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

Seductive blends. Seductive aroma.

She’d never really considered the true meaning of the word until now. Fox was attractive. Like, insanely so. That was a given. But last night, that look in his eye had accidentally given her a peek behind the curtain, and it was like setting foot in a new country with a different currency and climate. She would even venture to call his expression smoldering. He’d been thinking about sex—no mistaking it. And while she’d be lying to say there wasn’t always a current of physical tension running between them, she’d always assumed Fox just gave it off all by himself. It came with the territory of being in his vicinity.

Last night was different.

Last night, for that brief moment, all of that potent sexual energy had been concentrated on her, and she’d heated like an oven, the knobs on her awareness turned to the highest setting. Did he want to sleep with her? The fact that he’d given her advice on how to capture Sergei’s attention made the possibility seem remote. But the mere thought of Fox wanting her was like skydiving. A free-falling, leave-her-stomach-in-the-air event.

At UCLA, she’d dated one of her fellow music history majors, that relationship lasting just over a year. It was serious enough to introduce him to her parents and take a vacation together in Maui. But her interest in him had mainly been based on convenience, since they had classes together, and he didn’t make a fuss when Hannah retreated into her headphones. He’d just hop on the Xbox and zone out, too. After a while, the relationship turned into a competition of finding ways to ignore each other—definitely no reason to use the word “seductive.”

Even while nursing her crush on Sergei, she’d dated. An extra she’d met on set, fresh from a farm in Illinois, following his dream in Los Angeles. A stunt coordinator who spent the entire date hitting her with classic movie trivia, which she didn’t technically mind—they were social media friends now—but there’d been no viable connection.

In other words, she’d been playing in the minor leagues.

If that kiss at the party was any indication, Fox was in a major league all his own when it came to intimacy. Sure, she’d known that. In theory. He was a certified Casanova and didn’t even bother trying to deny it. Experiencing those skills last night, putting that knowledge into practice, had been eye-opening to say the least.

She was pretty sure her brain and ovaries had briefly swapped locations during that kiss.

If he wanted to sleep with her—and come on, it was entirely possible she’d misread him—what would she do with all of that . . . seductive smolder? Why couldn’t she stop thinking about it now? How he would move. How he would groan when the relief hit. What the fronts of his muscular thighs would feel like against the backs of hers.

He would do it right.

He’d dehydrate the shit out of her.

“Hannah.”

“What?” she shouted.

Piper squeaked and swerved the truck, shooting Hannah a wide-eyed look. “I asked if you wanted to stop for coffee.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Was she sweating? “Of course I do.”

Hannah shook herself, focused on counting the white lines painted in the middle of the road. Guilt settled into her stomach like sediment in a wineglass. No more thinking about Fox in those terms. Sex terms. The kiss, followed by that hungry look, had just thrown her for a loop. Now she needed to get back on track. Back to batting in the minors. Back to her harmless crush on the director. She’d probably misread Fox, anyway.

After they stopped for giant lattes smothered in caramel and whipped cream, Piper drove Hannah about forty minutes south to an outdoor shopping mall. They spent the day browsing racks but were too busy talking and catching up to buy much of anything, although Piper walked out of the lingerie store looking very superior with a little pink bag, and Hannah bought a new pair of round tortoiseshell sunglasses. They spent most of their time together lingering over lunch at a cozy French bistro, continuing to order more and more coffee so they wouldn’t get kicked out.

The sky was darkening by the time they headed back to Westport, Hannah singing along to the radio, badly, but her sister was used to it.

“Hey,” Piper said when the song had ended. “Brendan is bringing his parents into Cross and Daughters tonight. Come and meet them?”

“As if I would pass up a chance to meet those responsible for spawning the Mean One?” She tugged the phone out of her pocket. “Let me just text Fox.”

Piper sniffed loudly.

“I’m staying with him. It’s the polite thing to do.” Hannah started to fire off a quick text, then hesitated. “Should I invite him?”

“It’s Saturday night—he doesn’t have”—her sister looked at her meaningfully—“plans?”

“Plans, like . . . oh.” Her stomach had no right to drop. “I—I mean, he didn’t mention anything. Like a date. But if I invite him, the worst he can say is no.”

Why was she nervous he would turn her down? Tell her he was headed to Seattle for his usual recreational activities? What Fox did with his time was none of her business. Her fingers hovered over the screen for a few more seconds before she tapped out a text.

HANNAH (7:18 PM): Heading to Cross & Daughters with Piper if you’re interested.



A minute later, he answered.

FOX (7:19 PM): See you there, Freckles.



Hannah let out a slow breath and tipped her head back against the seat. The speed with which her stomach calmed was alarming. But it did. Like a raging sea turning into a tranquil lake in the space of four words. What was that about? Did she simply covet the short length of time she had to spend with a friend? That was totally possible, right?

They walked into Cross and Daughters a little while later, the evening crowd only starting to trickle in. Hannah’s heart squeezed the moment she stepped over the threshold, bombarded by images of her and Piper sanding the old, neglected bar, finding that photograph of Henry behind a piece of plywood, sprinting to the door with a flaming frying pan, getting ready for the grand opening. So many memories packed into such a small space. And there was a definite satisfaction that came from looking up and knowing she was the one who hung the gold, spray-painted fishing net from the ceiling.

Piper slipped behind the bar to consult with Anita and Benny, the newly hired waitress and bartender Piper had told her about over lunch. Her sister looked so confident, pointing out things on the drink menu, answering a question about how to operate the register. A year ago, Piper had never seen a checkbook, let alone balanced one. Now she owned and operated a successful bar.

God, Hannah was proud of her.

“You okay over there?”

She turned at the sound of Fox’s deep drawl, finding him leaning back on a bar stool, one arm resting along the back of the seat, the other steadying a beer bottle in his lap. There was no help for the prickles that ran along her scalp, down her neck, and around to the front, hardening her nipples into points. It happened so fast, she didn’t have time to think of something to counter the effect, like slugs or snot or foot fungus.

Fox watched it happen knowingly, too, the blue of his eyes deepening a shade as they dipped to her breasts, the beer bottle lifting to his sculpted lips for a long, hard pull.

Get yourself together, Hannah.

This was simply the effect Fox had on women. But she didn’t have to be like everyone else and let it become A Thing. She could acknowledge his attractiveness and remain objective, right?

“Hey. Yes. I was just, um . . .” Begging herself to stop being an idiot, Hannah hopped onto the stool beside him. “I was just remembering all the work that went into this place.”

He nodded. “You girls brought it back to life.”