Suddenly You

by Sarah Mayberry

  Maybe she could buy him some new tools when money wasn’t such an issue. She’d noticed his screwdriver set was pretty beaten up. Maybe she could save up and get him a new one.

  It felt so feeble in the face of his generosity, but it was all she could come up with.

  Sighing, she stood in front of the mirror, quickly brushing her hair back into a ponytail. She’d pulled on an old man’s shirt she’d bought a while ago and her oldest yoga pants and she finished her ensemble with a scarf tied over her hair to protect it from paint spatter. Not her most attractive look, but tonight was about practicality. Hell, at the moment, her whole life was about practicality.

  She set Alice up in the sunroom with the baby monitor once again, then headed for the bedroom. Harry was already up the ladder, a trowel and a bucket of ready-mix plaster in hand. She tilted her head back and watched him smooth a thin coat along the joins between the old and new plaster sheets, impressed by his expertise and trying not to notice the muscles in his chest and arms ripple as he worked.

  “For a mechanic, you make a pretty good plasterer.”

  “Did a few summers on building sites when I was a kid. Picked up a few tricks along the way.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Not right this second.” He glanced down at her, quickly returning his attention to the ceiling.

  “Do you want something else to drink? A coffee, maybe?” She felt so superfluous, standing around watching him work.

  “Coffee would be good, thanks.”

  She half suspected he’d only said yes to give her something to do, but she headed into the kitchen to put the kettle on. By the time she returned with two mugs, he’d shifted the ladder across the room and was smoothing plaster over the last join.

  “That was fast.”

  “It’ll dry fast, too. Thirty minutes and we should be able to sand and get a coat of paint on.”

  “Here.” She held up his coffee, the handle turned toward him so he could grasp it easily.

  He glanced down at her as he slid the coffee from her hand. “Thanks.”

  He frowned as he took a sip of his drink.

  “If it’s too strong, I can add more milk,” she said quickly.

  The least she could do was give the man coffee how he liked it.

  “The coffee’s fine.” He flicked another quick look at her before once again focusing on his mug. “But you should probably know I can see right down your top from up here. Might want to do up another button.”

  Pippa glanced at her shirt. It was old and baggy with several buttons missing and she’d never given a thought to whether it was decent or not when she’d pulled it on. Sure enough, however, she could see lots of décolletage, along with a generous amount of bra.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled, retreating from the ladder to fumble with the neck of her shirt.

  “I wasn’t complaining. But I figured you’d probably want to know.” He said it casually, as though it was no big deal to him whatsoever.

  It probably wasn’t, given the amount of breasts and bras he’d seen in his lifetime.

  She couldn’t help but be aware that this was the second time she’d offered him all-areas access to the goods. Both times he’d been incredibly matter-of-fact about revealing her exposure but it didn’t stop her from feeling self-conscious as she double-checked that she was now decent. From now on, she was wearing turtlenecks when he was in the vicinity.

  She glanced at him when she turned around. He’d set his mug on top of the ladder and was smoothing plaster across the final corner join. Her gaze slid down his chest and caught on something below his waist. Something pretty substantial and difficult to ignore.

  He had a hard-on.

  She blinked, but it was still there when she opened her eyes again—a very defined, very impressive bulge in his jeans.

  Pippa looked away, her thoughts scattering like birds.

  Harry was turned on. Aroused. Hard.

  Because he’d seen down her top?

  Surely not.

  But the more she thought about it, the more it didn’t seem that big a stretch. In fact, unless the man had a serious thing for plaster or ladders or DIY in general, there wasn’t really any other explanation for what she’d seen.

  Her breath caught in her throat as she considered the implications.

  Harry wanted her. Pretty badly, if the size of that bulge was anything to go by.

  Illicit, indecent excitement licked along her veins. She pressed a hand to her belly, trying to hold back the tide of arousal that washed through her.

  Because Harry was a bad bet. Harry was good times and no-strings sex and no tomorrows. Better yet, he was closely connected with the father of her child.

  He was the last person she should want.

  Didn’t stop her from wanting him, though. Hadn’t stopped her from noticing his body for the past few weeks, either. Hadn’t stopped her from remembering how it had felt when he’d held her, or how he’d smelled, or how firm and hot his chest had been when she’d pried her daughter’s hands off him.

  Oh, boy.

  She stepped backward, recognizing the impulse toward recklessness rising inside her. Two years ago, she would have allowed that impulse to take over. She would have thrown caution to the winds and let Harry know in no uncertain terms that the attraction he felt was more than reciprocated.

  But she had Alice now. Her life wasn’t about impulse and whims. Every decision she made these days came with a price.

  She would be mad to get involved with Harry. A true glutton for punishment after what had happened with Steve.

  Even if Harry was incredibly hot. Even if she could feel herself growing wet and warm as she contemplated what it would be like to be skin-to-skin with so much raw masculinity.

  She was a mother now. She was training to be a teacher. Life wasn’t about what felt good or right in the moment. Life was about the future. About playing it safe and making smart, good choices.

  Her body felt hot beneath her hand. She swallowed and took a deep, calming breath.

