by Julia London
Harry suddenly sat up and groped around the nightstand next to the bed, producing a condom. A moment later, he pulled her into his body as he slipped in between her legs. He paused, braced above her, and brushed away a strand of hair that draped across her face. “You’re really beautiful, Lola,” he said. “Sexy as hell,” he added, and entered her.
Lola gasped sharply at the feel of his body in hers. She pitched forward into it, pressing into his body and every bit of masculine physique she could reach or touch, giving over completely to the sensations he was arousing in her. He caressed her as he moved, slow and fluid at first, his mouth on hers in one long, stupefyingly seductive kiss. He took his time, unwilling to rush it. It was passionate agony, and Lola’s pulse was pounding so hard in her veins, her body straining for his, her thoughts so focused on her arousal that it was a wonder she didn’t implode. He began to quicken his stroke, and all was a blur of pure sensation—of touch and smell, of length and breadth.
She felt wild beneath him, an animal unleashed from its tether. She bit lightly into his shoulder, kissed his mouth, rocked against him in time to his own movements. It had been an eternity since she’d been ignited like this, a lifetime since she’d felt the power of sexual release building in her. Harry muttered something incomprehensible, grabbed one of her hands and laced his fingers with hers, pressing it into the bed. He was moving quickly now, the tempo maddening until Lola let herself go with a cry of release as the tsunami of sexual gratification crashed through her, washing out months and months of pent-up desire.
Harry gave in, too, thrusting powerfully into her one last time with a moan against her shoulder.
Lola was stunned by the sensation of it all and utterly incapable of movement for a long moment. Harry’s voice woke her from the fog. “God, Lola.” He lifted his head and gazed at her with an unfathomable expression in his eyes that made her heart leap. Lola could see so many things in his eyes. Definitely satisfaction. Maybe a bit of surprise and curiosity. And, she thought, perhaps even a little affection. Whatever that look was, she was feeling the same way. She was mystified, bewitched, and confused.
“Rule number one,” he said, and stroked her cheek. “If you’re going to turn me on like that, we’re going to have to bring in some supplies, because I may not let you out of this bedroom.”
Lola smiled. “Rule number two: No judgment on how often we exercise our benefits in a twenty-four-hour period.”
Harry laughed. He dislodged himself from her body, gathered her in his arms, and rolled onto his back, bringing her along to nestle in his side. “That was definitely worth all the begging you made me do,” he said.
Lola giggled into his chest, then propped herself up on her elbows. She felt exhilarated and happy. She felt like a sex goddess. This gorgeous man was telling her that she turned him on, and she could not recall ever feeling as vibrant and sexy as she did now.
Harry’s smile deepened as he looked at her, and he chuckled softly.
“What?” she asked, knowing full well that he was seeing the sex kitten.
“I’m smiling because you’re beautiful, Lola. In your own, unique way, you are real . . . and beautiful. A little clumsy in the seduction department, but I like that.”
She laughed and shook her head, and imagined her hair tossing silkily around her shoulders. “Oh, please, I’m just ordinary. But you can go on if you like.”
He smiled, cupped her chin. “The truth? You are taking my breath away even now.”
Impossibly, her grin grew bigger. “Such a charmer,” she teased him, and pushed herself up to her knees and inched toward the edge of the bed.
“Where are you going?”
“Bathroom,” she said.
“Come back, gorgeous. Right back here,” he said, pointing to the spot she’d vacated.
Lola giggled. She felt like a supermodel. She was six feet tall and built like a brick house, a total knockout. She was that girl who didn’t get how appealing she was until a moment like this, when a drop-dead sexy man took one look at her rosy cheeks and artfully tousled hair and told her she turned him on and she was gorgeous.
“I’ll be right back,” she promised, and slipped into the bathroom.
She was smiling when she turned on the light. She was smiling when she turned on the faucet. But she cried out with alarm when she lifted her gaze to the mirror and saw the bird’s nest that was her hair and the streaks of make-up that ran down both cheeks. She looked like she’d pulled an all-night drunk fest, had a bar fight, and just woke up in an alley somewhere. “You said I was beautiful!” she shouted at him.
She heard Harry howl with laughter. “You are to me!”
Lola threw open the bathroom door and raced to the bed, pouncing on him. “How long were you going to let me go like this?” she demanded.
Harry laughed and rolled with her, pinning her beneath him. “Come here, you sexy little lunatic,” he said, as he roughly cupped her face and kissed her.
Lola sank into him. She might look like she’d been on a bender, but in that moment, she was insanely happy.
Eighteen
Harry felt the nudge to his back and a whisper, “Are you hungry?”
He was groggy, feeling heavy with the sleep that comes on the heels of great sex. “Mmm,” he said.
She clasped his shoulder, shook it, and propped her chin on his shoulder. “I’m starving.”
Harry opened his eyes to find Lola peering down at him. She had a towel wrapped around her. Her hair was wet, and her face was scrubbed clean of the clown mask she’d managed to give herself last night. He opened both eyes and rolled onto his back, blinking up at her. “Did you take a shower?”
“Yes.”
“In my bathroom?”
“Yep.”
