by Amy Andrews
It didn’t matter about the reasons why they shouldn’t.
She needed it.
His tongue was laving the pulse at the base of her throat when her hand finally breached his clothing and wrapped around the hard, heavy length of him. His cry was thick and guttural and the nip of his teeth against her throat encouraged her further.
Somehow she managed to shimmy her own jeans down and wrapped her legs around his waist, bringing his blunt girth in direct contact with the heat and moisture at her centre.
‘Now,’ she begged, her blood thrumming through her body as her hips lifted in fevered invitation. ‘Now, now, now.’
Nothing else mattered but the blinding imperative to be filled.
Patrick groaned as her heat and wetness coated him and his body demanded completion. But something fought through the pound in his head and the throb in his body. Something so ingrained in him he couldn’t believe he’d come this far without giving it a thought. For God’s sake, he was practically inside her without a condom in sight.
And his daughter was sleeping less than ten metres away.
Both scared the hell out of him.
‘Stop,’ he panted, placing his head on her chest. ‘Wait.’
Miranda hadn’t heard what he said over the pop and fizz in her bloodstream. All she knew was that he wasn’t inside her and she mewed and clung to him, rotating her hips in blatant invitation.
Patrick pulled away before the temptation to plunge inside her became too great. ‘Stop,’ he said again, levering himself off her, sitting up and tucking himself back in as his brain warred with the demands of his screaming body.
Miranda blinked at the rapid halt to proceedings, not even able to move for a few moments as she tried to catch her breath and wrap her head around what had happened. Then she struggled to sit up, pulling at her jeans, yanking at her top.
‘I’m sorry,’ Patrick said. ‘I can’t do this. We...can’t do this.’
Miranda knew he was right and she supposed she’d thank him for his willpower one day, for being the voice of reason, but right now her body was too busy suffering from withdrawal.
* * *
‘Right,’ she said. Although it didn’t feel right. It felt a hundred per cent wrong.
Patrick stood and raked a hand through his hair. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again.
Miranda nodded but she couldn’t look at him. He may be right but for the moment that didn’t really help. ‘Just go, Patrick.’
‘Miranda.’
She looked at him. His face was creased, his brow furrowed. She could see he was as tortured by the decision as she was. But, again, it didn’t help.
‘Go. Please just go.’
She didn’t watch him leave, she was just grateful when the door clicked shut. Then she flopped back against the couch and curled herself into a ball.
CHAPTER FIVE
IT DIDN’T MATTER how many times he told himself he’d done the right thing, as he tossed and turned in bed, Patrick still felt like a heel. Miranda’s bewilderment cut deep and the excuses rattling through his head didn’t seem to matter in the dead of night, with his body craving hers like a junkie needing a fix.
Not her being twenty-two. Not his marital status. Not his utter lack of time or opportunity to indulge in a relationship. The only one that did stand up was Ruby. For the time being, he had to put her and her needs first.
The photo of Miranda laughing with Lola and Ruby came back to him, along with a rather insidious thought.
Didn’t Ruby need a mother?
He quashed it immediately. Getting involved with Miranda for that reason was crazy. She deserved better. She deserved to be loved and cherished and desired for herself, not for anything she might bring to his relationship with his daughter.
And if they did get together and the wheels fell off the wagon? Was it fair on Ruby to involve her in a family, only to have that too ripped away?
Okay, she didn’t remember her mother. Hell, Katie had never given their daughter a chance to get to know her. But in a world full of kids with mothers, he saw how it isolated her. Saw her longing looks and weathered her mother-related questions.
He only had to think about how attached she was already to Lola and Miranda to know he couldn’t afford to gamble with his daughter’s affections.
So he had to stay strong. Stay focussed.
And, if necessary, become really familiar with cold showers.
Patrick practised his apology and follow-up speech on the ten-minute drive to her place the next morning. His eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep—a seemingly permanent state for him—and he was conscious of the knot in his gut.
Before he knew it he’d arrived and he was striding up the driveway, opening the gate and heading for the covered stairs that ascended to the flat over the garage. Before he reached them, however, Miranda stepped out and both of them didn’t move for a moment.
She was in cargo pants that rode low on her hips and another snug-fitting T-shirt with a V-neck that hugged the contours of her cleavage. Warm sunshine bathed her ebony hair and emphasised the shadows under her eyes. She didn’t look like she’d slept well either.
Recovering first, he said, ‘Good morning.’
Miranda had been determined to be cool and polite when Patrick arrived today but his damp hair, jeans and T-shirt were disturbingly casual and he looked so exhausted she forgot all about her injured pride. He’d either been awake all night. Or drinking all night.
Or both.
She planted her hands on her hips. ‘How is it possible for you to look any more tired than you did last night?’
He shrugged. ‘I didn’t really sleep.’
Miranda’s big soft heart melted at the fatigue emanating from his every pore and lacing his voice with weariness. ‘You don’t look like you ever sleep.’
‘I don’t. Not really. Not for a very long time.’
Miranda shook her head. It was a wonder he hadn’t killed anyone at work. ‘Well, don’t beat yourself up. You were right last night. I’m sorry, I was just...’