  She would not sleep with Harry.

  The decision felt as final as a door closing. Some of the tension drained out of her body. She smiled faintly.

  Phew. Crisis averted.

  She felt almost giddy with relief that she’d managed to subvert her worst impulses. It had been close for a minute there, but she’d held out.

  Pippa snuck a look at Harry, feeling a little wistful as she eyed his erection again. In another time, in another place, she had no doubt that he would be a wonderful lover. Fun, intense, powerful… But it wasn’t going to happen.

  “Done.” Harry descended the ladder. “We should be ready to sand by eight-thirty.” He dumped the trowel and plaster bucket onto the drop sheet, then collected his mug. Lifting it to his mouth, he drained the last of the coffee. Pippa stared at the tanned column of his throat, mesmerized by the uniquely masculine bob of his Adam’s apple. He sighed his appreciation as he lowered the mug.

  “Good coffee. Thanks.” He stepped toward her, offering her the empty mug.

  Her gaze slid down his broad chest and flat belly to his crotch.

  “Is that for me?” The words slipped out of their own accord, born of too many nights alone and bone-deep curiosity and need.

  It had been so long, and she was only human.

  Harry’s gaze tracked hers to his groin. She held her breath, waiting for him to respond, aware of the pulse of desire between her legs.

  A slow smile curled Harry’s lips. “This, you mean?”

  Pippa watched with dawning horror as he reached into his pocket and drew out a tube of filler.

  His smile grew into an outright grin, his eyes dancing with mischief and amusement. “I’m not sure whether to be flattered or intimidated, to be honest,” he said, eyeing the tube assessingly.

  Pippa opened her mouth to say something to rescue herself but the only sound that came out was a small, choked cough. Heat flamed its way
up her chest and into her face.

  Harry was watching her, grin still in place, amused and entertained. In a moment of blinding clarity, she saw herself through his eyes—frumpy single-mum Pippa, down on her luck, a bit quirky and needy in her pill-covered yoga pants and baggy old man’s shirt.

  A million miles from the kind of woman that would inspire a hard-on the size of a tube of spackle.

  God, what had she been thinking? What on earth had made her say something so bold and stupid?

  She spun on her heel, aware that retreat would only make her look more foolish but unable to stem the impulse to run and hide. She reached the hall and looked around wildly before bolting into the bathroom. She shut the door with a teeth-rattling slam then dropped onto the edge of the tub.

  She was literally sweating with embarrassment. If she checked, she was sure even her toenails would be blushing. This was far, far worse than the incident with her vibrator. Never in a million years did she think she would ever say that, but here she was, redder than Rudolph’s nose and desperate to somehow take back her rash, revealing words.

  A knock sounded on the door. “Everything okay in there?”

  She closed her eyes. Great, now he was worried about her.

  She couldn’t think of anything to say so she simply sat there, radiating heat and humiliation.

  “Pippa?”

  “Go away.”

  There was a short pause, then the door handle turned. Pippa slid along the side of the bath, retreating, as he opened the door.

  “Go away. Just…leave me alone a minute.”

  He studied her intently for a beat. “You were serious.”

  He sounded surprised. Stunned, almost. It hit her that if she’d only stood her ground and come up with something smart to say, she could have pulled it off as a joke, because clearly that was the way he’d taken it—until she’d run from the room and hidden out in the bathroom like a ridiculous teenager.

  Something else to regret later.

  “Five minutes. Give me five minutes,” she said miserably.

  He frowned, then entered the room fully. She slid farther away, instinctively wanting as much distance between herself and the source of her humiliation as possible, only to overbalance and slip backward into the tub. Her head hit the wall behind the bath with a thunk and she wound up with her ass in the tub and her legs bent over the side. She pressed her palms to her face.

  If the world exploded in a ball of fire right this second, she would be grateful and happy. She wanted to die.

  “Pippa.”

  She spoke through her hands. “Harry, for the love of God, please just give me five minutes.”

  “I thought you were joking. You’re always such a smart-ass....”

  “I got that. Now can you go?”

  “Did you hurt your head?”

  She moaned. He wouldn’t go. He would stay and be a nice guy and let her down gently.

  “Can’t you leave me to my misery?”

  She heard him move closer, then she felt his hands close around her upper arms.

  “Come on.” He hauled her upward.

  She let him drag her to the edge of the bath, mostly because she didn’t have a choice. She dropped her hands into her lap as he stepped back, defeated by his persistence.

  “It was a mistake. Can we just forget I ever said anything?” she asked, steeling herself to meet his gaze.

  There was no sympathy in his clear gray eyes, however. No amusement, either, or discomfort or unease or any of the other emotions she’d expected. Instead, he was oddly intent as he studied her face.

  “It wouldn’t work. You know that, right?” he said after a long moment. “Nice as it would be.”

  It took a second for meaning to sink in. Was he saying what she thought he was saying?

  “You’ve thought about it?” she asked cautiously.

  Because no way was she jumping to a conclusion where he was concerned ever again.

  “Yeah.” There was a wealth of revealing frustration in the single word.

  She sat a little straighter. “Oh.”

