by Amy Andrews
Faith drew in a short breath. Even just thinking about Pop’s state of health turned everything to water inside her.
“He’s in mild cardiac failure. He had several heart attacks a couple of years after Mom died then a quadruple bypass and a valve replacement not long after that. He really needs a new valve but he’s refusing the operation so they’re managing him on medication at the moment but he tires easily and I can tell his condition is slowly getting worse.”
Raf let her hand go as they ambled past Prometheus again and snaked his arm around her shoulders instead, drawing her in closer to his side.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That must be worrying for you.”
“Yes,” she admitted, as the lights from the skyscrapers blurred and grew starry halos through the tears pooling in her eyes. Faith’s anxiety over Pop was increasing. She was worried that something sudden could happen. “I just wish he’d reconsider the surgery,” she said, her voice low as emotion clogged her throat.
“Why doesn’t he want it?”
Raf’s big body, his smooth voice somewhere above her head as they lazily circled the rink were strangely soothing and she leaned into him a little more.
“His other surgeries were hard with complications both times. So he’s adamant he’s not going through it again. But honestly…” her cheek brushed Raf’s coat as she looked up directly at the little scar under his chin. “He misses my mom so much I think he’s just marking time until he can be with her again.”
Emotion husked her voice and clawed at the back of her throat for an outlet.
“They were together a long time?”
Faith nodded, returning her attention to their path. “Twenty-five years. It was a whirlwind romance. She came to the U.S. on holiday from Ireland. She was twenty-five. Pop was fifteen years older than her, a confirmed bachelor.”
“That’s a long time.”
“Mercy said your parents are divorced?”
“Yes. Three times. Each.”
Faith pulled her head away and stared at him. “Three times?”
He nodded, seemingly unconcerned. “Each.”
“Wow.”
He chuckled. God, even his teeth were sexy! “Yes. I know. It sounds ridiculous even saying it.”
“So are they both currently married or…”
“They’re both on their fourth marriage.”
Faith shook her head. She knew plenty of people who were divorced and even on their second marriage, but their fourth?
“Well it’s…” she sought around for something complimentary to say, “nice they haven’t given up on love.”
He laughed. “That’s one way of putting it. Trust me, my parents are experts on love.”
His tone didn’t sound particularly bitter more… exasperated. But even so-called good divorces took a toll on the children involved. “How old were you when they got divorced?”
“Nine.”
Nine? It was so hard thinking about this big, easygoing man as a little kid with fighting parents and divided loyalties. She fixed her gaze on the flags. “Did you live with your mother after?”
“Yes. She moved back to California – ”
Faith glanced at him sharply. “Your mother is American?”
He nodded. “She lives in SoCal. Not far from Zuma Beach. When husband number two came along she sent me home to Dad and then when he got married the second time Mum’s marriage was on the rocks so I spent two years on and off out at my grandfather’s cattle station.”
For someone who had been bounced around a bit he didn’t sound too emotionally affected by it at all. “That sounds… lonely.”
“Nah, it wasn’t that bad.” Their skates shushed as they navigated the bend. “It’s not like I’m emotionally scarred by it or anything. I knew they both loved me in their own way and spending time in California gave me the surfing bug. They tried their best. They just weren’t…made for monogamy.”
And there was the big red flag because neither, according to Mercy, was Raf. So he was emotionally scarred. Sure, he wasn’t overtly affected. He was a fully functioning human being who clearly enjoyed life and all its fruits. But his inability to commit was a wound that had clearly sprung from parental patterns of behavior. And not just committing to relationships. He’d gone from a transient home life to a transient work life on the pro surfing circuit.
A life that had made it easy for him to come and go. That made relationships difficult. That gave him an easy out.
Raf Quartermaine had been affected by his parents’ divorce. It had turned him into a commitment-phobe.
Faith’s heart sank. She didn’t know why. Raf was perfect for her purposes. A little bit of sex and fun for a short time then he’d leave so she could concentrate on the things in her life that were important and needed her full focus.
Her father. The pub. Her friends.
Raf was temporary. And that was okay. She could do temporary. She just needed to remember it.
“What about you?” he asked breaking into her reverie. “How come a gorgeous woman like you hasn’t had some hulking great guy put a ring on your finger?”
Right. When had she had the opportunity to cultivate a serious relationship? “What makes you think I want a ring on my finger?”
He looked at her, clearly surprised. “I don’t know. The daughter of a twenty-five-year whirlwind love match? I thought you’d believe in all that happily ever after stuff?”
Maybe. Once upon a time…
She shook her head. “I don’t think love at first sight is very twenty-first century, do you?”
“No. Lust at first sight, however,” he said, eyes locking with hers, “crosses all time periods.”
Faith lost herself in the heat and promise in his eyes. Never had truer words been spoken. Lust was alive and well on the ice tonight. Just as it had been in the basement. She broke away from his gaze before she melted into a puddle. “So what do you believe in?” she asked.
“I believe in…loving the one you’re with.”
Faith almost laughed out loud – of course he did – but there was a seriousness to his tone that was sobering. Was he trying to shock her? Or was he trying to send her some kind of message about the limitations on offer here?
