Hook, Line, and Sinker (Bellinger Sisters #2)

Fox could see he might have made Hannah smile, but the issues were far from solved. For one, she liked the director, and for some reason Fox couldn’t fathom, the dumbass wasn’t chasing after her with a bouquet of red roses. How could he help with that? Did he want to help her with that? It was a fisherman’s nature to plug leaks, fix problems when they arose. For another, Hannah not feeling one hundred percent happy was a definite problem in his book. “The guy was jealous, you know. Back at the bus when I came to pick you up.”

Her head came up, expression hopeful, but it faded just as quickly, unlike the knot tying tighter inside him. “No, he was just being nice,” she said, digging back into the ice cream. Chocolate side only, he noted for next time.

Next time?

“Hannah, trust me. I know when I’m intimidating another guy.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Is jealous the same thing as intimidated?”

“Yes. When men are intimidated by other men, especially ridiculously hot men like yours truly—”

She snort-laughed.

“—they assert themselves. Fight to get the upper hand back. It’s a natural reaction. Law of the jungle. That’s why he wanted to get your bag. That’s why he kept his arm around you way too long.” Fox grabbed at the sweaty, icy skin at the nape of his neck. “He didn’t like that you were staying with me, and he especially didn’t like me calling you Freckles. He was intimidated and, therefore, jealous.”

Fox didn’t add that he was speaking from experience.

Intimidated by some artsy goatee-sporting guy from LA. A Russian, no less. Russians were their main competition during crab season, as if he needed another reason to dislike the motherfucker.

God, he was jumpy. “Anyway, all I’m saying is . . . he’s not not interested.”

“This is all very fascinating,” Hannah said around her spoon. “But if you’re right, if Sergei was jealous, he’ll eventually realize there is nothing happening between you and me, and he has no reason to . . . resort to jungle laws.” Casually, she poked at the ice cream. “Unless we let him think we’re sleeping together. Maybe he needs to be shaken up.”

Alarm stole downward through Fox’s fingertips. He’d walked straight into a trap. One he’d set himself. “You can’t let him think that, Hannah.”

“I was only brainstorming.” Whatever she saw on Fox’s face caused her to narrow her eyes. “But why are you so opposed?”

Trying to mask the panic, he let out a crack of laughter. “You don’t . . . No. I’m not letting you associate your reputation with mine, all right? A couple of days in this town and he’ll probably hear all about it. Trust me, if he’s worth a damn, the fact that I got to bandage your bump will make him jealous enough.”

Hannah blinked. “If he’s worth a damn, he won’t believe everything he hears. Especially about someone he doesn’t know personally.”

“Unless a lot of what he hears is true, right?” He smiled straight through that rhetorical question, trying to give the impression that the answer didn’t bother him. When she only seemed to look deeper, curious, Fox said something he immediately regretted just to distract her. To bump her off the topic of his reputation. “Have you tried letting him know you’re interested? You know, a little lip biting and arm squeezing . . .”

“Gross.” She looked him up and down. “Does that do it for you?”

Nothing was doing it for him lately. Nothing but the three little dots popping up in their text thread. And now head wounds. How pathetic was that? “Don’t worry about what does it for me. I’m talking about this guy. He’s probably clueless, and a lot of men will remain that way without a little encouragement.”

Visibly amused, she tilted her head. “Are you one of those men?”

Fox sighed, resisted the urge to scratch at the back of his neck. “Encouragement is kind of a given for me.”

“Right,” she said after a pause, something flickering in her eyes.

How did the conversation get here? First, he’s giving her pointers on landing the director, and now he’s inadvertently bragging about his luck with women? Off to a great start, man. “Look, I’m not in the relationship race and I never will be. Clearly you are. I was just trying to be helpful. Flirting with Sergei is one thing, but the bottom line is we’re not letting anyone incorrectly assume”—he sawed a hand back and forth in between them—“this is happening. For your own good, okay?”

Hannah definitely wanted to discuss it further, pick it apart, but thankfully she let it drop. “You don’t have to tell me you’re not in the relationship race,” she said, biting her lip. “I can see your apartment just fine.”

Grateful for the subject change, he breathed a laugh. “What?” He chucked her chin. “You don’t think women are into the waiting-room look?”

“No. Seriously, would an area rug and a scented candle kill you?”

Fox took the ice cream and spoon out of her hands and set them on the counter. “You’re not getting that cookie now.” He grabbed her by the waist and tossed her facedown over his shoulder, prompting a squeal as he stomped toward the spare room. “I’m not putting up with an ungrateful houseguest, Freckles.”

“I’m grateful! I’m grateful!”

Her laughter cut off abruptly when they entered her room—as he’d already begun to think of it—no doubt noticing the row of scented candles, the folded towels, and the pink Himalayan salt lamp. He’d seen it in a tourist shop window and decided she definitely needed one, but at this juncture, the purchase made him feel utterly silly.

Shaking his head at himself, Fox eased Hannah off his shoulder and dropped her gently onto the queen-sized bed, his chest tugging at the way her hair flopped down to cover one eye. “Oh. Fox . . .” she murmured, scanning the row of supplies.

“It’s no big deal,” he said quickly, backing up to lean sideways against the doorjamb. Crossing his arms. Definitely not thinking about how easy it would be to prowl over her on that bed, tease her a little more, run his fingertips along that section of skin between her hip bones and waist, flirt until kissing turned into her idea, instead of his intention all along. He knew the dance moves well.

None of them were right for a friend.

“Listen.” When his voice sounded gruff to his own ears, he forced some levity into it. “I’m heading down to the docks to load the Della Ray. We’ll be on the water starting tomorrow. Coming back Friday. Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone and make me regret my first candle purchase.”

“I won’t, Peacock,” she said, lips lifting at the corners, her hand smoothing the bedspread he hoped she couldn’t tell was new. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Anytime, Freckles.”

He started to leave but stopped when she said, “And just for the record, I would be honored to fake sleep with you. Sordid reputation and all.”

With a stone blocking his windpipe, all he could do was nod, grabbing his keys on the way out of the apartment. “Cookies are in the cabinet,” he called, walking out into the sunshine, welcoming the way it blinded him.





Chapter Five



Hannah came to a stop outside her grandmother’s door and removed her AirPods, silencing her “Walking Through Westport” playlist. It mainly consisted of Modest Mouse, Creedence, and the Dropkick Murphys, all of which reminded her of the ocean, whether it be pirates or a hippie playing harmonica on the docks. As soon as the melody cut out, she knocked, pressing her lips together a moment later to stifle a laugh. Inside the apartment, Opal was muttering to herself about morons who let solicitors into the building, her footsteps ambling closer.