Fool’s Errand: Cartwright Brothers, Book 4

by Anderson, Lilliana

  “My pleasure.” She smiled and stretched her arm along the back of the couch. “It’s all about finding a business that accepts cash payments…”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The Last Word

  After a lifetime of being at loggerheads with my mother, we had finally found some common ground with my re-rebirth into the criminal world. We spent much of the weekend together, going over the details of how I could operate as a consultant for the Cartwrights while keeping undetected by the law. Something she had managed to do her entire life—among the other various illegal activities she’d taken part in.

  Besides fucking, breaking and entering seemed to be her field of expertise. “It’s in our blood,” she’d explained over Chinese takeaway, adding that she’d always been so disappointed that I’d let my fear of being caught keep me away from that calling. “I’m glad you’ve come to your senses now though.”

  “I really haven’t,” I’d assured her. “I just don’t have a choice anymore.”

  She’d waved her hand in the air and replied, “Potato Potarto.” Obviously not caring how I came to be following in her footsteps, and only concerned with the fact she was finally able to share her knowledge. I’d never seen her more excited.

  With the offers in on my flat and the shopfront, I packed my bags and left her in charge of putting everything else in storage before settlement happened in three month’s time. I was putting a lot of trust in a woman who had always seemed like a flake while I was growing up, but this past couple of days had shown me she was a shrewd businesswoman who would never let emotion get in the way of a job. I couldn’t say I liked her more than when I’d arrived on her doorstep a few days before, but her business acumen and success spoke for itself, and I was wiser because of it. I had no doubt she could handle transporting my stuff to the empty workshop that was once Pop’s.

  “Do the Slater name proud, OK?” she said once I’d loaded my bags into Lizzie. I gave her a hug, grateful that she was finally doing something for me. “And if you get a chance, try to have sex with Abbot. It’ll do you good.”

  “Oh God, Mum. That ship has sailed. I told you Jasmine forbade me to have contact with them outside the job.”

  “Pish. Jasmine can’t dictate what you do in your free time. There’s always ways around the rules, baby. Believe me, I made a career out of breaking them.” She’d winked and I’d laughed at her audaciousness while getting into my van. Despite our tattered history, I’d never not loved my mum. You could love somebody and struggle to be in the same room as them at the same time.

  “I’ll contact you soon to check on things here. Call if you need me.” That was probably the first time I’d ever said that to her and meant it.

  “Just think about the sex part,” she called out as I drove away.

  Again, I laughed, glancing at her in the rear-view mirror as my old life shrank away. No more Rochester, I’d said goodbye to old friends, old life. When this job was finished, I would find somewhere new to set down roots. Somewhere I could find my own happiness without any meddling.

  Just think about it.

  Fine. I’ll marry her.

  Angry didn’t even touch the surface of how I was feeling towards Abbot right now. The defeated way he’d said those words. No self-respecting woman would ever accept that kind of proposal. What the hell was wrong with him?

  Despite being angry, I did still think about ‘the sex part’. Lord, it was all I did some nights awake in bed—that photo he’d sent me a favourite in the spank bank—unable to sleep because I’d become so used to having him beside me that my bed wasn’t the most restful place for me anymore. It was inside his arms.

  I suppose I had to delete that photo now, too.

  I hated that idea. Besides the significance of that image, deleting the Cartwrights from my contacts and ending any sort of social communication with them hurt my heart. I understood it was about breaking ties and maintaining secrecy surrounding jobs, but I didn’t want to ignore the fact these men had been a large part of my life. That Abbot had a huge chunk of my heart.

  That part really sucked. I guess I still had my memories.

  Driving back, I spent a lot of that time going over every detail of every moment I could remember about Torquay. I tried to keep my thoughts to the PG childhood memories, but they quickly turned MA (sometimes R) rated with the yearning I still felt towards Abbot. He’d gotten under my skin and it wasn’t so easy to shake him—delete him, like Jasmine had said. How am I supposed to work with this family, with him, when I feel this way?

