Fool’s Errand: Cartwright Brothers, Book 4

by Anderson, Lilliana

  He groaned unhappily, his mouth still moving with mine as his hand slid beneath my shirt to cup my breast. He groaned again.

  “What are you doing?” I giggled after he made yet another unhappy sound.

  “I have to go, and I don’t want to stop.” He stuck his head beneath my shirt, licking his way up the centre of my stomach, making me glad I’d showered at the aquatic centre.

  “You’re stretching my shirt.” I laughed, pressing against his shoulders. He came back out, his hair all mussed as he rested his chin on my stomach and gave me puppy-dog eyes. “I’ll still be here when you get back,” I said, running my fingers through his hair.

  He closed his eyes and hummed with pleasure. “Don’t move from this bed.”

  “Not even to pee?”

  He laughed. “You are a bigger kid than me.”

  “I guess that’s why we’re buds.”

  He jumped off the bed and straightened his shirt. “With potential benefits,” he added, turning to face the mirror to finger-comb his hair. “I’ll be back in a few hours. There’s a remote on the dresser. Netflix on the TV. If you want food, you’ll need to order in or go out. Just keep your phone with you.”

  I touch my head in salute. “Yes, captain, my captain. I promise to be good.”

  He held a finger out to me, a stern look on his face. “No masturbating. I’m trusting you here.”

  I traced my finger over my heart in a crossing motion, grinning. “I give you my word.” Although, it was seriously tempting to gain a little relief, but I wasn’t a cheat and my knees would stay together. “But if you’re that worried, why aren’t you just taking me with you?”

  “Taking a girl to a family meeting would mean something we don’t want it to mean. It’s best you stay here.” There were those unspoken consequences again.

  “It is for the best,” I said, sitting up and pulling my shirt over my head before lying back on the pillows with a sigh. “None of them believe the whole gay thing anyway.”

  He licked his lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his gaze travelled over me. “They said that to you?”

  “Yep.” I placed my fingers against my chest near my collarbone then ran them down, feather-light until I reached my waistband. “Toby, Holland and Alesha all said they didn’t buy it.” I walked my middle and index fingers down the centre seam of my leggings and sighed before resting my hand flat on my thigh. “I think it’s wise of you to leave me here all alone.” When I met his eyes, they were clouded with desire, his jaw ticking as his hands clenched by his sides. “See you later, Cartwright. You don’t want to be late.” I grabbed the side of the doona beneath me and wrapped it around my body, completely hiding from his view.

  Biting my lip to stop my giggle, I listened, wondering whether he was going to blow off the meeting or change his mind and take me with him so I couldn’t touch myself. But he did neither, instead letting out a disgruntled moan before tearing himself from the bedroom and muttering about ‘sitting through a fucking meeting with a hard-on’ then slamming the front door.

  Uncurling myself from the doona, I let that giggle loose before stretching out on the bed with a giant smile. Minus the weird family shit, it was a shame that the job was almost over because it meant that this would be over too, the flirting, the teasing. Will he still want me if I open the safe without giving in? Hmm, he had suggested that if I were to return, do more jobs with the family, then we could hook up again... What were his exact words?

  I do wonder if—when—it becomes ‘friends with benefits’ whether those benefits will be something we enjoy each time we see each other...

  Could I be that girl with him? The kind who comes and goes with no expectations or commitments? I’d lived without commitment with Mark for eight years and that had really sucked. But then, I’d had expectations back then, expectations I wouldn’t have if I were to embark on a casual thing with Abbot Cartwright. With Abbot, I’d always know exactly where I stood. And it didn’t mean that I couldn’t keep an eye out in case Mr Right came along. It would just ensure I was thoroughly pleasured in the interim. Something I could definitely see myself returning for. And since it seemed I wouldn’t have much choice in continuing to work with the Cartwrights, I couldn’t see why I shouldn’t have my cake and eat it too. I was a twenty-first-century woman, after all. I didn’t need commitment to take my pleasure.

