Suddenly You

by Sarah Mayberry

  He pushed back his chair and stood. Her eyebrows rose in silent question as he walked toward her. He reached for the neckline of her dress, pulling the fabric away from her skin so he could inspect her cleavage. His gaze fell on creamy breasts cupped in lace.

  She was smiling a secretive, pleased smile.

  “You wore it,” he said.

  “You asked me to.”

  “You’re making me think of a whole bunch of other things I could ask you to do.”

  “Maybe you should try your luck.”

  “Maybe I should.”

  He lowered his head and kissed her. She tasted of beer and the sweetness of pineapple. He slid a hand into the hair at the nape of her neck, angling her head, deepening the kiss. She had such a great mouth. He could kiss her for hours.

  She made a small approving noise and he moved forward, pressing her back against the sink with his hips. Her hands slid to his rear, sliding inside the pockets of his jeans and curving into the muscles of his ass.

  White-hot need burned through him. She was so damned sexy. The snap in her eyes. Her full, soft breasts. The way she reached out and took whatever she wanted. If there weren’t two six-month-olds watching their every move, he’d throw her over his shoulder and take her to the bedroom right now.

  He broke their kiss and pulled away enough to look down into her face without going cross-eyed. “What time is your friend coming to pick up her kid?”

  “Nine.”

  A whole hour away. He grasped her elbows and gently tugged her hands free from his jean pockets, stepping away from her. She grinned, getting the message.

  “Probably a wise decision.” Her gaze dropped to his crotch, her mouth tipping down regretfully. “Seems a shame to waste that, though.”

  He looked down at his hard-on. “I’ll have another just like it in an hour. Trust me.”

  She laughed, the sound low and dirty and knowing. He couldn’t help it, he had to kiss her again. He leaned forward and captured the last of her laughter with his lips. Her hands found his shoulders, her fingers digging into his muscles, holding him close.

  Man… If they were alone.

  But they weren’t.

  He stepped back. “You want to watch some TV?” he said, his breathing a little ragged.

  “Okay.” She wasn’t smiling now, her cheeks pink, her mouth wet from his kisses. “I might text Becca to make sure she’s on time.”

  It was his turn to laugh then. He crossed to the table and collected the pizza boxes. It was only as he was folding them into the rubbish bin that he realized the tension he’d been carrying since talking to his father had slipped away. Pippa had eased it, with her patience and sympathy and sexiness.

  It hit him suddenly that it was going to be hard to walk away from her when the time came. Despite all the complications.

  For a second he allowed himself to contemplate the alternative: not walking away, not turning his back on her and the way she made him feel. A possible future shimmered in front of him, full of diapers and night feeds and laundry and Alice’s gummy smile and small, soft hands and Saturday nights in front of the television instead of down at the pub. Nights in Pippa’s bed, mornings with her beside him when he woke. Lawns that need mowing and bills that needed paying and holidays for three instead of one.

  None of it seemed too awful, not with Pippa at his side.

  Then he blinked and the vision was gone. He shook himself. Clearly, great sex was messing with his head. He was years away from wanting to take on any of that stuff, if ever. He had a great life right now. No way was he ready to give it up to embrace domesticity, no matter how much he liked Pippa.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  IT WAS STILL dark outside when Pippa woke. A warm, solid arm pressed against hers, and when she shifted her leg she felt the roughness of a hard, hairy male calf against her own. She smiled, remembering what had happened after Becca collected Aaron. Alice had been tetchy, crying off and on, her teeth obviously painful. Pippa had tried everything, rubbing gel onto her daughter’s gums, offering her various soft objects to chew on. Then she’d handed Alice to Harry while she mixed a bottle of formula, only for Alice to pipe down almost immediately.

  She’d looked around to find her daughter gnawing on Harry’s thumb, a deeply satisfied expression on her round face. She’d expected Harry to balk, or at the very least hand Alice back after a token few minutes, but he’d settled on the couch with her and let her gum away until she’d fallen into a fretful sleep. Then he’d carried Alice to her room and stood to one side as Pippa tucked her in.

