They turned toward the house.
“Whatever happens, you should sort things with Steve,” she said after a short beat of silence. “You guys have been mates too long to let this come between you.”
“Yeah.”
The easiest thing would be to simply walk away from Pippa, but Harry suspected that at least half of Steve’s anger was because Harry had called him on his poor behavior. If Harry backed off from Pippa and turned a blind eye to Steve’s crappy decisions, no doubt their friendship would be just dandy.
Harry scowled at the graveled walkway. He’d never considered himself a moralist before, but apparently even he had standards. Now he knew Steve was shortchanging Pippa, he couldn’t simply turn a blind eye to it. Couldn’t stomach it.
As for the walking-away-from-Pippa part…
Mel’s hand landed warmly on his shoulder and he realized they were standing in front of the house.
“You know, I almost feel sorry for you.”
He let out a frustrated sigh. Why did women see romance everywhere?
“Quit trying to make this into something it isn’t.”
She held up both hands. “You’re the one striding around like Heathcliff, scowling at rocks and whatnot.”
“And women wonder why men don’t talk about their feelings more.”
Mel smiled and punched his arm. “Keep me posted.”
“As if.”
Harry walked to his car. Mel climbed the steps to the porch and stood watching him reverse out of the drive. She waved goodbye as he pulled into the street. He gave the horn a quick blast and took off.
Five minutes later he parked in Pippa’s driveway. He didn’t get out of the car immediately. Instead, he sat and thought very deliberately about what he was about to do: go inside and get down and dirty with Pippa again.
If he was going to call a halt to this, now was the time. He could go in, rehang her door, fix her front door lock and keep his hands firmly to himself. It wouldn’t fix things with Steve in and of itself, but it would go a long way toward calming things down. Maybe once he was out of the picture, Steve would come to his senses regarding child support for Alice.
Maybe.
And it would definitely ensure that there were no crossed wires with Pippa regarding what had happened between them.
Harry got out of the car and climbed the three steps to the front door. He knocked and rubbed his suddenly-damp palms on the thighs of his jeans. Footsteps sounded inside the house.
Pippa answered the door, hair a damp tangle down her back, face flushed from the shower. She was wearing a black-and-white polka-dot drop waist dress that looked as though it was made from silk and her feet were bare, her toenails painted a pale pink. Her smile was both chagrined and a little apologetic.
“Sorry. Alice just threw up everywhere and I’m running late again. But I’ve got some nibbles to keep you going until dinner.”
He breathed in vanilla-scented perfume and watched as she pushed her glasses back to the bridge of her nose. The need to shove her against the wall and kiss the smile off her lips swept over him. She looked so soft and warm and friendly and sexy, he just wanted to get her naked and make them both a little crazy all over again.
Harry stepped over the threshold and reached for her, aware that in doing so he was choosing the more difficult, complicated path, opening himself up to a world of potential drama, misunderstanding and recrimination.
Funny thing was, it didn’t feel as though it was a choice, not when Pippa was standing there, ready to be kissed. More like an imperative, as undeniable as the need to breathe.
And he was in no mood to deny anyone anything.
* * *
PIPPA STARTED A little as Harry’s big, warm hands closed over her shoulders.
“Wha—” she said, then her back was against the wall and Harry’s mouth was covering hers.
He kissed her deeply, his tongue by turns coaxing and demanding, his hands roving from her breasts to her hips to her backside and back again. Her body instantly became more liquid than solid. She had to concentrate on staying upright as her knees started to shake.
This man… This man was a master of the art of kissing.
She was ready to slide to the floor by the time he lifted his head and looked into her eyes.
“Where’s Alice?”
“In bed, but not asleep yet.”
“But you’ve got a baby monitor, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He wove his fingers with hers and towed her into her bedroom. She gave a passing thought to the frittata in the oven. Maybe she should go turn down the heat....
Harry let go of her hand to haul his T-shirt over his head. Her mouth went dry as she stared at his bare chest. Rational thought evaporated as he popped the stud on his jeans, his eyes never leaving hers.
She hadn’t exactly led a sheltered life, but she had never had a man look at her or kiss her or touch her the way Harry did all those things. It was intoxicating, heady and such a huge turn-on…
He shucked his jeans and underwear in one smooth, decisive move. Her gaze fell to his erection, bold and proud against his belly. Her sex tightened instinctively as she remembered what it had felt like to have him inside her.
And it was about to happen again.
Belatedly she realized that he was naked and she still fully clothed, mostly because she’d been standing there like a dodo, gawking at him as he undressed. She reached for the zip on the side of her dress, dragging it down with what could only be described as indecent haste. She was pretty sure she’d never wanted to be naked as much as she wanted to be naked right this second. She wrenched the dress over her head and reached for the clasp at the back of her bra.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Harry said, holding up a staying hand. “Slow down a little.”
She stared at him. “You’re the one who’s naked already.”
“Yeah, but I don’t look like you.”
The admiration in his tone sent her self-esteem soaring. Pippa glanced down at her best underwear, dark green silk with bright pink trim.
“You like this?”
“My favorite part of Christmas is unwrapping the presents.”
