Читать книгу Suddenly You - Sarah Mayberry - Страница 10

THE REST OF the day sped by. She left Alice with a fellow student she traded babysitting duties with while she went to the university to get a head start on her assignment, a dry-as-dust examination of “the effect of government policy on the new national curriculum.” She collected Alice midafternoon and swung by the gallery to check her roster for the next week. She’d requested extra shifts when she’d still been flailing around, trying to work out how to pay for car repairs, and she saw that her boss, Gaylene, had come to the party. The two extra shifts would mean some juggling of Pippa’s schedule, but the extra money would give her the opportunity to build a little nest egg so that the next time life threw her a curve ball, she wouldn’t feel quite so desperate.

In theory.

She thanked Gaylene, then checked the time. It was a little after five. She chewed her lip, then decided that this was as good a time as any to swing by Harry’s place to see if he was around. It was tempting to simply leave the money in an envelope under his door when she knew he’d be at work, but leaving it without talking to him smacked of cowardice, and she wasn’t afraid of him or the argument they were bound to have over her insistence on repayment. Far from it.

Pippa had only been to his place once when Steve had parked in the drive and honked the horn to let Harry know they were there to pick him up. Consequently, she knew the street but not the house number, but the big black muscle car in the driveway put paid to any doubts she might have had that she had the right place. The house itself was nondescript, a seventies brown brick with a neatly manicured lawn and a garage to the rear.

She pulled into the driveway, aware that her pulse had sped up and butterflies were doing a lap of her stomach in anticipation of the battle to come. She checked on Alice and discovered she was fast asleep. Well, Pippa was only going to be a minute, so there was no point disturbing her. She cracked the window to ensure there was a breeze and got out of the car.

The Red Hot Chili Peppers’ “Under the Bridge” filtered through the warm afternoon air as she made her way to the front door. She knocked and waited. Seconds ticked past and she grew more and more tense. Which was ridiculous. This was Harry, and she’d already established she wasn’t even remotely scared of locking horns with him.

When he didn’t appear, she knocked again and tapped her foot impatiently. When he still didn’t answer, she stepped back and regarded the house. The music told her that someone was home, and it belatedly occurred to her that he might not be able to hear her over the racket. She walked to the side of the house and peered up the driveway. The side door of the garage was open, and the music seemed to be emanating from there. Maybe he was working on a car or something.

She checked on Alice, then made her way past the house. The music switched to Pearl Jam as she neared the garage and she took a deep breath.

“Knock knock,” she said as she stepped into the doorway.

And promptly lost the power of speech.

Harry was lying on his back on an incline bench, part of what was clearly an elaborate home gym. His chest was bare, sweat glistening on the muscles, his legs bent at the knee, his feet planted wide. A pair of faded tracksuit pants cut off raggedly at the knee rode low on his hips, and his stomach muscles rippled with effort as he pumped a loaded barbell above his head.

He looked … amazing. Huge. Sweaty. Ridiculously masculine. For the first time she saw that the tribal tattoos that snaked around his arms also flowed onto the left side of his chest, licking up his side like sinuous black flames. His pecs were powerfully defined, his nipples flat brown circles. A dark trail of hair bisected his belly, traveling down from his navel and disappearing beneath his low waistband.

She swallowed and became aware that she was clutching the envelope in her fist and staring like a nun at a strip show. She blinked, cleared her throat.

She’d seen near-naked men before, after all. So what if none of them had looked like Conan the Barbarian? It was no big deal. She wasn’t even that into muscle-bound men anyway.

She cleared her throat a second time and knocked on the open door.

“Hey. Harry, you got a minute?” she called over the music.

The barbell crashed onto the uprights on either side of the bench as Harry registered her presence.

“Pippa.” He looked surprised—and, unless she was wildly mistaken, pleased. As though he was happy to see her.

He sat up, an action which caused his abdominal muscles to do amazing things, then leaned over to turn down the volume on the stereo. “What’s up?”

“I came by to drop this off.” She waved the envelope.

His gaze went from it to her, then he snagged a hand towel from the adjacent bench and wiped first his face then his chest.

“If that’s money, I don’t want it.”

“It’s four hundred and five dollars. Fifty for the gasket. Three hundred for resurfacing the head. Twenty-five for the oil filter and thirty for the oil.”

“You spoke to Dad.”

“I did. I took him some beer to say thank you.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, I did. Just like I have to do this.”

She took a few steps into the room and slid the envelope onto the workbench that ran along the rear wall.

“Pippa …”

She held up a hand. “Harry, you need to let me do this. I am incredibly grateful for what you did, but it’s enough that you gave me eight-plus hours of your time. I can’t let you cover the parts, as well.”

