Rock Solid

She tried to say his name, but no words came out.

Lifting her hand uselessly—to do what? Wave? Shake his hand?—she let it drop to her side again.

Thoughts scattered as she remembered how he used to look in the morning...naked, mussed head of hair, gleaming eyes...and sexy. Extremely sexy.

Brody’s six-foot-plus frame filled the doorway. He hadn’t shaved. Shaggy brown hair that had been cut shorter when she’d been with him had sprouted waves, and a few curls brushed his neck. His jaw was strong but tense. His lips as tempting as ever. He was shirtless, the top button on his jeans undone, as if he had only now gotten out of bed.

That brought back a wave of memories that nearly did send her running back to her car. What had she been thinking, coming here?

Then his face broke into a welcoming smile, his expression switching from surprise to pleasure. The next thing she knew, Brody encompassed her in a bear hug. Then his delectable mouth was all over hers, his bare torso flush against her.

Hannah forgot to breathe.

His beard scratched her lightly, but she was so blindsided by the unexpected embrace that she held on for dear life, her fingers pressing into his bare shoulder blades, her internal temperature skyrocketing as Brody’s tongue parted her lips and sought out hers.

Stop this, her brain said.

Just one more minute, her very happy libido argued, getting a sudden charge from the kiss, as if she’d been hit by a lightning bolt.

She couldn’t help but smile into his kiss. This was Brody. He was never what she expected, but whatever happened around him, it was always good. At least, it had been.

Hope flooded her. He was glad to see her. Very glad.

“Excuse me,” an annoyed voice hissed somewhere behind them.

As Brody released her, breaking the kiss, Hannah found the source glaring daggers at her over his shoulder.

Tall, busty blonde, dead ahead.

Brody kept one arm around her, which was a good thing, because Hannah’s knees were definitely suffering from a slight wobble.

“I’m so glad you’re here, honey,” Brody said to Hannah, dripping with his own special brand of charm. But something about his tone hit her as fake; it was the tone he often used around groupies. “Jackie was just leaving.”

Hannah saw the other woman’s fingers clench. Angry, icy gray eyes and thinned lips emphasized her displeasure as Jackie looked Hannah up and down.

“Who is this?” Jackie asked Brody as if not hearing the dismissal.

“This is the reason you need to go,” Brody said simply, delivering a kiss to the top of Hannah’s head.

Hannah tried to step away—clearly she had walked into the middle of something awkward—but Brody’s muscular arm held her fast against him.

The tension thickened as Brody and the blonde stared each other down for a few seconds.

Brody won.

The woman grabbed her bag from the table and came to the door, standing only inches from Hannah.

“Jerk,” she spat back at Brody before she stalked out, marching to a white Mercedes that Hannah had parked beside.

The door closed, and Brody let out a breath.

“Good timing, sweetheart. Maybe that will finally get her off my back for good,” Brody said, dropping his arm from her shoulders and retreating through the foyer.

Hannah was immobile, still warm from his kiss as she watched through the window as the blonde kicked up a cloud of dust on the road that led away from the ranch.

“Wait. What the...?” Hannah sputtered.

She was pretty sure that the heat rebuilding in her system wasn’t from the kiss, but from anger.

“Did you just use me to get rid of a woman who’d spent the night?”

He looked at her from across the hall, leaning laconically on the door frame.

“She didn’t spend the night—not last night anyway. Come on in and have a muffin. There’s coffee.”

He headed into the recesses of the house. Hannah followed him. She was starving after her overnight drive, and lured by the aroma of coffee. She stopped in the kitchen and watched him pour two cups.

She also noted the half-empty beer bottle on the counter near the sink. Several empties, in fact. While the outside of the farmhouse was pristine, the inside was a wreck, as if no one had cleaned in several weeks. There was also some funky odor coming from the trash basket near where she was standing, so she moved. It was like the house of an eternal frat party. Brody was far from a neat freak, she knew, but he wasn’t a total slob, either.

