“Is that what you want?”
Ally thought about the way she’d taken it upon herself to call the handyman today, and the way she’d thrust herself into Bob’s affairs. “I think everyone wants to feel connected, in some small way,” she said quietly.
“I guess.”
She heard the rustle of paper at the other end of the phone, as though he was shifting things around on his desk.
“So, do you want me to let this guy in?” she asked.
“If you don’t mind. It’d be one less thing on my list. We’re snowed under at the moment—”
“Then don’t think about it again. I’ll get the guy to bill you at your factory address, okay?”
“That’d be great.”
She told herself to hang up before the conversation strayed any further than it already had.
“You still think you’ll be here on Monday?” She winced. Could she sound more obvious and hopeful?
“I’m planning for Sunday at this point. The hospital said Dad might be able to come home Monday, so I wanted to get some food in, that kind of thing.”
“I guess I’ll see you then, then.”
“You will.”
There was something in the way he said it that made her sit holding the phone for a good sixty seconds after she’d ended the call.
It had almost sounded like a promise.
TYLER PULLED UP IN FRONT of his father’s house at dusk on Sunday night. He’d spent the past few days working late at the workshop, clearing his desk as much as possible, covering things off with Gabby to ensure she had all she needed to take over his client meetings.
Ally had called him once more to let him know the safety rails and new bathroom fittings had been installed. He’d never been big on talking on the phone, but he’d caught himself attempting to stretch their conversation into more than an update on his father’s house remodeling. She’d answered his questions and teased him and asked some of her own, then she’d suddenly clammed up and the conversation had ended.
He glanced at her place as he grabbed his bags from the bed of the truck. Maybe he was misreading things. For all he knew, she could have a boyfriend. Maybe that was why she’d suddenly backed off. He knew nothing about her or her situation—all he had to go on was his gut and those few loaded moments when he’d been intensely aware of her as a woman. But maybe that was all one-sided.
And maybe he was simply looking for something—anything—to distract himself from the grim reality of his situation. Over the past few days he’d become aware of a reluctance within himself to think beyond the nuts and bolts of arranging for his father’s respite care. Nurses and social workers he could handle, but the prospect of standing by his father’s graveside left him unsettled and uneasy. Not because he cared. He refused to care—although he couldn’t explain his reluctance to acknowledge his father’s mortality in any other way.
He dumped all but one of his burdens on the front porch of his father’s house before making his way next door. Ally still had the spare key, and he had a gift to thank her for her help with the house.
Plus he wanted to see her, distraction or not.
The hall light was on inside the house and the stained-glass panels of the door glowed with rich color as he raised his hand to knock. He saw a shadow approach, then the door opened and she was standing there, cuter and fresher and sexier than he’d remembered. His gaze automatically dropped below her waist and he didn’t try to hide the smile tugging at his mouth as he saw today’s pajama pants.
“Scooby-Doo. Nice choice,” he said.
“I thought so,” she said. “Not too dressy, not too informal. A smart-casual kind of a pajama pant.”
He held up the small ice chest in his hand. “For you.”
Her eyebrows rose as she reached out to take the chest. “For me?”
“To say thank-you.”
“For letting a couple of people in next door?” Her expression told him she considered it the smallest of favors.
“For giving a shit when you didn’t have to. If you’ll excuse my French. You barely know my father, yet you’ve bent over backward for him. Not many people put themselves out like that anymore.”
“You make me want to find a mirror to check my halo’s on straight.”
But her cheeks were pink and he could see that she was pleased.
He gestured toward the cooler. “You might want to get that in the freezer.”
There was plenty of ice in the chest, but the sooner the contents were below zero the better.
She cracked the lid on the chest. “You bought me ice cream?”
“Dairy Bell Nuts About Chocolate. You mentioned you like it.”
“I do. I love it.” She seemed thrown. As though no one had ever bought her ice cream before. “You should come in.”
“I don’t want to get in your hair. I just wanted to pick up the key.”
“You mean, you don’t want any of this ice cream?” A smile curled the corner of her mouth.
“I do. But I don’t want to outstay my welcome.”
“As long as you don’t hog the lion’s share, you’re safe.”
She gestured for him to follow her into the kitchen.
“You know, I was just wondering what to have for dinner,” she said.
“You mean, dessert.”
She gave him a cheeky look. “I mean, dinner.”
He laughed.
“Big bowl or little bowl?” she asked.
“What kind of question is that?”
“Big bowl it is, then.”
She served up two generous portions then led him out onto the side deck.
“This is my favorite ice cream eating spot.” She walked to the three stairs leading into the garden and sat on the top step, shooting a glance up at him.
The outside light cast a golden sheen over her hair and face. He looked at her for a long beat, trying to understand why he found her so appealing. She was cute, yes, but not beautiful. And her baggy pajama pants should have been an antidote to sexual desire. But all he could think about were the curves hidden beneath the bright fabric.
“You want to sit at the table?” she asked, starting to rise.
“Here is fine.”
He sat beside her, forcing himself to gaze out at the dark garden rather than watch as she licked her spoon.