Only one way to find out. “Is this your way of telling me that you’re not in the market for anything serious?”
He snow ploughed to a stop and she followed suit while their fellow skaters flew around them as colorful as carousel horses.
“I don’t want to give you the wrong idea, Faith. I’m attracted to you. Insanely attracted to you. But I’m only here for five weeks and I live in Australia and I travel constantly. My lifestyle sucks for any kind of long-term thing and that’s fine by me because I’m not looking for long term. So, no…I’m not in the market for anything serious. But I think we could have a lot of fun together if that’s the kind of thing you’re after.”
Faith understood what he was telling her. He was a Crosby, Stills and Nash song. He loved the one he was with. He was casual with a capital C. He was the player Dawn had pegged him as.
Was that the kind of thing she was after? Sex with no commitment? A fling? Fun and games without a future? After nine months of watching her friends having all the fun while she treaded water, how could she not? She’d made her bed at Sully’s, a bed with sensible cotton sheets she’d been happy to lie in. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t switch to decadent black satin just this once, surely?
“It is,” she said, her voice tremulous because it was the craziest thing she’d ever done and she wanted it bad. “I can’t promise I’ll be able to indulge as often as you might like but…I’m so ready for some fun.”
He grinned. “Well all right then.”
She glanced at her wrist watch. “Almost midnight.”
“Do you turn into a pumpkin?” The tease in his voice stole her breath. She could listen to him tease her all day long.
All night long.
“We’ll have t
o get off the ice soon.” Faith’s muscles tensed a little at the mere thought of what was next.
“We could go now, if you want? Beat the hordes off the rink?”
Faith nodded, suddenly stupidly nervous. “We could get a hot chocolate at Starbucks?”
He nodded slowly. “Or we could,” he said, raising a gloved hand to her forehead and fingered that one recalcitrant curl that always fell forward, “go back to the Marriott for something a little…harder?”
Faith had no idea if he meant liquor, sex or a game of twister but she was up for all three.
As of tonight, she wanted whatever he was offering.
Faith nodded, her blood flowing through her body in a slow, thick, wanton pound. “I’d like something harder.”
He dropped her curl with a smile then held out his hand.
Chapter Six
‡
Anticipation quickened Raf’s pulse as he slid his electronic key through the slot in the door. He pushed it open and indicated she precede him. Her curls brushed his chin as she passed by and he caught a waft of cherry blossom or something equally as fanciful.
He turned the lights on to a dim glow as he followed her in. “Let me take your coat,” he said coming up behind her as she stood in the middle of the room, staring at his neatly made king-sized bed.
He’d just about swallowed his tongue when Faith had come downstairs tonight after her shower in that red top and those black boots. Practically every male at the bar had and he’d been counting down the minutes until she could shed her heavy winter outer clothes to reveal it all again.
And this was the moment.
She shrugged out of her coat then unwound her scarf and removed it before finally unzipping her polar fleece sweater and pushing up the sleeves. He was disappointed she hadn’t gone all the way but with her zip open he could see the incredible way her shirt pulled a little taut across her breasts and the fascinating shadow on her cleavage.
He shed his own coat, jacket and scarf and hung them all in the hall cupboard. He liked how good her long navy coat looked hanging next to his and hoped to God, it’d stay right there til morning.
“Glass of merlot or Cab Sav?” he asked, deliberately forcing himself to take this slow. He’d rushed things in the basement and he didn’t want to do that again.
She turned. “You drink wine?”
Raf laughed. “I have been known to on occasion.” He held up the two bottles for her to choose one, his gaze momentarily sliding to the taut pull of her shirt.
“Whatever,” she murmured. “I really don’t mind.”
“The merlot it is,” he said with a smile. “I’ll pour. Why don’t you check out the view?”
Faith seemed grateful for the suggestion, turning decisively towards the windows. She pulled the gauzy curtain fabric back and looked out.
“That’s a helluva lot of neon you guys have got going on out there,” he said, feeling the need to commentate, to fill up the silence with words lest she suddenly chicken out. “You can see all of Times Square and the New Year’s Eve ball thingy.”
She laughed, glancing over her shoulder at him. “New Year’s Eve ball thingy?”
“Yeh,” he said with a grin, picking up their glasses and heading her way. “You know the one that drops. Here you go.” He passed a glass to her then held his aloft. “Thank you for the date. I’m always going to remember the night I ice skated in the middle of Manhattan.”
She tapped her glass to his. “Me too.”
He took a sip of his wine, watching her over the rim of his glass as she also took one. She looked at him for long moments before turning back to the window. “You have a great view.”
Raf nodded. “The best.” But he wasn’t looking out at the neon lighting up Times Square. He was looking at her reflection.
She pressed her forehead to the glass and looked down. “There are so many people out and about so late on a Monday night.”
The sense of envy in her statement clenched his gut. She should be out this late enjoying herself. She was young and gorgeous and single. She shouldn’t be holed up letting life pass her by in a pub in Brooklyn however noble her reasons.
He stepped in close, his front aligning with her back, his hand sliding onto her hip. She lifted her head, her curls brushing soft and springy against his chin and throat. Their gazes met in the glass.
