by Lyon, Raquel
“Yep.” When I made my mind up about something, it pretty much stuck in my brain and refused to leave. My stubbornness wasn’t as bad as Kendrick’s, but sometimes it was a necessity, and, this time, I hoped mine would get me into a whole other kind of trouble than his usually did.
“Why are you so interested?”
“I thought we were friends. Friends confide in each other.”
The hairbrush landed on the glass top of the dressing table with a clatter, as she turned to face me. “Okay, friend. What if I said I was due at the solicitor’s in an hour to sign the final divorce papers?” Her bottom lip quivered. It was full and inviting, and I wondered what it would be like to suck on it.
“I’d ask if you needed some company.” She glared at me, as if not quite understanding. “Do you? Because I’d be happy to go with you.” I stepped closer.
“I can’t think of anything more inappropriate,” she said. Her lip quivered again, and I wanted to sweep her into my arms and tell her everything was going to work out. Tell her, her two-timing bastard of a husband had never deserved her. But I resisted and settled for running the back of my fingers lightly down her arm. Her skin was as delicate as a butterfly’s wing. Just brushing it made my blood pump. Fuck. I wanted more. But I wanted her to want it too, and to get that, I needed to get a mental grip on my dick. “It’s personal,” she said.
“Well. You know where to find me, if you feel like talking when you get back.” I smiled, backing out of the door to give her the alone time she’d asked for.
A little more than an hour later, the side bed was neatly cleared, and I was satisfied I’d done a decent morning’s work. Cora had left the door unlocked, to enable me to help myself to a drink, and I didn’t want to leave the house unattended in her absence, so I wandered inside to take a look around. Everywhere was decorated in muted shades of cream and beige, with small splashes of colour added by way of soft furnishings. Expensive looking ornaments were specifically placed for dramatic effect, and modern art adorned the walls. It was a classy joint and must have cost a packet to fit out. I glanced down at my dirt covered jeans and the soil under my fingernails. Butt stains and fingerprints would not be well received. I needed a shower, badly. Stealing a glance at my watch, I wondered if I had time to grab a quick one before Cora got back, and decided to risk it.
Fifteen minutes later, I was standing in her kitchen, wearing only my boxers and drinking a glass of milk, when she returned.
I heard her before I saw her. Her small gasp of surprise caused me to turn in time to see her eyes graze over my body, and a small ripple of satisfaction pulsed in my chest. Yeah, that’s right, baby. Just say the word and it’s all yours.
“Um, what are you doing?” she asked, pointedly averting her gaze.
I held the glass aloft. “Drinking milk. You said I could help myself. Want some?”
“Maybe what I should have said was what are you doing in my house, naked?”
“I’m not naked. I’m wearing boxers.” I pinged at the waistband to stress the fact. “And I know you noticed that.”
“It’s hard not to.”
“I don’t mind you checking me out.”
Her heels clicked along the tiled floor as she slipped a leather strap from her shoulder and laid her handbag on the table. “You haven’t answered my question.”
“What was it again?”
“Where are your clothes?”
“On the back doorstep.”
She stared down at her handbag and fiddled with the clasp. “I’d rather they were on your body.”
I moved closer hoping she’d look at me again. A moment ago, I thought I’d seen a spark of interest, and I needed to kindle it. “Are you sure? They were covered with soil. I was considering your décor.”
“How kind. Clearly my décor comes before dignity.”
Her bag was getting more attention than I was, and I could tell she wasn’t buying my excuse. Perhaps the shower hadn’t been such a good idea after all. Her refusal to meet my eye spoke volumes, and I didn’t want to push my luck. I had to play it cool. Change of tact, Johnny. “How did it go with the paperwork?”
Her tone softened. “I signed.”
“Was your husband there?”
“No.”
“Did you want him to be?”
Creases formed over the bridge of her nose. “No.”
It wasn’t diplomatic, but I had to know. “No love lost between you two then?”