  Folding my arms behind my head, I let out a contented sigh and gave myself a mental nod. I could do this. I could win this game then have sex with Abbot without letting my emotions get in the way.

  Yes!

  That was my path. No love, no feelings, no commitment, just fucking. I’d go home and then—

  I’ll go home and you can go back to fucking your beach bimbos.

  Oh shit. Could I handle sharing?

  Fuck.

  I don’t think I can do this after all.

  Chapter Eighteen

  On The Clock

  “When are you coming back?” Mark asked over the phone when his text bearing the same question had gone unanswered. I was up the street picking up some groceries and getting something for my dinner and didn’t hear the alert go off. Plus, I was kinda ignoring him.

  “Couple of days?” I said, picking meat off a chicken bone and sucking it into my mouth as I spoke to him on speaker.

  “Are you asking me or telling me?”

  I laughed. “I’m telling—guesstimating. There’s a lot going on down here. The job is complicated, and they’re old friends of Pop’s. It’s just…it’s taking time.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  I released a sigh. It was difficult feeding someone you cared about a story with very few facts. I had no idea how Pop did it for all those years. Although, people didn’t tend to ask this many questions of guys, did they? “It means I’ll be back sometime between Wednesday and the following Monday. How’s Terry?”

  I didn’t hate Teresa…his wife. Despite the fact that she had exactly what I’d waited eight years for, I didn’t dislike her one bit. She was lovely, she was beautiful, and she was good. I couldn’t hate her, but I was jealous of her. Mark’s and my relationship had stalled, and I’d been the one to end it. We wanted different things, I’d said. I could live without marriage, but I wanted kids before I was too old to have them. He said he didn’t. So, I left. I left and entered singledom again, and it was amicable between us. We’d stayed friends. We convinced all of our other friends that our split was a mutual agreement, that we still cared for each other…but not in that way anymore. I was even OK when he started dating again. I honestly thought it would be the same thing—no marriage, no kids. Imagine my shock when he took me aside and told me differently. “We’re getting married,” he’d said. “I really want you there. You’re my best friend.” As the knife twisted in my gut, I’d smiled and congratulated him. Bought them a ridiculously expensive gift and went out of my way to welcome Teresa into our friendship group. I even let his kid call me Aunty Sloane.

  I didn’t hate Teresa. I didn’t even hate Mark. But I did hate the way their relationship made me feel, the way his persistent need to remain in my life forced me to be part of theirs. This break away from seeing him daily had given me a lot of clarity. Our relationship wasn’t healthy.

  “Why are we doing this, Mark?” I asked, interrupting him as he told me about how hard pregnancy was on Terry with a toddler in tow. I don’t want to hear it.

  He paused. “Doing what, Sloane?”

  “Pretending to be friends.”

  “You don’t think we’re friends?”

  “I think we do a great job at pretending to be.”

  He sighed. “Sloane…”

  “Mark…” I mimicked, childishly.

  “What’s going on with you?”

  “I just…I think…I know that we need to call this. I need a fresh start, and I don’t think it’s fair to Teresa.”

  “What do you mean? We haven’t done anything wrong.” Calling me your best friend when
you’re married to another woman is doing something wrong. To her. To me. It hurt. It had been hurting me for a long time, and he’d never had a clue. Or didn’t care to notice.

  “Then it’s not fair to me.”

  “Sloane.”

  “Saying my name isn’t changing anything, Mark. This hurts me. Your happiness hurts me.” It felt so good to be saying it. Finally.

  “You can’t be serious, Sloane.”

  “I am. You couldn’t give me what I wanted, and I understand that I wasn’t the right girl for you. And I’m over you. I’m over what we were. But I just can’t keep watching and cheering you on while you live out the life I wanted with someone else. I deserve better than that, Mark.”

  “Sloane,” he said again, more stern as if that would make a difference.

  “Goodbye, Mark.” I disconnected the call with a gentle tap of my finger…and it was over. Twenty-three years…gone.

