“Say no more.” She finished the puff in her hand and stood to grab another one, then she straddled me. “Let’s see if I can do it right.” With her eyes on mine, she took a small bite, pushed my shirt aside and tipped the sticky sweetness onto my chest. It dripped over my left nipple, and my cock surged when her tongue hit my skin.
She closed her eyes and licked the syrup off slowly, each stroke of her tongue making my blood rush faster. I ran my hands over her ass as she circled my nipple with her tongue, sucked it into her mouth. She did the same to the other one even though she’d spilled nothing on it. Then she kissed her way up my chest, sliding her hands over my shoulders beneath my shirt. I’d never felt anything like the softness of her mouth on me, and no one had ever kissed me this way—tenderly, slowly, asking nothing in return. When her lips reached mine, I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close.
I’d never forget the taste of this kiss as long as I lived.
* * *
“What time is it?” I asked as we put ourselves back together. We could now cross Have Sex On Vintage Kitchen Table off our lists.
“Um.” Claire pulled her shirt over her head and squinted at something behind me. She was sitting on the table, her legs criss-crossed like a kid’s. Those fucking bunny pants were killing me. So much about her was youthful, even childlike—her exuberance, her trusting nature, her excitement over small things—but she was all woman, too. She had curves that made me dizzy, and once she gave herself permission, she moved her body in ways that left no doubt she knew what she wanted and how to get it.
I’d been more than happy to give it to her—but my time was about up. As enticing as she was, I was not a stayer.
“It’s after midnight,” she said. “Has your car turned back into a pumpkin?”
“Probably.”
“Good. Then you have to stay.” She smiled devilishly and fluttered her steepled fingers. I’d pulled her hair loose again, and it hung in thick waves past her shoulders. I fucking loved that hair.
“I’ve really corrupted you, huh?” I buttoned up my shirt. “I’m starting to feel bad. You were such a sweet girl before I got my hands on you.”
“I’m making up for lost time. And I’m learning.”
“You’re a star student. Teacher’s pet.”
She smiled back, a little color blooming in her cheeks.
I cleared my throat. “Your table can sure take a hell of a beating. It’s pretty sturdy for an antique.”
“Yeah, not too bad for a fifty-dollar garage sale find.”
“Really? That’s all you paid?”
“Yeah, and that even included the chairs.” She glanced at the one we’d been sitting on. They were wood with upholstered cushions, the fabric faded and threadbare. “Which need to be re-covered, of course, but this whole place is a work in progress. That’s what my mother doesn’t get—she comes over here and sees what it’s become over time because it hasn’t been taken care of, but I see what it could be. The bones beneath the dirt and dust are beautiful, they just need a little love.” She ran a hand over a tiny gouge in the wood. “Anyway, sorry for running on.” She laughed gently as she hopped off the table. “I get a little carried away talking about this house and things in it.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s good you see the potential beyond the surface of things. That’s a gift.”
Suddenly she looped her arms around my waist. “What’s your gift?”
“My gift? You mean besides my superhuman sexual skills?”
She giggled and slapped my ass. “Yes.”
“Hmm.” I’m an excellent liar. A damn good thief. And I’m a pro at a clean getaway—usually. Although tonight I was having trouble with that. “I’ll go with my instincts. I think I read people pretty well.”
She sighed. “You read me right, that’s for sure.”
“You were easy.” I gave her a little squeeze. “You wear your heart on your sleeve.”
She tipped her head back and looked up at me. “I do?”
“Yes. And someday, some lucky guy is going to come along and steal it.” I didn’t love the idea, which annoyed me.
“He sure is taking his time.”
“Lucky for me.”
She smiled. “I had an amazing time tonight, Theo.”
“Me too.” Time to make my exit. Her smile was putting weird thoughts in my head. “But I should get going.”
In the living room, I put my jacket on, slung my tie around my neck, and slipped into socks and shoes. Claire stood near the door, one foot on top of the other, her arms wrapped around herself like she was cold. The thought of it made my chest tight. It’s freezing tonight. Maybe I could just—
Are you nuts? What’s with you tonight? Get the fuck out of here.
Buttoning my coat, I moved for the door. “See you,” I tossed off as I passed her. It was an asshole move, but sometimes the shoe fits.
Five seconds later, I was alone on the porch with the door shut behind me. Fuck. It was like going from a steaming hot shower into an ice bath. Frowning, I braced myself against the bitter cold, icy air stinging my nasal passages and lungs as I hustled through the freezing dark to my car.
It would have been so easy to turn around and go back inside, stay the night in her cozy little fairy-tale house with its Christmas lights and delicious scents and her warm, soft body next to mine. It would feel so good.
But I couldn’t do it.
I threw the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway, then shoved it into drive and took off down the street, tires spinning in the snow.
Fourteen
Claire
* * *
Wow. OK then.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the front door, a little in shock that he’d actually just walked out so abruptly, with barely a glance in my direction. In all honesty, I kind of thought it might be one of his games. Like he might knock on the door a minute later and say he’d only been kidding and sure, he’d stay.
So I kept standing there.
One full minute ticked by. A car door slammed.
Another minute. The engine came to life.