  Pippa would be lying if she pretended there hadn’t been a moment—maybe even two or three—when she’d glanced across at him holding her child and let herself imagine.

  She’d caught herself every time. Harry was a good-natured guy, and Alice was a novelty to him. No doubt he’d been won over by her wide-eyed adulation and fascination with him, the only male in her orbit. Pippa was sure that a few sleepless nights, foul diapers, rashes and sick-ups would fix that. This was Harry, after all, the ultimate Peter Pan.

  After Alice had fallen asleep, she and Harry had showered together before he’d massaged her shoulders and back…and then other parts of her that hadn’t been so much tense but more hot and very ready for him. By the time he’d finished she’d been panting and desperate and she’d pushed him down onto the mattress and climbed on top and taken them both for a long, slow, crazy ride. She’d pushed him to the brink and over and watched him come, his body racked with pleasure. Then she’d smoothed a palm down her belly and between her thighs and found her own climax with him still inside her, his gray eyes glinting up at her through half-closed lids.

  He’d fallen into a doze afterward and she’d pulled the covers up and curled into his side, telling herself it would only be a few minutes before he woke again and got dressed to go home.

  Now, she peered at the clock on her bedside table. It was nearly four. She squinted to make sure she was reading the numerals correctly, then lay frowning into her pillow as she tried to work out how she felt about Harry staying the night.

  On the surface, it was no big deal. He didn’t steal the quilt or drool or snore. And it wasn’t as though she was worried about what the neighbors might think. But there was something very seductive about waking to find a big, warm, hard body beside her and hearing someone else’s soft breathing and knowing she wasn’t alone in the night.

  While she’d had Mr. Pink and an emergency stash of batteries to stop her from climbing the walls in the past year, there was no substitute for this kind of intimacy. And no, a pillow didn’t come even close to cutting it.

  The sensible thing to do would be to wake him. Allowing herself to get used to him sleeping in her bed was the first step down a very slippery slope. She reached out to touch his shoulder, intending to shake him awake. Her fingers slid over warm, smooth skin. She shaped her hand to the curve of his muscles, feeling how strong he was, how solid. She slid her head closer, pressing her nose to his shoulder and inhaling deeply. He smelled so good, like sunshine and warmth.

  Pippa didn’t want to kick him out of her bed. The second she admitted as much, she started making excuses for herself. It was nearly morning, anyway, and she wasn’t an idiot. She knew him staying didn’t mean anything more than that he’d been comfortable and that he’d fallen asleep. She wasn’t about to weave fantasies based on his presence between her sheets for a few extra hours.

  She let her eyes drift closed again and woke three hours later to the warm tug of his mouth on her breasts. She murmured her approval as he rolled on top of her and made slow, languid love to her in the gray morning light.

  Afterward, she lay and watched him pull on his clothes, feeling drowsy and lazy. He had a lovely body. Following the play of his muscles as he dressed was a very, very pleasant way to start the day. He sat on the end of the bed to pull on his boots and shot a glance at her.

  “Keep looking at me like that and you’ll be in trouble,” he said,
a glint in his eye.

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Guess.”

  She smiled and stretched her arms above her head, self-satisfied as a cat.

  “What have you got on for the day?” she asked idly as he pocketed his phone, car keys and wallet.

  “Maybe a surf. Should probably do some Christmas shopping. Get it out of the way.” He strapped on his watch. “Thought I might drop by and talk to Dad, too.”

  “Sounds good.” Especially the bit where he would talk to his father.

  “Oh, yeah. Sounds riveting.” He glanced at her. “Busy next week?”

  “Yep. My assignment’s due, and I’ve got an exam on Friday. Plus the usual.”

  He leaned down to kiss her, his lips soft and warm. “I’ll call you.”

  A little dart of pleasure shot through her at his words.

  She propped herself up on one elbow. “Maybe I’ll call you.” There was no reason why he should be the only one calling the shots, after all.

