Suddenly You

by Sarah Mayberry

  She couldn’t imagine him without them, they were such an essential part of who he was, but there was no denying that a lot of people must look at him and see nothing but a lot of tattooed muscle. They’d never know how funny and smart he was, how kind. How gentle he could be. How playful.

  Harry’s arm brushed her sleeve and he glanced at her. He stood so close she could see the tiny stars of darker gray radiating from his pupils and the shadow of tomorrow’s beard beneath his skin. She had an almost irresistible urge to lean forward and press her lips to his cheek, a physical expression of the sudden upswell of affection she felt for him. She resisted—barely—but she couldn’t stop the impulsive words that spilled from her lips.

  “I’m really glad you pulled over to help me the other week.”

  Harry didn’t move a muscle, but something shifted in his eyes. After a few seconds he put some distance between them, circling back behind the kitchen counter to check on Alice’s bottle.

  “How do we know when this thing is ready?”

  “You test it on the skin inside your wrist. It should feel warm, but not hot.”

  He took the bottle from the water and shook a few drops onto the inside of his wrist. He frowned, then shook his head.

  “I have no idea if that’s even close to being right.”

  He passed her the bottle and she managed to juggle both it and Alice enough to sprinkle a few drops on her wrist.

  “It’s perfect. Thanks.”

  She slipped the teat into Alice’s mouth and felt her daughter’s small body slowly relax as she gave her attention to the bottle. Harry crossed to the sink and tipped the water from the saucepan down the drain. He was frowning when he turned to face her.

  “I should go see to that door.”

  “If you give me ten minutes, I’ll be able to help you. She’s worn herself out so much she’s already falling asleep.”

  “It’s not really a two-person job, but thanks.”

  He left the room. Pippa stared at her daughter’s face and tried to understand what had just happened. One minute they’d been fine, then all of a sudden he’d gone cold on her.

  She thought back over their conversation, remembering the way his eyes had grown distant when she’d said she was glad he’d pulled over to help her.

  Suddenly she got it. She pressed her lips together and stewed on her conclusion for as long as it took Alice to finish half the bottle and slip into sleep. She walked carefully to Alice’s bedroom and settled her, then she went to find Harry.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  HE WAS PRESSING some kind of foul-smelling pink putty into her bedroom door frame with a plastic spatula.

  “What’s that?” she asked, momentarily diverted.

  “Builder’s filler. The door frame is so damaged there’s nothing to screw the hinges back into. This stuff will set in about five minutes and I can redrill the holes.”

  She nodded, then fixed her gaze on his. Very directly, because there was no other way to do this.

  “What I said before, about being glad you stopped to help me—it didn’t mean anything apart from the fact that I was glad you stopped. Okay?”

  His gaze shifted to her briefly before returning to the door frame. “Okay.”

  He wore his poker face and she couldn’t tell what was going on in his head.

  “I’m not an idiot, Harry. I know what this is. I’m not making room for your clothes in my closet, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  He looked at the smelly pink putty on the end of the spatula. “Good. Because I’m a bad bet as far as anything else goes.”

  Something inside her recoiled as he fed her the same line she was sure he’d used dozens of times before. Steve’s words echoed in her mind. You think you’re going to be different from all the other girls he’s screwed and left behind? Not for a second had she ever believed that this thing between her and Harry had the possibility of becoming anything more than what it was—hot sex and a bit of fun—but the notion that she was simply yet another woman whose expectations Harry felt he had to manage stuck in her craw.

  In that one respect she did want to be different from Harry’s other women. She wanted him to respect her enough to be honest with her. She didn’t want the easy line or pat response.

  “Harry, on what planet do you think any rational woman would think that you’re a good bet? You change women like you change socks. Your life is one big adventure playground. You said it yourself—you want an easy, no-stress, no-muss, no-fuss life. You’ve never said anything other than that, and I got the message, believe me. I let you into my bed with my eyes wide open, so don’t go getting wiggy on me because I said something nice to you. In case you hadn’t noticed, I like you. I enjoy spending time with you—hence the fact that I was recently horizontal with you, breathing hard and making funny noises. But none of those things mean I have designs on your prized bachelor status. Not unlike yourself, I am able to separate sex and love and romance and friendship. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He appeared relieved. Surprise, surprise. Despite what she’d said to him, it would be easy to be offended. But she refused to be. She had no illusions where he was concerned, and he’d never made her any promises—except, perhaps, the promise of a good time.

  Pippa checked the sash on her robe and flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Good. We’re all sorted, then. Do you want some dinner while that stinky stuff sets?”

  “Sure.”

  They ate standing at the kitchen counter. There was still a faint air of constraint between them and Pippa didn’t know how to relieve it. She snuck glances at him from beneath her eyelashes, studying his face, his body, wondering what he was thinking.

  Even though they’d both agreed they were on the same page, there was the very real possibility that by being so frank and forcing a confrontation she had killed the buzz between them.

  Damn, but it would be a shame if the best sex of her life was over before it had really started.

  “Relax, Pippa,” Harry said after a few minutes.

  She peeked at him.

  “I can practically hear your brain whirring,” he said.