He grabbed several muffins and took the food and his coffee into the adjoining dining room. Hannah’s stomach growled. She needed to eat something more substantial than muffins, but a fistful of carbs would tide her over. She grabbed the other mug and a blueberry muffin with coffee-cake crumbles on top.

In the dining room, she took a seat across from Brody at the long harvest table. She had to clear a spot to do so, moving old newspapers and takeout boxes that were stacked everywhere. When she was done eating, she seriously contemplated getting another muffin, but sipped her coffee instead.

“Are you even going to ask why I’m here?”

He looked at her over the top of his coffee cup. “I know why you’re here. You obviously needed some more top o’ the line Brody lovin’, right?”

Hannah coughed, her coffee going down the wrong way. When she caught her breath and started to protest, Brody chuckled.

“Calm down, Hannah. I’m teasing. So, why are you here?” he asked dutifully.

Hannah shifted in her chair, frowning. In spite of the kiss at the door—which had obviously just been for effect—he seemed distant. The connection she’d always had with him wasn’t there.

Something was off, and suddenly she didn’t feel comfortable asking him for his help. Not until she knew what was going on.

“I was in Atlanta, and I thought I’d come down and see how you were doing. Just a lark,” she said. It was mostly true. “How’s retirement?”

“You had business in Atlanta?” he asked, ignoring her question.

“Sort of,” she hedged.

“’Fess up, Hannah.” He sounded irritated. “Did Reece send you here to check on me?”

She sat back. “No, why would he?”

“He seems to think I’m not dealing with my retirement or my accident well.”

Another surprise. “What accident?”

He cursed as he leaned forward and shook his head. The gesture made him look even more tired.

“I forgot how to handle a horse. Got thrown, hurt my shoulder and lower back. It’s not the end of the world. I’ll be fine. Really. I’m just sore and stiff, but mostly better now.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.”

“You expect me to believe that?” he said, pinning her with a look. She could see faint circles around his eyes, a tightness around his lips.

“Are you saying I’m lying?” she challenged him, but now she was worried. She’d never seen Brody like this, and maybe Reece had been concerned for a reason.

He looked away. And then he began to tap his fingertips on the table as if he was holding something back.

“I never knew you had horses,” she said, changing the subject.

“There’s a lot you never knew about me, sugar,” he drawled as he roughly pushed his chair back and returned to the kitchen, apparently done with the conversation.

This wasn’t the Brody she’d known. Not by a long shot. Brody had always been a wild man, a partier and to a certain degree, a player—which was how she’d met him in the first place. But he wasn’t ever a jerk about it.

His eyes were bleary, and she noticed now that his gait was off, his walk more hesitant than usual. He held himself stiffly, his legs moving only with concentrated effort, as if each step was painful.

She followed him.

“If you’re fine, why is this place such a mess? Are you too hurt to pick up things? Maybe you need a cleaning service to give you a hand?”

He turned on her, eyes narrow, as if his patience was worn out.

“Listen, I don’t need help. Just because you and I had some fun together doesn’t mean I’m going to spill my guts to you or anyone else. So if that was the plan, forget it.”

Hannah took a steadying breath. “Something is wrong. Tell me.”

“You don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

Ouch. Hannah straightened, held her chin high.

“Maybe not. But I’m telling the truth, Brody. No one sent me. But since I’m here, I’m not going away until you tell me what’s going on.”

Her blog problems fell by the wayside. Hannah knew firsthand that people didn’t care as much about their health or their surroundings, or even people they loved when they were depressed. Brody was no dummy; he had to know that she could see this.

Her mother had reacted similarly after Hannah’s dad had died, until her mom had gotten some help. Hannah, though only ten, had been the one to take care of the house, the food and her mom in the meanwhile. Brody didn’t have anyone, from what she could tell.

She stepped forward, putting a hand on his arm. He flinched, and she pulled back.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Brody, I didn’t mean to—”

His eyes were fierce as they looked down into hers. They were so close, the heat of him burned right through her. She stared at his mouth, her mind drifting back to the kiss at the front door. Hannah had always loved his mouth. She’d enjoyed his smile, his kisses, and many other wonderful things he did with those lips.

