If You Were Mine

by Melanie Harlow

  Nineteen

  Theo

  * * *

  In the morning, I woke up first, and for a moment I forgot where I was. It happened to me all the time because I moved around so much, but what rarely happened was the smile that took over my face when I realized whose bed I was in.

  Claire was facing away from me, curled into a ball. I moved close behind her, tucking her into the crescent of my body, one arm around her stomach. Her breathing changed and she hugged my arm, wriggling back against me.

  “You’re still here,” she said softly.

  “I’m still here.” I was as surprised as she was, actually.

  “Somehow I thought I’d wake up and you’d be gone.”

  I’d done that a lot in my past. Honestly, I could count on one hand the number of times I’d spent an entire night in a woman’s bed. And I was always sorry and just wanted to get the fuck out of there in the morning.

  Today was different. I didn’t want to leave her. What the hell was that about? My muscles tensed up.

  Um, it’s about sex, asshole. Duh.

  I relaxed again. “This bed is way too comfortable to leave. Especially with you in it.”

  “Mmm.” She was quiet for a moment. “You’re the first to sleep in it.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yes. I’m not in the habit of asking guys to stay.” She giggled. “Now you should feel special.”

  I pinched her butt. “You’re gonna pay for that, little girl.” Scenes from last night started filtering through my mind—we’d played stranger again, in the bedroom this time—and my dick decided to wake up too, tapping against her butt as it grew hard.

  She took my hand from her stomach and brought it to her breast. My breathing grew ragged as I kneaded the flesh in my palm, teased her nipples into stiff little peaks, and rubbed my cock on her ass. She moaned when I swept my hand down her stomach and between her legs, finding her wet and warm. My fingers moved over her clit, rubbing gently at first and then harder and faster. I took my cue from the sounds she made, the way she moved against my hand. When she came, she cried out my name, and I nearly lost it and shot my load all over her back. Her perfect, smooth, vanilla-skinned back, unmarked except for a little crop of freckles near her tailbone.

  Jesus. I want to come on her back.

  Claire probably wasn’t the kind of girl who enjoyed that sort of thing, but once the thought took root, I couldn’t ignore it. Without a word, I flipped her onto her stomach and knelt above her with one knee on either side of her thighs. We’d used the last condom in my wallet after coming upstairs last night, so this would be better anyway—as long as she was OK with it. Should I ask? I glanced at her profile on the pillow and saw that her eyes were closed and she was smiling blissfully.

  Nope, not asking.

  I took my cock in my hand and rubbed the tip of it over each plump little ass cheek and up and down between them. Fuck, would I have loved to squeeze right in there—but that would have to wait. Instead I wrapped my fingers around my dick and moved it up and down the shaft, over the crown, feeling my lower body heat up.

  “Your skin is so perfect,” I whispered, my breath coming fast. “I want to mess it up.”

  Her smiled curved higher. “Do it. I want you to.”

  With my free hand, I pushed her hair out of the way and ran my palm from her shoulder blade down her back over the curve of her hip. “God, I love your body.” Her skin was pale and soft, untouched even by the sun. I felt like a god that she’d let me sully her this way, that she wanted me to.

  “Talk to me,” she breathed. “I can’t see you. Help me imagine it.”

  Goddamn, she was awesome. “My cock is so hard,” I told her, working my hand a little quicker. “The muscles in my stomach are flexing. I’m fucking my hand and thinking about you.”

  She moaned and arched her back a little, her ass rising between my thighs. “Yes…I can see it.”

  “It’s the hand I just had on you. My fingers are wet.”

  She moved a hand underneath her and began to touch herself. “Now mine are too.”

  “Oh God.” My voice cracked. It was so fucking amazing, I was paralyzed for a moment, and all I wanted to do was watch her. But my dick was aching inside my fist, the tip covered not only with Claire’s arousal but my own. “You’re so fucking hot.”

