Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
STRUAN
The knocking is insistent, urgent, dragging me from sleep. Huh? What . . . ? Who . . . ?
I stumble out of bed and yank open my bedroom door.
Ainsley.
She’s barefoot in a tiny nightie that barely covers her thighs, her hair rumpled and wild, like she’s been tossing and turning on the other side of my bedroom wall.
“Ainsley? What—”
She doesn’t answer. Just reaches up, grips my face with both hands, and pulls me down to her mouth.
For a heartbeat I’m frozen, my brain trying to catch up.
How did she even get in the house? But then her tongue slides against mine and, Christ, I’m gone.
I haul her against me, one hand tangling in her hair, the other splayed across her back.
She makes this tiny sound—half gasp, half moan—and it spears straight through me.
Her hands slide down to grip my arse, pulling me tighter against her, and fuck, there’s no way she doesn’t feel exactly what she’s doing to me.
The thin cotton of her nightie doesn’t hide a thing—not from her, not from me.
She’s all heat and soft curves, fitting against me like she belongs right here.
I get my hands under her thighs and lift them, and she wraps her legs around my waist. We stumble back towards the bed, her mouth hot and demanding on mine, teeth nipping at my bottom lip.
“Struan,” she breathes, and the sound of my name ripples through me—soft, needful, impossible.
Too impossible.
I jolt awake, my heart hammering against my ribs like I’ve just been slammed off my board by a monster wave.
Sunlight pours through a gap in my curtains. I’m alone. Completely and utterly alone in my bed with a raging hard-on.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” I scrub both hands over my face.
A dream. Of course it was a dream. Because Ainsley Reid would never show up at my door in a nightie demanding to be kissed senseless.
I lift the duvet and peer down at my enthusiastic morning situation. “Really? We’re doing this now?” I mutter. “I’m working for her for another week, you eejit. Think you can behave yourself till the job’s done, at least?”
My cock, predictably, has no response except to remain stubbornly, achingly hard.
I groan. Brilliant. Now I’m having sex dreams about her. About the woman who’s literally on the other side of this wall, probably still asleep in that bed I built for her, dark hair spread across the pillows—
Stop. Stop right there, Walker.
But Christ, I can still feel dream-Ainsley’s mouth on mine. The weight of her in my arms. The way she said my name . . .
It’s not like I haven’t had the odd hook-up with a client over the years. But it’s always been them that’s made the first move, not me. I’ve enough sense to know I shouldn’t be initiating anything with someone who’s paying me to do a job.
But then, last night in her bedroom . . . I’d stepped closer to get that bit of packaging from her hair, and a pulse of want hit me, clear and unmistakable. I was this close to—
“Get a grip,” I mutter. “You can manage one more week without trying to snog her on that brand-new bed.”
Cold shower it is, then.
I drag myself out of bed and pad to the bathroom, turning the water to arctic. The shock of it against my skin makes me hiss through my teeth, but it does the job. By the time I’m done, I’m shivering and my cock’s gone from proud soldier to deserter.
Back in my room I pull on shorts and a T-shirt, then I check on Isla.
Still fast asleep, curls spread across her pillow.
I wake the Dexcom receiver on her bedside table—5.
8 mmol/L, nice and steady. My phone would’ve alerted me if her blood sugar went wonky in the night, but I always double-check anyway.
I head downstairs, glancing at my phone. There’s a message from Sophie.
Sophie
Mei said yes to moving in
Something tightens in my chest—just for a second—before I shake it off. Not my house, not my life. And this is good news. Great news, actually.
Struan
Congratulations
When’s it happening?
Sophie
Two weeks
Two weeks? Christ, that’s soon.
I catch myself. What’s wrong with me? This is good news.
Sophie
How’s Isla this morning?
Struan
Still asleep. Will wake her for breakfast soon
Sophie
Remember to count her carbs!
I shake my head, smiling. What is she like? I may play the relaxed, fun dad, but when it comes to Isla’s health, I don’t mess about. Sophie knows that.
Struan
Got it
Sophie
I’ll give her a call later
I shoot her another thumbs-up emoji, then set my phone down on the kitchen worktop and grab the eggs to make French toast. Isla’s favourite.
I crack them into a bowl, whisking as my mind wanders. Mei moving in—it is a good thing. Sophie deserves to be happy, and Isla adores Mei. Besides, it’s not like anything’s really changing. Mei’s already there most evenings anyway.
Lost in thought, I fumble one of the eggs. It slips from my fingers and splats on the floor.
Smooth, Walker.
Right. Focus. Happy thoughts. French toast. Weekend with my girl.
I’m cleaning up the mess when my phone buzzes. I expect it to be Sophie again, but it’s the Dadventurers chat, a group I’m in with Lachlan and Douglas.
Lachlan
How about a beach BBQ at my place instead of a Pit meetup? Weather’s meant to be good this afternoon
Douglas
I’m out. Logan’s sick now too. Living the dream
Struan
Oof, unlucky mate. Two sick kids is rough
But a BBQ? Aye aye, captain. What can I bring?
Lachlan
We’ll sort the food. Blair’s invited Ainsley. She’s bringing soft drinks. Can you bring wine and beer?
Ainsley will be there? A grin spreads across my face before I can stop it, and my mind unhelpfully flashes back to this morning’s dream. The nightie. The way she’d—
Walker, it’s a beach barbecue with kids present, not a wet dream sequel. Keep it in your pants.
Struan
Douglas
Ainsley?
