Chapter Seventeen
I’m waiting for the regret to come. I’ve been waiting all night, yet there isn’t any. I still wait as I watch her sleep, lying on her front, completely naked, save for the comforter draped across her back, stopping at her hips. Pippa’s eyelashes rest against the tops of her cheeks, her mouth parted slightly, her breaths steady.
The rising sun filters through my curtains, casting her in a soft glow, and my fingers itch to trail over her skin, to touch her again before I wake up and realize this is a dream. Because as soon as she leaves my house, that’s all it will be.
My hand lifts on its own, freezing when she stirs as piano keys twinkling from somewhere in my room start to play. I look around, confused as to what the noise is, when Pippa snaps upright, joining in on the search.
Noticing her phone on my nightstand, plugged in at the wall, she snatches it just as something sounding like a trumpet blasts from the speakers. I stare at her, disoriented, as recognition smacks into me.
“Is that ‘The Final Bell’ from Rocky ?”
Wincing, she nods as she turns off the song. “Sorry, I forgot my alarm was set.” Tucking the phone under her pillow, she stretches for the top of the duvet, tugging it up and hiding her body from me as she settles back down.
I lean onto my elbow, looking down at her, amusement making my lips twitch. “Why do you have the song from arguably the greatest movie of all time set as your alarm?”
She shrugs, a faint blush creeping across her cheeks. “I try to beat the moment the boom happens. It’s like a little game I do to start the day.” She palms her chest. “Gets the heart pumping.”
“At five o’clock in the morning?”
“Professional athlete, remember. I get up to train every morning at that time.” Her eyes widen. “Shit, it woke you up, didn’t it?”
I shake my head.
“Oh.” She frowns as she fights a yawn. “Then what are you doing awake?”
“Pilot to a professional athlete,” I tease, not daring to tell her that I’ve been awake for hours, watching her sleep because I know I’ll never get the chance to again. “Can’t be late to fly her bratty ass every weekend, can I?”
Her smile is breathtaking as she shoves my shoulder with a laugh. She edges closer to me, her fingers ghosting below my collarbone as she begins tracing the compass on my skin. “I like this side of you.”
“What side?”
She pushes up, balancing on her hand, and presses her lips to my ink. “Your playful side. You don’t show it very often, but when you do…I kind of like it.”
“Pippa,” I warn. My stomach coils something fierce as she kisses along my shoulder. I don’t want her to stop, but we agreed…
“I know,” she whispers, looking at me from under her lashes as if thinking the same thing. “I just wanted to let you know that.” Rolling away, she slides off my bed, completely unfazed that she’s naked as she stands before me, thumbing toward my bathroom. “I’m going to use your shower before I leave. Can’t go home smelling like sex now, can I?”
A primal part of me wants her to go home smelling of what we did last night. My dick twitches at the thought, and my mind replays the way she came so beautifully with my name on her lips.
I swallow a groan as I shove up from the bed and slowly stalk toward her. Pippa’s gaze lowers down my body, its heat like a scorching lick of flames that burn everywhere. My cock goes from half-hard to stone in a matter of seconds, the reaction a painful confirmation that the lust I thought would have dissipated if I gave in just once has gone nowhere.
Especially when I look at her sex and sleep-tousled hair.
She’s a fucking vision. Bare and beautiful and breathtaking.
Pippa bites her bottom lip, swallowing thickly as her irises darken when she notices my erection. The same look of arousal that was my goddamn downfall last night threatening the same thing this morning.
“Or maybe you’d like to join me?” Her voice has a new rasping quality to it, something I haven’t heard before and wish I could listen to a lot more.
My fingers coil into fists, and I keep walking past her, afraid that if I stop, I’ll take her up on her offer. Stepping into the bathroom, I grab her what is probably my last clean towel and bring it back into my room.
She takes it from me with a pout. “Buzzkill.”