“Your friend has a nice place here. Good gar den.”
“Tell me about it. I’m living in fear that I’ll kill everything with my black thumb before she gets back.”
He swallowed a mouthful of creamy chocolate and pecans. “So where do you hang out when you’re not house-sitting?”
“I’m always house-sitting.”
He raised an eyebrow and she shrugged a shoulder.
“I do this on a semiprofessional basis. There are a bunch of house-sitting websites out there, and I look around for jobs that suit me, then apply to look after peoples’ homes for them while they’re away. I get free room and board, they get to know their pets and gardens and valuables are being looked after.”
He paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth, processing what she’d said.
“So you don’t have a place of your own, a base?”
“Nope.” She closed her eyes as she ate another mouthful. “God, I love the way they mix that chocolate fudge stuff all through it. I wonder what they put in it to keep it all gooey like that?”
Tyler was still trying to get his head around what she’d told him. “What about your stuff? You must have a storage locker somewhere.”
“Nope.”
“What about your mail?”
“The Herald forwards it to me with the Dear Gertrude letters.” She laughed. “You should see your face. Nesters always freak out when I tell them I live out of a suitcase.”
Tyler frowned. “I’m not a nester.”
She smiled mysteriously.
“I’m not. Guys don’t nest,” he said.
“Do you own your own home?”
&nb
sp; “Yes.”
“Thought so. It’s an old one, too, isn’t it?”
“Early Victorian.”
“And I bet you’ve renovated it. Stripped back the floors, restored the fireplaces…?”
She had to be guessing, but it was uncanny how close to the mark she was.
She pointed her spoon at him. “You’re a nester. Nothing to be ashamed of. I, on the other hand, am not. Can’t stand to be pinned down. Hate staying in one spot for too long. Don’t see the point of owning a bunch of stuff. Well, except for pajama pants, but they pack light.”
“You must have had a place of your own at some point.”
“Sure. Before I decided to stop fighting genetics.”
“There’s a gene for nomadism?”
“Might as well be. My mother was an artist. I spent my childhood either traveling with her or living with my aunt Phyllis or my grandmother. My mom was a gypsy, and so am I, and it’s much easier to go with the flow than fight against it. Believe me.” Her gaze grew distant, as though she was remembering something hard or painful.
He studied her profile, wondering. The lifestyle she described sounded free and easy—and lonely. He couldn’t imagine not having a place to come home to. A sanctuary that was all his. A circle of friends who knew him intimately, who understood his history and his moods and his sense of humor. As a furniture designer, he had a strong appreciation of history and place. Every time he put pen to paper or chisel to wood, he aimed to create family heirlooms, pieces that would be well-loved and well-used. One of the most satisfying aspects of his work was the idea that his furniture became an integral part of his customers’ lives and homes.
But Ally had no home. No place to call her own. No sanctuary. No treasured window seat or favorite corner of the garden or sentimental piece of crockery or glassware.
“And you’re never tempted to stop and stay?”
She chased a pecan around her bowl for a few beats before replying. “A few times. But you can’t fight nature, and it usually means I end up letting someone down. That’s why I do the house-sitting thing now. It suits me, and I suit it, and the rest takes care of itself.”
“So when your friend comes back, whenever that is, you’ll just pack up your duffel and hit the road again?”
“Absolutely. When Wendy finishes her training course in another six weeks’ time, I’ll pack up my suitcase and go to Sydney, or maybe Brisbane. I haven’t decided yet.”
She inspected her empty bowl, scraping the spoon against the surface to capture the last traces of ice cream. “It would be wrong to have a second serving, wouldn’t it? An invitation to Type 2 diabetes,” she said wistfully.
“Sometimes it pays to live dangerously.”
“Says the man with the six-pack abs.”
She blushed as soon as she said it. He felt a smile tug at his mouth. Nice to have the reassurance that she was as aware of him as he was of her.
“I don’t have a six-pack.”
“Okay, a four-pack. And if I go back for seconds, it won’t be long before I have a keg.”
She fussed around, stacking the bowls. Then she shot him a quick look from beneath her lashes. He didn’t bother trying to hide his grin. Her expression became rueful.
“No need to look so pleased with yourself.”
“I’m not. You just answered a question I’ve been asking myself, that’s all.”
A crease appeared between her eyebrows. “What question?”
“This one.” He leaned across the space that separated them and pressed his mouth to hers.
Her lips were warm and soft and they opened on a surprised inhalation as he kissed her. He waited, keeping the kiss light, even though he’d been wanting to taste her for a long time. After a torturous beat, her mouth moved beneath his and she returned the pressure of his kiss. He palmed the nape of her neck and slid his tongue into her mouth.
She tasted like chocolate, hot and dark and mysterious. Her tongue slid along his, tentatively at first, then with more confidence. He angled his body toward her, leaning closer, wanting more. She gave an encouraging little moan, her hands sliding to his shoulders.
Heat fired in his belly as he felt the weight of her breasts against his chest and inhaled her scent. Vanilla and cloves, sweet and exotic. Their tongues slid and teased, her hunger matching his.
