“Do you play cards?”
Jackson just stared at her. Had she said something?
“Hello-ooo? Earth to Jackson.” Clearly exasperated with him she rolled her eyes. “I said, do you want to play a game of cards?” How was it possible a woman this intelligent could be this oblivious to the one thing they could be doing tonight? Cards? The last thing he felt like doing in a secluded cabin with a sexy, intriguing, and utterly beautiful woman was playing cards.
“Cards?” he spat out finally.
His derision did nothing to hamper her enthusiasm. “Yes, cards! Maybe we could have a game of crazy eights?”
“Crazy eights?”
She frowned at him. “Stop repeating everything I’m saying like all my suggestions are imbecilic.”
“What the hell is crazy eights? That must be a game only small-town people play,” he said, purposely baiting her.
She crossed her arms. “How do you know I’m from a small town?”
“Honey, you’ve got small town written all over you.” His grin widened as her frown deepened.
“Oh really?”
“The books, the grandma hat, and bag—”
“Grandma hat! I’ll have you know that a nice—”
He made a sweeping gesture with his hand, trying not to laugh. “A grandmother.”
She stopped talking for a moment and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Well, yes she is a grandmother. Just not my grandmother. Whatever. It may be a small town, but it’s still close to civilization. Hope’s Crossing is a charming—”
“Hope’s Crossing? What kind of a name is that?”
She narrowed her eyes to slits and gave him a death glare. “It’s a town filled with good old fashioned values, and people who care about each other. Everyone knows everyone—”
“Ugh, that sounds awful.”
“But for your information, I grew up in the city.”
“Really?”
She nodded but looked as though she was ready to shut down that conversation. He realized that whenever she told him something about herself, she seemed to regret it. He wasn’t going to let her off that easy. “Why’d you leave?”
“I like small towns,” she said, crossing her legs and not looking at him.
“I hate them.”
“Of course someone like you would.”
“Someone like me?”
She held out her hand and began rattling off a list on her fingers. “Closed-off, antisocial, miserly—”
“Miserly?” he said, laughing.
“I think we need to get back to deciding what game of cards we’re going to play.”
“I like hearing about you,” he said, knowing she didn’t want to tell him anything more about herself.
She turned her nose and then leaned forward in her chair, unrelenting. “I know what game we can play. How about asshole? Surely you must be very familiar with asshole”
He’d never known any woman to openly insult him as much as Hannah. And he liked the sound of her laughter when she joined in with him, and the way it lit up her face and gave him a glimpse of the woman she was when she wasn’t afraid or worried. She was intoxicating. That realization made him stop laughing. “I’m not familiar with that game,” he drawled out, and stood up. He walked over to the liquor cabinet. “Do you want a drink?” He certainly needed one.
“What are you having?” She stared at him with a sparkle and a lofty smile.
“Scotch.”
“I’ll have the same.” He gave a half laugh, half grunt. Since when did he do a half-laugh? With Hannah he was constantly on the verge of laughing or yelling. She was full of contradictions.
“Maybe we should have the Sampsons over,” Hannah said with a suspiciously cheerful grin.
He rolled his eyes. “I think once this season is enough.”
“You’re horrible. I can’t believe you pretend you’re not home when they knock at your door.” She looked adorable as she tried to give him a stern frown even though her eyes twinkled.
“If I let them in once, that would be it. I’d never get rid of them,” he said, walking back to her. He didn’t want to think about all the things the Sampsons said about Emily being a gift. An angel.
“I think they’re charming, and so in love after so many years. What wonderful spirit to have matching Santa hats…”
“I’ve got to start drinking.”
Hannah threw her head back and laughed.
“Now if we’re drinking this straight, we’ve got to do something more interesting than playing cards,” Jackson said standing in front of her.
She raised a brow and tipped her head in silent challenge.
Jackson handed Hannah her glass and the moment her fingers brushed against his he felt the heat and fire that he’d been experiencing whenever he made close contact with her. She raised her glass to his and he wondered if he imagined the faint tremor in her hand.
“Cheers,” she said, her voice husky. Jackson took a sip and sat beside her on the leather couch. He noticed she scooted a little further away—she definitely felt the attraction too.
“So how about a game of truth or dare?”
“That seems a little juvenile for you, Jackson.”
He leaned back and watched her over the rim of his glass. “I’m really just a kid at heart.” He smiled at her shout of laughter, her whiskey swishing precariously close to the rim of her glass. “Besides, once we get a few of these in us,” he said holding up his drink, “the game gets really interesting.” He couldn’t stop his smile at the thought of the petite brunette trying to drink him under the table.
“I’ll bet. Okay, I’m up for it. But I’ve got to warn you, I’m not a cheap drunk, I know how to hold my liquor. Besides, there’s a baby in the other room—I have to be responsible.”
“All right, let the game begin.”
“I go first,” she said, leaning forward to pat Charlie on head.
“Shoot,” he said, forcing himself not to look at the cleavage peaking out when she leaned over to pat his dog. It was impressive cleavage too. Dammit.
“Truth or dare?” she asked wriggling her eyebrows.
He folded his arms across his chest. “Dare.”
She frowned. “Really? Dare?”
“Hannah, you didn’t actually think I’d say truth, did you?”
She looked thoroughly disappointed. “No one ever picks dare!”
“Seriously? I always pick dare.”
“But I haven’t thought of a dare,” she said, taking a long drink. She licked the corner of her mouth and his stomach clenched involuntarily.
“Time’s a tickin’,” he said, enjoying teasing her.
“No, it’s not. There’s no time limit. Okay, I’ve thought of something!” she said, looking very pleased with herself. “I dare you to tell me why you changed your name.”
He laughed. “Nice work-around, but are you sure you want to waste a dare on something as mundane as my name?”
“Somehow I don’t think this is going to be mundane at all.” She lifted her eyebrows in silent challenge.
He groaned theatrically and then leaned further into the cushions. “Fine. When I…” He paused for a second searching for the right words. He’d never had to explain this before, and suddenly, not looking like a complete jerk to Hannah seemed important. “I knew that if I was ever going to make it I would have to disassociate myself from my family. I didn’t want to be contacted by them anymore. I needed to move on with my life. I didn’t do it out of embarrassment or shame. I don’t really give a damn what people think of me.” He finished off his glass and didn’t look at her. Hannah was dangerously easy to talk to.
“I can understand that.” The lack of sympathy in her voice startled him and he looked over at her. She shoved her empty glass in front of his face. “I’d love a refill, please.”
“You and me both.” He stood up and walked across the room. He felt a little slighted that she hadn’t seemed more compassionate.
“Jackson?”
“Yeah,” he said over his shoulder.
“Just bring the whole bottle.”
His shoulders shook with laughter and did as asked, joining her on the couch. She surprised him by lifting her glass for a toast.
“To screwed up childhoods and bad Christmases,” she said. He clinked his glass with hers and held her gaze.
“Really, bad Christmases? Screwed up childhood?” That wasn’t what he expected at all from her.
She nodded. It was the first time she’d volunteered anything about her life.
“I had horrible Christmases,” she said, looking into her glass then up at him again.