  He grinned. “You do that. Anytime.”

  He slipped out her newly-hung door. She expected to hear the front door closing in short order, but instead he walked up the hall in the other direction, toward the kitchen. At first she assumed he must be using the bathroom, but the toilet didn’t flush. Then she heard his voice come over the baby monitor, low but perfectly audible.

  “That’s right, little lady, keep snoozing. Get your beauty sleep so you can be as pretty as your mummy one day. I’ll see you later, okay?”

  Pippa pressed a hand to her heart, an instinctive, ridiculously clichéd gesture. But there was no denying she was touched by his interest in Alice. That he’d taken time to say farewell to her daughter spoke volumes for the sort of man he was.

  She heard his footsteps in the hall again, heading for the door this time. She flopped back onto her pillow as she heard it shut behind him, aware that the tide of emotion rising inside her was as much about Steve’s neglect as it was about Harry’s casual warmth and affection for her baby daughter.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. She had a sudden vision of how she would look to an outside observer—the recently-sated single mother, lying in bed getting all dewy-eyed because her casual lover had deigned to toss a kind word in her child’s direction.

  Pippa pushed the covers back abruptly. She wasn’t that stupid or desperate or sentimental. It was nice that Harry had spared five seconds to think of her daughter, but that was all it was. It didn’t mean anything, just as his having accidentally stayed the night didn’t, either. This thing between them would work only if she kept the parameters front and center.

  “Sex, Pippa. It’s all about the sex.”

  Maybe she should get a T-shirt made—and maybe a cap, for good measure. And maybe she should draw up a few ground rules for herself, starting with not allowing him to stay the night in her bed again. It was too cozy, too domestic, having him here in the morning.

  It felt too real, as though it meant something. And it didn’t.

  She stood, feeling empowered by her decision. She’d gone into this thing with her eyes wide open, and she would keep them that way.

  * * *

  HARRY DECIDED TO DRIVE past the workshop on his way to his parents’ place. Even though it was Sunday, it wouldn’t be unusual for his father to have put aside some of his morning for all the paperwork he hadn’t got around to during the week.

  A shiny red truck turned the corner ahead of Harry as he drove into the Village. It reminded him that Steve had yet to return his phone call and he grabbed his phone and dialed Steve’s number.

  It went through to voice mail, as it had last night. Harry pictured Steve checking caller ID and leaving Harry to swing in the breeze. Idiot.

  It went against the grain to be cast in the role of supplicant, but he left a second message anyway.

  “Steve. Call me, okay? Just… Call me.”

  Like last night, he didn’t hold out much hope for a return call. He figured he would run out of patience with the little game Steve was playing sometime soon. They were both too old for this shit. With a bit of luck, Steve would see sense before then.

  He spotted his father’s car in front of Village Motors and pulled in beside it. His father was seated at the desk in the reception area, a takeout cup of coffee in front of him as he studied the computer screen, fingers hunting and pecking their way across the keyboard. He glanced up as Harry entered.

  “Morning.” He didn’t sound too surprised by the impromptu visit.

  “Morning.” Harry sank onto one of the visitors’ chairs. He crossed his arms over his chest and sat back, watching his father tap away.

  The silence stretched, the only sound the rhythmic clickety-clack of the keyboard.

  “If you’ve got something to say, Harry, you should spit it out. Staring at me like that is just plain creepy.” His father didn’t look away from the computer screen.

  “I’ve got a deal for you. I’ll talk to Leo, see if he’ll give me six weeks’ leave. Let me know when you and Mom want to go on that cruise and I’ll pitch in here for the duration so you know the home front is covered.”

  His father stopped typing, letting his hands drop into his lap. He swiveled the chair to face Harry, his face calmly neutral. “So you take leave and come work for me temporarily so I can take leave?”

  Harry lifted a shoulder. “Gets you out of a jam, and I’m happy to help out.”

  His father stroked a finger down one side of his horseshoe mustache. “Nice idea, but there’s not much point to it. You can’t take leave every time I want to have a break from the business.”

