“What would you prefer I call it?” Taking a hold of my thighs, he lifted so I was sitting back on the desk and he was standing between them. Groin to groin. “Your flower?”
I laughed. “Not that.”
“Sex, hole, box?”
“They’re worse than slit.”
“Your cunt?”
I shivered. “Why does the worst of all the words sound so heated coming from your mouth?”
“Hmm. Cunt it is.” Fuck me. Fuck. Me.
“Or pussy. I don’t mind pussy.”
“Noted.” He pushed his hard length against me, leaning lower, lower to claim my mouth. I’m too turned on for this.
“And, um, Cynthia.”
He pulled back suddenly, curiosity replacing the heat that had been taken over his eyes. “Cynthia?”
I lifted one shoulder. “That’s what I call it.” I literally just made that up to stall him so I could calm down.
“Cynthia the cunt?”
It was even funnier when he said it. “Yeah.”
A grin tipped his lips then laughter bubbled from his chest. “You are something else, Sloane Slater.”
“What? Other girls don’t name their twats?”
“Twats.” He laughed harder, shaking his head.
“You are such a child,” I said, laughing as well.
“I’m not the one who named my privates Cynthia.”
“You don’t like it?”
“I am never going to call it that.”
“Well, at this rate. You’ll never get to call it anything. No third base and a safe sitting uncracked. We may never get to that home run.”
“Hmm.” He slid his hands around my waist and pulled me to standing. “I’ve got a feeling you’ll be worth the wait.”
“I’ll regrow my hymen if we wait much longer.”
Chuckling, he pulled me against his chest. “Ready to wave the white panties and surrender, Slater?”
“No. I’m ready to open that safe and win my money.”
Wrapping his arms around me, he held me closer. “You are so adorable when you’re horny.”
I shook my head and wrapped my arms around his torso, speaking against his chest. “I’m cranky when I’m horny.”
“You’re beautiful when you’re cranky.”
What? I looked up at him, those words the last thing I expected him to respond with. I’m beautiful?
“You’re also beautiful when you’re sleeping, when you’re concentrating, and when you’re disappointed over an empty workshop.”
He thinks I’m beautiful.
“Is this a new tactic to get me to give in?”
He shook his head. “Just the truth.”
“Careful, Abbot. I’ll start telling people how sweet you can be. Those beach bimbos won’t go home when they find out.” Beach bimbos. An endless line of willing women that I couldn’t forget. They were waiting for him and his attention to return, I was sure.
Something flickered behind his eyes before he released me and stepped back. “I can be a dick towards you if you prefer.”
“No.” I caught his hand before he could get too far, pulling to urge him back. I liked him against me. “I like you exactly as you are.”
He slid a hand into the side of my hair and tilted my head to his. “I kinda like you too, Slater.”
My heart picked up speed as he lowered his lips to mine, the sexual charge between us so thick in the air it was practically crushing us. I should stop this. I wasn’t at my strongest mentally, too many days going unsatisfied had turned me into an edgy mess. I didn’t know if I could stop once we started.
Fuck me. Please.
Movement in the doorway caught my eye just as his lips touched mine. I jerked my head back. “Mum?”
“That isn’t typically what a girl says when I try to kiss her, but if that’s your kink.”
“No, dummy,” I said, smacking him against the chest. “My mum is here.” I pointed to the doorway where she stood, giving Abbot a little finger wave when he turned around.
“Oh,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m Abbot—”
“Cartwright,” she finished for him, her eyes travelling up and down his beautiful body, her words like a purr. “I know who you are. I’m Emma—”
“Slater,” he finished for her, grinning his dimple-popping, panty-dropping grin. She blushed. Oh my God.
I’m going to throw up.
What the fuck is she doing here?
And why the fuck is he giving her that smile?
I was not going through this again.
“How did you know we were here, Mum?” I asked, folding my arms and swallowing my reaction down. Surely Abbot wasn’t falling for her overtly sexual countenance. Not after all I’d told him. He wasn’t like that.
But he was a man.
It was to be expected when faced with a woman like my mum. Free-spirited, oozing sexuality and feminine charm, she looked far younger than her fifty-nine years, and had never met a man she couldn’t lure into her bed.
Without even trying, she looked a thousand times better than me. While I was in black pants and a knit jumper with my hair in a braid and no makeup on my face, she was wearing a pair of fashionably ripped jeans that looked painted on her long legs and a striped low-cut top that showed off her medically enhanced breasts perfectly. She had full painted red lips and her red hair was in a messy bun. It looked so effortless to the untrained eye. However, I knew that her hair was really a mousy brown that she dyed to match mine because of the compliments I received as a child. She’d later reported that she’d never had an easier job pulling men who wanted to know if the curtains matched the drapes. Apparently they did because she dyed downstairs too. I was nine when she told me that. Highly inappropriate.
“Nice to see you too, sweetheart.” She smiled and tore her eye-fucking gaze away from Abbot. “I saw you two breaking in on the security feed. Thought I‘d come and say hi.”
“Why are you even here?”
“That sounds like you aren’t happy to see me, baby.” She tilted her head like she was a puppy dog who meant no harm. “I’m happy to see you.” Gawd. How, after all these years was she still able to do that guilt thing?
