Chapter 1 #2
I bet he doesn’t even remember it, while I wish I could forget. The way my lips bumbled up against his, the heat of him kissing me back, then the searing shame as he leapt away like his life depended on it.
Hell, maybe it did. I certainly died a death that day, and so did the bond I thought we’d built after his dad passed away.
I was the shoulder he cried on. The one person he could be real with.
He didn’t have to be Theo Tanner: the strong, dependable one.
The trader people trusted with their hard-earned cash.
The loving son holding it together for his mother.
The best friend with all the answers. He was just Theo. The man.
And I loved him for it. More fool me.
Like I said, bad decisions, bad examples – they’re my forte. And they all have one thing in common: men.
First Theo, then Danny.
Though saying their names in the same breath feels wrong on every level.
My ex was an abusive prick. Theo… well, Theo just knew better than to want me.
And I should know better than to want him now. Which I do. Honest.
He takes another hoop from Lottie, who’s now doing her favourite ‘one for you, one for me’ and I give a flustered laugh. ‘You want some milk with those?’
‘Nah.’ He grins. ‘Coffee is perfect.’
‘I want coffee!’ Lottie declares and Theo chuckles, the sound as invigorating as his hum. More so as his eyes light on mine in question. Does he seriously think I’m about to feed my toddler coffee ?
Better than him thinking you’re ogling the boxers off him!
‘I think you already have enough beans in you, kiddo,’ he says.
Lottie wrinkles her nose. ‘I don’t have beans.’
‘You do have juice, though,’ I say, hunting out the carton I gave her earlier and finding it, complete with juicy puddle on his fancy kitchen floor.
Balls . I swear this place was spotless not ten minutes ago. I made it so. Every surface wiped back to glossy perfection. Every stretch of varnished floor gleaming. Sofa cushions, plumped. Filter coffee set to go.
Then I suggested a nappy change and all hell broke loose. Or rather, Lottie did.
We started potty training back in Ireland, but with the chaos of the past few weeks, it’s fallen by the wayside. Now she’s out of routine and proudly refusing to wear pull-ups, like she’s outgrown them entirely.
Which would be great… if I wasn’t watching her climb all over his terrifyingly expensive designer sofa with the bladder control of a fruit fly and a glint of rebellion in her eye.
I thrust the carton at her and reach for the cloth at the sink just as Theo moves to refill his coffee, and bam! We collide. Chest to chest. Or, more accurately, my forehead to his bare chest. Holy smoking…
Lottie gives a timely, ‘Uh-oh!’
‘I’m so sorry!’ I blurt, jolting back so fast, I slide on the spilled juice and would have perfected the splits if not for Theo’s arm shooting around me. He pulls me up against him, saving both me and his coffee that I almost upend in the process.
‘You good?’ He growls it out, his green eyes as hot as his body pressing into mine.
‘Yup.’ It’s virtually a squeak. Because I’m not. Not even a little.
Not when every bit of me is on high alert, humming like I’ve licked a battery and his mouth is so close, all I can think about is licking it . Which would make my seven-year-old mistake look like a PG blunder.
‘Great!’ He drops me like a hot potato, which is pretty much how I feel, and goes back to pouring his coffee. Staring at the rich, dark liquid like it holds the answer to his biggest problem. Which, let’s be honest, is us.
Meanwhile, Lottie’s busy making her juice carton burp.
Thank God someone’s keeping it classy around here.
I try to act normal, wipe up the spill and pour milk on Lottie’s cereal, but nothing about me is normal. Nothing about this situation is normal. Nothing about my life is normal.
Six years ago, I had it sussed. I met Danny.
A guy who made me stop fantasising about the impossible with the man behind me.
A guy who loved me and wanted me and whisked me right off my young and naive feet.
Fast forward to now, I’m bruised and battered, inside and out, running from one toxic relationship into the home of the man I’d run from in the first place. How’s that for a twisted life story?
Taylor would never have suggested I come here if she knew, of course.
My big sis is blissfully unaware of my feelings for Theo. Hell, I wish I was blissfully unaware…
‘Are you trying to wear a hole in my floor?’
The bemused murmur comes from just over my shoulder and I die a thousand deaths. Get a grip, Mercedes!
I force an easy smile and stand. ‘Don’t want to leave a sticky residue behind.’
