Husband Rollover (Husband Series Book 4)

by Cusack,Louise

  I stopped fussing with my hair. “Are you too sick for sex?” If he was, I could stop thinking that it might happen, despite the fact that he’d already said it wouldn’t.

  He let his breath out on a sigh. “Men are never too sick for sex.”

  “Then—”

  “—so despite the fact that I feel like shit, yes I am thinking about how it would feel to run my hands over that amazing body and down those endless legs.” He seemed to get lost there for a minute, gazing at them, and I didn’t want to interrupt flattery so I kept my trap shut. “However…” He dragged his attention back to my face. “No. We’ve been over this.”

  “And yet,” I pointed the knife at him. “You are in my house. You are planning to sleep in my house. In my bed.”

  The toaster popped behind me but I ignored it.

  “No,” he said patiently. “I’m not planning to sleep in your bed. I’m planning to work at your kitchen table while you sleep in your bed.”

  “Oh.” That threw me. “But…won’t you get sleepy?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve had four hours. That’s enough.”

  “You were sick. You need more than that.”

  He just gazed at me, and for some reason I felt cranky about the fact that he didn’t care for his health—or I was sexually frustrated. One of the two.

  So I turned to the toaster and wrenched out the overcooked slices. I must have toasted sourdough last time, because the setting was wrong for white bread, but whatever. I slapped on a scrape of butter and lashings of local honey and pushed them onto the table in front of him.

  “Drink?”

  He thought about that for a moment. “Earl Grey?”

  “Are you sure you don’t want coffee if you’re pulling an all-nighter? Maybe a shot of whisky?”

  “Why are you angry?”

  “You’re not looking after yourself. You’ve been sick—”

  “I know my own body,” he said quietly, and that naturally drew my attention to it, those wide shoulders inside his creased white shirt. It was hard to think about anything other than touching him, but I forced myself to concentrate on the conversation.

  And maybe it was time to get to the crux of the matter. “I don’t understand why you’re staying here if you’re just going to work.” It was a coward’s way out, but what I was really asking was why are you staying at all?

  “I want to be near you.” He gazed at me steadily with those bottomless brown eyes. “It makes me happy. I want more of that.”

  The room grew quiet while I assimilated that. “I make you happy?”

  He nodded. “Go figure.”

  “But…I’ll be asleep.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll be in your house, which smells of your perfume, and if it doesn’t seem creepy, I can look in on you while you sleep.” He nodded to himself. “I’d like that.”

  “I looked in on you,” I blurted before I could censor myself. “You snore.”

  His smile was slow to come. “Do I?”

  I shook my head. “You don’t dribble either, so I’m pretty well fucked because I think I do both.”

  That sexy smile morphed into a megawatt, melt-your-panties grin that looked breathtaking with stubble. “I’m sure they’re just little bear snores, and fairy dribble is magical I’m told.”

  I kept my hands at my sides so I wouldn’t be tempted to fan my face. “Fairy dribble?”

  He nodded, as if I should believe him. “Everything about you is enchanting. I can’t imagine that watching you sleep will be any different.”

  “Enchanting?” I pulled in a shuddering breath, seriously overwhelmed by the level of hormones surging through my system and the effect his flattery was having on me. I could see it wasn’t empty ‘charm’. He seemed to genuinely believe it, but it was so far from what I thought about myself it felt…overpowering.

  So I said, “Eat,” and pointed at the toast, then turned away to make a pot of Earl Grey. When I had that on the table in front of him, along with a jug of milk and my best uncracked cup and saucer, I said, “I might have a shower.”

  “Of course.” He took a munch of toast which he appeared to be eating very slowly. But I didn’t walk out straight away. I was thinking about the fact that my bathroom door had no lock on it—not that I’d lock him out in case—but the very idea that he could open that door while I was naked sent a shiver of hot apprehension skidding through me.

  I was starting to tremble again when he said, “Go,” very softly, so I knew he was thinking about the same thing I was.