  There was no good answer to that, so she didn’t say anything. He slipped her almost-empty plate from her hand, then plucked the fork from the other. She watched as he placed them both on the counter before moving to stand in front of her.

  She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze. He lowered his head and kissed her, the fingertips of one hand touching the curve of her jaw. He stood close enough that she could feel the heat of his body through the silk of her gown. She pulled him closer, tilting her hips into his. He was hard already, his arousal a firm pressure against her belly.

  He tugged on the sash of her robe, pushing it off her shoulders. She let her head drop back as he kissed his way down her neck to her breasts. Her nipples were already hard for him, begging for his attention. Warmth pooled between her thighs as he drew a nipple into his mouth.

  Amazing how quickly he could turn her on. Amazing, too, how good he felt beneath her hands. She ran her palms across his chest, teasing his flat, male nipples with her thumbs, raking her nails down his belly. She slid a hand into the front pocket of his jeans, pleased to find the small square of a condom beneath her fingers.

  She pulled it free and made short work of his fly. Wordless, he lifted her, placing her on the edge of the counter. She sheathed him and guided him to her, wrapping a leg around his hips as he slid inside her.

  She braced her arms behind her on the counter as he drove into her—long, slick, needful strokes. His gaze roved her body, from breast to breast, down her belly, until he was watching himself slide in and out of her body. The avid intensity of his gaze thrilled her and she dropped her gaze, too. The sight of him moving in her body lit something inside her. His tattooed chest, the stud in his ear, the hardness of his body, the length of him filling her…

  She gripped his shoulder, needing the anchor as her climax hit. She closed
her eyes and let it roll over her.

  So good.

  Harry became more frantic, less controlled as he pumped into her. She opened her eyes and watched his face and body tighten as he approached his own climax. She wrapped her other leg around him and locked her ankles behind his back, lifting her hips in time with his thrusts.

  “Pippa…” he groaned.

  He drove himself deeply inside her and stayed there, veins showing in his neck as he closed his eyes and got swept away. She watched him ride out his climax, loving that she’d given him so much pleasure.

  He opened his eyes and looked at her. His gaze was still cloudy with desire, his face soft with satisfaction. For the second time tonight she was hit with the urge to press an affectionate kiss to his cheek or lips or chest. He’d given so much to her. But she knew better than to do that, especially after the conversation they’d just had.

  Instead, she slid off the counter and pulled her robe across her body again.

  “I suppose you want dessert now.”

  He smiled, as she’d hoped he would.

  “Thought I just had it.”

  “Well, you thought wrong, mister, because I have chocolate and raspberry brownies.”

  She crossed to the fridge.

  “I’ll go check on the door frame, see if the putty is dry yet.”

  She watched over her shoulder as he left the room. Then and only then did she press her forehead against the cool white metal of the fridge door.

  She’d talked a good talk, so good she’d almost convinced herself, but the truth was that being with Harry, making love with Harry, spending time with Harry was something she could get used to very easily.

  Which would be a big mistake. Really, really huge.

  For a moment she wondered if she was fooling herself, entering into a no-strings fling with him. She’d had her fair share of lovers and a handful of one-night stands over the years, but what she had going on with Harry felt like a new thing, entirely different from either the serious or the casual relationships of her past.

  It felt…addictive. Compelling. Magnetic.

  She pushed away from the fridge, shaking the thought off. She’d just outlined to Harry exactly where she stood regarding what was happening between them. She had no illusions—in a week or two or three, she and Harry would be parting ways. Only a very foolish woman would let herself lose sight of that fact.

  * * *

  IT WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHT when Harry left Pippa’s place. He’d fixed her bedroom door before moving on to her front door lock. Then he’d spent fifteen minutes in the shower coaxing her to a climax again with his hands and mouth.

  He smiled to himself as he hefted his toolbox into the back of his truck. Three times in one night. He hadn’t been this horny since he was a kid.

  But there was something about Pippa’s soft, pale skin and lush breasts… And the noises she made when she came, soft, needy and desperate… And the way she walked and talked and laughed…

  He glanced toward the house. He could see a Pippa-shaped shadow moving behind the curtain in her bedroom. He recalled what she’d said to him tonight. She had been very clear about what they were about. Her words—very straightforward and up-front—had wiped away any misgivings he had about continuing to see her. As long as they were both on the same page, there was nothing to stop them from having a good time together.

  He hadn’t been out with a single mother before—he wasn’t in the business of raising expectations. He’d be lying if he said it hadn’t been a shock when Alice started crying tonight. From the moment he had set eyes on Pippa this evening, he’d been so intent on getting her into bed that he’d forgotten everything else. Alice’s cries had brought him back to reality, quick smart. Lying on Pippa’s bed listening to Alice’s screams, he’d had visions of the night becoming one big cry-fest, with Pippa pacing and feeding the baby bottles and whatever else mothers did to comfort their babies while any chance he had of getting her naked again evaporated into thin air.

  Then a strange thing had happened. Alice’s crying had changed, kicking up a note, and he’d heard the raw misery in her voice and her very real distress. She’d sounded so lost. So inconsolable.

