Sarah Mayberry - Suddenly You

“I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah. Look after yourself, okay?” she said, a little alarmed to feel her throat closing over with unexpected emotion.

Although maybe it wasn’t that unexpected—he’d saved her ass tonight, after all.

“Sure thing.”

He raised his hand in farewell and headed for his car. She watched him, only belatedly realizing it must have been quite an operation to get both her car and his here. She wondered how many favors he’d called in and knew she’d never know. Just as she’d never know how much she really owed him for parts and labor.

Grateful tears stung the back of her eyes as she waved him off. Pippa wasn’t one of those people who had random good things fall in her lap every day, and she’d never considered herself particularly lucky, but there was no doubt the universe had been smiling on her when Harry drove past on the highway last week.

Suddenly she wished she’d said more to him, even if it would almost certainly have made him deeply uncomfortable. They’d been so busy giving each other a hard time, playing up their old dynamic, that she didn’t feel as though she’d properly expressed her feelings.

Right now, Harry was her hero. Pure and simple.

She felt a tug, and when she looked down she discovered Alice was once again undressing her. Clearly, she needed to either invest in some safety pins or a pair of mittens for her daughter. Or, alternatively, some truly excellent underwear if she was destined to be flashing all and sundry on a regular basis.

For a split second—the most fleeting of moments—she allowed herself to wonder what Harry had thought of the “show” she’d put on tonight. Then she as quickly pushed the thought from her mind.

After all, it was absurd to even think—

Shaking her head, Pippa went to put her daughter to bed.

HARRY DIDN’T CONSIDER himself a saint. Not by a long shot. He had his faults and flaws, and some of them were worse than others, but one thing he’d never done was look twice at a mate’s girlfriend or wife.

It simply wasn’t in his makeup. As far as he was concerned, there were more than enough single, ready and willing women in the world without him even considering a woman who was taken.

So why in the name of all that was good couldn’t he get the memory of Pippa’s creamy, curvy breasts out of his head?

It wasn’t just that she’d been wearing a cherry-red bra—not what he would have guessed was under her old-fashioned dress, that was for sure—although the way the bright lace had cupped her pale skin had been pretty damn memorable.

It was everything. The sway of her body as she’d moved around the kitchen, the way she’d tilted her head when she sent smart-mouthed zingers his way, the way she’d turned pink when she’d realized what her enterprising daughter had done.

Pippa White, it turned out, was sexy. In a quiet, subversive, get-under-a-man’s-skin kind of way. She might not put it all out there like the brunette who’d punched her number into his phone last week, but there was something about Pippa that made a man think about things he shouldn’t be thinking about when she was his best friend’s ex-girlfriend—or, better yet, the mother of his best friend’s child.

The worst thing was, Harry suspected he’d always been aware of her in that way on some level. When she’d been going out with Steve, Harry had always been able to pick her voice out in a crowd. Same with her laugh. And he’d whiled away more than one night lounging around a pool table with her, shooting the shit, laughing at her jokes and enjoying her sharp take on the world. Enjoying her.

Not gonna happen. Ever. So get that dirty little thought out of your head right now .

Harry pulled into his driveway and braked with more force than necessary, slamming the car door hard as he exited and headed for the house.

It was just as well he wouldn’t be running into Pippa again in the near future, because he wasn’t interested in being either the nobly-tortured, self-restrained chump or the dick-driven moron who threw away years of friendship for a roll in the hay. He liked things nice and easy. No complications. Lots of fun. Pippa didn’t fall under any of those headings.

He strode into the living room, automatically reaching for the remote to flick on the TV. He wasn’t really hungry, but he went into the kitchen and made himself a big bowl of ice cream. He sat on the couch and dug in, kidding himself that he was watching the cricket report when really he was thinking about the way Pippa had hugged and kissed him on her doorstep.

She’d called him kind, which was a pretty big joke given all he’d been able to think about was her breast pressed against his biceps. And when he’d returned her embrace—an impulse he hadn’t been able to control—he’d sucked in a lungful of her perfume and the warm, milky smell of her daughter.

Who—yeah—had totally been in Pippa’s arms while he was thinking about how soft her breast felt against his arm.

He was so kind. Practically a saint.

Disgusted with himself, he pushed his half-full bowl onto the coffee table and dropped his head against the cushion, trying to find some clarity. Or at the very least a little peace of mind.

He’d left as soon as he’d registered his own interest—he figured that counted in his favor. And he’d held her for only a second. And even though he wouldn’t swear on it, he was pretty sure he’d helped out with the car with absolutely no expectations. Just as, even now, a part of him itched to grab his toolbox and go over to her place to fix that ridiculous abandoned door leaning against the wall, as well as that stupid, half-assed lock she had to wrestle with.

So what? She’s Steve’s ex. Doesn’t matter what good deeds you want to perform, Boy Scout. She’s out-of-bounds .

She was. Even if she and Steve had ended things amicably, the same would be true.

Which meant it really was time to stop thinking about her.

Harry reached for the remote, cranked up the volume and pretended that that was what he was doing.

PIPPA PRACTICALLY LEAPED down the steps the next morning, eager to get into the day. She had a car again! She felt as though she was rejoining the modern world after a week in the Stone Age.

Alice talked to herself in the backseat as Pippa drove to the village, her head full of plans. Once she had restocked the pantry, she might make a run to the library to check if the textbooks she’d ordered for her classes had arrived. Then she should probably get a head start on the five-thousand-word assignment that was due before the end of the month.

But first there was something she wanted to do. She parked in front of the liquor store and strapped Alice into her stroller, then went inside and bought some beer. The salesman helped her stow it on the rack at the back of the stroller before she exited and crossed the road. A bell rang as she entered the cement-floored reception area of Village Motors and a young girl looked up from behind the counter.

“Hi. How can I help you?”

Pippa offered up her best smile. “Would it be possible to speak to Mr. Porter?”

The girl’s gaze flicked between Pippa, Alice and the beer. Lord only knew what she was thinking.

“I’ll see if he’s busy,” she said primly.

Pippa pushed the stroller back and forth while she waited, hoping to keep Alice distracted. When Alice started vocalizing, she squatted to play peek-a-boo, making her daughter smile.

“I’m Mike Porter. How can I help you?” a deep voice asked.

She glanced up to find a powerfully built older man with a graying horseshoe mustache and Harry’s eyes and nose towering over her. Like Harry, he was tall and broad. She would have recognized him as Harry’s father anywhere.