“You think you know me, Hannah? You want to help?”

She was unsure, not knowing what to do with Brody in this mood.

His gaze was intoxicating, his body hard and solid. Brody could always turn her inside out with merely a look. Even now, even when he was acting so strangely, that still held true.

“Then help,” he said, intention clear in his eyes.

She started to speak, but he stopped her with another kiss. All Hannah could do was hold on.

* * *

BRODY’S BODY WAS going to suffer for this later, but he didn’t care. Hannah was here.

She was possibly the last person he’d expected to see at the door. When he looked into her sweet face and had her back in his arms, at least one thing about the world seemed right.

He hadn’t meant to kiss her again. He was going to send her on her way, but now here they were, and she was making those soft sounds she tended to make when she was turned on.

Even as he deepened the kiss, he tried to tell himself to back off. Hannah didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve his lies or to be the answer for his frustration and restlessness. She didn’t need to be part of this sham he was involved in.

Any minute now, he would cut her loose and show her the door.

Or to his bed.

There’d never been anyone like Hannah, and all he wanted was to have her again. To lose himself in her body and forget about everything for a while. Being with her was the last time he could remember anything really good, and he wanted that back more than he could say.

He bunched his fingers in her thick, dark hair—shorter now, and curlier. Angling her mouth so he could go deeper, he walked her back toward the wood island that dominated the center of the kitchen. It was lower than the counters and would work for what he had in mind.

He kept kissing her—Hannah loved lots of kissing—as he covered one full breast with his palm, feeling the nipple bud against his palm.

“Damn, I missed this,” he muttered against her lips, tweaking the hard bud between his fingers and catching her gasp with another deep kiss.

She was wearing jeans, and he slid his hand down, working the snap with one hand. Slipping his hand inside, his fingertips brushed her soft curls. He laid his palm flat against her lower belly.

She murmured something against his mouth, but he continued the kiss, tasting more. He was hard, getting harder. He hadn’t felt this alive in some time.

This was what it had been like between them since the first time they’d met: spontaneous combustion.

He slipped his hand between her legs and swallowed her responding sigh. She tried to move against his hand.

“Not yet,” he whispered against her ear.

He used his other hand to push her shirt up, moving the lace of her bra out of the way at the same time.

Hannah had the prettiest breasts he’d ever seen. Full and perfectly shaped, the pert, peachy nipples were like dessert to him, and he savored each one in turn.

She cried out, and he saw her grip the edge of the island tight. His back was starting to ache, so he removed his hand and got onto his knees, working her jeans down her legs as he went.

Then he spotted it—the small racing flag tattoo that he’d talked her into, right beneath her belly button. He leaned in, kissed it and looked up to find her watching him.

“You kept it.”

“Of course I kept it.”

He smiled, remembering the day when she’d gotten the tat, and how they’d celebrated after, made him even hotter.

He nearly lost control then, as he kept looking into her eyes. Hannah, who was so cool, collected and composed most of the time. His responsible, serious Hannah, who wore boring suits and talked about accounting, now looked back at him with wild hair, flushed cheeks and eyes glittering with desire.

But there was more than desire there. There was warmth, need and...affection? Expectation? Concern?

He’d seen that soft look before, and wondered if they had more between them. That was a problem—then and now—because they couldn’t have more than sex. Sex was all he wanted. All he needed.

That was an even better reason for her to go.

He couldn’t do this, use her to entertain himself, to take his mind off his life for a little while. Brody backed off, his breathing heavy, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, Hannah. This shouldn’t have happened,” he said stiffly, closing his jeans as he walked to the sink, washed his hands, his face. Washed the past few minutes away.

“Brody?”

“Just leave, Hannah. Please.”

Hannah fixed her clothes, straightened her hair. She still looked amazing and turned on. Brody peered out the window, fighting for control.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s happening.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, can’t you get that? I’m fine. I don’t need you here. Despite what you might think, you mean nothing to me.”

He heard her sharp intake of breath. It was low for him to speak to her like that, but he needed her to go. If he had to insult her to get her to do it, fine. It was better than insulting her even more by letting her stay under false pretenses. By taking her here in his kitchen, with no plans for anything more than that.