He scowled and pushed himself to his feet, setting off another chain reaction of rippling muscles. She fought the need to take a step backward as he advanced on her, reaching to grab the envelope.

“I’m not taking this,” he said, thrusting it into her hand.

“Well, that makes two of us,” she said, pulling her hand away before he could release the money.

His scowl deepened. This close she could see that his skin was still damp. She could smell his deodorant, too, and see the veins in his arms where his muscles were pumped from his workout.

“I can’t take money from you. Put it toward something else,” he said.

“You put it toward something else.”

Like maybe a pair of workout pants that didn’t seem as though they were in imminent danger of falling off his narrow hips.

“You mentioned being a graceful receiver the other night. Here’s a newsflash for you—you could do with some lessons,” he said.

“I am grateful. But I’m not a charity case. I don’t need you paying my way.”

“Who said anything about you being a charity case?”

An inch of what looked like black boxer-briefs showed at his waist. She felt a little dizzy, a little overwhelmed by all the raw masculinity on display.

“If you don’t think I’m a charity case, let me pay for the parts,” she said, trying to stop her gaze from sliding down his body.

“No. I wanted to help you and Alice. I did. End of story. I’m not taking your money.” He grabbed her hand, slapping the envelope into it. “Save it for when the car breaks down next time, which it will, because it’s a piece of yellow crap.”

He was probably right, but her back went up anyway.

“Just because it’s not some big macho muscle car from the days when dinosaurs roamed the planet doesn’t mean it’s a piece of crap.”

“For the record, there weren’t many dinosaurs roaming Australia in the seventies. And that hatchback is a piece of crap, and we both know it.”

“Fine. Whatever. The point is, it’s my piece of crap, and it’s my responsibility. What you did was fantastically generous, but you need to let me cover the parts, Harry.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Harry.”

He shook his head slowly, his jaw set. She glared at him.

“I’m not letting this drop,” she warned.

“Then I guess you’ve got a problem, because I’m not taking your money.”

For a split second Pippa almost caved. Almost. But then she thought about how desperate she’d felt this week, and how relieved and pathetic she’d felt when Harry had shown up last night. She didn’t want to be a damsel in distress. She needed to be strong, for both her and Alice’s sake. That was what getting her Diploma of Education was all about. That was why it was so important that Harry let her pay her way.

“You know what Mick Jagger says. You can’t always get what you want,” she said.

Then she stuffed the envelope down the front of his shorts and swiveled on her heel, but not before she saw the shock on his face. She raced out the door. She figured she had the shortest of leads before he came after her. Sure enough, she was nearing the car when she heard him calling her name.

She scrambled into the driver’s seat, jammed the keys into the ignition and hit the locks. Harry strode toward her, looking for all the world like an escapee from Gladiator.

“Sorry,” she mouthed as she reversed out of the driveway.

HARRY STOPPED IN his tracks, hands on his hips, a pissed/resigned expression on his face. She hoped the resigned part signaled he would accept her money.

She glanced in the rearview mirror to find that Alice was awake again, her blue eyes taking in the world. A smile crept onto Pippa’s face, quickly turning into a grin.

She’d stuck a wad of cash down Harry’s pants. She probably needed to get out more, but it was the most outrageous thing she’d done in months. Possibly even years. And it felt good.

You do need to get out more.

She was still buzzing with triumph when she turned onto her own street. Then she realized that the butterflies-doing-a-lap feeling was still there and in a flash of insight understood it wasn’t nervousness. Not by a long shot.

It was excitement—because she’d seen Harry.

That quickly her goofy smile was gone, as was the feeling of triumph.

Harry was Steve’s best friend. Furthermore, he was as feckless, as childish, as immature as her ex. Another overgrown teenager who viewed life as a big amusement park.

She didn’t want to be excited about seeing him. God, no.

She parked and got Alice out of the car. As it had the other night, holding her daughter’s warm, soft body grounded her. Alice was the ultimate invitation to live in the now, to experience only this present moment. Rubbing her cheek against her daughter’s, Pippa let whatever silliness had gripped her this afternoon slide away.

Harry was not someone to get excited about. Lovely and funny and generous as he was.

It’s hardly going to be a problem. There’s no reason on earth for you to see him again now your car is fixed and the money sorted.

She should have felt relieved, but she didn’t. She felt disappointed, which went to show that she really was an idiot.

HARRY RETURNED TO the garage. The envelope with Pippa’s money lay on the floor where he’d dropped it—after he’d pulled it out of his pants.

Now, that was a move he hadn’t seen coming. In fact, he still couldn’t quite believe she’d done it.

Briefly he toyed with the idea of going after her, letting her know in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t interested in her money. He imagined himself chasing her down, backing her into a corner until she was forced to take the envelope back. She’d protest, no doubt, but he’d look into those rich chocolate-brown eyes of hers and—

He bent and collected the money, pushing it into his pocket and turning away from the thought that had been about to insinuate itself into his head.

