Mr. Nice Guy (Pierce Brothers Book 1)

by Belinda Williams

  Tom let out something resembling a cough and a laugh.

  Chelsea managed to smile. ‘Tactfulness isn’t her strength.’

  ‘Yeah, I got that.’

  They fell silent, and Chelsea fought the urge to run from the room.

  “No small talk,” Nadia had told her. “Just get straight to it.”

  Chelsea unzipped her jacket and shrugged it off. She’d been a coward to wear it. She folded it and placed it on the counter next to her bag, then she kicked her shoes off.

  Tom gave her a curious look.

  Curious was good. She could work with curious.

  Hands shaking, she grabbed the bottom hem of her T-shirt and lifted it over her head.

  ‘Chelsea!’ Tom raced to close the distance between them, but Chelsea stopped him with a hand not unlike that Diana Ross and The Supremes song.

  Stop! In the name of love.

  Tom frowned and came to a halt. His gaze lowered to the black lacy bra she was hardly wearing—skimpy wasn’t quite the right word to describe it. More like indecent.

  His eyes darkened and his frown deepened before he averted his eyes, attempting to look anywhere but at her.

  I’m only getting started, Mr. Nice Guy.

  The sound of Chelsea’s jeans zip being undone got his attention.

  ‘Chelsea, what the hell are you doing?’

  This time he came to stand directly in front of her, but when he got there, he didn’t seem to know what to do.

  ‘Something I should have done a long time ago,’ she told him.

  His eyes widened, and he swallowed. Once. Twice. His Adam’s apple bobbed helplessly in his throat like it was drifting in a turbulent sea.

  Chelsea had to give herself credit. She’d never considered herself a ten out of ten on account of her stocky frame, but with the lacy, almost-there underwear, she figured she looked pretty damn hot in Tom’s eyes.

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ Tom whispered, now unable to take his eyes off her.

  ‘Shits and giggles.’ She grinned, but he didn’t laugh, and her expression turned serious. ‘Because I want to, Tom. Because I want you. I’ve wanted you ever since that morning after the concert when you blew my mind, but looking back, I think I’ve wanted you long before that, too.’

  ‘You have?’

  ‘Enough talking.’

  Tom closed his mouth and Chelsea decided she kind of liked the dominatrix vibe she had going on. Her mind made up, she closed the distance between them and pressed her body and lips against him at the same time.

  To his credit, he didn’t touch her—he was a nice guy, after all.

  Chelsea wasn’t having it. She rested her hands on his hips and teased his lips apart with hers. Gentle kisses that sought to ease away the tension she could feel holding his body taut as a spring.

  When he released a sigh, Chelsea’s tongue cheekily darted into his mouth, inviting him to taste more. To take more.

  His hands reached out and gripped her hips like she was the only thing keeping him upright. Chelsea thought she might spontaneously combust. She’d missed him so damn much.

  ‘Chels,’ he said between their kisses. ‘Are you—’

  She silenced him with another kiss, then took her turn to speak. ‘Shut up, Mr. Nice Guy. I think it’s pretty clear what I’m here for.’

  Desire and doubt swirled in his green eyes. He looked at her so intensely she thought spontaneous combustion was actually a very real risk.

  She didn’t wait to hear anymore. She kissed him with everything she had. Tilted her hips against his to feel his hardness pressing into her. Every dirty trick in the book she could think of. Brushing her breasts against his chest. Grabbing his backside and then grinding against him.

  Suddenly he shoved her away and released a shuddering breath. ‘Stop! Stop.’ His hands were in his hair and his gaze was frantic. ‘Why are you doing this, Chelsea?’

  This was it. This was the moment it could all go wrong and go down in history as the worst ending to a relationship ever. But Chelsea had already anticipated this. In the lead-up to tonight, she’d imagined him being too damn nice because, of course, he was. She wasn’t having a bar of it.

  ‘I think it’s completely obvious what I’m doing, Tom Pierce,’ she told him.

  ‘But why?’ His expression was tortured and confused. ‘Shouldn’t we talk about this first?’