Lachlan
New friend of Blair’s. Single mum. Took over the old hair salon
Struan
Which I’m refurbing for her. Also happens to be my new neighbour. And the same lass who fell into my lap at soft play
Douglas
Oh, HER. If I remember right, she was easy on the eye
Struan
Aye. Could’ve done worse for a new boss and neighbour
Lachlan
Right . . . anyway. See you this afternoon, lover boy
Lover boy. If only he knew what my subconscious had been up to earlier. Christ.
I’m loading beer into the cool bag when there’s a knock at the front door. I open it, and for a split second my brain short-circuits.
Ainsley and Lily stand on my doorstep, both dressed in denim—Ainsley in a dress that shows off her legs, Lily in a wee playsuit. In the afternoon sunlight, Ainsley’s hair gleams with those caramel streaks, and her green eyes are bright behind her fringe.
After the dream I had this morning, seeing her actually here is doing things to my head.
“Er, hi,” she says, looking slightly awkward. “Lily heard Isla was going to the barbecue and insisted we all walk together.”
“Ah. Aye, that’s fine.” I try to sound casual, like I haven’t been dreaming about her showing up here in considerably less clothing.
“Also,” she admits, “I’m not entirely sure where Lachlan’s house is. According to my maps app, it’s in the sea.”
I laugh. “Near the sea, not in it. Edge of town by the pebble beach.”
“Awww.” Lily’s face falls and her shoulders droop. “I wanted it to be underwater. Like a mermaid house.”
Isla appears at my side, grinning. “Lily, houses can’t go underwater. Only submarines can.”
“Then I want a submarine house!”
The two of them dissolve into giggles at this, no idea why. Ainsley gives me this small, helpless smile, which is . . . disarming. I’m more used to seeing her sharp-edged.
“Right, Isla, pop your shoes on,” I say. Then, to Ainsley, “Let me just go grab the booze.”
A minute later we’re good to go. I lock up then hold out a hand to Ainsley, who’s carrying a bag of soft drinks. “Here, I’ll take that.”
“I can manage—”
“I know you can.” I take it anyway, our fingers brushing in the exchange. Just a touch, nothing more. Still, my stupid body notices. “My mum would skelp me if she saw me letting you carry it when I’ve got two hands.”
I notice Lily’s holding a small tote. “Want me to carry that too, Lily?”
“No! These are my Barbies. For the Barbie-cue.”
“Once again, Lily,” Ainsley says in a resigned tone, “barbecues have nothing to do with Barbie.”
Lily pulls a face, then we set off down the street towards the seafront, the girls skipping ahead. Ainsley walks beside me, the pavement so narrow our arms nearly brush.
Don’t think about the dream, Walker. Don’t look at her legs. Don’t wonder what she’s wearing under that dress. Definitely don’t imagine peeling it off her.
“Sleep well in the new bed?” I ask, then wince internally.
Smooth. Now you’re picturing her in bed.
“Actually, yes.” She smiles, and it’s easier, warmer than usual. “First morning in ages I’ve not woken with a sore back. Thanks again.”
“Any more flat-pack disasters, you know where to find me.”
“Next week you might regret saying that. Wait till you see how many salon pieces I’ve ordered.”
There’s something different about her today. Lighter. Less guarded. Like maybe a good night’s sleep on a decent bed has done her some good. Or maybe it’s something else.
“Ach, all in a day’s work.”
When the girls reach the bottom of the street, they stop to wait for us. Lily points at the ferry pulling away from the harbour.
“That goes to Corraig, the island you can see out there,” I hear Isla explaining importantly. “And Lachlan—whose house we’re going to—he drives it during the week.”
“He’s the captain,” I say with a grin.
Isla launches into facts about whales and dolphins, and I catch Ainsley watching her with amusement.
“You could double as a tour guide,” she says as we head along the seafront towards Lachlan’s.
“I like facts. Also, Mei knows so much. She works in conservation and knows loads about animals. She can tell which bird’s which just by the sound. She also knows how to tell if a seal’s sick just from the way it lies on the rocks.”
“Wow,” Ainsley says. “And, er, who’s Mei?”
“Mum’s girlfriend.”
“Oh. Well, she sounds very knowledgeable.”
“Mm-hmm,” I say, shooting Ainsley a look. “She does, doesn’t she?”
Ainsley smiles, and there’s understanding in it. Like she gets it without me having to explain.
The girls hurry ahead again, then stop to rummage through Lily’s Barbie bag. After a few moments, they whisper to each other then burst into fits of laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Ainsley calls to them.
They exchange a look, then Isla holds up a doll. “Look, Da! This Barbie’s just like you. She’s even got a bun!”
I squint at it. The hair’s roughly my colour and is indeed in a bun. More than that, though, she’s dressed almost exactly like me. Tan shorts, plain T-shirt. Christ.
“Well, would you look at that,” Ainsley says, grinning.
“’Splorer Barbie’s new name is Stwuan!” Lily declares.
Everyone laughs, even me. And something about Ainsley’s laugh—real and unguarded for once—catches me off-guard. Makes me want to hear it again.
We reach the pebble beach and spot the gang gathered just down from Lachlan’s place, the barbecue already smoking away beside them. The sea breeze carries charcoal and cooking meat to us. I joked to Sophie about feeding Isla plenty of meat this weekend. Seems I’m actually following through.
Gus spots us first and comes charging over, all golden fur and boundless energy.
“Hiya, boy,” I say, crouching to greet him.
But the traitor throws himself at Ainsley’s feet instead. She laughs and pats him. “Good boy,” she croons. Gus practically melts.
“Really?” I complain. “I’ve known you for years, and she gets the hero’s welcome?”
Ainsley just smiles, scratching behind Gus’s ears as he gazes up at her adoringly.
Can’t say I blame the daft mutt, though. Something about her gets me too.