  I went, but I didn’t rush. In my bedroom I took a moment to pick up my pillow and smell that delicious hot-skin scent of his lingering on it. Then I put it down, embarrassed, and pretended I was straightening the bed.

  Not because he was watching me. I could hear the soft chink of china in the kitchen. I was just freaked out by my own obsessiveness about him, and I was trying to make it all normal somehow.

  But it wasn’t.

  An International celebrity was eating honey toast in my kitchen. He’d been in my bed. And while it might be nice to imagine I was part of some weird Goldilocks fantasy, the truth was, the longer I was with him, the harder it was to unscramble what was real and what felt like me imagining things.

  The way he spoke to me, so beautifully, sounded like an emotional connection, and I felt that too. There was an undeniable ‘click’ happening, a fit, that was both soothing and somehow alive. Growing. But there was also attraction, in spades, on both sides.

  It sounded like something Angela would gush over as destiny. And when I was standing in front of him it felt like everything, everything I’d been wishing for during my pity party at the wedding. Only…it was too good to be true.

  Or more rightly, it was context related, as Sammie always said about meals. A thick slab of venison with potted roast vegetables and mulled wine belonged by a roaring fireplace in winter. On the other hand, Crisp mango and macadamia nut salad with sparkling Riesling was for summer lunches alfresco on the sidewalk, taking advantage of the cooling river breezes.

  You didn’t put salad on the menu in the middle of a cold, hard winter. It simply wouldn’t work. Even if people ordered it, they wouldn’t enjoy it. Chilled customers needed something hot, hearty, satisfying.

  Max knew that.

  He’d told me in so many words that his world was winter and mine was summer. I wasn’t thick-skinned enough to survive the harshness of the reality he inhabited. A few hours ago in the deserted laneway and now alone in my home, there was no winter. Left to our own devices we might thrive in the warmth of each other’s company.

  Might…

  But it appeared that we wouldn’t get the chance to try. Max was leaving in the morning, and he sounded resigned to the fact that this one night of emotional comfort was all we could share.

  But I could feel inside me that I wasn’t resigned. I was excited, giddy, stupid about him. There was no way I could be sensible about this, no way that I could protect myself, because I simply wanted whatever experience I could have, while I could have it.

  That was now.

  Tonight.

  But as I pulled clothes out of my dresser, trying to work out what to wear, I realized I couldn’t go all out. If I pounced on him, he might simply leave. I’d needed subtlety—not my strong suit.

  That meant not walking around naked as I normally did after a shower at night, but I didn’t own pajamas, so in the end I picked out a short, white silk bathrobe.

  Max was still in the kitchen, taking his time with the toast as I walked past on the way to the bathroom. So he was either being gentle with his digestion, or awkwardly trying to fill time until I went to bed, which was hours away.

  So while I showered, I thought about what I should do when I got out, because I didn’t have a normal routine. If I wasn’t out fucking someone, I might ring one of the girls for a chat or read a novel to keep up with the range of books we were stocking in the shop. Turning on the television was rare, and
if I baked cookies I ate them so I tried to avoid that. Some nights I was worn out from being on my feet all day, so I crashed early.

  There was no routine, but I wanted Max to think I was all ‘business as usual’ and that he wasn’t interrupting me. That would lull him into relaxing around me, and if I was lucky, nature would take its course. So I came out of the shower humming to myself, as if I was alone, and went straight back into the bedroom.

  Tellingly, he was still at the table with an empty plate in front of him, probably finished his tea as well—not sure what to do next.

  I let him sweat there for ten minutes while I brushed my hair and put mascara back on. I wasn’t doing the full foundation thing. It would look too obvious, and besides, it wasn’t me. If he didn’t like freckles, we had no future anyway, so I let that be.

  I could see the black leather satchel Traci had brought for him sitting in the corner. Did it have pajamas in it? I hoped not.

  When I re-emerged with a book, he was still at the kitchen table, so I went in and said, “There are spare towels in the bathroom if you want a shower.”

