sea were open as usual. White lacy drapes billowed into the room, bringing in the mist and tang of sea salt. She was wrapped in a blanket and sitting in a chair, staring down at the turbulent water, stubbornly refusing to look at him. He leaned one hip lazily against the doorjamb and studied her averted face.
The blanket slipped as she leaned forward to throw something over the railing. The wind blew some of it back toward him. A long spiral curl landed on his chest.
"What the hell, Hannah?" he demanded, balancing a mug of tea in one hand and catching platinum strands in the other. "What have you done?"
&nbs
p; She jumped, a small squeak of fear tangling in her throat. She drew the blanket closer around her like a hood, covering most of her face. "A locked door usually means someone wants to be alone." Her voice was that husky whisper of sound he found sexy as hell. It played up and down his spine and gave him one hell of a hard-on. He shifted a little to try to ease the continual ache centered in his groin.
"I don't like being locked out."
She flinched under his steady gaze. "It's called privacy."
"You've had enough of privacy. You can be angry with me, Hannah, and yell and tell me to go to hell, but you don't fucking lock the door against me. It just pisses me off more. If you're having a difficult time, say so."
"Locking the door is saying so."
"It's the two of us together, not you alone anymore. We aren't going to have one of those lame, half-assed relationships."
She frowned. "What exactly does that mean?"
"It means you don't lock the damn door on me."
"Sheesh. All right. Fine." She sighed and capitulated. "In all honesty, I didn't realize the door was locked."
"Then why didn't you just say so?"
"Because you yelled at me."
"Well, just don't lock the door again." He handed her the mug of tea and snagged another chair, dragging it beside hers.
She immediately wrapped her hands around the warmth of the cup. "Thanks, Jonas."
"You're welcome. I put honey in it for you. Are you ready to go?" She didn't look ready, not the way she was clutching the blanket so desperately and hiding in its folds. He couldn't see her hair, but there were several long strands on the balcony floor.
She started to speak, to tell him she wasn't going, he was certain, but she stopped and took a small sip of tea as if gathering courage. When the silence stretched, she sighed. "I want to go, Jonas. It's just that..." She trailed off.
"Baby." He said it softly. "Let's just get it over. Let me see your hair."
Her long lashes fluttered. She reached up a hand and touched the springy curls beneath the blanket. "I did it for me."
He let his breath out. "That's good, honey. Let me see."
She glanced at him as if trying to gauge his true emotion. "I have so much hair and it weighs on me, you know? I just wanted to get rid of some of the weight. And it was such a burden to always be so perfect."
His answering laughter was soft. "People always did write about your perfect hair," he agreed.
"They're not the ones who had to put a zillion gallons of product in it to keep it from poofing out everywhere. I wanted to do something that was my decision alone." She wanted him to understand. And she wanted him to like it, not to be disappointed.
"Has anyone seen it?" He knew the answer before she said it.
"Joley did it for me, but she promised not to tell."
"She didn't dye it some outrageous color, did she? You don't have purple curls under the blanket, do you?" He reached over and took the mug out of her hand, taking a drink, allowing the liquid to warm his insides.
A small smile curved her soft mouth, drawing attention to her full lower lip. He wanted to spend some time nibbling at her lip again, but Hannah wasn't giving him any help.
"No color. Joley says the style is sassy and sexy. But everything is sexy to her."
"Are you going to let me see or do I have to wrestle the blanket off of you?"
"A couple of reporters hired boats and tried to get pictures this afternoon while you were gone. And Joley went crazy and confronted the Reverend. She basically had him confessing his sins on national television."
"So I heard. It was a crazy thing to do." She was stalling. He knew she was and considered calling her on it, but there was more going on here than a new shorter hairstyle. He needed to let her work her way around to telling him the real problem.
Hannah took the tea back, swallowing hard, once again not looking at him. "I thought this story would just die down and everyone would go away, but it isn't going to happen, is it?"
"Not for a while."
"And Joley could have made herself a target as well, right?"
She looked young and vulnerable and so fragile he ached for her. "I'm sorry, baby, I want to tell you different, but the truth is, Joley made herself a target a long time ago just by stepping out into the public eye."
His voice was gentle and grief hit her hard, making her throat raw and her chest tight. "Like I did." She swallowed hard and shook her head, tears spilling over when she'd tried so hard to hold them back. "Jonas." She couldn't say anything else. As it was, his name was choked out of her, ripped from somewhere so deep it left an open wound. "Why do they hate me so much?"
"I don't know, baby." He pulled her into his arms, holding her as tight as he could, pressing her face into his chest, wanting to smash something, anything, to relieve the fierce frustration and helplessness he felt. "It's going to be all right, Hannah. I'm going to find them."