It wasn’t quite so easy to ignore he had the beginnings of a hard-on, however. All because of a schoolboy fantasy that involved Pippa and a hard wall.

What is going on with you?

It was a good question. He wasn’t sure what the answer was. Pippa wasn’t the sort of woman he usually went for. She was older, for starters. Smarter, too. Then there was the not-insignificant fact she was a mother.

He gave himself a mental shake. It didn’t matter why he liked Pippa or how different she was from his usual type. The important thing was that she was Steve’s ex, and therefore officially off-limits.

As if his thoughts had conjured him, he heard the distinctive, low rumble of Steve’s new truck pull into the drive. Guilt stabbed at him, but he rejected it instinctively. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

Yet.

And it was going to stay that way, because Steve was one of his oldest friends.

He reached for his T-shirt and pulled it on as he exited the garage. Steve was sliding from the cab of his shiny red truck, a six-pack under his arm.

“Yo. What’s up?” he called out. He was dressed in board shorts and a loose tank, his hair held back by a pair of sunglasses pushed high on his forehead.

“You been out today?”

“Hell, yeah. Suicide was going off,” Steve said, naming a brutal surf beach farther south on the peninsula. “You should have come, man.”

Harry shrugged. He’d been through this with Steve during that morning’s phone call. “Mel needed my help with installing the rose arbors.”

Steve tugged a can free from the plastic ring holding it to the six-pack, passing it to Harry. “Don’t know why Mr. Richy-Rich doesn’t hire a bunch of muscle to do it all for him. Not like he can’t afford it.”

“Flynn likes getting his hands dirty,” Harry said, shrugging to let Steve know that he didn’t want to get into yet another conversation about what Steve would do if he had the Randall millions at his disposal. The truth was, Harry’s brother-in-law never flaunted his wealth and Harry had long ago stopped thinking of him as anything other than a good friend and the man who’d made his sister smile again.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. So, what are we up to tonight? The Pier? Or do you want to hit the Portsea pub for a change, crash at Nugga’s place?”

Harry led the way inside. “Not fussed. Whatever tickles your fancy.”

Steve sat on the couch and propped his legs on the table, crossing them at the ankles. “You think that little blonde chick will be working at the Pier tonight? The new girl?”

“Who knows?”

“If I had to give her ass a score out of ten, it’d be eleven.” Steve laughed and took a pull from his beer.

Harry drank a mouthful of his own can, his head full of everything that had happened with Pippa. He wasn’t used to feeling guilty, and he didn’t like it.

“So, did you call that girl from last week yet?” Steve asked.

It took Harry a beat to drag his head out of his own thoughts. “Didn’t get around to it.”

Steve made a disgusted sound. “Dude. What’s wrong with you?”

“You want her number, it’s yours.”

Steve paused with his beer halfway to his mouth. “Seriously? You’re not going to call her?”

Harry shook his head.

“Bloody hell. Never thought I’d live to see the day. You losing it in your old age, mate? Having trouble getting it up?”

“Thanks for the touching concern, asshole, but everything is in perfect working order.”

Steve laughed and reached for the remote, flicking on the TV. “Did you catch any of the cricket today?”

Harry paused before answering, unable to shake the sense of unease dogging him. He felt like he was holding back. And it was because of Pippa. Because of how she made him feel, and—more importantly—because of what she’d said about Steve.

He grabbed the remote from Steve’s hand and killed the TV.

“Hey. I was watching that.”

“We need to talk. About Pippa.”

The look of comic outrage on Steve’s face disappeared as he put on his poker face. “What about her?”

“I told you about her car breaking down last week. Well, I wound up helping her out. Had her car towed to Dad’s and fixed the gasket head for her after hours.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Why’d you do that?”

“Because she couldn’t afford to have her car fixed, and she needed to get around.”

“Pity you’re not in the Scouts still. That’d earn you a merit badge for sure.” Steve lifted his beer in a mock-toast. “Here’s to Mr. Good Deeds.”

“I told Pippa that if she wanted, I’d let you know what had happened on her behalf. See if you couldn’t help her out, since she’s struggling at the moment.”

Steve leaned back in the chair and rested his right ankle across his left knee. “I bet she loved that.”

There was no mistaking the resentment in his tone.

“She told me not to. And when I kept pushing she told me you’d dodged paying child support for Alice, so she doubted you’d be helping with the car.” Harry didn’t say anything more, simply waited for Steve to set him straight.

His friend gave him a derisive look. “What? Is this the bit where I’m supposed to step in and defend myself? Sorry, mate, but I’m not playing that game.”