  I guess it was finally time to stop running away from my problems, something I’d become terribly good at in my thirty-eight years.

  With my final Rochester to Torquay trip behind me by mid-afternoon, I parked Lizzie inside the Wyndham Resort. After getting a great deal on a little apartment since it was the off-season. It had two bedrooms and a living area with its own kitchen so I could cook my own meals and make myself more at home than I could in a regular hotel room. I was ready to do this job—whatever ‘teaching them what I knew’ was. All that was left to do was twiddle my thumbs until nine the next morning. That’s a lot of hours to fill.

  I looked around the apartment, pursued the pamphlets spruiking the resort’s facilities, flicked through the channels on the TV, and stared at the ceiling.

  This is really boring.

  I needed to do something.

  With the resort only five minutes away from Bells Beach, I figured a long run along the shoreline would be a great way to work out the kinks of travel and wind down for the night before showing up ready for work the next day.

  For anyone unfamiliar with Torquay, it was a surfer’s paradise—as long as you could handle the cooler temperatures. There were numerous beaches with different types of waves that varied depending on the weather. But you could be guaranteed to find a decent swell at one of the main beaches to suit your style.

  I didn’t surf. My lack of grace wasn’t made for balancing on planks without biting a sandbank. But, I could definitely appreciate a good swell when I saw one.

  As I touched down on the beach, the wind whipped stray granules of sand at my face and my flicked hair around. I pulled it back into a ponytail while I looked out to water and noted the messy whitecaps and tall waves. Locals were either preparing to tackle the waves or catching their breath after surviving the swell. Even more were in the water, performing aerial stunts that never ceased to amaze me.

  The cool air felt good in my lungs as I ran along the firm sand where the water receded. I loved the sea, loved the way the water roared and the wind howled. Such power. Such life. I felt so at home here and wondered how I’d ever survived living inland for so long.

  When I was done with my run, my limbs heavy and burning from use, I slowed to a stop then lumbered up the sand, shaking out my thighs as I climbed the wooden stairs to the street level. There were still people dotted everywhere, as dedicated surfers didn’t miss a great set of waves. I caught snippets of conversation in the car park, bragging about one-eighties and tube heights. Then I heard a giggle and turned towards it—a flirtatious sound amid the chest thumping—and that’s when I wished I‘d stayed indoors.

  “Shit,” I whispered to myself, also regretting that I hadn’t worn a cap. I could have pulled it down over my face and ran in the opposite direction. Anything to avoid witnessing this…

  Abbot was standing against his Jag, grinning his sexy grin while talking to a blonde girl who had one of those round arses that are in fashion these days. I knew this because she was wearing a set of bikini bottoms in fluorescent pink that sucked right against her arse crack like it was painted on her skin, barely covering her butt cheeks. On the top, she had one of those hoodies on that showed off her slender midriff. There was no real point in wearing it, really. She couldn’t have been warm. I could see her goosebumped skin from metres away.

  But mostly, she was young. Really young. Like, no older than twenty young. Way younger than me…a
nd tiny. The perfect size for someone like Abbot, who would undoubtedly prefer the small and cute rather than the tall and boyish.

  Forget him.

  When she touched Abbot’s arm and spoke, I wanted to touch her arm and push. Perhaps with a closed fist.

  When he tucked her hair behind her ear, I remembered him doing the same to me, and I looked away. Perhaps there were tears in my eyes.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  What had I expected him to do? Sit and pine for me the way I had been for him? Try to convince me that I really was his one—that he’d actually meant that proposal? He hadn’t even tried to call me, obviously deleting my number like his mother had commanded. I’m such a fool.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  He was what he was. And he’d never hidden the fact he was a player. I knew that. I was just…

  I was hopeless.