  “Thanks.” His gaze lingered at the top of my chest, as if he was trying to work out whether I had anything on under the short bathrobe. After a few seconds he managed to return his attention to my eyes and said, “What about your dinner? Can I cook you something?”

  “Are you aiming to poison me and return the favor?”

  I’d meant to lighten the mood, but if anything, the tension ramped up. He stared at me silently for the longest time, then he said, “Are you only letting me stay here because you think I had food poisoning?”

  I blinked at him in surprise. “Are you saying you didn’t have food poisoning?”

  “You didn’t answer the question.”

  Was this some bizarre test, or did he not have food poisoning? Sweet baby Jesus, had he been foxing? I swallowed down a swarm of mixed emotions, the strongest being embarrassment at the idea that he’d tricked me. I was so gullible.

  “Fritha? Would you have let me stay?”

  I seriously didn’t know what was going on, but one of us had to be transparent, so I said, “I want you here,” and was instantly relieved to get that out into the open. Then I added, “I don’t care why it is,” because I suddenly realized it didn’t matter if I’d been gullible. He wasn’t a bad person. My radar wasn’t that far out. This had to be a lie by omission. I hoped…

  He nodded, and let out his breath. “Good. Me too.”

  “Then…?” I pointed in the direction of the toilet.

  “Gallstones.”

  What?

  To his credit, he looked embarrassed. “Sometimes my gallstones get stuck in the bile duct and cause pain. Extreme pain can cause diarrhea.”

  “That’s why Todd gave you painkillers.”

  Max’s expression shifted subtly. “Yes. Todd.” He gazed at me meaningfully and it was suddenly clear that Dr. Bigmouth had said something about me that had clued Max in to our smutty episode. Dammit.

  But I wasn’t going to be distracted. “You let me think you had food poisoning.”

  “Yes.”

  His quick answer shocked me, and I fumbled for a second before saying, “Well…why did you?”

  He simply looked at me, as if I should know.

  “I took fish off the menu,” I said accusingly, not to mention all the bad things I’d thought about Mitch and his trout.

  “I’m sorry. I needed a bathroom, you brought me here, I was in pain and I wanted to stay put.” He held my gaze for the longest time, then he added, “When the pain faded…I didn’t want to go.”

  And I didn’t want you to either.

  Why was I pretending to be upset?

  Emotion started welling up inside me and I unexpectedly, felt out of control. I pointed at the bathroom. “Shower,” I demanded. I needed time-out.

  He said nothing, simply stood and walked out. I glanced around, wondering if I was going to cry or laugh or…what. As soon as I heard the shower running I snatched up my phone and went outside, being careful to shut the fly screen quietly so he wouldn’t hear me.

  Then I rang Jill as I paced barefoot across the grass and used the fading twilight to see my way through the gate and out into the mini forest at the back of my yard. It was cool and damp and welcoming, and when I was in the middle of my favorite stand of eucalypt gums she finally answered.

  “S’up,” she said, but I wasn’t in the mood for banter.

  “I’m about to screw up big time. I need you to talk me down.”

  “Settle,” she said immediately, and, “Are you safe?”

  “I’m out the back of my house and Max Banks is in my bathroom having a shower.”

  Deathly silence for almost ten seconds.

  “What…the hell, F. What’s going on?”

  “Settle,” I threw back at her, then, “It’s totally ridiculous, but he likes me. Me! And he’s staying over. His idea. But not to fuck. He just wants to watch me while I sleep.”

  “Okay, honey.” She was using her speaking-to-a-drunk voice. “That’s just creepy, and it surely can’t be what’s going on. Is it?”

  I clutched an arm around myself and turned back to look at the house, at the mellow light spilling out the windows, making it look like the only warm sanctuary in a sea of loneliness.

  “F? Speak to me.”

  “I love him,” I blurted, then my breath hitched in my throat. “Or like. Or something. He’s warm and sexy and…he likes me, J. I’ve been a total unforgivable twat, and still, he likes me.” I turned away from the house. “Do you think he’s demented?”