“Are you warm now?” Because he was hot. So, fucking hot.
“Yes.”
Her low, husky voice went straight to his dick and his heart thundered in his chest as he slid his glass onto the nearby table. He reached for hers and she surrendered it without complaint. He slid his hands onto her shoulders along her collar bones to the open edges of her polar fleece, tugging gently to peel them back, dragging the sweater off her shoulders and down her arms, throwing it behind him in the direction of the nearby chair uncaring if it actually made it.
Raf could see the points of her nipples beneath her tight red shirt reflected in the window. He slid his hand back onto her hip but kept going this time, right around until it was resting flat on her stomach where shirt met jeans. Her muscles leapt beneath his palm and she closed her eyes, her head falling back into the crook of his neck.
He used his other hand to push her hair away and dropped his mouth to the side of her throat. She smelled like cherry cola and red wine and she moaned as he nuzzled the skin, stretching her neck slightly to give him better access, her arm snaking up to hold on fast at his nape.
He nipped at the spot where neck joined shoulder and she sucked in a breath, her back arching. The movement pushed her butt into his crotch and his dick hardened. Raf realized he’d left a red mark and he soothed it with the flat of his tongue. Her fingers tunneled hard into his hairline at the back of his neck gripping and twisting the cropped hair there, sending a shower of sparks from his scalp all the way down to the base of his spine.
Raf lifted his hand to the arm she had anchored so firmly at the base of his skull. He stroked his fingers from her elbow down to her armpit and lower still, down the side swell of her breast and the individual ruts of her ribs clearly palpable in her clingy shirt, to her waist to join his other one.
Then, in tandem, he slowly, slowly moved them up. Inch by unbearable inch, molding her hips and skimming her belly. The rough suck of her breath played havoc with his determination not to leap on her but to savor the moment. His fingers brushed the underwire of her bra and then the first tantalizing swell as he moved inexorably upwards until his hands had claimed both of them.
He looked at the reflection and liked what he saw. His hands claiming her breasts. They felt soft, two little beads grazing the center of his palms.
His gaze met hers in the window. Hers was slumberous, her mouth slightly parted. “They’re amazing,” he whispered as he squeezed gently, his heart slamming like bullets into the wall of his chest.
She whimpered, shutting her eyes again, her head lolling back against his throat, her fingers tightening in his hair.
“You’re amazing,” he murmured, nuzzling behind her ear to the angle of the jaw, his hands wandering south again to the hem of her shirt, pushing under this time, dragging it with him as his hands slid up her bare belly. Up, up, up, burrowing under the wire of her bra pushing the fabric out of the way as his hands claimed bare flesh.
She gasped, her mouth open and inviting and he wanted to turn her, push her against the glass, kiss her hard and hot but he couldn’t take his eyes of their reflection, off the bliss on her face. She was lost in what he was doing to her, so soft and female, so responsive to his every caress, and he wanted to stand right here and watch her come undone.
He dragged his fingertips over the jut of her nipples and she hissed out a breath. He did it again and again groaning when her back arched and her butt rubbed against his cock.
“God, you feel incredible.” He buried his face in her neck, his senses filling up with her as he slipped a hand onto her hip to hold her fast and tight, right where she
was, the other hand teasing her nipples. Stroking and tweaking them to ever harder points, salivating at the thought of how they’d taste.
But it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. He wanted all of her. Christ. She was so beautiful, her eyes closed in abandon, her shirt rucked up around her neck, her breasts full and bare in the reflection, her arm slung up behind his head. He’d never wanted someone this much; his chest filled with want until it physically hurt him to breathe.
Raf’s hand slid to the snap of her jeans and popped it. Her eyes fluttered open and his gaze connected with hers, holding it, asking the question. Did she object? Did she care that she was half exposed standing in front of a window overlooking Times Square giving anyone below or around them in any of the buildings with a pair of binoculars one hell of a show?
Did she want privacy? Did she want to move it to the bed? Did she want to go this far?
His finger eased the zipper down as they stared at each other. Raf went slow, real slow, ready to retreat, ready to do whatever the hell she wanted him to do. But she didn’t stop him, she just watched him, her eyelids at half-mast, soft pants falling from her mouth as he took it all the way down.
Raf could see a hint of pink fabric as the edges of her fly peeled open and it didn’t occur to him to take it slow anymore. He just had to get inside them. In one deft movement his index finger breached the elastic, pulling the fabric down as he went to reveal a patch of silky hair. He kept going, his pulse beating like a drum through his ears, his finger finding and sliding into all the heat and wet between her legs.
She shut her eyes, pulling on his hair as she made a noise at the back of her throat that was so primal it was all he could do not to rip down his own fly and give his throbbing cock exactly what it was demanding. But he wouldn’t miss watching Faith like this – sprawled up against him, her head back, his hand down her pants and on her breast – not a second of it.
He found her clit, stiff and ready and she gasped as he circled it. He groaned into her hair, drowning in cherry cola and the heady aroma of arousal.
“Come for me,” he whispered even though he could barely hear himself over the thick surge of blood washing through his ears and drumming through every pulse point.