  Hopelessly devoted like sad Sandy in Grease. The difference was that I wasn’t Olivia Newton John and he wasn’t John Travolta, and this wasn’t a fucking musical that finished with a happily ever after. Abbot was the man he always told me he was. He used women for fun and he was never their friend, romantically or otherwise. I knew that. Just like I knew he’d said he’d marry me because he felt Jasmine was forcing his hand.

  “Fuck this.”

  Delete him, Sloane. No more pining.

  Turning in the opposite direction, I took a calming breath then walked casually away, pulling my red hair over my shoulder and holding it in my hand as an attempt at hiding it from sight. I intended to circle the car park and come out at the road, completely avoiding Abbot and his latest conquest. No socialising. Only the job. Delete, delete, delete.

  Let go.

  “Sloane?”

  Crap. I walked a little faster.

  “Sloane!”

  I broke into a jog.

  “Wait up.” Within a couple of strides, he appeared beside me.

  “Abbot.” I feigned surprise while my foot caught on a small stone. He caught my arm to steady me and I wanted to throw myself at him.

  Love me.

  I didn’t.

  “Why didn’t you stop? I was calling you.”

  “Because we don’t know each other any more.” I pulled the arm he was holding from his grip and flicked my hand to add a little disconnect from my reaction to being close to him again. “No socialising.”

  “That’s a bullshit rule and you know it.” I didn’t really know about that. Being this close to him felt impossible. Jasmine may actually know what she’s talking about.

  “Who was your friend?” I asked, changing the subject, not even caring that it made me sound jealous. I was.

  “My friend?”

  “The girl you were talking to back there. She your latest FWB?”

  “FWB?”

  “Friend with benefits.”

  “What?” He shook his head. “No. I haven’t… She’s just a girl, Sloane.”

  I scoffed. “Aren’t they all?” Then I pointed to the resort across the street, needing to get away from him. I don’t think I can do this. “This is me.” Without giving him the chance to say another word, I jogged across the street.

  “Sloane!”

  He kept yelling after me, but I just picked up my pace and didn’t stop until I was back inside my apartment. “Shit, crap,” I gasped, locking the door and leaning against it. “I can’t do this.” I couldn’t be near him, couldn’t pretend I felt nothing whenever he was around. With tears threatening, I rushed straight for the shower and stripped, standing under the stream, hoping the noise of the water would somehow drown out the noise in my mind.

  It didn’t. Everything about the way I reacted towards Abbot was too raw. It had only taken two weeks to fall for him, but it felt as though it would take a lifetime to recover. Getting out of the shower, I wrapped myself in a towel and headed to the living area where the Blackberry was on charge. I needed to call Toby and tell him that I’d work with him only. I could teach him whatever he needed and he could show the others. I’d happily take a cut in pay.

  “You need to quit throwing tantrums and running when things aren’t going your way.” Abbot sat on the couch in the dimly lit room, curtains drawn over the large glass sliding door.

  “What the hell are you doing in here?” I gasped, clutching the towel at my chest as I almost fell against the kitchen bench.

  He stood and moved towards me. “You know what, Sloane, I don’t fucking know. I can’t seem to walk away from you.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  His head moved side to side as he drew closer, stalking, cat-like. “It’d probably be best, right? Lord knows you make me fucking insane with your—”

  “So go. I don’t want you here anyway.”

  He stopped in front of me and closed his eyes, teeth clenching. “—inability to let me get a fucking word out,” he said, his voice low and deep as he placed his hands on the side of the bench and caged me in. “Why won’t you ever let me speak?” That part was a whisper as his face lined up with mine.

  “Maybe I’m afraid of what I’ll hear.” It was probably the most honest I’d ever been with him.

  “Sloane.” His warm breath washed over my face as his eyes flashed and dropped to my lips. Without warning, his mouth collided with mine, intense and hungry, the force of his tongue demanding as his hand went into my wet hair and the other one grabbed my arse.

  Set aflame, I whimpered against his lips, hands grabbing at his shirt and pushing at the fabric, desperate for the feel of his skin. He broke contact, his eyes dark and hungry as the took me in for the split second before his pulled his shirt over his head and dumped it on the floor.