  “Yes. But it’s you I’m worried about, not him. What happened today?”

  I blurted out as much as I could remember, Max’s rudeness on arrival, my parents’ unexpected visit, the laneway, but it was a disjointed retelling and when I wound down at the end with, “…and I really want to fuck him senseless but he’s being a gentleman and…I don’t know what to do about that.”

  “This doesn’t sound right, honey. I’m worried.” There was a clunking sound at her end. “Can I ask Finn what—”

  “No!” The last thing I wanted was everyone talking about this and deciding for me what I should do. Because…I was scared that it would end up with Max being tossed out. Selfishly, even if I was asleep—which I didn’t plan to be—I wanted him here for as long as I could have him.

  “Listen,” I said, then wondered what I should say. “I’m okay. I know…this all sounds odd. It is odd,” I admitted. “But it’s not dangerous—”

  “Not that we know. So far.”

  “And he’s an important person. He won’t do anything he could get in trouble for.”

  Jill said nothing and I turned back to the house. The bathroom light was off, which meant Max was finished in the shower. Would he be wondering where the hell I was? The woods had grown dark around me, but I knew every fallen branch so I wasn’t worried about getting home.

  “Maybe you’re right,” she said at last. “But it’s good that you phoned me to let me know. That’s being smart.”

  I’d actually rung her for advice, not so she could keep tabs on me, but that was okay. Somehow, talking it through with her had clarified for me that despite how unlikely it all sounded, I wanted to experience it. I wanted to jump off the cliff, even if the landing hurt.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said softly, then I saw a shadow move between me and the house so I hung up without waiting for her reply and slipped the phone into my pocket. “I’m here.”

  “I can see you,” Max replied, and I glanced down at my white robe which did stand out even in the darkened forest. “If you needed privacy for a phone call, you could have sent me outside.”

  He stopped two paces away. I couldn’t see what he was wearing—something dark and long-sleeved, but his eyes glinted in the moonlight, and that made him seem wicked and sexy as he slid his hands into his pockets.

  “I was phoning a friend.”

  H
e nodded. “Sensible. You really don’t know what I might do, despite what I’ve said.”

  His words hung in the air between us, as insubstantial as the moonlight that was trying to break through the trees. A cool, damp breeze rustled the fallen leaves underfoot and lifted my hair, filling my lungs with the scents of bark and moss and my own excitement.

  “I know what I’m doing,” I said, and took two steps forward to stand right in front of him. He stilled, but otherwise didn’t react—just continued to gaze at me steadily. “I plan to enjoy myself.”

  He didn’t respond to that. Just frowned, so I did what I’d done a hundred times before in the cool darkness of the forest. I slid out of my robe and stood naked in front of him. He kept staring into my eyes—which was a masterful display of self-control—and then he swallowed loudly.

  “I like to dance,” I said. “Will you dance with me?”

  He shook his head. “Dance,” he said faintly.

  He looked so disconcerted, I had to smile. “Like a forest nymph,” I teased him. “It’s what we do in the moonlight,” then I turned away and started to hum Teddy Bear’s Picnic: If you go down to the woods today, you’re sure of a big surprise, as I danced around the gum trees, peek-a-booing and then laughing out loud as he took over singing the lyrics in a beautifully smooth baritone, crossing his arms and seeming to relax, although his eyes glinted in the moonlight as he watched me.

  When he reached the end of the song and stopped singing, I stopped dancing, and we stood smiling at each other in the moonlight.

  He nodded. “I told you. Enchanting.”

  “Silly.”

  He shrugged. “That’s exactly what’s enchanting about you. I never know what to expect.” He walked across the ten paces that separated us and stopped within touching distance. “You’re so unselfconscious. I love that about you.”

  I poked at his chest which was hard under my fingertip. “You said love.”

  He nodded. “You are lovable. It’s hard not to.”

  I grinned. “And I love you too.”

  His expression stilled, and there was something intense about the way he was looking at me. “Are you being silly now?”