“I’m happy to see you, Mum. I just wasn’t expecting you.”
She leaned in and smiled. “I wasn’t expecting you either.”
For a second I wasn’t sure if she was talking about today or the fact I was a surprise pregnancy.
“Do you know what happened to Pop’s workshop?” I asked, deciding to get straight down to business since my mum and I weren’t great at the whole small talk thing.
“Exactly what he wanted to happen.” She was his failsafe? “Why don’t we get out of here?” she suggested.
Abbot and I followed her out, at least a metre of space between us the whole time. And so it begins…
Chapter Twenty-Two
A Fucking Mess
Mum’s house was quaint. A raised cottage with white timber cladding and a verandah out the front where she had a bunch of plants and a porch swing set up.
“How long have you lived here?” I asked when she ushered us inside and I noticed the knickknacks and clutter everywhere. For a person who never put down roots, this place certainly looked very cosy.
“Oh, a while,” she said with a dismissive hand as she filled the kettle at the sink of the galley kitchen. A while…
We stood on the other side of the bench as she asked how we took our tea, something a mother should have known about her daughter but didn’t.
“Sit, sit,” she said, bringing over a tray with the tea and some chocolate biscuits. “How long have you two been together?” She looked between Abbot and me.
“It’s complicated,” I stated, while Abbot said, “We’re not.”
Mum’s brow lifted. “Therein lies the complication.”
It’s only a game, Sloane. It was only ever a game.
I swallowed my reaction to Abbot’s dismissal to focus on the ma
tter at hand, why we were there in the first place.
“How about you just explain the empty workshop?” I asked.
“Trevor Slater loved to party in his youth. Did you know that?” She smiled, resting her chin in her hand as she looked off into the distance. That is so not the answer to the question I asked. But I waited for the point nonetheless. “He wasn’t always the reliable old locksmith living in a country town to provide the best life for his poor abandoned granddaughter. No. Trev was one of the finest cat burglars this country had ever seen.” She whispered the last words like they were a chant for a spell—reverently.
“A cat burglar?”
She nodded. “Never caught. Only questioned once over the job your father went down for.” She directed the last part to Abbot. “He appreciated that your dad didn’t talk. It’s why he worked for you for so long after retiring from the game. Felt he owed a debt.” She placed her hand over Abbot’s and gave it a squeeze.
Don’t touch him.
My possessive thought didn’t surprise me, but I didn’t like having it when Abbot wasn’t mine to be possessive over.
I looked away.
Abbot didn’t move his hand. “I was too young to remember Dad before he went away. But the others said he was a mean bastard. I guess it’s good he did something decent for someone.”
She nodded with understanding. “Our lifestyles harden us.”
“Us?” I asked, turning back to her.
“Of course,” Mum said, looking like she thought I might be dense. “Skills passed from generation to generation. Dad taught me everything I know, same as he did you. You just didn’t have the stomach for it, so we never fully brought you in.”
“I don’t understand. Why was he always giving you money?” My brain was starting to hurt.
“To launder. Part of my cover is working a food stall at festivals. All cash.” She winked.
“I thought he was laundering through the shop.”
“He was. But sometimes there was too much. I took care of that.”
“Why didn’t I know any of this?”
“Because you didn’t want to know. After you had your breakdown, Pop and I both agreed that your life should stay as normal as possible.” My breakdown? That’s what she was calling it?
“I didn’t have a breakdown, Mother. You slept with my boyfriend.”
“And I apologised. But you can call it what you want. We just felt you were too emotional for this life.”
Too emotional. I wasn’t too emotional. I simply needed someone to love me enough that they wouldn’t stab me in the back. I needed some grounding, some direction. Everything around me kept moving and changing, and I’d just wanted to be still, find something to hold on to. Something that was mine.
Not that it got me anywhere.
“If I’m too emotional, why did he leave me the shop?”
“Because you’re a good locksmith. He thought you could make a go of it.” So, I was a failure of my own making. Excellent.
“The shop is a bust, Mum.”
“Of course it is. There’s not enough work in that town for anyone. Is that why you’re here with a Cartwright looking for money? You’re broke?”
“Heading that way.”
“We hired her for a job,” Abbot put in, unsolicited and unnecessary. “She’ll be fine.”
I shot him a look that said, “Why tell her that?”
Mum’s botoxed brow twitched a little. “Chip off the ole block after all, huh?” Her eyes shifted between us. “I get it now. Like mother, like daughter. Do a job, make some money, have some fun on the side, then get the hell out of there. I love it.” She smiled as she reached across the table to me. “You know, I have fucked so many men in my time that I still can’t work out who your father was. I think he was a stockbroker I slept with to get access to his employee codes. But, I’ve never been sure. Could have been the concert violinist with the Stradivarius. Oh, it was worth millions that thing.” She physically shivered over the memory.
“Sounds like you’ve had an interesting life,” Abbot said, taking a mouthful of tea.
“Well, I’m excellent in the sack, very flexible.” She whispered the last part then winked.
No. No. Nope.
I stood up, my jaw so tight my inner ear hurt.