He didn’t warrant her concern, and he certainly didn’t want her pity.

“Listen, whether you like it or not, I’m your friend. I want to help, whatever the problem is.”

He watched incredulously as she stormed over to the small dinette, sat down and looked at him. He’d never seen such a stubborn, determined woman.

There was only one thing to do.

“Fine, I’ll go, then,” he muttered, grabbing his hat and keys. He walked out the back door, letting it slam, hating himself in about a dozen ways.

He felt like dirt. He wanted to apologize, to beg her forgiveness or to go back and finish what they started.

But he couldn’t do any of those things.

Climbing up in his Charger, he wasn’t even sure where he was going. All he could think about was Hannah and all the memories of their time together.

As for why she was here—it didn’t really matter. He’d still have had to turn her away rather than lie to her. Brody wondered how long it would take before she’d give up on him and take off. He hoped it was sooner rather than later, because he wasn’t sure how well he could hold up if he saw her again.

3

HANNAH WOKE UP on a strange sofa, not knowing where she was for a moment, but the faint irritation left by Brody’s stubble on her skin brought back the events of the morning, quickly reminding her of her surroundings.

It was midafternoon the same day, Friday. The house was quiet, and she stood, stretching and then looking out the window. Hers was still the only vehicle in the driveway.

Brody was no doubt waiting her out, but in truth, she was waiting him out, too. She had her own stubborn streak, and... Well, she was worried. She didn’t want to be, but she was.

Her stomach growled again, and she caught sight of her hair in a mirror on the opposite side of the room. She looked as though she’d crawled out from under the couch, and she seriously needed a shower. Heading out to her car, she grabbed her bag, and then went in search of the main bathroom.

As she undressed and stepped under the hot water, she firmed up her resolve. Hopefully, she’d have a chance to talk to Brody again, but if he wasn’t home by breakfast the next morning, she’d go. She could leave him a note with her phone number and an invitation to call her if he needed her—in a purely platonic way, of course—which would put the ball in his court.

It took practice, walking away, making boundaries, but she was getting better at it.

Abby always said she was overly responsible. Hannah never really understood that before; a person was either responsible or not. You either did the things you were expected to and made sure you kept your promises and were there for the people who needed you, or you weren’t. How could someone be overly responsible? It was like saying rain could be too wet. Impossible.

But Hannah knew when she’d returned from her month with Brody that Abby was right.

Her employer treated her like crap because Hannah was so dependable. So responsible. When her father died, Hannah had tried to take his place from a very early age. She worked as soon as she could, helped her mother in any way possible. She never wanted to disappoint.

Content to let her hair air dry in the Florida heat, she hung her towel neatly, then threw on a sundress and sandals. She packed up her supplies and went downstairs in time to hear the doorbell ring.

That couldn’t possibly be Brody—why would he ring his own bell? Struggling with whether she should answer the door, she did, and found a very pretty young woman in a very scanty cotton summer dress on the other side, holding a pie.

Her pretty smile collapsed when she saw Hannah. She pushed up on her tiptoes, looking over Hannah’s shoulder.

“Is Brody here?”

“No, I’m sorry, he’s not.”

The woman narrowed her eyes for a second, as if trying to assess whether Hannah was being honest.

“I brought him a pie.”

“That’s nice. I can put it on the counter and let him know, if you’d like me to.”

“Oh, I’d rather do that myself,” the woman replied, taking a step forward, but Hannah gently blocked her path.

“I’ll be happy to take it for you, or I’m sure Brody will be back later if you want to return.”

“Well, I suppose I could leave it. Tell him it’s from Jenna, J-e-n-n-a. And I’ll be sure to make sure he got it,” she warned Hannah in an overly cute Southern accent.

As if what? Did she think Hannah was going to eat the pie herself? Or pretend that she’d made the pie instead?

Hannah met Jenna’s fake smile with a super sweet one of her own as she closed the door, inhaling the scent of the buttery crust and...cherries. Oh, yum.