  So she wasn’t completely deluded, then. There had been something happening between them. An energy. An interest.

  Harry’s expression was rueful. “But like I said, it’s a bad idea.”

  “Because…?”

  “You really need me to answer that?”

  She didn’t. She knew the reasons as well as he did. Alice, Steve, who she was, who he was…

  “You’re right. It’s a stupid idea.”

  “Not stupid. Complicated. Messy.”

  “Yeah. I know.” She could hear the regret in her own voice.

  What the hell—she was regretful. For a few seconds there she’d indulged in the fantasy that the sexy, hard-bodied man in front of her could be her lover. It had been heady and incredibly appealing.

  But it wasn’t going to happen and she needed to accept that.

  She met his eyes. “Thanks, anyway.”

  “What for?”

  She shrugged self-consciously. “For the ego boost, I guess.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “Your ego needs boosting?”

  “Sometimes, yeah. I’m a woman. I’ve been trained since birth to worry about anything and everything.”

  His gaze traveled down her body, lingering on her breasts. This time there was no mistaking the very male, very obvious appreciation. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Believe me.”

  She tried to stop herself from smiling and failed. “Thanks, Harry.”

  She might not be able to have him in her bed, but she would get a lot of mileage out of that look. A lot.

  Pippa stood. “Better get back to it, I suppose.”

  “Yeah.”

  He followed her into the bedroom and they both considered the ceiling for a beat.

  “Think it’s dry yet?” she asked.

  “Probably needs another ten minutes.”

  “Right.”

  He stood beside her, just inches away. It was probably an illusion, but she was sure she could feel his body heat. She stole a peek at his big, tattooed arms. What would it feel like to have him on top of her, his weight bearing down…?

  “You want another coffee while we wait?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  He sounded frustrated. Almost annoyed. She glanced at him and caught him looking at her. She saw lust and need and desire and frustration in his face.

  He wanted her. He really wanted her. Despite all the sensible things he’d just said.

  “Harry—”

  “Screw it.”

  He reached for her at the same moment she closed the distance between them. Her breasts hit his chest as his arms closed around her and she tilted her head for his kiss. Harry’s mouth found hers unerringly, his tongue sliding into her mouth in a heated rush.

  He tasted like desire. She moaned her approval as her body went up in flames. Dear God, it had been so long, and this man knew how to kiss.

  His tongue stroked hers sensuously, demandingly, while his hands roved over her back before settling on her backside. He grabbed a cheek in both hands and pulled her toward him. She moaned again when she felt how hard he was.

  Definitely not a tube of filler this time.

  Pippa gripped his shoulders, pressing her hips against his, tilting her pelvis to find the best fit. He pivoted, somehow moving her at the same time, and suddenly the wall was behind her and his hands were beneath her shirt. He cupped her breasts, his hips holding her against the wall, his thumbs teasing her nipples through the lace of her bra. She slid her hands from his shoulders to his hips, then around to his ass. She lifted a leg and wrapped it around his waist, using her grip on his backside to pull him closer.

  For long seconds they kissed and groped each other through their clothes, pulses racing. Pippa could feel how hard he was and the thought of having all that hardness inside her made her weak at the knees.

  Then Harry pushed her shirt up and pulled her bra down an
d lowered his head to her breasts and she lost the ability to think coherently. He didn’t just kiss her breasts, he consumed them—tonguing her nipples and drawing them into his mouth and shaping her breasts with his hands. He feasted, eyes tightly shut, utterly obsessed with the task at hand.

  She panted and held on to him as her body turned molten with need. She had never been so turned on, so desperate to have a man’s weight pressing down on her. She wanted to feel his skin on hers. She wanted to taste him. She wanted to wrap her legs around his hips and invite him into her body.

  Hands shaking, she found the stud of his jeans and popped it open. The zip was warm from his body heat and she pulled it down before sliding her hand beneath the elastic of his underwear. His whole body jerked as she wrapped her hands around warm, silken steel. She stroked her hand up and down his shaft, reveling in the thick length of him. Her thumb found his head, gliding over the velvety skin. He shuddered again, then suddenly his hands were at the waistband of her yoga pants and he was pushing them and her panties down her hips. She assisted him by toeing her shoes off and then kicking her clothes away.

  She gasped as his hands glided over her naked ass and thighs, big and warm and slightly roughened. He kissed her again as his palm smoothed down her belly and into the curls between her thighs.

  “Damn,” he groaned when he discovered how wet she was.

  She tightened her grip on his erection and tilted her hips forward, craving his touch so badly she ached. He accepted her invitation, sliding a finger inside her. She sobbed as her body tightened greedily around his invasion.

  He felt so good and she needed this so badly.

  “Now, Harry,” she panted, pushing his jeans down his hips.

  He slid a hand from her breasts to help her, freeing himself. She heard the crinkle of foil and realized he’d pulled a condom from his pocket. He handed it to her, his gray gaze heated. She bit down on the side of the packet and tore it open, then sheathed him with trembling hands. The moment he was safe he reached for her backside, lifting her. She wrapped her legs around his hips and reached between them to guide him to her entrance.