  “And wet,” she whispered, her ass moving up and down as she rubbed herself on her hand. “You make me so wet.”

  My arm, giving up on my brain, seemed to move of its accord, jerking hard and fast above her. I fell forward, bracing the other hand on her headboard, my eyes wide and my breathing strained. “Fuck, I’m gonna come so hard.”

  “Yes!” she cried out in anguish.

  I realized she was bringing herself to climax, and it pushed me over the edge. My orgasm unfurled from bottom to top inside my body, and I felt it build like a volcanic eruption and watched it explode in thick, hot ribbons that flowed like lava over her back. I had no words to describe it, not that I could have talked anyway. All I could do was moan in agony and delight and gratitude and shock that any man should get to do this.

  Let alone me.

  * * *

  I brought up a hand towel I’d found in the hall closet downstairs and wet with warm water. “Don’t move,” I told her.

  She stayed on her stomach, her arms folded beneath her chin, while I gently cleaned her up. “Thank you.”

  It was insane that she was thanking me. “Believe me, it’s my pleasure.” When I was finished, I kissed her shoulder. “There. All clean.”

  She smiled at me over one shoulder. “For now, anyway. Here, give me that.” Sitting up, she took the wet towel from me. “I’ll put it in the laundry.”

  Going over to her closet, she slipped into a fluffy floor-length white robe with her initials embroidered on the chest. I laughed as I tugged on my jeans. “That thing is huge.”

  “I know, I love it. It’s like being inside a cloud.” She snuggled inside it. “It was a gift from my friend Margot.”

  “The one who lives on the farm?” She’d told me about her two closest girlfriends last night. I’d never had friendships like that. I was close to Aaron, but that was different—our bond was in blood, and we’d been born to it. The bond between friends was different. You chose each other.

  “Yes. And the one getting married in February.”

  “Should I book the date? I could offer you a frequent flier discount or something.” As soon as I said it, I was sorry. One, I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, and two, I had no idea if I would actually be around to take her. February was more than a month away. I’d learned not to make promises like that.

  But Claire got the joke. “Asshole,” she muttered, punching me on the arm as she passed me on the way to the stairs. “I’m never hiring a Hottie again. You can’t get rid of them!”

  I smiled as she disappeared down the steps, then looked around for my underwear and shirt. I’d thrown my jeans on before going down to grab a towel, but nothing else. As I dressed, I wondered what I should do today. Go to Aaron and apologize? Did I owe him that? I considered it. Maybe I’d been wrong to lash out. Maybe my anger at him was less about his inability to commit to sobriety and more about his inability to commit to staying with his family. Maybe I was taking out my anger at our parents on him.

  Fuck…was that it?

  Frowning, I sat on the edge of her bed and pulled on my socks. The truth was, I was much better at perceiving how other people felt than I was at self-reflection. Looking too hard at myself made me uncomfortable, and I was an expert at sweeping shit under the rug.

  As I was lacing up my boots, Claire came up the steps. “Hey, are you hungry? I need to keep going on the project list today, but I’m in the mood for some pancakes or something. Want to get breakfast?”

  “Sure.” Eating pancakes with Claire sounded a lot better than eating crow with my brother. And his family didn’t need me today—they had him back. Claire, on the other hand, ne
eded my help. “Maybe after that, we could hit the tile store.”

  “I’d love that!”

  “What are you thinking for the counters? Replacing the Formica?”

  Claire went to her closet, slipped off her robe, and hung it on a hook. “I want something natural, like stone. I’m not sure which kind yet, but I’m leaning toward slate.”

  “Good choice. We could check out some options at a stoneworks place where I used to work. It’s not far from the tile store.”

  “Really?” she squealed, going over to a small dresser. She pulled out something tiny and white. “That would be amazing.”

  I watched her pull on her underwear, slip into her bra, shimmy into her jeans, and throw a sweater over her head. I’d never watched a woman dress this way before, in her own bedroom, morning sunlight coming in the windows, her movements graceful and feminine. So different from furtive, awkward, post-sex yanking on of clothing in a dark hotel room. It felt personal, like she was letting me in on a secret.

