Chapter 10
THEO
The first thing I register is the smell – the unmistakable scent of sizzling bacon – then the noise: the distant clatter of pans, a kids’ cartoon playing, and the tiny, delighted giggle that’s all Lottie.
I crack open one lid and almost slam it back closed. Whisky .
Why did I have to hit the whisky ?
But the answer makes my gut protest more than the hangover itself. Sadie .
Or rather, what he did to her. Danny.
And how I, the man tasked with looking after her, can’t stop lusting after her.
It’s fucked up. I’m fucked up.
I sit up slowly, the remnants of last night’s drink humming behind my eyes. The smell intensifies and I don’t know whether I want to race to the bathroom or the kitchen. Spew or chew. Funny. Not .
Holding a hand to my throbbing temple, I ease my feet to the floor. Bathroom. Then kitchen. Then… I glance at my watch. Shit . It’s late. I’m supposed to be on with the board in an hour.
I should’ve set my alarm, but I haven’t needed one in years. My body runs like clockwork: 6a.m. and I’m up and at it.
But like a lot of things in my life, my body hasn’t been my own since Sadie moved in. And last night, when I came home to find her on my sofa looking all?—
I push the image away, but too late – it’s there. Sadie. Hair in a single plait, loose wisps framing her bare, beautiful face. Her PJ top sloped off one shoulder, no bra beneath, the outline of her breasts unmissable. Shorts disappearing beneath the hem, like they were already long gone…
Blood rushes south, my cock joining the throbbing beat up top. Because of course that part of my anatomy would have no trouble feeling lively when the rest of me feels half-dead.
With a groan, I get up and stagger to the bathroom, step into my shower and slam it to cold. Fuck. I suck in a breath, my whole body recoiling as my head all but explodes, while my cock… better, much better.
It’s what it deserves. What I deserve.
Pressing my palms to the tile, my forehead to the cool wall, I let the iced water pummel my back. I close my eyes. Try to focus on breathing.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Water creeps over my front, teasing the goosebumps already rising. Each rivulet a hypersensitive path that leads straight to my disobedient dick…
I shiver, but it’s not the cold.
It’s her.
She lingers – behind my eyes, under my ribs. Warm. Hot. Forbidden .
My hand moves before I can stop it, sliding down to wrap around my length. One tug and my head falls back, breath scraping out of me.
Yeah .
I give a slow, dragging stroke and my thighs tremble, my jaw locks.
I shouldn’t be doing this. Not here. Not now. Not with Sadie?—
My grip tightens, and I groan through my teeth.
Fuck.
Sadie.
The need rises, hitting harder than the headache ever did.
I see her again – last night – unfurling from my sofa like something out of a dream, another life, an alternate reality where she’s mine to come home to. Bare legs, sleepy eyes, soft curves, and open arms.
But it’s not last night that tips me over. That fucks me up. It’s before… seven years before.
When I should have known better. Hell, maybe I did – until that kiss. One moment. One mistake. One that lit me up in places I didn’t know could burn, had me clawing for what was right when all I wanted was wrong.
But now – God, if I reached for her again… how would she respond?
Would she still melt into my mouth? Would she moan like she did back then?
I pump myself harder. Faster. Slick with water. Slick with need. My stomach tightens…
What if she walked in right now? Dropped to her knees on the wet tile. Took me in hand. Mouth open and ready. Those big, blue eyes locked on mine, hungry to ruin me.
And I’d let her.
I’d fucking beg her for it.
Argh!
I come hard, muscles locking, hand still pumping as it crashes out of me. Loud. Messy. Shameful in the best fucking way.
Over a week of tension – seven years even – ripped free in one frenzied release. I brace against the wall, breath shredded, legs weak.
Wrecked.
The water keeps running. Cold. Relentless.
But inside, she burns, as hot as she ever did.
God help me.
* * *
Sadie
‘Morning.’
I jump at his raspy greeting, my smile plastered on too tight. So much for playing it cool after last night’s encounter…
‘Morning,’ I say, my eyes registering everything about him in one swift glance.
The way his hair is still damp from his shower.
The way his cheeks are flushed pink. The way his eyes glimmer and squint with what I’m sure is the hangover I predicted.
As for his body, that pale-grey tee hugs his broad shoulders and pecs in a way that makes me want to trace every ridge, and those lounge pants… I swallow. ‘ Breakfast ?’
He winces, his knuckles grazing the scruff along his jaw.
Yeah , I’m back to squeaky-chipmunk mode.
‘Did I fall asleep and wake up in some Stepford fantasy?’
His eyes flick to the griddle – pancakes cooking, bacon spitting – then to the towering stack already on the island, a bowl of chopped strawberries sitting pretty next to it. Picture perfect. Then his gaze slides back to me, and I forget what I’m supposed to be doing.