He tucked a finger into the waistband of her panties, encouraging her forward. She stepped into his embrace, only to find herself falling toward the bed. She barely had time to bounce before he was crawling on top of her, grinning like an idiot.
“Very smooth,” she said drily.
“Wait till you see my next move.” He ducked his head and used his teeth to graze the curve of her breast along the edge of her bra cup. She shivered, running her hands across the firm muscles of his shoulders. He caught the lacy edge of the cup in his teeth and dragged it down. Then his mouth was closing over her nipple and she was doing her best not to come on the spot.
Maybe it was because it had been so long. Maybe it was because he was so good. Maybe it was something about her and him together—whatever it was, one touch from this man was enough to make her breathless and mindless.
She let her head fall back against the mattress, giving herself up to his touch.
“You have very sexy breasts, Pippa,” he said after a few minutes, his breath warm against her skin.
“Th-thanks,” she panted. Her hands were clamped to his shoulders as she hung on for dear life.
He lifted his head and grinned at her. “How you holding up? Doing okay?”
She didn’t even try to pretend she wasn’t a warm, gooey mess. “Don’t gloat, it doesn’t suit you.”
Harry pressed his smile into her cleavage. She shuddered again as he started to kiss his way across her rib cage. When he went farther south, her heart started racing with excitement. Deep in her secret, dirty, dark heart, she’d always imagined this—Harry, between her thighs, a knowing glint in his eyes.
She held her breath as he circled his tongue around her belly button, her hips lifting involuntarily as she encouraged him lower. She
felt him smile against her skin. She fisted her right hand and thumped him on the shoulder.
“Smugness is also unattractive.”
He didn’t say anything, simply slid lower, gripping the elastic of her panties in his teeth. She moaned as he inched her panties down, licking the exposed skin between her hip bones. Her belly muscles quivered as he pulled her panties lower again, his breath feathering through her pubic hair.
“God,” she hissed, her whole body trembling with anticipation.
He glanced up at her, his gray eyes full of smutty intent. “I can stop now if it’s too much.”
“Stop now and I’ll kill you.”
He laughed. She lifted her hips as he tugged her panties down her legs. He smoothed his hands up her thighs, pushing them wide. She bit her lip, waiting.
“So pink and pretty,” he murmured.
He lowered his head. She lost track of time after that. There was only the wet, firm warmth of his mouth between her thighs, a delicious, slippery friction that made her forget how to breathe and think and speak. He slid his hands beneath her hips, holding her in place as he tortured her.
“Harry, please,” she begged, twisting in his grip.
She wasn’t even sure what she was asking for, but he knew. He slid a finger inside her, then another. She arched off the bed, her climax rippling through her. For long seconds he kept her at her peak, his tongue and mouth deft, subtle and knowing.
Then she collapsed back onto the bed, limp and sated and dazed.
Harry kissed her thighs, then her belly, working his way back up her body. She could barely lift her head as he reached her face. He was smiling again when he kissed her mouth.
“Still breathing?”
“Barely.”
“Roll onto your side.”
She felt his erection against her backside as he tucked in behind her. She waited for him to find his own satisfaction, but he seemed more interested in her belly and breasts, smoothing his hands across skin.
“You feel so good,” he murmured near her ear. “So soft.”
Even though she’d just climaxed she was painfully aware of his erection, pressed against the curve of her ass. He felt hard and hot and she kept remembering what it had been like to have him stretching her, filling her. Almost without being conscious of it she pressed her backside into the cradle of his hips. He continued smoothing his hands over her breasts, apparently oblivious to her invitation.
“Harry…”
“Shh.”
He slid his hand between her legs, stroking her with two fingers. She could feel how wet she was, could feel, too, that he liked that because his hard-on surged against her. He pushed a knee between her thighs, encouraging her to open to him more.
It struck her then that he was determined to please her, that her pleasure turned him on. The knowledge heightened her sensation, bringing every brush of his fingers into tight focus.
Pippa was ready to roll over and take what he wasn’t giving her when she heard the telltale crinkle of a condom being opened. He moved away for a second. When he came back he surged inside her in one smooth, slick stroke.
She sighed her relief, clenching her hands in the sheets as he started to move.
At last. Finally. Thank God.
Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, the only sound their breathing, the susurrus of their bodies against the sheets and the wet sound of him moving inside her. He felt so good, so big and hard… And she was so ready for him. Every stroke of his body inside hers brought her closer to completion, a gentle, gradual build.
“Yes, yes,” she whispered, arching into his thrusts.
She could feel her climax bearing down on her. So close. Harry slid a hand over her hip and between her thighs. She bucked against him as he found her, and then she was gone. Utterly gone.
She’d barely come back down to earth when she felt him tense. His hips ground against her backside as he found his release. Then he relaxed. They lay side by side, sweaty and breathless.
“Open your eyes,” Harry said after a few beats.
She did so, only to find his face inches from hers.
“I love the look in your eyes after you come.” He sounded satisfied, very pleased with himself, but she figured he’d earned it.
And then some.
And all she’d done was cook him dinner.
“The frittata!”