  “Then hire someone to manage the place.”

  “That’s just delaying the inevitable.” His father shook his head decisively. “If I’m making the cut, I’m doing it cleanly.”

  Harry swore under his breath. This was nuts. His father lived and breathed this place.

  “You’ll go stir-crazy sitting around at home. What are you going to do, take up golf?” The idea of his father in pastel pink polo shirts and plaid pants was laughable.

  “I told you. Your mother wants to travel. She’s got enough trips planned to cover the next ten years.”

  Harry stood, frustrated. “If you think this will make me change my mind, you’re wrong. I’ve told you how I feel, what I want.”

  “I know. And I listened. That’s why I’m doing this.” His father’s voice was tinged with resignation.

  It hit Harry that his father was deadly serious about this sale. This wasn’t a gambit or a tactic. This was for real.

  He sat down again with a thump. For a long beat they simply stared at each other, then his father shrugged one big shoulder.

  “It was never your dream. I get it. I won’t lie, it’s disappointing. I kind of liked the idea of starting a dynasty.” He smiled faintly. “But it was never meant to be a choke hold.”

  Harry shifted in his seat. “That’s not the way I see it.”

  “A bear trap, then.” Another faint smile from his old man.

  Half a dozen explanations and justifications for the way he’d chosen to live his life marshaled themselves at the back of Harry’s throat. Stuff about valuing his freedom and not being able to stand being hemmed in or pinned down. Stuff about not being good at all the i-dotting and t-crossing that came with being the boss. He didn’t utter a word, because even in his own head it sounded lame.

  Like the complaints of a little kid who’d been asked to finish his chores.

  It was an uncomfortable realization. Harry glowered at the toes of his boots.

  “Relax, Harry. You’re officially off the hook, and so am I.”

  Harry looked up. His father shrugged. Harry stood, his guts churning.

  “I’ve got to go.”

  He walked out to his car and slid behind the wheel. He had no idea where he was going until he found himself wending his way through the back streets toward his favorite beach, a tucked-away cove surrounded by sand dunes and weath
ered wooden walkways. It had no official name but the locals called it Mt. Steep, after the tallest of the sand dunes. He parked in the sandy visitors’ lot and hiked along a twisty-turny gravel track for ten minutes before he emerged at the beach. A flight of silver-timbered stairs took him down to the sand. It was still early—barely ten—and the beach was empty. He sat on the sun-warmed sand and tried to understand himself.

  All his life he’d been restless. Maybe because he was the youngest of three, he’d always felt as though there was stuff going on that he was missing out on. Adventures and challenges he was considered too young for. When he got old enough to concoct his own adventures and challenges, he’d set forth with a vengeance and never looked back. Footy trips with his mates, surfing holidays, backpacking through Asia, fast cars, fast women, tattoos and piercings and trouble… Then he’d met Debbie and fallen hard and spent the next three years trying to mold himself to her dreams and failed miserably.

  It was an experience that had left a bad taste in his mouth, not least because he was painfully aware that he’d behaved badly. He’d hurt her. Not something he was proud off all these years later.

  He’d decided then that he wasn’t cut out for serious. He hadn’t liked feeling obligated, and he’d deeply resented being in a situation where his choices were so limited. He’d pretty much arranged his life since to avoid all of the above. He’d chosen a job that was low-key, bought a house that required the minimum mortgage, sidestepped any woman with the gleam of forever in her eyes. Every time his father or mother had raised the idea of him taking over the workshop, he’d told them the same thing: thanks, but no thanks. When his sisters had hassled him, questioning his stance, he’d told them to butt out.

  He’d trumpeted his easygoing, no-muss, no-fuss philosophy to anyone who’d listen, including Pippa. And yet he’d never thought through the logical consequences of his decision regarding his father’s workshop. Pippa had asked him last night what he’d expected his father to do with the business if Harry wasn’t going to take it over. The truth was, Harry had never thought that far ahead. He simply…hadn’t.