  Without really thinking about it, he’d pulled on his jeans and gone to see if he could help. Not exactly the way he’d imagined the evening panning out, but not the end of the world, either.

  Surprisingly.

  Harry started his truck and reversed into the street. He was about to drive off when he saw a set of headlights flick on a few houses down. An engine started, a robust V8. It was dark, but he was pretty sure he could make out the shape of a high, square truck cabin.

  Jaw set, he headed for home. The truck fell in behind him. Harry pulled into his driveway five minutes later, the truck still on his tail. He braced himself for a fight as he exited his own truck, walking to the head of his driveway and waiting for Steve to pull up. He didn’t. Instead, he cruised past at speed, engine roaring.

  It was impossible to see inside the cabin in the dark but Harry didn’t need to—he could feel his friend staring at him as he passed.

  The truck turned the corner and the sound of the engine faded into the distance.

  How long had Steve been sitting out front of Pippa’s place? All night?

  Harry thought back to the silhouette he’d seen in Pippa’s bedroom as he was leaving. While not explicit, it had been revealing enough. How much had Steve seen tonight? Enough to know that Harry was no longer simply helping out around the house?

  Guilt bit at him. He tried to shrug it off but it wouldn’t go away. Mel had told him to settle things with Steve, and she was right. They needed to clear the air. Say whatever needed to be said. The last thing Pippa needed was an angry ex loitering outside her house and Harry didn’t want to burn a friendship that had meant a lot over the years.

  He rubbed his forehead. He’d known this would be messy going in, but he’d still shoved Pippa against the wall and kissed her last night, and he’d done it again tonight.

  It wouldn’t be the last time, either. Maybe it made him a selfish asshole and a bad mate, but he couldn’t stay away from her.

  For some reason, his sister’s words echoed in his head. Every man meets his match eventually.

  He made a rude noise and walked toward the house. His sister was deluded. Just because she was happily settled with Flynn didn’t mean that Harry was about to succumb to the lures of coupledom. He could still remember how he’d felt when he’d been living with Debbie. As though he was suffocating. As though his world was shrinking. He never wanted to feel that constrained again.

  Mel didn’t seem constrained by Flynn, though, and if anyone had reason to fear commitment, it was his sister. Her marriage had been unhappy, bordering on abusive, something he’d only found out after the divorce papers were signed. If anything, Mel had blossomed since Flynn came into her life. She’d shaken off the past and embraced the world—and herself—again.

  Maybe, if the right person came along and a man was at the right stage in his life, the white picket-fence dream wouldn’t be such a nightmare. Maybe.

  Harry winced, imagining how triumphant his sisters would be if they could hear his thoughts. They’d think their constant drip-feed of monogamy-pushing had finally started to bear fruit.

  There was something sitting on the doorstep when he reached the porch. He couldn’t make it out in the dark. He touched the screen on his phone to bring it to life and aimed it at the object. The cold blue light reflected off the shiny gold of a football trophy. He crouched and picked it up. He had one just like it inside somewhere, a souvenir from 1996 when the Frankston Rovers had won the grand final. Steve had played full-forward that season, Harry ruck-rover. The parties had lasted all weekend and they’d felt like kings for months afterward.

  Harry stared at the trophy. He needed to talk to Steve. Properly this time. Calmly.

  His gut told him it wouldn’t be pretty, but he had to try.

  Shoulder
s tense, he let himself into the house.

  * * *

  PIPPA WOKE IN sheets that smelled of sex and Harry. Memories from last night flashed across her mind as she lay in the early-morning light.

  She was thirty-one years old, but she’d never had a man so hot for her that they’d made love three times in one night. It was heady, seductive stuff.

  But it wasn’t only memories of Harry’s attentiveness and passion in the bedroom that revisited her. She recalled the way he’d offered to help settle Alice, and the sympathetic warmth in his eyes as he’d watched Alice in Pippa’s arms. She thought about the way he’d tugged her robe across her body and tied the sash for her before she’d walked him to the door to say goodbye.

  Be very careful, madam.

  She deliberately called to mind the conversation they’d had about where they both stood and what they both wanted. None of that had changed overnight.

  She threw back the covers. She had a busy day ahead. A full eight hours at the gallery, then a night of watching Alice and Becca’s boy, Aaron, while Becca worked, her part of their reciprocal child-minding arrangement. She didn’t have time to lie about second-guessing herself.

  Pippa showered, dressed and ate breakfast in the gaps between changing Alice and dressing her and preparing her bottle. Predictably, her thoughts drifted to Harry as she started a load of washing before dashing out the door.

  She had no idea when she would see him again. He’d finished repairing her ceiling and the other minor tasks he’d wanted to take on so they were officially all out of excuses for him to visit. Any future interactions would be because they wanted to see each other, pure and simple. Yet he hadn’t made any reference to the future before he left, and neither had she.

  It was possible she wouldn’t hear from him for a while. She had no idea what his social life was like. For all she knew, he might have parties lined up for the next two months. Women, too.

  She stilled in the middle of putting detergent into the dispenser, a dart of pure, possessive jealousy shooting through her at the thought of Harry with another woman.