“Your clothes are over there, too,” I croak, motioning toward her clean and dry leggings, t-shirt, and underwear folded on a seat in the corner of the room.
She gapes at me, surprise coating her expression. “You washed my stuff.” Her attention snaps to the bed, where her phone peeks out from beneath the pillow. “And you charged my phone.”
I itch the back of my head, a little self-conscious about my late-night housework. “I didn’t want anyone to worry if they couldn’t reach you.”
She nibbles on her lower lip again, except this time it’s innocent compared to the salacious way she did it before. And still, both sights do silly things to my head.
“Thank you,” she whispers, the tension surrounding us palpable. I’m acutely aware we’re both still naked, mere inches from each other, the temptation lingering for one of us to reach out and take it.
Pippa hesitates, shaking her head like she’s clearing it before disappearing into the bathroom. Even through the wood, I can hear the shower run, my pulse spiking as I imagine her stepping under the water, tilting her head back, closing her eyes.
Her invitation is suddenly near impossible to resist. But I’m a grown man. I can control myself and my traitorous feet that inch closer, my toes grazing the door.
I will not turn that handle and walk inside…
Pushing open the shower door and joining her is out of the question…
Lifting her against the tiles and sinking inside her is a bad idea…
My fingers grip the handle, the metal heating in my palm, pulsing in encouragement to twist, twist, twist .
At this point, my resolve is nonexistent. It would be so easy to forget about all the reasons why repeating last night is a bad idea. It’s like the handle sizzles, scolding my skin, preventing me from making a mistake.
I snatch my hand away, the fictitious burn helping me come to my senses and latch onto the shred of self-control I still have. Dragging myself away with a snarl, I snatch my discarded sweats, along with a t-shirt, and yank them on roughly.
Storming toward the stairs, I pause in the doorway to my room, that magnetic pull wanting to tug me back as my fingers grip the doorjamb until my knuckles are white.
I’m not done with her.
One night and that’s it. Come tomorrow, you move on.
I thought one night could cure me of my ridiculous obsession. If anything, it’s made it worse. The warning lights are on, my plane is going down, and I don’t see an out.
“World's Greatest Pilot,” Pippa reads off my mug as she steps into the kitchen, finding me leaning against the counter. She finger-combs her damp hair, brushing it over one shoulder, smirking. “Cute.”
“When we were growing up, my dad’s favorite mug was this chipped, faded old thing we got him with World’s Greatest Dad on the front, so when Teddy, my brother, told us his wife was pregnant, Dad ran out and bought him one.” I glance at the mug, my lips twitching as I brush my thumb over the decal. “He felt so bad for not getting me and my other brother one that he bought this and World’s Greatest Photographer the next day.”
“Your dad sounds sweet,” she says.
My dad’s the fucking best.
“Coffee?” I ask, pushing off my spot and raising the mug in offering.
“Sure.”
Placing the cup down, I turn and open the cabinet, pulling out a pod and rolling it in my hand. “Americano, okay?”
“Uh-huh,” she replies, sounding distracted.
“Or I can try to make…erm…” I stare into the nearly empty shelf, thinking. Fancy coffees with flavors or special cream aren’t my thing, and I’m not even sure Pippa is one of those girls who’s into that, but if she is, I guess I could try. I’ve got a milk frother and a…
“Fuck,” I groan. “I think the milk might be out of date again.”
She doesn’t answer, and I glance at her, noticing her in the doorway to my living room, peering inside.
“What are you doing?” I ask. She jumps, rubbing her breastbone when she turns around, the faint pink color from this morning returning to her cheeks. I watch as she walks over to the breakfast bar, standing on the same side as me and leaning against it.
“I didn’t know what I imagined when I thought about where you lived, but it wasn’t this,” she muses.
My eyebrows raise. “You think about where I live?”
“I didn’t until this morning,” she says with a slight shrug of her shoulder.
“And…?” I question when she doesn’t elaborate.
“You’re a man who doesn’t collect clutter.”
