A Man Apart by Joan Hohl Page A

“Because I’m not budging.”
    Giving him a narrow-eyed glare that only brought a wolfish grin to his lips, Hannah flung back the covers and stood. “All right, then, dammit. Watch your fill.”
    Laughing softly all the while, Justin did watch, his appraising look missing nothing as she dug through the largest of the cases. Secretly thrilling to his caressing gaze, Hannah took her sweet time stepping into almost-there panties, fastened the front closure of her bra, wriggled into hip-hugging jeans and shrugged into a turtleneck sweater.
    â€œYou are one absolutely stunning woman from head to toe, sweet Hannah,” he said in near reverence.
    â€œThank you,” she whispered. Feeling her face grow warm again, this time with pleasure, she turned away, opening the other bag to search out footwear. Like him, she didn’t bother with shoes, slipping into satin ballerina slippers.
    In the meantime, Justin moved to open a dresser drawer, making do with a pair of heavy-duty socks to keep his big, narrow feet warm.
    He held out his hand to clasp hers. “Now, let’s go rustle something up for lunch—” he shot a look at the dark beyond the window “—or supper.” He laughed. “Hell, for all we know, it may be a midnight snack.”
    â€œNot quite,” Hannah said, letting him lead her from the room. “I looked at the clock. It’s only nine-fifteen.”
    â€œOnly, she says.” He groaned, and fumbled for the light switch as they entered the kitchen. “We haven’t eaten since early this morning. We’re both ravenous…and the woman says it’s only nine-fifteen.”
    Hannah laughed, at him and at herself. She must be losing her mind, she decided happily, because she not only didn’t mind him calling her woman, she was beginning to like it. No doubt about it, her mind was starting to disintegrate. She masked her laughter with an exaggerated groan at the sight of the table still cluttered from their breakfast.
    â€œYeah,” Justin agreed, propping his hands on his hips. “It’s a mess. Tell you what, sweet Hannah. I’ll make a deal with you.”
    She gave him a skeptical look. “What kind of deal?”
    He frowned and shook his head in sad despair of her. “You have a suspicious mind, Ms. Deturk.”
    â€œDamned straight, Mr. Grainger,” she retorted. “What deal?”
    â€œHere’s the deal. I’ll get dinner, if you’ll clean up the breakfast debris.”
    â€œDeal,” Hannah accepted at once, fully awareshe was getting the better end of the arrangement. Crossing to the table, she went to work, while Justin went to the fridge.
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    â€œThat was delicious,” Hannah commended Justin, raising her wineglass in a salute. “You’re a very good cook.”
    â€œEither that,” Justin said, inclining his head and raising his own nearly empty glass in acknowledgement of her compliment, “or you actually were famished.”
    â€œI was,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I’d have praised anything you set in front of me.” She grinned. “I’d have eaten the meal, but I wouldn’t have praised it, or your culinary skill.”
    â€œI wouldn’t go so far as to call it a skill. I simply can manage to prepare a reasonably palatable meal. Now, my mother, she’s a skilled cook.”
    â€œI like your mother, by the way,” Hannah said. “She is a lovely woman. I admire the way she handles her husband and her overgrown sons…all three of whom I also like.”
    â€œThree?” He appeared crushed. “Just my father, Adam and Mitch? What about me? Don’t you like me?”
    Hannah’s expression and tone went hard and serious. “If I didn’t like you, Justin, do you really believe for one minute I would be here with you now?”
    â€œNo.” He gave a quick shake of his head, his