The Lawson Boys: Alex

by Angela Verdenius

  She’d cast one slightly nervous glance at his door before disappearing into her own room, shutting the door and enclosing Pepper, Buffy and Sunny in there with her. By that time Chuckie had been firmly ensconced under Alex’s bed covers and had no inclination to budge.

  The fleecy sheets were warm against his bare skin. Sleeping in his boxers was something Alex did all the time, finding pyjamas restrictive. The odd time in summer, back in his room at his parent’s house, he’d slept in the nude. He wouldn’t be game to sleep in the nude in summer here, though, a man had his manners. Actually, if it had been summer, he’d be back at Paul’s house, lying in the single bed and thinking about…

  Harly.

  Yeah, Harly. For some reason she was in the back of his mind almost all the time now. First the memory of her face had been thought of with anger, but now it was different. The thought of Harly made him -

  Restless, he rolled onto his side.

  Chuckie merely shifted, turned and snugged his back against Alex’s before going back to sleep.

  Closing his eyes, Alex tried to will himself to sleep but it wasn’t long before he was staring into the darkness again.

  The rain continued to teem down outside, the wind picking up, and he was glad that he’d braved the storm to check on Harly. Regardless of how foolish it had been to go out in the wind and rain, even travelling slowly so he could see his way on the roads, he’d needed to know she was all right. The phones having gone out hadn’t done anything for his peace of mind, and Becky pleading with him not to go in the storm hadn’t deterred him at all. Paul hadn’t said anything, just looked at him sort of…well, Paul-like, a mixture of humour, disbelief and knowledge.

  The thought that Harly was out here all alone in a bad storm with no one able to check on her safety had worried him. Yes, it had worried him, no skirting around that issue. As the light rain had steadily turned heavier, his niggling concern had turned to worry until finally he could stand it no longer and he’d borrowed Paul’s rain coat and hit the road in the trusty Jeep.

  The relief he’d felt on seeing Harly’s house with the light on in one window and then her surprised face was undeniable, as was the little tendril of relief that spiralled through him when she invited him to dinner. In fact, he’d felt warmth go right through him when she’d ordered him to stay, refusing to allow him to go back out into the storm. That concern for his safety had…well, it was girly to say it, but he could admit it to himself…it had made his insides turn a little…mushy.

  Thank God Marty would never know that, he’d have rolled around screeching with laughter until Alex would have been forced to punch him.

  To be truthful, he hadn’t wanted to leave and it had nothing to do with the storm. The plain fact was he liked being in Harly’s’ company, which was downright strange considering the history between them, the long years of no contact, and the emotional upheaval the first night they’d met.

  Now here they were having dinner together and spending time laughing and talking, and then quietly watching TV in comfortable silence until Harly finally made a move to go to bed.

  Yeah, that was the plain truth. Alex liked being in Harly’s company. There was something about her, and it was more than just being a pretty woman with a sense of humour. She brought a sense of peace to him, a soothing caress on his mental - shit. Do not go there. It’s nothing to do with it. It’s over. Gone. Finished. Forget it. Closing his eyes, he forced the memory back.

  It didn’t work and finally, unable to sleep, he flicked on the little lamp by the bedside, got out of the warm bed and padded out into the hallway and down to the lounge. Earlier he’d noticed a big book case along the back wall and he was sure Harly wouldn’t mind if he got a book to read.

  Perusing the books, he found a mixture of genres. Romance, horror, true ghost stories, history, thrillers and cosy mysteries. Picking out The Shining by Stephen King, he decided it was just what he needed. Relaxing, no. Diverting, yes.

  Returning to bed, he settled under the covers and leaned back against the pillows. Chuckie hadn’t shifted, he noticed with amusement, and he gave the mound under the cover an affectionate pat before opening the book.

  The hours passed but the reading did the trick and finally he was struggling to keep his eyes open. Dog-earring the corner automatically, he closed the book, laid it on the bedside table, snuggled under the covers and fell asleep.