  And I felt lighter.

  Looking around the apartment, I took a deep breath as I flipped my phone to silent and placed it face down. It was so quiet yet peaceful. I could see the roiling surf through the floor-to-ceiling glass door that led to a balcony. The hum of the ocean’s power made me feel at peace when I was a little shaky, a little messy on the inside.

  Grabbing a bottle of ginger beer from the fridge, I went out onto the balcony and sat with my feet up on the outdoor modular, watching beach goers have their fun.

  Deciding to start over and leave behind the life I’d built back home wasn’t an easy decision. But it was the right one. I knew that much. Staying put had made my life stagnated. I was no different to the girl I had been when I lived with Mark, the girl I was when I’d finished school. I was almost forty, for fuck’s sake. If I didn’t make changes now, I might never live my ideal life.

  But what was my ideal life? Was it being the locksmith to a bunch of criminals who would slowly crawl out of the woodwork as time went by? Or was it something entirely different? I could quite literally make any choice I wanted at the end of this job. Two hundred and fifty grand for opening a safe. The same again for resisting Abbot—that was the difficult part. And if I sold my apartment along with the shop, I could get another five hundred again. I could be a millionaire and do anything, anything I wanted once that money was cleaned. I could even live by the beach.

  Hmm. That would be nice.

  I could learn how to surf again, run along the beaches instead of potholed country roads. Maybe I could take up those iron man competitions. I could work part-time to keep myself busy. Then maybe I could find someone…

  Someone who makes me laugh like Abbot does.

  Makes me feel sexy like Abbot does.

  Someone like Abbot.

  Just not Abbot himself. He wasn’t made for relationships. He’d made that part very clear with his crazy cover stories.

  I touched my fingers to my lips and laughed at myself for going along with this game of his in the first place. It was childish, and it didn’t even have a real point. But it was fun, and I wasn’t going to apologise for enjoying myself when I’d been a straight line for so long.

  After cutting ties with Mark, I knew I could never be a sometimes girl with Abbot. I could play this game, maybe have sex with him at the end of it. But then I needed to cut ties with him too. I knew my heart too well, and I couldn’t repeat this thing we were doing. I’d only want more. More than he was willing to give.

  “This doesn’t look like the bed where I left you,” Abbot said from the doorway, closing the screen as he stepped out and took a seat next to me, a beer already in his hand.

  “It’s too nice out here,” I said with a smile, liking the way he shifted close and slid his arm around the back of the lounge suite, inviting me in. One more week.

  “That it is.” He held up his beer and I tapped mine against his, clinking glass then drinking in silence. “I tried calling you on my way back.”

  “My phone is on silent inside.”

  He drank from his bottle, just a sip. “I saw that.” He placed his bottle on the frosted glass coffee table then leaned back, relaxing next to me. “I also noticed there are a lot of missed calls. Is that Mark guy harassing you?”

  I sighed, leaning forward to put my smaller brown bottle next to his tall clear one. I stayed forward though, my elbows on my knees. “I told him I can’t be friends with him anymore.”

  He didn’t respond straight away so I glanced over my shoulder to catch his expression. Bewildered, perhaps just curious. I wasn’t sure.

  “Not because of you,” I said quickly. “So don’t freak out. I did it because you were right. I wasn’t comfortable being his friend and having his happiness rubbed in my face. It was this constant, why her and not me? And it wasn’t healthy.”

  “OK,” he said, his voice soft. “What’s the plan now?”

  I shrugged. “Sell up, I guess. Find myself some new roots. I like the sea. I’d like to get myself a shack of my own somewhere.” I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, before remembering who I was talking to. “Not here with you, so you can relax. There are a lot of coastal towns out there. I’ll find one I like.”

  “I wouldn’t hate it if you moved here.” He cleared his throat and picked up his beer again. “It wouldn’t suck having you around.”

  Smiling, I leaned into him with a sigh. “You’re sweet. You might not think so, but you really are.”