“And you didn’t invite me?” he asked, yawning.
“Trust me, I did you a favor. My look was even more frightening by the light of day.”
Harry reached for the towel between finger and thumb, and pulled it down over her breast a bit. “I like this look,” he said.
Lola pulled the towel back up, then hopped off the bed. “I’m thinking French toast and sausage.”
“Are you kidding?”
She looked at him strangely. “Why would I kid about something like that?’
It occurred to him that Melissa never made breakfast for him—or Harry for her, in fairness. They had busy lives, both of them always running somewhere. He tried to remember the last lazy Sunday they’d had. Whenever it was, he couldn’t recall it—he’d worked so many weekends over the last year. “Where will this breakfast be served? In bed?” he asked hopefully.
“On the terrace. It’s a beautiful morning,” Lola said. “I’ll meet you out there!” she called over her shoulder, and disappeared into the hall.
Harry got out of bed. He showered and shaved, then meandered out to the living area, feeling like a fatted calf—content and sated. It was more than a little surprising how much he’d enjoyed himself last night. Lola was . . . well, she wasn’t the kind of woman he generally went for. She was different—very different. And that was both refreshing and a little disconcerting.
Lola was pouring orange juice in the kitchen. She’d put her hair up in a ponytail, and had dressed in short shorts and a halter top. Harry brushed past her on the way to the coffee pot, pausing to touch her shoulders and kiss her neck. “Something smells great,” he said.
“I make the best French toast, if I do say so myself. Everyone loves it.”
“I meant you,” he said, patting her hip as he passed her. He grabbed a cup of coffee and went outside. Lola was right; it was a beautiful morning, the air crystal clear, the light brilliant and warm. Just like his mood.
Lola had already set the outdoor table, and appeared moments later with a plate of sausage, and another platter piled high with French toast.
“Are you expecting company?” Harry asked laughingly.
“I told you—I’m starving. I probably burned five thou
sand calories last night,” she said with a saucy smile.
“I am available to help with calorie burn any time you like,” he said, and dug in, eating with gusto, unaware until this moment just how hungry he was.
Lola also ate with gusto. He liked that, liked a woman who would eat. She sat cross-legged in the chair and poured maple syrup onto her French toast without any apparent concern for diabetes. The two of them ate in silence for a moment, until Lola pointed a fork at him and said, “Okay. What are the rules for friends with benefits?”
“You seem very concerned about rules for once. That’s so unlike you.”
“Shut up,” she said, grinning.
“Okay, how about this one—you keep cooking, and I’ll keep worshipping at your altar.”
She nodded, as if mulling that over. “So . . . casual cooking for casual sex? Are we talking every day, or . . . ?”
Harry’s brilliantly warm mood was beginning to cool. He knew the sound of trouble brewing and the words casual sex set off alarm bells in his brain. He was suddenly uncertain about things. He was never uncertain, but he’d had a great time last night. He’d had fun with her at the party, and then in his bed, she’d really blown the lid off things. He had been very turned on by her no-holds-barred response to him. But this felt oddly reminiscent—a woman wanting answers from him that he didn’t have. This thing between them was new and, he would admit, powerful. What he was going to do with it, Harry couldn’t say. Why did it have to be defined and categorized? Why couldn’t they just go with it and see where they went?
“Lola,” he said. He put down his fork and reached for her hand. “This is what it is,” he said, gesturing between the two of them. “We’re enjoying each other’s company. That’s all.” He squeezed her hand and let go, and picked up his fork again.
He noticed Lola didn’t resume her meal right away. She propped her chin on her hand and stared at him as he ate.
“What?” Harry asked, bracing himself for an interrogation.
“What if Channing Tatum walked in here tomorrow and swept me off my feet?”
“You should definitely be swept.”
“But what about our arrangement?”
“I would be grateful for the time I had and probably go to work.”
Lola’s brows sank, and Harry realized how cold that sounded. And it wasn’t really what he was feeling this morning. The truth was that he would be one very unhappy camper. “I mean, what else could I do if Channing Tatum swept you off your feet?”
“Well, then. If Jennifer Lawrence walks in, you too, are free to go.”
Harry laughed. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
Lola’s jaw dropped. “You’d say no to Jennifer Lawrence?”
“Right now, one friend with benefits is enough for me. I’ve got too much going on.”
“Wow. I think maybe I should be flattered that you would choose me over Jennifer Lawrence for your casual, no-strings-attached sex. But I’m not sure,” she said, watching him shrewdly.
“What are you saying?” he asked cautiously. “Is this more than casual for you?”
Lola stiffened. She glanced down at her plate. “I’m not saying that. I’m not exactly looking for any complications right now, you know?”
Harry wanted to believe her. “Lola, I don’t want to—”
He was about to tell her that he didn’t want to set up any false expectations. That he liked her, but he didn’t know where he was with relationships in general. That this had begun as a mutual desire for sex, and maybe it was more, yet wasn’t it too early to tell?—but Lola’s phone rang.
“Sorry, I need to get this,” she said, and she picked it up. “Hey Ben, what’s up?” She listened a moment and then suddenly sat up. “When?” she asked, and pressed her hand to her heart. “Is she okay?”