“What would I need clutter for?” I ask, opening another cabinet, this time directly in her eyeline, and grab my other mug.
She gasps in delight, and I slam it shut just as she darts forward, embarrassment coating my skin.
“Oh my god,” she laughs. Knocking her hip against mine, she stretches up to reopen the door and looks inside. “You need to empty your dishwasher.”
“It is empty.”
“Where’s the rest of them?” Her eyes sparkle with amusement as she looks at me from over her shoulder.
Reaching around her, my arm brushes against her lower back, and I lift the mug I was drinking from. “Right here.”
She snorts. “Wait, you only have two? What about everything else?”
“I have two of everything.”
She stares at me for one long second before throwing her head back and laughing loudly. The sound takes me off guard. This whole morning has. I’m still lusting after the woman in front of me, more than I was last night, and here she stands, seemingly unaffected, producing this sound that has to be the best thing I’ve heard inside this house. It somehow fills it with light and joy and something I can’t put my finger on but know I want to keep.
“Oh, Wyatt, when I said you don’t collect clutter, I meant the crap that collects dust like those little houses people keep tissues in.” Pippa covers her mouth, smothering a giggle. “What do you do when everything’s dirty?”
“You sound like my brother,” I mutter. “I don’t need a lot of stuff when it’s just me, and in case you haven’t noticed...” I wave an arm around the immaculate kitchen. “I’m not exactly messy.”
She sucks her lips between her teeth, her shoulders shaking, breathing uncontrolled bursts of air as she swallows the laugh that wants to escape. “But what about when you have people over? Family or dates or whatever?”
“You’re the first girl who’s been here for coffee in the morning.”
Slowly, she lowers herself onto the flats of her feet and rolls her eyes. “I find that hard to believe. I bet you say that to all the girls to make them feel special.” I stare at her, wondering how she’s so calm while my head is spinning, but she only looks back expectantly until she lifts a hand and says, “But speaking of coffee…”
“This isn’t weird for you?” I blurt, her head jerking back in confusion.
“What?” Her eyebrows knit together. “That you lied when you said that you haven’t had women back here before now, or that I’m still waiting on my drink?”
“We fucked last night, Pippa, and you’re acting like nothing happened.”
Did those words really come out of my mouth? I’m acting clingy, like I’m desperate to know what’s going on in her head. But I can’t tell what she’s thinking as she stands there, face schooled, hands hanging by her sides.
“Well, I did offer you round two in the shower this morning, but you turned me down,” she states, her voice sounding indifferent, much to my annoyance. A coy smile plays on her lips until she lets out a long huff. “Would I have enjoyed it if we fucked again? Hell yes. But you’ve got integrity, Wyatt. You said one night only, and I respect that. So when I finally get my coffee”—she stares pointedly behind me at my machine—“I’ll drink it, I’ll leave, and we’ll never speak about it again.”
Okay. So she’s acting exactly how we said. One and done. No reading into it, no asking for more—shower offer aside. She wasn’t just saying those things to placate me to get what she wanted. She understood the directive and is sticking to it.
So why does that make me feel so hollow?
“Right,” I say, clearing my throat and heading to the coffee machine, pod still in hand. As I’m about to place the mug under the pourer, my phone rings on the counter right in front of her.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to look, but it’s your dad,” Pippa says, glancing at the screen and reading it out loud.
“It’s fine. I’ll call him back.” I haven’t spoken to him in two weeks, taking the coward's way out and only texting him so he knows I’m okay. I’m not ready to talk about Fiona. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.
“Oh fuck,” Pippa squeals as my phone starts to ring again. My heart lurches as my head snaps up to look at her. If Dad is calling back so quickly, it can’t be good—can it?
Her gray eyes are wide as she holds my cell out in front of her like it’s about to detonate. “Wyatt, it’s my dad.”
My mouth dries, and my stomach bottoms out as I read the caller ID. “He doesn’t know you’re here, right?”