  Slowly, the dream came upon him. Sand, the desert. Camouflage uniforms of Australian soldiers, walking the roads, travelling in the army vehicles along the dusty roads of Afghanistan. Getting the letter, the feeling of doom, the face of his commanding officer, the doom, Mark, so much sadness, so much unfairness, Mark, the denial. The letter.

  The denial.

  The shock.

  Mark.

  The letter.

  The denial.

  Mark.

  The commanding officer’s face.

  The letter. The letter. Letter. No no no-

  “No!” He jolted upright in bed, his cheeks wet with tears, hands trembling as he fumbled for the lamp.

  Gasping for air, he thrust one hand through his hair, bending his knee to rest his elbow upon it as he tried to grapple between the here and now, and the dream. The past.

  The damned past.

  Tears still blurred his vision, the overwhelming sadness tightening his throat.

  “Alex?”

  “I-I’m okay,” he managed. “Just a - a dream. Go back to bed, Cindy.”

  “Cindy?” The bed dipped as his sister sat beside him. “I’m Harly, Alex.” A soft hand touched his arm. “You’re not home. You’re at my place. It’s Harly.”

  “Harly?” Slowly he swam up from the clinging dredges of the nightmare to see her.

  It was indeed Harly sitting beside him, her plait over one shoulder and eyes soft with both sleep and concern.

  Reaching out, she cupped his cheek, her concern growing as her thumb brushed across a tear. “Alex? What’s wrong.”

  “Nothing.” He swiped one hand across his cheek, accidentally knocking her hand aside. Instantly, he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “I know.” Her hand dropped to his shoulder, warm against his skin. “Talk to me, Alex. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Gruffly, he cleared his throat, grief still holding him close in the dark hours of the night. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stayed here, I-”

  “Don’t be silly. You had a bad dream. It’s okay, we all get them.”

  “Not many men cry.” He laughed almost bitterly, embarrassment creeping through him. Way to show her how manly you are, Lawson.

  “Who’s Mark?”

  He froze. “What?”

  “Mark. You were calling out his name.”

  The lump in his throat felt huge. He couldn’t even speak around it, all he could do was swallow hard.

  Harly’s eyes were as gentle as her voice. “You can tell me, Alex. Sometimes it’s good to talk about things.”

  “I…”

  She sat there, her expression so caring. She was so…so safe.

  In one movement Alex swept her into his arms, holding her close and burying his face in her neck, taking deep, shuddering breaths, inhaling deeply, grounding himself in her scent and texture, all warmth and softness.

  Without a seconds hesitation Harly’s arm went around his back, her other hand lifting to tunnel into his hair, delivering soothing strokes to his head as though he was a child. “It’s okay, Alex. Talk to me. Who is Mark?”

  The grief overwhelmed him, pouring out, and then the words came tumbling over each other, spilling out as fast as his grief did, finally released from a wall he’d built five months before and cemented with determination. It all crumbled and fell apart as he found himself in the safe haven of Harly’s arms.

  “Mark was my best friend. He was killed in a fire-fight. His wife had just had a baby.” And then Alex cried.

  The months of pent up emotion, grief and sho
ck released in tears. As he cried silently, Harly held him close, stroking his hair and just being there, holding him, allowing him to cry on her shoulder.

  He didn’t know when he stopped, just that gradually he grew calmer, inhaling Harly’s warm scent, slowly coming back to awareness. But even then he was loath to let her go. Closing his eyes, he rested his chin on her shoulder, relaxing under her soothing hand strokes.

  “Want to talk about it?” Her voice was quiet in his ear. She didn’t make a move to push him away.

  In the soft glow of the lamp, the old fashioned, comfortable room, and with Harly in his arms, Alex suddenly found himself telling her, his words still hoarse from the crying, but his voice gaining strength.