He pockets his hands, the fabric of his lounge pants stretching a little too much… or not enough, depending on how much you’re hoping to see.
And then his question registers and hits a little too close to home. Stepford. A wife. His .
Heat climbs into my cheeks, and I snap back to the stove.
‘Danny always said nothing beat my pancakes and crispy rashers the morning after,’ I say, flipping the bacon.
It’s true.
It was the one thing that cut through the worst of his mood, and gave me something to do that wasn’t just waiting for him to bite. Not that Theo needs the same treatment. But I wanted to do it. And that makes all the difference.
‘ Fuck , Sadie.’
He’s suddenly behind me, so close that when I turn, we’re chest to chest. The only thing between us – a raised spatula and the wild thudding in my chest. His scent rises above the kitchen aroma. Clean. Fresh. Wholly him. Who needs bacon to tantalise the tastebuds when you have a Theo?
I try to catch my breath, but every inhale sends him deeper beneath my skin.
‘God, I’m sorry!’
‘What for?’ I puff.
‘I didn’t think.’ He drags a hand through his hair, eyes raining down on me, heavy with guilt. ‘Did I remind you of him? Last night, the drink, did I?—?’
Oh, God. ‘You’re not him, Theo. You could never be him.’
And yes, I’m dodging the full truth. Because sure, the drink made me think of Danny. But it didn’t make me fear for my safety. Not in the way Theo’s thinking.
No. What I feared most was my desire for him. And where it would take us if I gave it free rein.
‘But Sades?—’
‘People drink, Theo. I drink. You drink. Doesn’t mean we hurt people.’
‘I couldn’t. I would never…’ His eyes burn into mine. The muscle in his jaw tics. He starts to lift a hand between us but stops, fingers curling into his palm. ‘You’re safe with me. You’ll always be safe. I swear it.’
‘I know.’
I take a breath and give him a smile, though all I want is to take that hand – now forgotten by his side – and put it on me. The only question is where. What part of me do I want him to touch the most?
It’s a damned stupid question, but one my heart and head are happy to toss around as I say, ‘Besides, Danny never needed a drink to hurt me. It was just the man he was. Drunk or sober, it didn’t change a thing.’
Wrong thing to say. His cheeks and eyes darken, his mouth twists. ‘If I ever lay eyes on that piece of?—’
‘Uncle Feo!’
He breaks off as Lottie comes racing between us, tablet clutched in her hands, her grin so wide and innocent and true. ‘Mummy’s making pancakes!’
He takes a step back, offers me a faint smile before letting it split his face in two for my daughter – hangover, be damned.
‘So I see! Ain’t we the lucky ones?’
Without hesitation, he swoops her into his arms, pulling an excited squeal from her little lungs.
‘How about you and I set the table while Mummy works her magic here?’
He gifts me another of those smiles – private, toe-curlingly deep – then whirls away, Lottie and her cartoon-blaring tablet still in his arms. The sight is so perfect, so arresting, it takes the sharp scent of burning pancake to snap me out of it.
‘Shit!’
‘Mummy!’ Theo calls back as Lottie peeks over his shoulder, giggling.
‘Mummy just said sh?—’
He presses his index finger over her lips. ‘P!’
He enunciates the letter, just like he had out on the lake, and now I’m giggling. I can’t help it. This man – the way he gets to me. Gets me, too. It’s addictive, and I’m helpless to fight it.
Maybe I shouldn’t even try.
Maybe I should just roll with it, knowing what it is – the present.
And what it can never be – our future.
* * *
Theo
Lottie loves getting involved.
If the grown-ups are doing it, she wants in, and laying the table is no exception. It’s honestly hilarious, and I quickly learn that the safest approach is to demonstrate, then spectate… unless I fancy getting scolded.
Which, for the record, I haven’t been in almost thirty years. And let me tell you, being scolded by a three-year-old? Whole new level.
Mum would have a field day witnessing this tiny dictator in action.
Actually, Mum would have a field day with this scene, full stop.
It takes twice as long, but it’s totally worth it. When she’s finally done – her tiny toes gripping the chair as she leans over the table to place the maple syrup down with a flourish – she beams up at me.
‘Da-na! Finished!’
She straightens up at speed, and I shoot forward, hands hovering. The last thing I need is my tiny dictator face-planting off the chair, but she’s surprisingly steady, all proud stance and toddler confidence.
‘High five?’ I say, holding up my hand.
She frowns at it. ‘Five?’
‘Like this.’
I gently tap her hand against mine and repeat, ‘High five.’
‘High five!’ She grins and her legs launch into an excited jig that sees the chair wobbling and my heart goes with it.