  Because she trusts you.

  I fucking loved that.

  One more day with her. That’s all I needed.

  * * *

  “Tell me why your day was so rough yesterday.” Claire sipped her coffee, which she’d doctored with so much cream and sugar it was almost as light as her skin.

  I brought my cup to my lips and tipped it up slowly, giving myself time to consider how to handle this. I supposed talking about my family was OK. Better to clue her in on Aaron’s shortcomings than my own. “My brother came home.”

  Her eyes widened. “But that’s great! Isn’t it?”

  “Yes and no.” I took one more sip and set the cup down. “He does this—comes home, claims he’s going to stay sober and find a job. Fills his wife and kids with hope. But it never sticks.”

  “Maybe this time will be different,” she said hopefully. “Give him a chance.”

  “He’s had so many chances, though. And I know his alcoholism is a disease and I shouldn’t blame him for it, but at what point do you stop putting the pillows under him when he falls down?”

  She shook her head. “God, I don’t know. I can see both sides. You love someone, so you don’t want them to feel pain. But if he doesn’t feel pain, he won’t stop.”

  “Exactly. And the thing is, he does feel pain. He feels horrible—but the only escape he knows is the bottle.”

  Claire was silent a moment, setting down her cup and looking at me intently. “What’s he escaping?”

  I exhaled. “Fuck. A lot of shit.” History. Genetics. Abuse.

  “How’s his marriage?”

  “Josie idolizes him and he adores her. They’ve always been crazy about each other. It’s not that.”

  She bit her lip. “Childhood stuff?”

  I nodded slowly, my eyes dropping to the menu in front of me but not seeing the words. Instead I saw blood on Aaron’s shirt. Heard the sickening thump of a punch landed. Felt winded as I ran up the stairs to hide under the bed like my brother had told me to do. The familiar shame of it slammed into me like a fist—I’d escaped then. Who was I to prevent Aaron from escaping now?

  “Hey.” Claire’s hand reached out and covered mine. “You OK?”

  “I’m fine.” I cleared my throat, burying the shame somewhere I couldn’t feel it. “But yes. Our childhood was not good. And Aaron took the worst of it to protect me.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t imagine how awful that must have been.”

  “I don’t even want you to.”

  The waitress came over and took our orders, then returned a moment later to pour more coffee. When we were alone again, Claire spoke quietly. “I don’t know what the answer is with your brother. But I do know that when you’re struggling with something inside, talking about it can help.”

  “Yeah.” But I’d talked too much already. I needed to shut up.

  She reached across the table and touched my wrist. “And I’m here for you. I know we just met, but I want to be your friend.”

  “My friend, huh?” I stared at her fingers on my skin. Every time she touched me, my body warmed.

  “Yes.” She looked nervous, pulling her hand back. “Is that OK?”

  “Uh, sure.” Friend was fine, right? Friend was casual. Friend didn’t come with any expectations or pressure to be someone I wasn’t.

  You could have fun with a friend, say goodbye at the end of the day, and not feel guilty that you weren’t sure when you’d hang out again.

  Of course, friends didn’t usually have trouble keeping their hands to themselves the way Claire and I did, but I wouldn’t worry about that today.

  “So,” I said. “Tell me what you’re thinking about for the kitchen floor.”

  Twenty

  Claire

  * * *

  It was a perfect day.

  After breakfast we hit the tile store, and Theo was totally patient with me as I walked up and down each row, checking out everything they had to offer and comparing prices. Eventually we left with several samples, and I couldn’t wait to get home and see how they looked with the wood.

  At the stoneworks warehouse, Theo introduced me to a former work acquaintance named Zack, who seemed surprised but glad to see him.

  “You in town for long?” he asked, his feet planted wide, hands on his hips.

  Theo shrugged. “I’m not really sure.”