So freaking turned on I could barely see straight.
Patrick shook his head. ‘No. Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself. I’m the one who should be apologising. I shouldn’t have kissed you.’ He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. ‘I should have just left here as soon as I’d finished with Ruby.’
Miranda shrugged. ‘A man has to eat.’
He snorted. ‘I wasn’t hungry for food.’
Miranda nodded. Her appetite had been pretty carnal too. There was no point being mad with him over it. They were in an untenable situation.
He took a step towards her. ‘I just can’t afford to be distracted from Ruby right now...she has to be my priority...’
‘It’s okay, Patrick,’ Miranda assured him, shoving her hands in her back pockets to stop herself from her usual gesture of a comforting touch—look where that had led them in the past. ‘I know exactly where you’re coming from. Parents don’t have the luxury of being selfish.’
Miranda knew that better than most. Getting involved with Neil a few years back had led to a painfully sticky end. Not just for her but for Lola. She wasn’t keen to repeat the experience.
Even if the swirl of emotions inside her now far outweighed anything she’d ever felt for Neil.
Patrick nodded his agreement. Which was weakening by the second as Miranda’s stance thrust her breasts enticingly towards him and the memory of how they tasted had his mouth watering to Pavlovian proportions, trouncing all over his resolve.
‘Are the girls upstairs?’ he asked, looking around, reaching for a safe topic. One on which they could both agree.
Miranda shook her head. ‘They’re in the house with Nan, baking cupcakes. Shall we join them?’
>
‘Good idea,’ he said, and followed her into the house.
A very good idea.
* * *
Ruby was excited to see him but she was at the delicate egg-cracking stage, tongue stuck out in concentration, so he didn’t sweep her up in his arms as he usually did when he saw her after time apart.
He met Dot, who was very spritely for eighty and was fabulously patient with both the girls as she tutored them in the fine art of the perfect cupcake. She had wispy white-grey hair, a sparkle in her eyes and an easy grin.
‘So you’re Daddy,’ she said, giving him the once-over.
Patrick smiled at her. ‘I am he.’
Dot nodded thoughtfully as she looked at Miranda and back to Patrick. ‘Nice,’ she said, before turning her attention back to the task at hand.
‘You passed,’ Miranda whispered.
‘I didn’t know there was a test,’ he whispered back.
A thoroughly enjoyable half-hour passed as they all mucked in. With two batches in the oven they all sat around the old kitchen table and iced the first two batches, which had been cooling on wire racks. Patrick feigned ignorance and Ruby very patiently explained to him the ins and outs of cake icing. Miranda and Lola seemed old hands. Dot appeared to have been born to it!
They were laughing hard, eating almost as many cakes as they’d iced.
‘Watch this!’ Lola called. She turned to Miranda. ‘Let’s show Ruby how we Eskimo-share.’
Miranda rolled her eyes. ‘All right.’ She picked up a cake as Lola settled on her lap then she peeled off the wrapper and held it up between their faces. Lola giggled as they both inched closer to the cake until their mouths were close enough to take a bite, which they did at the same time and munched through until they met in the middle.
Patrick laughed as Lola cracked up and crumbs went everywhere. He looked at Dot, expecting her to be disapproving of the mess, but she was probably laughing the hardest.
‘Bravo! Bravo!’ Dot said as Lola hugged Miranda, still laughing like she’d been hit with the giggle stick. She smiled down at Ruby. ‘I think Mirry and your daddy should Eskimo-share too, don’t you?’
Both girls clapped the idea enthusiastically. Miranda’s eyes narrowed as she glared at her matchmaking grandmother over her daughter’s head. Miranda had told Dot enough about Patrick’s situation for the older woman to know that Miranda wouldn’t make a scene in front of Ruby. ‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ she said over the din.
‘Oh, pleath, Daddy, pleath Ethkimo-share with Miwwy,’ Ruby begged, turning impassioned eyes on her father.
‘Yay, Mummy, yay!’ Lola joined in.
‘I think you’re outvoted,’ Dot said, her face the picture of innocence.
Patrick looked at Miranda. She has crumbs on her mouth and pale pink icing on her nose, and his mouth watered again.
Good God—had he contracted some drooling disorder?
He picked up a cupcake and peeled away the paper casing. ‘I’m game if you are.’
She looked at her scheming grandmother. ‘It’s polite to share,’ Dot said with an encouraging nod. ‘Come here, Lols, let’s stay out of their way.’
Lola didn’t need to be told twice, scrambling off Miranda’s lap lickety-split.
Little traitor. Both of them.
Miranda turned back to face Patrick, their gazes locking as he held the cake between them, his mouth slowly advancing. Hers too seemed to move of its own volition, like it knew what it wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it.
And it wasn’t the cupcake.
Patrick didn’t take his eyes off hers as his lips brushed the sponge. The excited giggles of the girls melted away, the keen gaze of a meddling old lady forgotten, the sweet perfection of the cake insignificant.
It was just a barrier to the really good stuff.
Her mouth. Her kiss.
He bit and she followed, her eyes widening, her breath the only thing he could hear despite the encouragement from their cheer squad. In seconds they were through to the middle and for the briefest moment their lips touched.