  ‘Screw talking.’ Chelsea inhaled a deep breath and decided honesty was the best policy. ‘Because no matter what happens after tonight, if I don’t make love to you right now, I’ll always live to regret it.’

  Tom took a step back. He looked like he’d been slapped, and for the first time, Chelsea wondered if she’d gone too far.

  Tom swiped a hand across his face and dropped his chin to his chest, looking a little like a soldier who’d been defeated.

  Shit. What should she do now? Throw herself at him again? Where was Nadia when she needed her?

  Tom raised his head slowly and Chelsea stilled. His eyes were clear.

  ‘No regrets,’ he said softly.

  ‘No regrets,’ she echoed.

  She only had a millisecond to wonder if she’d said the right or wrong thing before Tom was pulling her into his arms and this time he was the one kissing her. His was the tongue teasing hers. His were the hips grinding against hers.

  He was everywhere, and Chelsea reached a new level of bliss she hadn’t anticipated.

  After less than a minute, they were both panting like overexcited puppies, but Chelsea couldn’t care less how she sounded—or looked for that matter. She just wanted Tom.

  ‘Take the underwear off, Chels,’ he whispered in her ear as he dipped his head to run a trail of kisses down the nape of her neck.

  She clung to him like she was lost at sea. Which she probably was. ‘You do it,’ she gasped as his palm brushed against her breast and teased a nipple through the lacy fabric.

  ‘If I must,’ he growled, sending shock waves of pleasure down her spine.

  Without asking, he spun her around. He made quick work of undoing her bra and then whipped her panties down her legs before she even had a chance to say, “Keep going”.

  He turned her back to face him again, and she very nearly melted into a puddle at his feet when she saw the look in his eyes. Affection mixed with desire mixed with intent.

  She gestured to the handbag on the bench behind them. ‘I brought condoms.’

  He closed his eyes and then burst out laughing loudly, throwing his head back. Chelsea had never heard a sound so divine.

  She reached for the bag while he was still laughing, because while she may be worthy of his amusement, protection was no laughing matter.

  By the time he stopped laughing, she presented him with the packet.

  His eyes grew darker still. ‘You know what you’re asking, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m not asking,’ she said boldly.

  His lips curled. ‘No, I’m clear on that. But you’ve suggested that you’ve had to fake it in the past. So that means we don’t stop until you’re satisfied, you hear me? And absolutely no faking it.’

  ‘No faking,’ she whispered, although that would have been impossible by this point. Her acting skills didn’t stand a chance against Mr. Nice Guy’s honourable determination.

  ‘Good.’

  In one swift move, he whipped off his T-shirt, then efficiently undid his jeans, kicked them off, and slid his boxers down his legs before Chelsea could catch her breath. By which point she desperately needed another breath at the sight of Tom standing in front of her, ready to go.

  He took the packet from her and slid the condom on.

  ‘Turn around,’ he told her, ‘and hold on to the bench.’

  Chelsea’s eyes widened. ‘What if I don’t want—’

  ‘Turn around and let me finish what you started.’

  OK then. This Tom wasn’t quite as polite as the Mr. Nice Guy Tom, but she rather liked him. He made her weak at the knees, and sh
e happily did what she was told.

  ‘Good,’ he said again, and came up behind her so she could feel his breath caressing her neck.

  He ran his hands down her sides, following the outline of her hips. Then he did the same again, starting at her shoulders and finishing at the top of her buttocks. Chelsea sighed, literally feeling like the cat that had caught the canary.

  Tom came closer still so that his chest brushed against her back and something more obvious too, but in the region of her backside.

  She arched her hips backwards. An invitation.

  ‘Not yet.’

  He showered her with more kisses. On her neck. Shoulders. That sensitive spot underneath her ears. Then he slid a hand between her legs and stroked her there.

  ‘Oh,’ Chelsea breathed.

  She wasn’t so subtle with her invitation this time, and when she arched her hips, the length of him slid forward and pressed right against where she was aching for him to go.

  He chuckled. ‘So much for foreplay.’