More information was relayed on the other end, Harry assumed, because Lola hopped up from her seat and went into the kitchen. “Shit,” he heard her say. “I can get the twelve o’clock train—I don’t have a car, Ben. I can’t get there any faster.”
This sounded serious; concerned, Harry got up, too, following her into the kitchen.
“What do you want me to do?” Lola was saying with frustration.
“Where do you need to go?” Harry asked.
She jerked her gaze to him. “Long Island. My mom.”
He said, without hesitation, “I’ll take you.”
“No! You said you have paperwork—A friend,” she said into the phone.
“I don’t have to do anything today,” Harry said. “Let me take you, Lola.”
“Really?” she asked, wincing a little. “It’s a long way.”
“Two hours. You won’t get there any faster by train.”
Lola stared at him, obviously debating his offer. She suddenly said, “All right, Ben! I hear you—I’ll be there by noon. Let me know if you hear anything.” She clicked off and smiled nervously. “Thank you.”
“What’s going on?” Harry asked.
“She’s sick,” she said, and looked away. “In more ways than one,” she added darkly. “They took her to a hospital this morning.”
“What for?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “Ben was on his way to the hospital and didn’t know for sure, either.”
“Get dressed,” Harry said. “I’ll pick up the table outside. We’ll worry about the kitchen later.” He started putting the many pots and pans into the sink.
“God,” Lola groaned and raked her fingers through her damp hair. “Thank you again, Harry. Thank you so much. You keep bailing me out.”
“It’s what friends do,” he said, but when he looked up, Lola had already darted to her room.
Lola stared out the window for the first part of the drive, saying very little, clutching the bottle of water she’d brought, but not drinking from it. Harry didn’t like to see her worried. He preferred the buoyant, slightly irreverent Lola. He wanted to know if this was a matter of life or death so he could be prepared for what they would find in Long Island. He finally asked what was wrong with her mother.
Lola looked startled, as if she’d just remembered he was driving. “My mom?” She frowned a little. “Wow, where to begin. You know what’s funny? If we were actually dating, I would make up some sugarcoated version of the truth so I wouldn’t scare you off. But since we’re not, I’ll tell you the truth. Are you ready?”
What the hell? Did her mother have Ebola or something?
“My mother has chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. COPD. It’s a lung disease that makes it hard to breathe and, eventually, it will kill her.”
Harry didn’t get why that would necessitate any sugarcoating. “Did she smoke or something?”
Lola laughed bitterly. “Yeah, she smoked all right, all her life. Pretty much anything she could put into a pipe.”
Whoa. That was stunning, and Harry didn’t know what to say to it. He’d never known anyone with a serious drug problem. “Wow, Lola. I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, well. It is what it is,” she said low. “I didn’t have a normal childhood, obviously. It was pretty damn hard, to tell you the truth.”
That was a lot more information than Harry thought he wanted to have. It astounded him on some level. Lola was charmingly carefree from what he’d seen, and it pained him to think of her in that kind of environment. “What about your dad?” he asked.
“He was great,” Lola said, and glanced down at her hands. “But he died when I was twelve. And when he was alive, he worked all day trying to keep a roof over our heads. Mom just couldn’t stay away from drugs, you know? And after Dad’s car accident, she really went downhill and got really sick. Now she lives in one of those care homes that take in people like her and lives off my dad’s pension.”
Harry was horrified. Lola had, what, three or four siblings? “Wow,” he said sincerely.
“Shocking, huh? But we did okay in spite of it. We had grandparents who were there for us as much as they could be. Unfortunate
ly, they lived in North Carolina, so they never really saw how bad it was.”
“Why is she in the hospital today?” he asked.
“That’s the million-dollar question. In addition to being an addict, my mother is also a chronic complainer. There’s always something wrong, you know? Sometimes she truly is in a bad way, like her breathing is really bad. But she also has been known to complain of illnesses or pains that don’t really exist for the attention. She likes the ones that require a trip to the hospital, because she can boss those nurses around.”
Harry looked at her, confused.
Lola smiled sadly. “I wish I was kidding.”
Harry’s mother could be a royal pain, and God knew she tied one on every Sunday, but for the most part, he’d had a stable, happy, privileged childhood. He couldn’t imagine the sort of life Lola must have lived.
He turned his gaze to the road, and silently reached across the cab of his truck and took Lola’s hand. She hesitated, then curled her fingers around his.
An hour later they arrived at the hospital in a part of Long Island so dingy that Harry was more than a little nervous to leave his truck. He pulled into the parking slot, sliding in between an old Buick and a Toyota pickup truck jacked up on super tires.
Lola opened her purse, found a comb, and pulled it through her hair. “What are you going to do while I’m inside?” she asked.
“I’m coming in with you,” Harry said.
Lola stopped combing. She looked slightly panicked. “You don’t have to come in with me. My brothers and sisters are here.”
Harry frowned. “Are you ashamed of them? Or me?”
“Neither! You don’t know them, Harry. They will be all over you, asking questions.”
“I think I can handle it,” he said confidently. “But if the news is not good, you’re going to need someone, Lola.”