  “Thought maybe you bought a house or condo or something.”

  “No, the stone is for Claire. She’s redoing her kitchen.”

  “I’m just browsing today,” I explained. “Trying to get a feel for the choices.”

  “Great. Well, go on back and let me know if you need help. And if you ever decide you want your old job back, we’d love to have you. This guy’s an amazing salesman,” Zack said to me. “The best.”

  I smiled. “I believe it.” Another reason I loved today was because I was learning more about Theo, and after hearing about his painful childhood, it made more sense to me why he was so private. He probably had a hard time trusting people, especially people who were supposed to care. No wonder he never dated anyone.

  Theo thanked Zack and clapped him on the shoulder before leading me into the cavernous warehouse full of giant stone slabs from all over the world. I was in awe.

  “Look how beautiful this is!” I exclaimed, running my hand over a gorgeous slab of charcoal gray granite with swirling white veins and one slash of red. “A geological event forever captured in stone! A work of art done by Earth, thousands of years ago, and preserved here almost like a photograph!”

  Theo laughed at my enthusiasm. “I never thought of stone as art. And I thought you wanted slate.”

  “I haven’t made up my mind yet.” I turned in a slow circle, overwhelmed by all the choices. “God, I could be here all day.”

  “Take your time.” Theo tucked his hands in his pockets. “I don’t have anywhere I need to be today, so I’m all yours.”

  Something about the way he said it made me wonder if tomorrow would be a different story, but I brushed off the concern. Instead I gave him an impulsive kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. This means so much to me.”

  “My pleasure. So do you just want to browse, or do you have a specific idea about what you’d like?”

  I bit my lip and squinted at a piece of marble across the aisle. “I want it to look flowy.”

  “Flowy?”

  “Yes, I know it’s stone, but I want it to have movement. Flow. The pattern in it, I mean. Some of these are more static—the ones with flecks or spots. Others, like this one behind me, have veins reminiscent of water flowing. I like that.”

  “Got it. Come with me.” As we walked, he explained that while slate was durable, non-porous, and stood up well to heat, it probably didn’t have the look I wanted. “Granite is higher maintenance for sure, but I think it’s going to be what you want. In terms of looks, it’s more striking, and has that quality of movement you’re looking for.”

  “The pr
etty ones are always high maintenance, aren’t they?”

  He grinned, elbowing me in the side. “Not always.”

  * * *

  After we were done at the stoneworks, we went back to my house, where we attached new hardware to the freshly stained cupboard doors and hung them again.

  “They look great. Are you happy with the color?” Theo asked.

  “Yes. I love it!” I clapped my hands. “I know it’s dark, but that makes it more authentic. Let’s look at the tile samples for the floor.”

  He laid them out at the base of the cupboards, and we stood back to inspect them. “I like the idea of the hexagonal, but if you’re going to make a statement with the counters, I’d probably go with the large square travertine.”

  “I think you’re right. I might—”

  I was interrupted by a knock on the front door. A voice rang out. “Yoo-hoo! Claire?”

  “Mom?” Theo and I exchanged a glance.

  “You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked, dear. Someone could walk right in.” She appeared in the entrance to the kitchen and noticed Theo. “Oh, hello!”

  “Hello.” Theo nodded.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had company.” But her smile told me how happy she was about it. She set down the shopping bags she carried and smoothed her honey-colored bob.

  “Mom, this is my friend Theo MacLeod. He’s helping me with the kitchen rehab.”

  “How wonderful!” My mother came into the kitchen and pulled off her gloves. “Nice to meet you. I’m Carol French.”

  Theo shook the hand she offered. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. French.” Then he stuffed both hands in his pockets.

  “Oh, please. Call me Carol.” She clasped her hands at her waist and looked delighted. “I just dropped by to bring you some groceries. Last time I was here, your fridge was nearly empty.” She was talking to me, ostensibly, but she never took her eyes off Theo.