“I hate him with the fire of a thousand volcanoes,” she said, surprisingly calmly.
At any other time, I would have laughed, and I did almost choke on my last mouthful of milk, before swallowing it just in time. She had spunk, and I liked it, but this was a time that called for sensitivity. “So you don’t still love him?”
“I stopped loving him a long time ago, the first time he cheated on me with my friend.”
“Your friend? Not the one who was here earlier?”
“Of course not. An ex-friend.”
“Understandable. So, why were you crying?”
She turned to lean on the edge of the table, steadied herself, and exhaled. “I … Well if you must know, I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“The future. One minute I had a husband and a family, and the next minute I didn’t. My girls are almost grown up. They’ll both be gone shortly too, and then I’ll be alone. I’ve always been a wife and a mother. I don’t know what else to do with my life.”
I set my glass on the drainer and stood before her. She looked up at me with those big, grey eyes, like a frightened kitten. I took her hand and stroked my thumb across her knuckles. “You can do anything you want. You’re talking as if your life is over. You’re thirty-nine not eighty-nine. Look on this as a new beginning. You’re a free woman now, and the first thing you have to do is decide how to celebrate.”
She studied my hand but didn’t pull hers away. “I’m not in a celebrating mood.”
Every fibre of my being wanted to protect her, comfort her, and make her smile again. Just holding her hand was like walking into a Ferrari showroom and running your finger along the paintwork, just to see what it felt like to touch perfection, and damn, I wanted to take her for a test drive. “I tell you what, how about I make lunch for you?” I said, reluctantly letting her go and turning away.
“You can cook?” Her doubt was evident.
“Sure. I do a mean ham sandwich, or cheese on toast.” I opened the refrigerator and glanced inside. As I’d expected, it was full of healthy crap. “Or salad seems to be popular here. How about some of that?”
“I usually have cream cheese and tomatoes on rye crackers, for lunch.”
Ugh! I hated crackers; they tasted like cardboard. But if she liked them, I would force myself to like them too. “Perfect.” I grabbed two tomatoes from the salad box, along with the tub of cheese and began opening cupboards searching for the crackers. Cora beat me to it, and we both turned to face each other at the same time. Her hands prevented full on body contact, connecting with my chest, and I automatically reached up to grasp her waist. Our eyes locked for a second, before hers fell to my lips and mine mirrored them. It was the sign I’d been waiting for. The look that told me she was interested even if she’d yet to admit it.
Chapter Seven
She coughed. “Sorry. I … um …”
“Don’t be.” I smiled, loving the feel of her fingers on my skin so much I couldn’t bear to let her go.
She pushed me away and removed the crackers from their packet, laying them on a board. I didn’t miss the rise and fall of her chest under her heavy breathing, as she retrieved a knife from the drawer. “You … You’re flirting with me again,” she stammered.
“I get the vibe you secretly like it.”
She swung to face me, knife aloft. The tip would have grazed my chin if my reflexes hadn’t kicked in. “Johnny. I’ve just ended a relationship of twenty years. My husband was the only man in my life, and I’m not ready t
o be hurt by another one.” Her anger surfaced, but as I tried to decide whether the cause of it was me or her ex-husband, it was the crackers that suffered, with more of them crushed under the force of the knife than ones that stayed whole. “And when I say man, I don’t mean boy,” she added.
“Is that what you see when you look at me? A Boy?”
Her eyes flickered over my chest and back to the food. “No.”
“I’d never hurt you,” I said, swallowing a mouthful of cheesy cardboard.
Cora nibbled on a tomato. “What is it you want from me, Johnny?”
A good question. I glanced down at her curves hiding under tightly stretched material and started making a mental list. I had no idea why my need for her was so strong. Insta-lust was not a new concept to me, but this time it was fuelled by Cora’s vulnerable yet self-assured spirit that could only be gained through experiencing life. Sure, I wanted to fuck her brains out, but I knew that wouldn’t be enough for me. She was more than just a roll in the sack. I needed her in my life. When I looked back to her eyes, there was hint of sadness behind them which made it hard for me to breathe, let alone tell her how I felt. Underneath her crispy exterior, she was hurting. I wanted to heal her, prove that not all men are bastards, but how could I put those feelings into words without coming across as a complete prat?