“Where are you going, honey?” Mum asked, sweet as the endearment she gave me. “We’re just talking.”
Taking a calming breath, I sat back down. None of this matters. He’s not yours to lose. Focus on the money. “What happened to Pop’s cash, Mum?”
“I have it. When Dad died, the lawyer contacted me and gave me an envelope with instructions. I followed them to the letter and his money is in a safe place. Away from sticky fingers.” She glanced at Abbot again.
“So, I got a failing business and you got the money that was keeping it afloat.”
She smiled. “I’m simply doing my part taking care of it. There’s actually a substantial amount of money for you—all clean and legit—waiting in a term deposit once you hit a certain milestone.”
“You’re being vague, Mother.”
“Well, I don’t want to embarrass you in front of your friend.” She kissed the air in his direction. I was going to shake her until her false eyelashes fell off.
“Oh, I think you’re managing that just fine.”
“What?” She feigned confusion.
Pressing my fingers to my forehead, I fought off a tension headache. “Just tell me what the milestone is.”
“You’ll get it on the eve of your wedding.” She produced a magnanimous smile and looked Abbot dead in the eye. He cleared his throat and ran his hand through his hair, looking away toot sweet.
“That’s ridiculous,” I said.
“It was his money. He can set any rules he wants.”
“Surely that’s not legally binding. Can’t you just release the money to me since you’re in charge of it? It would mean a lot to me, Mum. And after all we’ve been through, don’t you think it would be the right thing to do?”
“Hmm. No. Rules are rules, my dear girl. There is honour among thieves, and this was important to him. He wanted to see you happy and living your life.” She looked at Abbot. “Like her enough to marry for money?”
“I have plenty of my own.” His response was so fast that it brought tears to my eyes. Stupidly.
You know where you stand. It’s a game.
“Well, maybe one of your brothers,” Mum said as if she could pimp me out that easily. Pay someone to marry me? How pitiful did she think I was?
I turned away, swallowing the lump in my throat as I tried to breath through my emotions. Abbot was telling her that most of his brothers were married now, and all I could here was the whoosh, whoosh of angry blood in my ears.
Calm down. None of this matters.
“Tell Jasmine I said ‘hi’ when you get back home. We need to make some time to catch up.”
“I’ll do that,” Abbot said.
“Good. Jazz and I go way back.” She reached out, finding a pack of cigarettes beneath a magazine before lighting up. “Do you smoke?”
I turned back in time to see Abbot inhale longingly. Suddenly, I needed to get the hell out.
“Fuck the money,” I spat, standing up and walking straight out the door to my van. Abbot followed so fast that he jumped in at the same time I did.
“You OK?” he asked as I started the ignition and took a deep breath.
I nodded then shook my head instead. “I don’t know. I just…” Hated watching her flirt with you. Hated watching you smile back. Hated how fast you refused to marry me… It was stupid, and I had no real right to feel the way I was feeling. I guess my mother just brought the worst out in me—jealousy, distrust… “She isn’t an easy woman to have as a mother.” Putting Lizzie into gear, I planted my foot to put as much distance between my mother and me as possible.
“Makes sense that you are the way you are,” he said after a while.
“Meaning?�
��
“You’re so dead against becoming her that you’re the exact opposite.”
His words hit home a little too hard, and I didn’t have a thing to say. Out loud. Internally, I was in turmoil of not feeling wanted, not feeling trusted and above all, not feeling loved. Loveable. Desired. I’m the exact opposite of my mum, he says. In a word…less. And the way Mum and Pop had made my decisions, conspired without my knowledge…it was just wrong. Have I always been in their way?
“What are you gonna do about the shop and the money?” he asked, not saying a thing about the fact we were heading to Rochester instead of Torquay.
“I’m going to open that safe and make my own damn money. That’s what I’m going to do.”
“You know—”
“Don’t, Abbot.” I held up my hand. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it. For one night, I want to go home and ignore the fuck out of all this stuff.”
He stayed quiet until we were about two steps inside my flat. “Sloane.”
“I’m going for a shower.” I threw my backpack on the couch and headed straight for the bathroom.
“Will you stop and talk to me a second?”
“About what, Abbot? My mother flirting with you? Or asking you to marry me for money? Oh wait, wanna talk about how when you said no, she asked if you could spare a brother for her desperate daughter? That was a fun moment.”
“Sloane.”
“Just leave me alone, Abbot.” I slammed the door of the bathroom, the dark brown of the wood making the small cream bathroom seem more crowded than usual. I pulled my jumper over my head and threw it on the tiled floor, pulling out my hair tie and loosening my braid with a heavy sigh. I hate feeling like this. Out of control. Unwanted.
“We need to talk, Sloane.” Abbot tapped on then opened the bathroom door, taking away my small amount of privacy when all I wanted was a moment to find my fucking calm.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I yelled, turning on him. “I’m not in here fucking masturbating if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m in here dealing with the train-fucking-wreck that is my life. So, please, please give me a goddamn fucking minute.”
“If you would listen, I’m trying to help you.”
Fool’s Errand: Cartwright Brothers, Book 4 Page 16