And then she pulled away.
Dropped her gaze.
Sat back.
And despite knowing it was the prudent thing to do, he felt cheated.
‘Okay,’ Miranda said, brushing the crumbs off her mouth as she stood briskly and picked up dishes. ‘Time to clean up.’
Dot shooed Miranda away. ‘Oh, no, you sit and talk to your guest,’ she said, whisking the plates away from Miranda. ‘The girls and I are going to do it, aren’t we?’ she announced. ‘That was our deal, right?’
Lola and Ruby agreed happily and Miranda and Patrick were left sitting awkwardly side by side. Patrick glanced at her. She still had icing on her nose and the drooling problem reared its ugly head again.
Screw it.
He wanted her.
It wasn’t some one-off thing and he knew it. He’d always known that. He’d been trying to talk himself out of it because being with someone was another complication in a life that had been marked by them. But if he’d really come here to start again, to start afresh, why couldn’t she be part of it?
‘I think we should go on a date.’
Miranda glanced at him sharply. He’d kept his voice low but the determination on his face told her she hadn’t misheard.
‘I want you and I’m sick of denying it. But I don’t want to mess about this time. I want to do it properly. Go on a date. Go on lots of dates. Like normal couples. Get to know each other. Take our time.’
Miranda cast a furtive glance towards the kitchen. Her grandmother looked away quickly. She retuned her gaze to Patrick. He looked so determined. ‘No.’
‘Yes.’
She shook her head. ‘You were right, Patrick. You and I together is a bad idea with too much at stake.’
‘That’s why I want to do it right.’
Miranda shied away from the frankness in his eyes. She’d never been with a man before. She’d been with teenagers who’d looked at her with lust and eagerness. He was looking at her with the world in his eyes and all she could feel was panic.
For God’s sake, he was married! No matter how ‘technically’.
‘No.’ She stood. ‘Let’s just leave it the way it is, okay? Please don’t ask me again.’
And she scurried over to the kitchen to help clear up, whether her meddling old grandmother wanted her to or not.
An hour later Patrick and Ruby had departed with a supply of cupcakes in a plastic container and Miranda finally stopped trying to pretend she was busy.
She was standing in the back yard, supposedly watching Lola hang upside down on the monkey bars, but her thoughts were racing.
She didn’t hear Dot sidle up next to her until she said, ‘You should go on the date, pet.’
Miranda crossed her arms and tapped her foot. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself with your Eskimo-sharing and your blatant eavesdropping.’
Dot smiled, obviously not ashamed. ‘Don’t be changing the subject now.’
‘What subject?’ Miranda said, exasperated at her grandmother’s complete lack of remorse.
‘The date you’re going on with Patrick.’
‘I’m not going on a date with Patrick.’
‘Well, you should.’
Miranda sighed. She knew her nan meant well but it really wasn’t that simple. ‘I can’t get involved. Look what happened with Neil. Look how upset Lola was.’
‘She was two,’ Dot reminded her gently. ‘She doesn’t even remember him.’
Maybe not now but three months of happy, sunny Lola crying herself to sleep every night was not something Miranda wanted to risk again. Miranda gazed at her daughter, her icing-covered T-shirt falling down over her head. Patrick had been right
earlier—they had to put their girls first.
And one of them had to be strong about that.
‘He has a wife somewhere, Nan.’ Even thinking about that situation rearing its head at some stage was enough to throw her off for life.
Dot touched Miranda’s arm. ‘Who’s made it pretty clear she’s out of the picture.’
‘And what happens if that changes? If she comes back? I’m not going to put Lols through what I went through with Mum. I’m not going to be some other woman.’
‘Hey, now, pet.’ Dot put her hand on Miranda’s shoulder and urged her round. ‘You are not your mother.’
‘Wasn’t she just a victim of her circumstances?’
Dot eyeballed her. ‘You’re stronger than she ever was. She’s my daughter and I love her, but she was always weak where men were concerned.’
Miranda laughed. She loved her grandmother’s staunch loyalty. ‘I slept with a guy I barely knew and got pregnant. Lot of people would say that was pretty weak.’
‘No, pet. That’s just human. That’s just being a teenager. You were strong when it counted. You didn’t lie around bemoaning your situation, getting mad, getting even, clinging to what could have been. You moved on and had Lola and you kept your schooling up and you went to university, and look at you now. I am so proud of my girl.’
Miranda felt suddenly teary. And old. Some days she felt bloody ancient.
‘I think Patrick’s a good man,’ Dot pressed.
‘Neil was a good man too,’ Miranda countered.
‘No, Neil was a boy. A nice boy, sure, but too immature to understand the demands on your attention.’
Miranda shrugged. ‘He was nineteen.’ They had both been. She wasn’t trying to make excuses for him but it had been a lot for a nineteen-year-old to take on.
Dot nodded. ‘Patrick’s not.’
‘We work together.’
Dot shrugged. ‘So?’
‘So? How am I supposed to maintain my professional integrity, keep my personal and work lives separate if I’m dating one of the anaesthetists?’