She huffs, incredulous. “Actually, he does. Before I left, I said, don’t wait up, Daddy; I’m just going to your new employee’s house to have sweaty, wild, and passionate sex. I’ll tell him you say hi. ” She thrusts my phone into my hand, a deep scowl set on her forehead. “Of course, he doesn’t fucking know.” She blinks rapidly at it, the trilling sound of the ringtone still blasting as she hisses, “Answer it, Wyatt.”
I stab my finger on the screen, my tongue thick in my mouth as I say, “Mr. Cartwright.” It comes out weird and doesn’t sound like me, so I try clearing my throat. “Good morning, sir.”
“ Speaker,” she mouths just as he begins to talk. I pull the phone away from my ear and tap the screen, his voice echoing in my kitchen.
“…and Nancy and I were talking. Since Alistair is on an extended vacation, we’d like you and Liam to fly us to France to see Pippa compete in the Grand Prix.”
“France? Of course,” I say, my words stilted. “It’s in two weeks, right?”
“That’s right,” he continues. “Pippa’s going to be flying out a few days early with the team, so I thought we’d go along then, too—you, me, Nancy, and Liam. We'll spend a couple of days seeing the sights in Paris before heading to the arena for the final.”
“You want Liam and me to see the sights?” I catch Pippa’s eyes as she plays with the nape of her shirt. “In Paris?”
“ What?” she mouths, and I frown at the phone resting in the palm of my hand, shrugging a shoulder.
“Why wouldn’t you? We can’t expect you to fly all the way to the city of love and not see what they have to offer.” I almost choke, pretty sure Mr. Cartwright doesn’t hear the innuendo. “We’d be gone for roughly five days, so we’d love it if you’d just stay in France with us, all expenses paid.”
“All expenses paid?” I don’t know why I’m repeating what my boss is saying. The words are clear, but they don’t compute. “In Paris?”
He chuckles. “Not exactly. Two days in Paris, three in Orléans. And don’t worry, Nancy and I don’t expect you to be with us the entire time. Think of this as an extended night stop. When you’re not flying, that’s your downtime to do as you please.”
“Sir…” I say, my voice strained. Five whole days in France. With Pippa.
Not with Pippa, you dumbass. She’s competing, focused on her job. Like she said she’d be.
“Wyatt, this is a perk of the job. Just say yes.”
He’s quiet on the other end of the line, waiting for my reply. I inhale, looking at his daughter standing in my kitchen, sipping coffee from my mug.
“Yes.”
Pippa blinks at me, her mouth opening in surprise, but she quickly schools her expression.
“Great, Liam’s onboard with my idea too,” Mr. Cartwright says, and I can hear what sounds like papers shuffling on a desk. “So, I’ll get my assistant to arrange the accommodations for us all. Thanks again, Wyatt.”
“No problem, sir,” I say, a little stunned. “Goodbye.”
Holding my phone in my hand, I stare at it like I’ve never seen one before.
“So,” Pippa drawls, setting her mug on my counter, snapping me out of my daze. “On that note, I should probably be off.”
“Ye—yes,” I say, then clear my throat. Pocketing my cell, I leave a hand alongside it as I follow her into the hallway, watching awkwardly as she puts on her shoes and coat.
Her smile is tight as she looks at me from across the space, our remaining tension a thick block of ice between us. What do we do now? Do I kiss her goodbye? Wave like a total fool?
“I would shake your hand and say thanks for a lovely evening, but I’m pretty sure you wrecked my vagina.”
“Pippa,” I caution. “No one can know about…”
“Why?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.
I glare, my blood pressure spiking until she smirks.
“Relax, Wyatt. No one is going to find out.” Stepping forward, she leans up and brushes her lips against my cheek. The simple touch has me tingling. “Thanks for making me come.”
She opens the door and steps outside, still smirking as she slowly closes it behind her.
“Fucking brat.”