  He played with a strand of my hair, winding it around his finger as he chuckled. “I’m really not. My motives are entirely selfish.” He reached over and hooked a finger in my top, pulling it far enough forward that he could look down.

  “What night would I be?”

  He released me then frowned. “What night?”

  “Monday? Tuesday? Saturday? Would there be a roster?”

  “Um. I don’t know, Sloane. I like having you around and I’m playing this by ear.”

  “I’m sorry.” Reaching out, I placed my hand on his. “I’m tense after my conversation with Mark, and I’m taking it out on you when you’ve been nothing but straight with me.”

  “It’s cool.”

  “It’s not, but thank you for being you.” I nudged my shoulder against his. “Sweet you.”

  “You’re making me blush, Slater.” He reached forward and picked up his beer, drinking a good mouthful this time.

  I sat back against the seat and sighed, thinking about what I would do once I packed up my life. “You know, I think I need to find my own place in this world. If I came here, you and me would fall into the same sort of thing I had going with Mark. And there’s no future in fucking for fun.”

  “I’m starting to feel rejected here.”

  I laughed. “I’m not rejecting you. Our game is still happening. I just want to make changes to my life when it’s over. I’m not getting any younger and if I’m honest with myself, I do want the whole marriage and kids thing. If not marriage, then at the very least, kids. I’m kind of on the clock for that one.”

  “I respect that.”

  “Am I freaking you out?”

  “Only because my window is getting smaller and smaller. I need to up my game. I have to win the next two bases before you’re off the market for good.”

  “I doubt it’ll happen that quickly, but I feel your urgency.” I grinned and took a mouthful of my drink.

  “Feeling it too, huh?” He chuckled. “You are so gonna beg. Once we’re at third base, you’re not gonna wanna stop.”

  Not likely, Abbot. I need that money to start my new life. Losing was never an option, but with my new plan, it was even less so.

  Keeping my lips sealed, I rested my head on his shoulder, drinking sideways. It worked at first, then a trickle escaped down my chin.

  “Ah shit,” I said, sitting up and trying to catch the drip with my hand.

  “Here, let me clean that up,” Abbot said, tilting my chin up and licking my spill with his tongue. It was weird and hot at the same time. Then his mouth met mine and all the weirdness f
ell away. There was only kissing and gorgeous man; moans and fingers searching for skin.

  “My shirt is making me itchy, Cartwright,” I whispered against his mouth.

  He smiled. “Then let me help you out.”

  Within moments, we were shirtless on his bed. God, I love making out with this guy.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Yahtzee

  “Fuck.” The hissed expletive and sudden movement beside me shocked me out of my sleep.

  Abbot jumped out of bed and made a dash for the bathroom. Holding his dick through his boxer briefs.

  It took a moment for my sleep-addled mind to realise what happened, but when I did, I started giggling.

  “Did I just win by default?” I asked with a huge grin when he came back looking slightly embarrassed.

  “Coming in my sleep doesn’t count, Sloane.”

  “You said no coming unless it was with each other.” I got up on my knees, not caring that I had no shirt on and only bottoms. He’d seen me like this plenty, and I wasn’t shy.

  His mouth quirked at the corner as he leaned against the doorframe. “That was definitely with you.”

  “Default! Default!” I chanted, bouncing on the bed.

  He laughed, his eyes dropping to my chest as he made his way back to the bed and knelt on the end of it. “I do not accept your victory,” he said, crawling towards me. “But I do have a way to make it even.”

  I stopped bouncing, the predatory look in his eyes sending a jolt of awareness right to my clit. Pulse, pulse, pulse. “How?”

  “Well,” he said, grabbing my thighs and pulling so I flipped back on the bed. Oh God. I’m going to come. He’s going to make me come and I won’t lose the money. Oh. Yes. “We could have a momentary stay. Pause our competition long enough for you to”—he leaned over me, running his tongue between my breasts before kissing the gentle curve underneath the left one—“climax.”