"I don't even know how to hate someone that much," she said, her voice muffled.
He did. Whoever had ordered the hit on her needed to die. Jonas could hate and he had a very long memory. He held her as close as possible, while she clung to him, listening to her cry as though her heart was broken, and deep inside, a monster grew stronger. He finally lifted her and sank back into her chair, rocking gently back and forth, murmuring reassurances, feathering kisses over the blanket and down the side of her face where her skin peeked out of the cover.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Jonas. I thought I was over this. I don't know why it hit me so hard all over again."
She was careful to keep her face turned toward the sea, but he felt the wash of tears. Jonas let his breath out slowly to stay in control. She was everything to him, and seeing her so torn up, so frightened and fragile, destroyed him. He rubbed his face over hers, skin to skin, trying to show her what was inside him--that she had him always--always--and he would stand for her.
"After you left this morning, I asked Elle to get the file from Jackson, the one with all the people who have written threatening me. Joley handed me the scissors to put away and I just flashed on the knife. I couldn't help it. The file was sitting on the dresser and I thought it might give me some answers. But all those people, Jonas..." She drew back and looked at him then, her eyes wide and hurt. "There are so many of them. I had no idea there would be so many."
He leaned back in the chair, pulling her close again. "Listen to me, Hannah. Those people have nothing to do with you. They're sick--disturbed. Mentally ill. Yes, there are plenty of them fixating on you, but most are just harmless. Jackson should never have given the file to Elle. You didn't need to see those letters."
"I needed to see them. This is about me, and I needed to see them."
He let her slip out of his arms and watched as she paced restlessly across the balcony, one hand holding the blanket closed, the other wiping at tears on her face. Finally she picked up the mug of tea he'd set on the railing and took a sip before handing it to him, watching his strong fingers settle around the handle. "I wish I were more like you. I feel so afraid now, and sometimes I look in the mirror and I don't know who I am."
He made a faint sound of disbelief. "You know exactly who you are, who you've always been. You're not Hannah Drake the model, she's a small part of you, that's not who you are at all. It never was you."
"You're always so sure of yourself, Jonas."
He shook his head. "I'm sure of you. I know exactly who Hannah Drake is. That streak of stubborn, the one of wild. The crazy sense of humor. You never wanted to go out looking into the world for other things and other people. You wanted to stay home and just be the barefoot girl running on the beach in her rolled-up jeans."
Hannah blinked back tears again. "I cry a lot. I think I'm okay and then I fall apart again."
"You suffered trauma, baby, it's normal. If you didn't cry, that's when you can worry about having a problem."
"I was so ready to go out with you tonight. I was feeling strong and happy abou
t making my own decisions, and the next thing I knew, I was terrified, angry and weepy, all rolled into one. I'm a mess."
"You're as normal as a Drake can possibly get." He tugged at the cover. "Now lose the blanket and let me see your hair."
"What if you don't like it?" She put a hand on top of her head in a defensive gesture. He could still see the faint wounds running up and down her arms and palms. Defensive wounds. The knots in his belly hardened into lethal lumps.
"Do you like it?"
She nodded slowly, then with more conviction. "Yes."
"Then I'll like it, too. Ditch the blanket."
With a show of reluctance, Hannah lowered the blanket to her shoulders, her gaze suddenly shy. She looked more vulnerable than ever. The spiral curls were as thick as ever, but much shorter, framing her face and nestling along her neck and skimming her shoulders. He had always loved her naturally curly hair; it was thick and rich and uniquely Hannah. As long as it had been, well past her waist when wet, the spirals were so tight, the hair had still pulled up around the middle of her back.
Without all the extra weight, her new shortened curls were even tighter, but the cut suited her face, emphasizing her delicate bone structure and incredible large eyes. He reached out and tugged at a silky spiral. "Joley's right. It's very sassy and sexy--and it suits you." His voice had gone rough and husky.
She was wearing her peasant blouse, the one he loved. His mouth went dry at the sight. She wasn't wearing a bra. In the cold her nipples had hardened into two tight peaks. The sight ignited him like a flashfire, burning instantly hot and nearly out of control. He took a deep breath and battled back the urge to slam her against the wall and bury himself deep and hard over and over.
"It does suit me, doesn't it?" Hannah flashed the smallest of smiles, but the shyness refused to fade from her eyes as she flipped the blanket back over her head.
"Are you thinking of spending the rest of your life inside that blanket?" He had to be careful, he couldn't lose her. She'd made up her mind to give herself to him--before she panicked--she'd deliberately dressed for him--wanted him.
She frowned, lips pursing as she contemplated. Finally she nodded. "Actually, yes, I think I like the idea." Because if she didn't cover up, then he'd notice her outfit, and being Jonas, he'd realize exactly why she'd dressed the way she had.