A third minute. Headlights flashed through the living room window as he backed out of the drive and pulled away.
Well. I guess that’s that.
My mouth turned down as I realized that he was really gone. Maybe it had taken him some additional willpower as he sat there in his car, but in the end, he’d left. It was amazing to me that a person could change gears like that. One moment, he was hugging me in the kitchen and saying sweet things, and the next he was bolting for the door like he didn’t even care that we’d never see each other again.
Of course, that was assuming a few things.
That he even had feelings.
That he hadn’t been pretending.
That tonight had been more than just business as usual.
I really had no evidence that any of those things were true. What I did have was sore muscles, tangled hair, and memories of what had been the hottest night of my life. In fact, if I hadn’t had the sore muscles and tangled hair as proof, I might have thought I’d dreamed it.
Slowly, as if I was moving through mud, I turned off the kitchen light, the Christmas tree lights, and plodded into the bathroom.
What are you moping about? I asked my reflection as I brushed my teeth. You got exactly what you wanted. You fooled everyone at the wedding, you didn’t have to sit at the singles table, and you had an unbelievable night with a hot guy who gave you like eleventy orgasms. What more do you want, greedypants?
I scowled at myself, toothpaste froth all over my mouth.
You knew all night long this was a one-time thing. He told you it was, flat out. You said it was fine. You said all you wanted was a good time. You said no expectations.
After rinsing my toothbrush, I washed my face, turned off the lights and dragged my sorry ass upstairs, continuing to berate myself.
Did you think it would go another way? Did you th
ink your hired hottie would turn out to be The One? What the hell would you tell your kids? “Daddy and I met the night I paid him three hundred dollars to be my pretend boyfriend so I wouldn’t look like a loser. Isn’t that romantic?”
Angry with myself, I got into bed and pulled the covers over my head, curling into a ball on my side. Maybe I was doomed to be unhappy. No matter what I did, it backfired. I played it safe, I didn’t meet anyone I like. I took a risk, I met the wrong guy. Unfortunately, I happened to like him.
I flopped over to the other side. It just seemed so unfair. Finally, finally, after years of trying, I felt the thing with someone, and we’d never see each other again. Had it been one-sided?
Maybe it had. A guy like Theo probably had all kinds of beautiful women panting after him everywhere he went. What would he want with a girl who might wear red lipstick and talk dirty on a Saturday night but wanted to cuddle in bed on a Sunday? Who said she had no expectations but was crushed when he left her at the door? Who believed in soul mates and wanted to be tied to someone?
When the dirty talk was over, he’d want nothing with a girl like that.
A girl like me.
Fifteen
Theo
* * *
After a shitty night’s sleep during which I swear I kept smelling Claire next to me, I woke up in a bad mood. Why, I had no idea. I’d had a great time, a bunch of great sex, and even enjoyed a little trip down memory lane to one of the happier times in my life. Then I’d gotten out without disappointing her. What the hell did I have to be grouchy about?
I went to the gym and worked out, hoping a good, punishing sweat would make me feel better. It didn’t.
I decided it must be concern for my brother’s family making me feel down. So after cleaning up, I thought I’d go get a little Christmas tree for Josie and the girls. Seeing their happy faces and watching them decorate it would cheer me up. Maybe I could try to figure out what each of them wanted from Santa, and if Josie hadn’t gotten it all taken care of—which I doubted—I’d go shopping for them.
Before I left, I checked my email and calendar, where I noticed a reminder to invoice Claire for the balance of her date. Frowning, I deleted it. Somehow I’d give her hundred bucks back too—now I felt bad that I’d even taken it.
On the way to the tree farm, I stopped to grab a cup of coffee and a donut, and as I sipped the scalding hot dark roast, I remembered watching Claire rush into Great Lakes Coffee, nervous and flustered and much, much prettier than I’d expected. If I were the kind of guy who said things like, She took my breath away, that’s what I’d say about Claire. Probably I should have introduced myself right away, but in those situations I liked taking a few minutes to size people up, see what my intuition told me about them. It gave me the upper hand.
The donut was OK, but it didn’t taste half as good as those magic things she and I’d made last night. Funny how some things from childhood—your favorite movie, that song you loved, the fucking beanie you thought made you look cool but only made you look like a dipshit—don’t have the same appeal later in life. But that sweet taste had been just as good as I’d remembered, if not better. I wondered if Aaron had ever taught the girls to make those. Probably not, since he hadn’t really been around when our grandma and I were making them. Maybe I’ll pick up some groceries too. Do a little baking with the girls. They’ll love that.
My spirits lifted.
At the tree farm, I chose one I thought would fit in their living room, helped the guy tie it to the top of my car, and then hit Meijer for a tree stand and some strands of lights in case theirs didn’t work. I also grabbed crescent rolls, marshmallows, butter, sugar, and cinnamon, my excitement building. On the way to my brother’s house, I briefly wondered what Claire was doing today. Was she working on her house? Painting? Had she slept late? Or had she, like me, been restless all night and woken up early?
“Enough,” I muttered as I pulled into the driveway. “Put her out of your fucking mind already.”