  ‘We’ve been partaking in foreplay for months now. Just fuck me, Tom. Please.’

  He went still. Chelsea held her breath.

  Then slowly, exquisitely, he took her by the hips and guided himself inside her, making her collapse forward onto the bench from the ecstasy of it. He’d been right about the holding on part.

  He filled her up, but still Chelsea wanted him deeper. She pressed her backside against him and used the bench to brace herself. She felt him shudder. Heard him swear.

  Now who was in control?

  She angled her hips again, this time to encourage him to move. They started slowly, tentatively, but soon they couldn’t hold back, and Tom’s gentle strokes turned to needy thrusts. But it still wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

  When Tom’s hand found its way between the front of her legs and his thumb stroked her, Chelsea sobbed. She gave up trying to resist and splayed her upper body on the counter while Tom didn’t miss a beat.

  Fake it? How could she fake it? She was likely to die first before needing to fake it.

  Tom didn’t let up. With every thrust he went deeper, and the unrelenting movement of his thumb was making her dizzy.

  ‘Is this what you need?’ he asked.

  Tom. Tom was what she needed. Only Tom.

  She panted, ‘Yes. Don’t stop.’

  And he didn’t. He kept going like he said he would until she let out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a cry, followed by a long moan. She was only vaguely aware of the cool bench beneath her as her body rocked helplessly with its release. The sort of release she’d long craved and waited to experience with a man but now, for the first time, she understood. She hadn’t needed a bad boy. Or even a nice guy, for that matter.

  She’d just needed the right guy.

  She’d needed Tom.

  Only then did Tom fully let go, holding on as he rocked with her, his fingernails digging into her hips and the rough stubble of his cheek pressed against her shoulder.

  It took them a full minute to move. Another minute for Chelsea to peel herself from the luxuriously cool bench.

  Then, with legs like jelly, they stumbled to Tom’s bedroom for more.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Later, much later, they lay together in Tom’s bed grinning at the ceiling.

  ‘I hurt,’ Chelsea told him. ‘In a good way.’

  ‘Me too.’

  There was a beat of silence and then Chelsea spoke again. ‘I gotta say, you were worth the wait.’

  Tom grinned harder, but then sobered. It was time. Time to talk and tell Chelsea everything, come what may.

  ‘You deserve an explanation,’ he said softly.

  Chelsea rolled to face him and put her hand on his stomach. ‘You don’t have to tonight if you don’t want to. It’s just nice to be here with you. Let’s not ruin it.’

  Tom took her hand and squeezed it. ‘Nothing could ruin what we just shared, but it’s overdue. I need to talk.’

  He realised something. He did need to talk. After all this time, he needed to say the words out loud to someone he trusted. Despite what he’d told her, he did trust Chelsea.

  ‘Gemma had breast cancer.’

  Chelsea’s head shot up and her hand flew to her mouth, leaving Tom holding thin air.

  ‘Oh my God! I had no idea, Tom. None. I’m so sorry. But she’s still alive. That girl you know said so.’

  Tom’s heart already felt full after making love to Chelsea, but now it grew fuller still with her genuine concern.

  ‘She’s alive and well, thankfully. She fought it and got better. It took three years.’

  ‘Oh, Tom, that’s awful. How awful for her. And for you, especially after everything you’d been through with your mum. Gosh, you must have thought you were cursed or something.’

  ‘It crossed my mind.’ Tom looked at the ceiling again, because it was easier. ‘I should have broken up with her, but I didn’t.’

  Tom didn’t need to see her to register Chelsea’s confusion.

  ‘When Gemma found out she was sick, things between us hadn’t been going well. I’d been thinking about breaking it off with her for months. She never said it, but I know she had, too.’

  ‘And then she got sick?’

  ‘Yeah. She needed me. So I stayed.’

  Chelsea exhaled a long breath. ‘That must have been incredibly hard for you.’

  ‘It wasn’t easy. I wanted to resent Gemma, but I couldn’t. It was possible that she might die, so how could I be angry with her?’

  Chelsea softly punched him on the arm. ‘Mr. Nice Guy strikes again.’