He hadn’t been with a woman for months. And he’d been thinking about Ally all week. Wondering. Fantasizing.
He slid his hand from the nape of her neck, down her arm and onto her rib cage, just beneath the swell of her breasts. He was as hard as a rock, his breath coming fast even though they’d barely started. She clenched her hands in his T-shirt and pulled him even closer, her mouth avid on his.
She was so hot, so sexy, so warm and giving. He slid his hand onto her breast, reveling in the warm, resilient weight of her in his palm, his thumb sweeping across the curve in search of her nipple. She was already hard, the peak straining for his attention and he ran his thumb back and forth over it, smiling against her lips as he felt her shudder in response. He squeezed her nipple between thumb and forefinger and she moaned again and pressed herself into his hand.
He’d known it would be like this between them. Ever since that moment over their impromptu dinner when she’d made a joke about needing a cigarette after their ice cream discussion. She was earthy and human and real, and he wanted her beneath him, wanted to slide his hands inside her ridiculous, sexless cartoon pajama pants and discover the warm curves of her hips and backside and thighs.
But first he wanted to taste her breasts. Wrapping his arms around her, he hauled her into his lap. He wanted to make her shudder some more, wanted to explore the soft, scented skin of her neck and breasts and belly, wanted to tease her with his mouth and his tongue and his teeth until neither of them could take it a moment longer.
He moved his hand to the hem of her tank top and lifted it, sliding his hand onto the warm skin of her belly as he kissed her deeply. He slid his hand higher, up her rib cage, already imagining the silk of her breasts against his hands, the way her—
“Wait.”
She said the word against his mouth as he was about to cup her breast. He stilled, even though he was hard and desperate to be inside her.
She pulled away from him. He let his hand slide down her rib cage to rest on her hip. She felt so good. So warm and soft and alive.
“This is a bad idea.” It would have sounded a hell of a lot more convincing if she hadn’t been breathing as heavily as he was.
“Why?” He felt like a teenager voicing the question. It had been a long time since a woman said no to him.
“Because it won’t work.”
She slid from his lap, and even though it had been a hot day and a warm night, he felt the loss of her body heat.
“Unless things have changed drastically since I last did this, I think we were doing okay.”
She straightened her tank top, then took a deep breath. “I’m leaving in six weeks. And your father is dying.”
“I’m not sure what either of those things has to do with us having sex.” He could hear the frustration in his own voice.
“Let me ask you this, then. When was the last time you had a one-night stand?”
He raised his eyebrows, a little taken aback by her question. “I can’t remember.”
“Exactly.” She stood and dusted off the seat of her pajama pants.
He stared up at her, affronted. “So, what, because I usually like to know more than a woman’s name before I sleep with her you’re kicking me to the curb?”
“I’m kicking you to the curb because I like you, Tyler Adamson. Us getting involved would be a mistake. You’re the kind of man who wants more than sex and a few laughs, and I’m the kind of girl who leaves.”
“You’re making a lot of assumptions.”
She gave him a level, knowing, very adult look. Then she reached out and took his hand, pressing her fingers to the pulse point at his wrist. He knew w
hat she could feel there—his heart, still pounding away like a tom-tom, demanding more, wanting more. Wordless, she reversed their grips, pressing her own wrist against his fingertips. He felt an answering rhythm beating through her body, just as wild, just as demanding.
“I don’t know about you, but that doesn’t happen for me every day,” she said quietly.
“All the more reason to do something about it.”
He told himself to stop before he begged or reduced himself to the old blue-balls gambit, but everything in him resisted the way she was closing the door on the possibilities between them.
He liked her. He wanted to get to know her. Since when had that been a deal-breaker when it came to sex?
“I’m doing you a favor.” There was finality in her voice. And regardless of the frustration he felt, he wasn’t about to try to importune her into bed.
“Your call,” he said, standing.
They were both silent as they walked to the door.
She handed him the spare key on the threshold. “Thanks for the ice cream.”
“Like I said, I appreciate your time.” He sounded stiff, formal. Pissed off.
Because he hadn’t gotten his way? He didn’t like the idea that he was so petty. That his goodwill toward her depended on her bowing to his sexual will. He liked a hell of a lot more about her than her body.
He tried again.
“Thanks for sharing it with me.”
“It seemed only fair.”
His gaze slid to her mouth. Her bottom lip was slightly swollen, very pink. He remembered the soft, warm press of it against his.
If she hadn’t called a halt, he’d be inside her right now, driving them both a little bit crazy.
“Good night, Ally.”
“Good night, Tyler.”
He heard the door close behind him. His bags were where he’d left them on the porch and he let himself in then dumped them beside the couch in the living room.
The house wasn’t as musty as he’d remembered, and he saw that someone had left a vase of wildflowers on the mantle and that one of the windows was open a few inches, letting in the fresh night air.
Ally, of course.
He walked to the bathroom to inspect the safety rails that had been installed. He’d been so eager to see her that he hadn’t paused to inspect the set beside the front steps.
The Last Goodbye Page 7