She swallowed. “Just tidy up my garden, as we agreed, and try not to complicate things.”
“It’s only complicated if you make it so. I’m single. You’re single. You really should start dating again, and I’m happy to let you practise on me.” I licked spread from my finger as I waited for her to say something. She didn’t. She leaned back against the counter and stared into space as she ate. “Look, I’m guessing you haven’t had much fun in your life, have you? So, I have an idea. Get the rest of those crackers down you and change out of that dress into something more casual. I’m taking you out.”
Her head shook. “No. You’re not.”
“Yes. I am. I’ll be back in ten.”
As promised, I returned ten minutes later, freshly clothed in a navy T-shirt and cargo shorts. Cora was cleaning the counter top, dressed exactly as she was when I’d left.
“I thought I asked you to change.”
“Demanded, you mean. And I told you I’m not going anywhere. I have things to do, this afternoon.”
Damn, she frustrated the hell out of me. Any other woman and I’d have called off the chase by now, and yet all I could think about was devouring her, every infuriating inch of her. “Such as?”
“Clean this mess up. Prepare tea for Vanessa—”
“Boring.” I spun out the word.
“And I have brownies to make for my wine club tonight.”
Bingo. Our first day out could wait. “I love brownies. Teach me how to make them.” It wasn’t a lie. My sweet tooth threw a bunch of cash the bakery’s way with alarming regularity, but I’d never actually attempted anything homemade.
“I’m sure you have better things to do.”
“Well I was going to take a beautiful woman out on a date but she cancelled at the last minute.”
She pursed her lips with vexation. “I meant something that doesn’t include me.”
“Nope. I want to make brownies,” I said resolutely.
“I’m not getting rid of you, am I?”
“I’m going to be that annoying piece of gum that gets stuck to your shoe and you can’t shift however hard you try.”
Her face creased into a smile, her breath blowing soft puffs down her nose. I loved that I’d made her chuckle. “Fine,” she said.
When the ingredients were laid regimentally on the worktop, Cora set to work measuring them out.
“Right. What do we do first?” I asked.
“It’s quite simple,” she said. “Break the chocolate into that bowl, and I’ll whip the eggs.”
“Do I get to nibble a bit?” I asked, holding the bar to my open mouth.
She smacked my hand away, playfully. “If you’re going to mess about, this is going to take all afternoon.”
I lowered my eyes, sheepishly. “Sorry. Blame my grandmother.”
“What for?”
“My love of chocolate. She often slipped a bar in my trouser pocket when Mum wasn’t looking.”
Cora’s eyes flicked to my face. “Do you miss your mother?” she asked, silently instructing me to add butter to the bowl.
“Every day. But no, I’m not looking to replace her, if that was your Freudian thought.”
“I didn’t mean to imply …”
“It’s okay. Yes, I miss my mum. I miss both my parents. Pappa is great, but he shouldn’t be burdened with dependants at his age. That’s why I’m aiming to set myself up as soon as possible.”
The ingredients came together, and when Cora turned away, I purposely covered my hands with flour. Then when she wasn’t expecting it, I grabbed her by the hips, moving her to the side so that I could stir the mixture. Her waist was slim and delicate, her hips full and firm. A small thrill warmed through me as I stole sideways glances at my handprints on her ass, as I worked. Soon I would turn them into a lasting impression.
“It’s good to have ambition,” she said. “By the time I was your age, I was married with two children.”
“But you were happy.”
“Yes. I was.” She peered into the bowl. “Okay. It’s ready for the tin now,” she said. “I’ll do it. You’ll probably spill it all over the counter.”