  ‘You’re right. When it became clear that things were looking more positive for her, Gemma began to change. She started talking about settling down and having kids. She’d never talked much about having them before. But going through something like that changes you. She became desperate to try.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘No,’ Tom said firmly. ‘I’ve always thought I’d like kids and a family, but I wasn’t ready. I’d spent my teenage years supporting Mum, and then, by the time I’d hit my thirties, I’d spent another few years supporting Gemma. I just needed some space to live, if that makes sense.’

  ‘Perfect sense.’

  ‘Gemma kept threatening to break things off with me, but she never did. She was desperate for a child and I was the obvious solution. We were caught in this holding pattern where I didn’t want to let her down. It wasn’t a healthy dynamic.’

  ‘How did things end?’

  It was an obvious question, seeing as Tom had been living in Newcastle for three years now.

  ‘She cheated on me.’

  ‘Oh, Tom.’ Chelsea dropped her head to his shoulder and held him. ‘You didn’t deserve that after everything.’

  ‘Yeah, I think I did, actually. I only realised afterwards that I didn’t stay with Gemma because I loved her. I stayed because I wanted to save her, which was something I’d never been able to do for my mum.’

  Chelsea nuzzled against him, holding him closer. ‘No one deserves to be cheated on.’

  ‘I guess not, but it was complicated. Coming up here after we broke up was what I needed at the time. It got me away from everyone’s pitying looks. I was the guy who had nursed my girlfriend back to health, but then she’d left me. It was partly the truth, but not the whole truth, and it was too hard to try to explain.’

  ‘Geez, no wonder you haven’t wanted to date since then.’

  Tom lifted his head to look at her. ‘Why do you say that?’ It was true, but he was interested to hear Chelsea’s opinion.

  ‘You needed your freedom. To be you. To be Tom. You’ve taken several trips overseas since I’ve lived with you, and you’ve been able to spread your wings without worrying about someone else. You needed that.’

  Tom closed his eyes. She understood. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised. Chelsea was the most selfless, genuine person you could meet, but it meant the world to hi
m that she understood.

  ‘No wonder I scared the shit out of you,’ she said dryly.

  Tom looked up again. ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh, come on! I’m a hot mess. Bouncing from one guy to the next. Complaining about my dead-end job, which is actually going places now thanks to you, and that’s really cool. I know you’re not looking to settle down, but I’m not exactly girlfriend material, am I? I’m not sick, thankfully, but I can appreciate why you had to resist trying to save me.’

  Tom rolled onto his side so they were both facing each other. Tenderly, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

  ‘Chels, you don’t need saving. You’re perfect just as you are, and you’re exactly what I need. You’re full of life. Fun. Generous and giving. Hard-working, although you try to hide it. While I’ve spent too much of my life holding on to life for fear of losing it, you’re living life freely. I love that about you.’

  I love you.

  Was he brave enough to say it? Coward that he was, he stroked her cheek and looked into her eyes, savouring the moment. No matter what happened tomorrow, he’d never regret being with her like this.

  ‘I love you,’ she blurted, then clamped a hand over her mouth. Her bright blue eyes widened in shock.

  He reached over and gently removed her hand. ‘I love you too, Chelsea. And for the record, I do trust you. I just didn’t trust myself.’

  Those blue eyes—so full of life, laughter and everything he’d come to love about her—filled with tears.

  ‘Don’t cry,’ he whispered. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘Really?’ she whispered back, pouting a bit. ‘Because I seem to recall you kicked me out.’

  He winced. ‘I didn’t kick you out. I was a coward, and I was trying not to hurt you. You’re never going to let me live it down, are you?’

  Chelsea shook her head. ‘No way. But I understand now why you didn’t want to get hurt again. Like you said, you didn’t trust yourself. I think you were scared to have feelings for me. Am I right?’

  He couldn’t resist a joke, because this was Chelsea. ‘You are kind of terrifying.’

  She nudged his shoulder. ‘I also think you haven’t been living life as fully as you’ve wanted to. Fear has been holding you back from that, too.’