Maybe she would eat it.

Though after muffins for breakfast, she needed some real food, and pie didn’t quite fit the bill. Hannah doubted Brody had anything edible in his kitchen, given all of the takeout bags. Surprisingly, she found the refrigerator fairly well stocked and the cupboards, as well. Someone had gone grocery shopping. One of his many female admirers?

The bigger problem was the kitchen itself, she thought as she took note of the mess. She couldn’t cook in this chaos; she could barely find a clear spot where she could put the pie down.

She tried to resist it, but as she started straightening up, her compulsive side took over. It was part of her nature. She cleared clutter and bounced back and forth between that and putting a pot of meat sauce on the stove to go with some pasta she found in a cupboard.

As she worked, the phone rang twice—two women left syrupy messages for Brody, then a third female caller left one that was rather X-rated.

Hannah huffed a laugh. She wasn’t completely surprised. Brody’s reputation as a ladies’ man—and that was the polite term for it—was quite well established when she met him. It was part of what attracted her to him, actually. He was wild, different and very, very experienced.

She’d wanted to be with someone like that to create a few memories she could carry into old age once she settled down. She hadn’t been disappointed. When they’d been together, she and Brody were exclusive, even though he’d had offers rolling in steadily, and Hannah had been the recipient of many bitter female glares. Not unlike the one she’d received from J-e-n-n-a.

After a while, the place was looking better, homier, and the sauce smelled amazing. Hannah felt much calmer. She was looking forward to her dinner in the now-tidy kitchen when someone walked in the back door.

It definitely wasn’t Brody. Instead, a slim, petite honey-blonde stood gaping at Hannah.

Wow, this one had nerve, waltzing right in.

“Can I help you?” Hannah said, offering a cool glance that she hoped cautioned the woman about entering any farther.

“Yeah, is my brother here? I need to talk to him.”

“Brody... Um, no, he isn’t here. He left this morning, hasn’t been back. I don’t know where he went.”

The woman regarded Hannah with open suspicion.

“Who are you, then, and what are you doing cooking dinner if he’s not here or coming home soon?”

“We had an argument, and he took off. I’m waiting him out,” Hannah answered matter-of-factly. “But I needed to eat in the meanwhile. And the place was a mess, so I cleaned up a bit.”

“Okay. That’s either really admirable or really scary.”

Hannah realized that she sounded like a stalker.

“I’m sorry,” she said, rushing to explain. “I’m a friend. Brody and I know each other through Reece Winston and his wife, Abby? I’m Abby’s best friend. I don’t know if you know—”

“I do. I know Reece pretty well, though I only met Abby once.”

“Brody and I spent some time together last year, at the track, and I was in the area, so—”

The other woman’s eyes suddenly widened. “Oh, wait, you’re Hannah? The Hannah?”

“I guess. Is there more than one?”

“Could be. Anyway, I’m Brandi.”

“Nice to meet you. So...Brody mentioned me?”

Hannah felt silly asking, but the words slipped out before she could stop them.

Brandi’s lips twitched as she looped her thumbs in her jeans. “Oh, you could say that. When he was under the influence of the drugs they gave him at the hospital when he fell off the horse, you were a very frequent topic. But I won’t share details since he wouldn’t have, either, except that he was pretty out of it.”

Hannah’s jaw dropped, her face heating as she tried not to imagine what Brody might have said about her. After a few seconds, she saw the humor in it and started to laugh. Brandi joined in.

Soon, a more serious thought occurred to her. “Can I ask, is everything okay with Brody? He didn’t seem like himself.”

“I agree. He hasn’t wanted to talk about much since he retired from the circuit. He just sort of sticks around here and works on the ranch, but doesn’t say anything about what he’s doing next. Believe me, we’ve tried, but it’s like poking a bear most of the time. Our parents think he just needs time and space to adjust, but I’m not sure.”

Hannah nodded. “I was surprised to hear about his accident, though he seems to be recovering. Still, he does seem...off.”

“He is. Anyway, I’m sorry I thought you were another, well, you know...”