  “Mark was my best friend in the Army. We were like brothers. We went through training together, we’d been best mates all these years. We’d faced danger together, dating, him getting married. His wife was due to give birth, and he even shared those pictures of his baby, the ultrasounds his wife emailed him.” The memory of Mark’s happy face made him want to both smile and cry yet again. “I had to stay back at camp due to having twisted my damned ankle. Mark and the others went out on patrol. I went on-line to check my emails, see if there was any news from home to keep me occupied. His wife’s sister had emailed me to say that Laney had given birth to a baby daughter, all was well, and could we please ensure Mark knew. We did that sometimes, sending an email through a friend as well, especially if it was important news, just in case something screwed up with the communications and an important message got lost. This was important.” Closing his eyes, Alex drew a deep breath. “I was so excited for him. An hour later, the commanding officer arrived to tell me that Mark was dead. He’d been killed in a fire fight. Jesus, Harly, he didn’t even know that he had a baby daughter and now he’d never see her. She was going to grow up without knowing her dad.” His breath shuddered and he held Harly tighter. “That evening the mail came and in it…Harly, your Grandma’s letter arrived and all I could think while I held it, was that Mark never knew his baby daughter, and I’d never even known that I had a baby, for however little time it was in this world.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Harly whispered.

  Alex shook his head. “You weren’t to know. It was just…it was so raw, the sudden knowledge. I know now, looking back, that Mark’s dying escalated my own emotions. It all seemed so unfair. My baby was dead and I was alive, and Mark’s alive while he was dead. I hadn’t known of my baby’s existence, but he had, but he’d never see her grow, never share her life. Harly, I’m so sorry.”

  “Whatever for?”

  Loosening his grip on her, Alex eased her back so he could look into her face. He’d never been one to shirk the truth, no matter how unpleasant, and he wasn’t going to start now. “I didn’t realise…when you asked me why losing the baby I hadn’t even known existed sixteen years ago affected me so much, seemed so raw…I didn’t realise that there was a link between my over-reaction and Mark’s death.”

  “Oh, Alex, I-”

  “No.” He placed one finger against her lips. “I didn’t realise until tonight, I didn’t want to. But it’s true, I was furious, sad, and I aimed it all at you.” Reaching out, he cupped her face, almost angry at himself.

  She placed her hand atop his. “Have you cried before this?”

  “No.” Embarrassment flooding through him, he glanced away.

  “Look at me.” When he did so reluctantly, there was no condemnation in her eyes. “You were grieving for your best friend, you’d had a shock, then another with my grandma’s announcement. You held in your grief, Alex, something had to give sooner or later. Have you talked to your family about this?”

  “No.” He shrugged uncomfortably. “I never could seem to. It’s not that they wouldn’t listen or care, but…no.”

  She smiled. “I’m glad you could talk to me.”

  “Talk?” He gave a small, self deprecating smile. “You mean blubber like a little kid.”

  “You cried like a man grieving for his best mate, a man close enough to be your brother.” Her voice firmed. “And I respect that. There’s nothing wrong with it, Alex.”

  By all accounts he should have been red-faced and stammering with embarrassment, trying to make his getaway from her house, but instead he felt nothing but acceptance.

  Acceptance from this one woman who sat so close beside him, her eyes honest, her scent flowing through his senses and the warmth of her body seeping into him where she was still pressed against him, held there by his own arm around her back.

  He didn’t want to let her go.

  In the soft glow of the lamp they looked at each other, and slowly the atmosphere between them changed.

  He felt it as surely as he heard the rain pattering outside the window.

  Harly sat on his bed, all warm and womanly, soft curves against his harder muscles. Her breasts pressed against his chest with every breath she drew, and he felt the sudden hard pebbling of her nipples through her nightgown.

  Alex’s gaze slid over her face, taking in the rounded cheeks that suddenly flushed faintly, the soft lips that parted a little as her breathing fastened. Her fingers resting on his shoulder flexed, the tips caressing the hard muscle beneath his naked skin.

  “Alex…” His name was a whisper on her lips.