She bolted upright, scrambling toward the edge of the bed. She was about to slide off when he grabbed her ankle.
“Hey!” she said.
“The frittata can wait.”
“It’s probably a burnt crisp by now.”
“Perfect.” He tugged on her ankle, trying to lure her back to his side.
She laughed, delighted and flattered and silly over the idea that he wanted her again so soon.
“A compromise—I’ll turn the oven off then come right back.”
He released her ankle. “Don’t make me come get you.”
There was something in his eyes, a primitive possessiveness that made her almost want to test his threat. She grabbed her silk robe off the hook on the wall and shrugged into it as she slipped from the room. The silk felt cool against her heated body as she made her way to the kitchen.
By some miracle, the frittata was merely very golden instead of black and crispy. She pulled it out and left it to cool on the stovetop. She was about to head back to the bedroom when Alice began to cry.
Tightening the sash on her robe, she went to check on her daughter. Face red, eyes filled with tears, Alice howled out her misery, arms flailing against the coverlet.
“It’s okay, Ali bear, Mummy’s here.” She lifted Alice into her arms, tucking her against her body.
Alice continued to sob as Pippa rocked her gently. She checked Alice’s diaper—dry—and rocked her back and forth. Alice continued to cry. Pippa smoothed a hand over her daughter’s head and made soothing noises. She glanced at the doorway, wondering what Harry was thinking.
Probably nothing good. Or nothing she’d want to know about, anyway. He was used to girls who partied all night, not women who stayed up trying to coax a teething baby to sleep.
She pictured him on the other side of the wall, sweating bullets and wondering how quickly he could make his excuses and head for the hills.
She grimaced, aware of the push-pull of almost-embarrassment versus indignant defiance within herself. Like most women, she wanted to be seen as sexy and desirable, one of the reasons Harry’s intense, focused lovemaking had struck such a deep chord within her, and a crying baby was pretty much the opposite of sexy. But there were also the realities of life to consider, and the reality of her life was that she was a mother. She couldn’t disappear Alice conveniently when it suited her. Alice was an integral part of her world. She cried. She demanded attention. She needed feeding and petting and playtime. Alice was utterly dependent on Pippa, and if listening to her daughter cry made Harry break out in hives and want to shimmy out the window on a rope made of sheets…well, this was going to be the shortest-lived inappropriate affair in the history of the world.
Which was probably a good thing, when it came right down to it.
“Anything I can do?”
She whipped her head around. Harry stood in the doorway wearing nothing but jeans and a concerned expression. Her gaze scanned his chest before dropping to his flat belly. In the back of her brain, a part of her punched the air and hooted with triumph that this hot, sexy, built man had just been in her bed.
“I might try a bottle. Sometimes that settles her. She’s just started teething....”
“Okay.” He glanced around the nursery as though looking for something he could physically move or fix.
She smiled. “Thanks for asking, though.”
He lifted a shoulder, brushing off her gratitude as he always did. “Have you got a bottle made up already? Can I stick it in the microwave or anything?”
“I’ll have to mix some formula.” She eyed him assessingly, try
ing to work out if he was simply being polite or if he was sincere with his offer to help. She decided to take him at his word. “I could talk you through doing it if you were up for it…?”
That way she wouldn’t have to put Alice down, something she hated to do when her daughter was so distressed.
“Sure. Figure it can’t be harder than overhauling a fuel injector rail.”
She watched him carefully, but there was no sign of twitchiness or discomfort. Apparently he wasn’t about to grab his car keys and make a run for it, after all.
“Well, okay.”
He followed her into the kitchen and she talked him through taking a bottle from the sterilizer and mixing the formula. She had a strange out-of-body moment as she watched him shake the bottle. This was Harry, after all. Mr. Sexy, Mr. Footloose. Standing in her kitchen, mixing formula bare-chested and barefoot.
If I wake up right now and find out the past two days have been a dream, I am going to be really pissed.
The thought made her smile. No way could she have dreamed what had just happened in her bedroom. Her imagination wasn’t that good.
As for Harry making up Alice’s bottle… It simply wouldn’t have ever occurred to her to put the two things together, not even in her subconscious.
Harry screwed the top on the bottle. “Now what?”
“We sit it in some hot water for fifteen minutes so it can warm up.”
“Don’t know if you’ve read about this crazy new invention called the microwave…”
“Nice in theory, in practice a big no-no. Lots of babies with mouth and throat burns.”
“Okay. No microwave. Got it.”
She watched as he sat the bottle in a saucepan full of hot tap water.
“The world’s a minefield once you have a baby. Every corner hides a peril,” she said.
“No kidding.”
Alice was still grizzling, grasping at the front of Pippa’s gown sporadically and occasionally hiccupping.
“Must kill her not being able to tell you what’s wrong,” Harry said.
He moved closer so he could peer into Alice’s face, his eyes soft with sympathy. Pippa’s gaze dropped to the inky blackness of his tattoo, tracing the lines across his shoulder and down on to his broad chest. She wondered how long it had taken and if it had hurt. And she wondered which of his many tattoos had been his first, and if he regretted them at all.
Suddenly You Page 16