‘Tell that to my hallway.’
‘Oh God,’ I groan. ‘Did she get there too?’
‘It’s no bother, Maggie will see it gone today.’
I frown, swiping a hand through my wild, blonde mop. ‘Maggie?’
‘My cleaner. She comes every Saturday morning. She’s gonna love Lottie.’
I puff. ‘You’re being sarcastic…’
‘I’m not. She’ll be torn between work and play. Maggie that is, not Lottie.’
‘She shouldn’t have to clean up after us. I’ll take care of it.’
‘You’ll do no such thing.’ He glances at the view beyond the glass. ‘Looks like it’s going to be a great day. Why don’t you get out, take Lottie to the park?’
I chew on my lip, my eyes drifting to the glorious blue sky stretching over London, and my tummy twists. ‘Maybe.’
I won’t, but he doesn’t need to know that.
The toast pops and I jump in sync, dashing for it while my nerves stay strung up to the ceiling…
* * *
Theo
Sadie plucks the bread from the toaster like she’s afraid the thing is still on, and I add another dash of coffee to my very full mug, desperate for something to focus on that isn’t her.
Her and thirty seconds of pure, unfiltered temptation pressed up against me.
Jesus .
Less than a minute of contact and my brain short-circuited like a teen crushing on his first girl. Not a man who should know better. A man way too old to be crushing on anyone, especially a girl twelve years his junior.
Hell, Taylor’s more mum than sister to Sadie, which makes me more… No. Don’t go there. Daddy fantasies are not my thing. Never have been, never would be?—
She leans past me to squeeze the cloth under the tap and so help me God, I almost combust. Coffee sloshes over the side of my mug, and her eyes snap to mine.
‘Don’t you start making a mess too,’ she says with a soft laugh.
Christ, if she only knew what kind of mess I had brewing…
I grab the cloth from her hand, careful to minimise any more contact. ‘I’ve got this.’
Only I don’t…
‘And like I said, Maggie will deal with the cleaning, Sadie.’ I finish rinsing the cloth and toss it in the sink. ‘Not you.’
And what the hell was with all the ‘ies’ in his house now. Sadie. Lottie. Maggie. Daddy. I choke on my coffee, and she sends me an arched brow.
‘Did I make it too strong?’
‘Nope. It’s all good.’
It’s me that’s not.
She moves away, but her expression remains sceptical. The frown between her brows deepening as she butters and cuts the toast into perfect little triangles. I rub the back of my neck.
Just a couple of months, that’s all it is. She’ll find her feet, move into her own place, and I’ll go back to being the highly respected, extremely single, zero-self-control-required bachelor I was before.
Easy.
I take another giant sip and stare stoically at the floor, and not the bare shoulder that’s making my mouth wetter than the coffee.
Easy, my arse.
‘I’d best get to work.’
Stunning blue eyes hit mine. ‘But it’s a Saturday?’
I’m already halfway across the kitchen. ‘No rest for the wicked.’
And I’m definitely that.
Wicked and perverted and in need of the coldest shower known to man…
‘Wicked Uncle Feo!’ Lottie calls after me and I swear I hear Sadie stifle a laugh. ‘Wicked! Wicked! Wicked!’
Yeah kid, and don’t I know it .
* * *
Sadie
I slide the plate of toast to Lottie, weighing up whether to talk her down from using her new favourite word on repeat. But you say something in front of a kid, you’re always going to risk it catching on. And I’m sure Theo will take it in his stride. Won’t he?
I watch him leave. Sloping off like some shirtless Greek tragedy in nothing more than those black boxer briefs and I know I’m drooling. My logical head screams, Inappropriate, forbidden, he broke you once and he’s gifting you sanctuary now.
But the woman inside me?
She’s already fanning herself with a piece of toast and praying she can make it through the next hour without making the same mistake eighteen-year-old her made.
‘Uncle Theo isn’t wicked,’ I say under my breath. ‘Mummy is. And Mummy needs to get this place cleaned up before Maggie arrives…’
I scan the toddler debris which seems to have reached into every corner of Theo’s vast, open-plan space – bright pops of chaos against the monochrome backdrop – and press my palm to my head. No wonder the man saw it as a full-on invasion.
‘Time to do better at containment, kiddo.’
Impossible, much?