My interference had turned a routine job into a children’s baking session. Cora’s pristine kitchen had more than a few new pieces of artwork splattered around it, and I guessed it had taken far longer than normal to do the job, but I was pleased she didn’t seem to mind. I certainly didn’t. The more time I spent in her company, the more it was all I wanted to do. “Fair enough, but I get to lick the spoon.”
She laughed. “My daughters used to fight over who got to do that.”
“I haven’t seen them around much. Where are they?”
“Amy spends most of her time at her boyfriend’s apartment, nowadays. It’s really only Vanessa and me now, but she’s out more often than she’s in. Although, I am expecting her home soon,” she said, placing the tin in the oven. “It might be a good idea if you weren’t here when that happens.”
“Why? Are you not allowed friends?” I ran my tongue over the spoon and wiped my finger around the edge of the bowl, collecting a splodge of mixture, before spontaneously deciding to dot a blob onto the tip of Cora’s nose. My question was left unanswered, when at that very moment, Nessie arrived home.
“Um, what’s going on, Mum?” She stood in the doorway, surveying the scene.
“Oh, Vanessa,” Cora began, as she wiped the mixture from her nose with a tea towel. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“Actually, it’s exactly what it looks like,” I said. “Two people making brownies.”
Nessie narrowed her eyes. “I was told you were the gardener, not the cook.”
“I’m anything your mother wants me to be.”
“How nice. Did she want handprints on her bum?”
“What?” Cora twisted to see behind her, and laughed. She had dimples when she laughed, cute little dents which plumped out the fullness of her cheeks. “That was very naughty of you, Johnny.”
Not half as naughty as some of the things I wanted to do to her. I shrugged. “But funny, right?”
She smiled. “A little.”
I smoothed the back of my fingers down her arm. “I’d better go.”
“Yes. You had,” Nessie spat. “And don’t bother coming back.”
“Vanessa!” Cora scolded.
“It’s okay,” I said, holding up my hands in defeat. Nessie didn’t have to like me. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Cora.”
Chapter Eight
“You were gone all day again, Bro,” Kendrick said, upon my return. He was busy clicking the console of his computer game and didn’t look up as I entered.
&
nbsp; “I have a job to do.”
“Paps made a casserole. It’s in the oven, if you want some.”
“Great. I’m starving,” I said, as I went to search out the food. Smelling chocolate all afternoon, without getting to eat the final product, had my stomach growling to be filled.
Kendrick’s voice drifted down the corridor. “So, when are you gonna spare some time to spend with your baby bro?”
“How about tonight?” I shouted. “If you’re thinking of going to the club, that is. I said I’d go back to the game.”
“Are you sure that’s wise? You were lucky to make it out of there in one piece, yesterday.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Yeah, well I hope so.”
Kendrick remained focused on the screen as I curled up on the sofa with my meal. Perhaps now was a good time for that chat. “How was college today?” I asked.
“Same as always. Hate the joint. Can’t be bothered. What’s the point when there’s fuck all out there? Ah, shit. I lost a life.” He threw the controller beside him with disgust.
“You still need a qualification, and I promise, if you finish your course, it’ll be all good, Rick,” I said, between mouthfuls. “Look on the bright side. You’ve only a couple of weeks left at college.”
Kendrick stretched and leaned back with his arms spread out across the top of the seating. “Yeah, but I need funds now, Bro. Liam’s got a big job coming up, and he says it might warrant an extra pair of hands, if I want in.” He surveyed me, frowning. “Dude, you need a haircut. You’re beginning to look like Smokey.”
Ignoring his jibe, I asked, “What kind of job? And who’s Liam?”
“A mate of mine from the club. He does up old cars and sells them on. I guess the job’s something like that. He hasn’t come up with the details yet.”
“Are you sure it’s kosher?”
“Course. Liam’s sound.”
I nodded, wishing I could have been around more. If Kendrick’s friends had altered in line with his appearance, I’d have liked to meet this Liam for myself. “How long have you known him?”