  Heat swirled through him, flaring up from the dim embers that had sparked to life at the awakening awareness of her as more than a comforter.

  Harly was warm and soft and very much a woman in his arms. Every luscious curve was outlined by the nightgown and he had a sudden ache to caress them, to run his hand over her rounded limbs, to sweep his palm beneath the material and across her warm skin.

  She wasn’t just pretty, warm, and curvaceous, she also attracted him physically, mentally and spiritually, and something else, something that was rapidly burning to life between them. Recognition, a reawakening of passion that had appeared, however briefly, one night sixteen long years ago when a teenage boy had set out to comfort a crying girl.

  Lowering his head slowly, he waited to see if she’d back away, if he was mistaken and this growing desire was on his side only, but Harly didn’t move away, instead, she closed the distance between them.

  Their lips met.

  It was like coming home. The silky texture of her lips welcomed him, returning his light kiss, then growing deeper, accepting him as his tongue slid across the tender seam, opening to him.

  The honeyed warmth of her mouth, the taste of her, filled him, slipping through him, and he drew her closer, loving the sensation of her soft curves against his hard muscles, her luscious heat against his body, but he wanted more. It wasn’t enough.

  While he explored her mouth with his tongue, tasting and sipping, he gathered her nightgown in his other hand, pulling it up until her silken flesh was bared to his palm, and he ran his hand along her rounded thigh, gripping near the top, brushing his thumb against the cotton panties covering her hip.

  In one smooth motion he slid his thumb beneath the elastic and she gave a gasp which he quickly swallowed, deepening his kiss, holding her to him with one arm while he teased her tender hip with his thumb, finding the crease of her groin and tracing his thumb back and forth in the crease.

  Jesus, she was so warm, her skin so silky, he could only imagine how she’d feel around him, her heat squeezing him, sucking him inside her, her bare breasts against his chest.

  Fire flared through him, his shaft stiffening.

  She squirmed against him, shifting her leg restlessly, her hands tightening on his shoulders before sliding downward, her nails scraping deliciously against his heated skin. “Alex…” His name was a soft moan laced with unmistakeable desire that only made his need flame brighter, hotter.

  Pressing light kisses across her cheek, he came to the tender spot beneath her ear and fastening his mouth against her throat, he bit down gently before laving the pinkening skin with his tongue.

  Her response was almost instantaneo
us. She arched into him, her fingers flexing on his pectoral muscles as she angled her head to one side to give him greater access.

  Alex was more than happy to take advantage of her surrender, kissing his way down her throat, licking a burning path across the tender skin.

  But there was more to Harly than just her delectable throat and luscious lips, and he wanted all of her.

  Grabbing the hem of her nightie, he tugged it up further and she shifted slightly so that the material pulled free and it was a mere matter of seconds before he had it up to her shoulders, pulling back enough so that he could whip it over her head.

  Before he could toss it aside and feast his eyes on her body, she suddenly grabbed it from his hands and held it in front of her, sinking back to sit on the bed with it clutched in both hands.

  “Harly?” He looked at her questioningly.

  “I…” Swallowing, she glanced away.

  Reaching out, he touched her cheek, cupping the roundness and grazing his thumb along the bottom curve of her lip. “I won’t hurt you, Harly.”

  “I know. I just…can we turn the lamp off?”

  Not understanding, he frowned.

  “Please?” Nervously, she met his gaze.

  Sitting before him with the nightie clutched to her almost naked body made two images clash together in his brain. One was decidedly hot - a woman looking up at him with need burning in her eyes and a nightgown clutched to her in an attempt to hide her body - and not a good attempt at that, he could see her voluptuous curves peeking out. The other image was of a woman suddenly self conscious of her body.

  The hell with that last image.

  “Come here,” he growled, watching in satisfaction as her eyes widened.

  Not giving her a minute to think any further, he came up onto his knees and grabbed her upper arms, pulling her against him, crushing the nightgown between their bodies.