That was easier to do once the kids spotted the tree. I heard them shouting and banging on the window as I untied it from the car, and a minute later all three came racing out the front door with their boots on but no winter coats. They all talked at once, and I couldn’t keep the grin off my face.
“Is that for us?”
“Is that a real tree?”
“Did you chop it down?”
“Can we help decorate it?”
“We never had a real tree before!”
“Does Mommy know?”
“Daddy’s home!”
At that one, I stopped what I was doing and looked behind me. “What did you say?”
“We never had a real tree before,” said Ava, her blue eyes wide.
“No, after that.” I scanned their faces, thinking I must have heard wrong. I’d just been here two days ago. No sign of Aaron. “Did someone say your dad is home?”
“Yes!” Hailey jumped up and down, smiling proudly that her voice had been heard. “He’s back!”
“Girls!” Josie’s voice carried from the front door. “Get in here without your coats on! It’s freezing!”
I looked at her, the question on my face. She nodded and smiled.
I turned away.
The girls scurried back into the house, and I returned to the task of freeing the tree, my hands moving a little slower now. I always felt this weird mix of things when my brother came home. Relief that he was home safe. Happiness that his wife and kids had him back. Anger that he’d left them again in the first place. Frustration that he couldn’t seem to overcome his problems. Guilt because so much of his pain stemmed from the abuse he’d suffered at the hands of our father, abuse he’d taken to protect me while I hid upstairs or in the basement or in the yard, covering my ears and wishing I could fly.
And underneath it all, so shameful I didn’t even want to acknowledge it, was resentment that my role in his family would now be reduced. It was so stupid, and I hated myself for feeling it, but some secret part of me enjoyed being the man his family depended on. Enjoyed the responsibility of taking care of people. Enjoyed the way they looked at me, trusting and grateful. When my brother was gone, I got to feel that for a while. When he was home, all that was gone.
Immediately I felt like shit.
Don’t be a dick. They’re not your family. It’s not your house. You don’t even want a wife, let alone kids or a home. How the hell would you make that work, anyway? What if you got caught in a scam and sent back to jail? How do you think your family would feel about you then?
I braced two hands on the frame of my SUV and took a few slow, deep breaths, trying to get my head on straight.
But I didn’t feel right in my skin.
* * *
Inside the house, I put the groceries away in the kitchen—my earlier excitement about baking with the girls had been snuffed out—and set up the tree stand in the corner of the front room.
Josie shushed the excited kids. “Daddy’s still sleeping,” she said, putting a finger to her lips.
I kept quiet as I hauled the tree inside and fixed it in the stand, thinking it should be Aaron doing this for his family and not me. Aaron wondering if his pregnant wife had made her doctor appointment yet. Aaron asking how Peyton’s ears were and if the medicine had worked.
“Yes. She’s better.” My sister-in-law lowered her voice. “And I haven’t made the appointment yet, but I’m going to.”
I frowned but held my tongue. Scolding her wasn’t my place. “Can you hold the tree?”
“Sure.” Josie held the tree steady while I got beneath it to make sure it wouldn’t tip over in the stand.
“Mommy, where are the ornaments?” Ava asked.
“In the basement. Why don’t you go down there and see if you can find the boxes?” she said brightly.
The girls traipsed into the kitchen and down the basement steps, leaving us in silence. When the tree was secure, I got to my feet and glanced toward the closed bedroom
door.
“When?”
“Yesterday.” She still looked tired, but her cheeks were flushed with pink. Her hair had been washed.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “He sober?”
“Yes.”
“He OK?”
Josie nodded. “Looked a little rough when he got in, but he cleaned up. He’s just tired now, but he’s so glad to be home.”
I fought off the anger and tried to focus on the relief. On moving forward. “So what now?”
“He says he’s going to do better. Get a new job.”
“Is he going to go to rehab?”
Her eyes dropped. “We can’t afford that.”
“I’ve told him a thousand times I’d pay for it.”
“He won’t go. He’s too proud.”
“Meetings then. AA. He could get a sponsor.”
“I…I don’t know if he would. He always says he doesn’t need them.”
“You have to tell him that’s the condition, Josie. If he keeps drinking, he’s going to keep doing this.” My voice rose. I didn’t mean to be hard on her, but sobriety was the only hope Aaron had. Without it, he’d never heal enough to take care of his family. I didn’t even want to think about what gutter or cell I’d be in if I hadn’t quit drinking.
“Shhh. I know.” Her eyes were glassy with tears. “But he just got here, OK? I didn’t want to say anything that would make him angry or ashamed. I just wanted him to stay.”
The bedroom door opened, and my brother appeared in jeans and a black t-shirt, his hair combed. At the sight of him, my chest got tight. Without thinking we walked toward each other and hugged. No matter what, he was my brother and I loved him. We’d been through so much together, and I didn’t want to give up on him, but fuck—he had to try harder.
“Glad you’re back.” I stepped back from him and assessed his appearance. We were built alike, both tall and muscular, thick through the chest with strong arms and hands. His nose was crooked, since it had been broken more than once, and his beard was longer, but we had the same brown eyes and short dark hair.
If You Were Mine Page 10