  “Abbot,” I whispered when he reached for me again.

  “Shut up, Sloane.” His lips took control of mine as he grabbed my hips and hefted me onto the bench, shoving my towel out of the way so my nakedness pressed right against his warm chest. He moaned and wrapped his arms around my torso, practically crushing me against him as we devoured each other’s mouths.

  My fingers dug into his ribs, sliding to the waistband of his pants and pushing, my movements frantic and jarring, desperate. With one hand, he shoved at his pants and freed himself, the hot head of his dick lining up with my opening and pushing inside.

  I gasped, the sound caught in his mouth as he grunted and sheathed himself with my body.

  Oh God.

  Oh God.

  He felt even better inside me than I’d imagined, and I could barely respond to his kisses as his hips swivelled back and forth, pushing and stretching my insides so I was nothing more than an orgasm waiting to happen.

  With no sounds except the gasping of our breath and the meeting of our bodies, we rocked together on the edge of that kitchen bench, weeks of restraint and fighting, culminating in this frantic bout of skin slapping and guttural moans. I felt set to explode.

  “Abbot,” I uttered, so close to my release. He caught my bottom lip in his teeth and sucked back, his hips picking up speed, filling me so deep, so completely, over and over until I dropped my head back and released a low howl, coming harder than I’d ever come in my life.

  He lowered his head into the curve of my neck and slammed his hips into mine with a shudder, his cock twitching in my depths, spilling his release. Holy fuck.

  Wrapping my arms around his head, I let out a whimper that was so filled with emotion I almost cried.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, the man who never apologised, hot breath against my neck. “I couldn’t…”

  I held him tighter. “It’s OK.” Holy fucking hell. “It’s OK.” I was sated, yet yearning. Our collision too sudden and too brief. “But, Abbot?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think we need to do that again.”

  He chuckled so his entire torso shook against mine, his cock still inside me hard and ready. “I think you’re right.”

  I placed my hand on his cheek and pulled back a little so I could meet his eyes. “I need to tell
you something first.”

  “No, you don’t, Sloane,” he said, straightening up and sliding his big hands along either side of my face, his light eyes looking deep into mine before he spoke. “I already know.”

  “You do?”

  He nodded. “I love you too.”

  My heart just exploded.

  Then he brought his lips to mine and kissed me so softly and tenderly that I was incapable of stopping my tears this time. “I love you,” I mumbled through our moving mouths and my sobs. I had a desperate need to get those words out.

  He smiled. “Couldn’t let me have the last word, could you, Slater?” Brushing up with his lips, he ran the tip of his nose alongside mine, the fingers of his right hand trailing down my spine. I shivered.

  “I can let you have the last word.”

  “I doubt that.” Sucking against the skin along my jaw, he chuckled.

  “I can. I’m letting you have the last word right now.”

  “Uh-huh.” He nibbled at my ear.

  “Technically that isn’t a word—”

  “Sloane.”

  “Yes, Abbot?”

  “Shut the hell up so I can fuck you again.”

  “OK.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Something Worth Making It Back For

  “We need to talk about this,” I whispered as we lay in the king-sized bed of my serviced apartment. The sheets, once crisp and white, now twisted between our tangled limbs.

  “Now you want to talk.” Abbot slid a hand along my ribs then down to my arse, pulling me closer against him. “Every time we talk, we fight. I suggest we just keep fucking.”

  “I’m serious. There are consequences to this, aren’t there? Or are you planning on loving me from afar?”

  “No, Sloane, I plan on loving you right here. In fact…” He got out of bed, and I made a sound of disappointment the moment we weren’t touching anymore.

  “Where are you going?” I pushed up on my elbows to watch the muscles in his arse popping with every step he took. That arse is mine. Finally. And I knew it wasn’t because of our mother’s meddling. It was because we were made for each other.