Sarah Mayberry - Suddenly You

“Did I call you a saint? I said you were a good man.” She stepped to one side. “Come in so I can make you even more uncomfortable with my gratitude.”

He glanced over his shoulder as though looking for an escape route.

“Come on. A little slavish gratitude won’t hurt you,” she teased.

His gray eyes creased at the corners as his mouth curled into a reluctant smile. He stepped over the threshold, brushing past her, and she caught the scent of clean sweat and spicy deodorant. Her gaze scanned his broad back before dropping to his butt.

She stopped the moment she realized what she was doing. Harry was Steve’s best friend. In every way that counted, he was completely and utterly off-limits. She didn’t need or want to register him as a man. She definitely didn’t want to notice he had a nice ass.

Even if he did.

Pippa shut the door, being careful to shoulder it so the lock slipped into place. She was aware of Harry watching her and she shrugged philosophically.

“This place is a bit of a work in progress,” she said and headed down the hall.

She heard Harry follow, his tread steady and sure. When they entered the kitchen she threw him a quick smile.

“One sec while I check on Alice.”

She ducked her head into the sunroom. Her daughter was chewing on the sleeve of her Onesie, a sure sign she was hungry. Pippa scooped her into her arms.

“We’ve got a visitor. You want to come and say hello?”

Harry stood in front of the photographic montage she’d made of the first few months of Alice’s life, his expression unreadable.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “Now, can I offer you a coffee or a tea? I think I may even have a stray beer in the fridge. And have you had dinner?”

“Coffee’s great, thanks.” He turned from the photographs, and his expression softened when he saw who she was holding. “Hello, little lady.”

Alice blew a bubble and gurgled in the back of her throat.

“That’s hello in baby-speak, in case you were wondering.”

Pippa settled Alice on her hip and crossed to the kettle to set it boiling. Acting on a hunch, she pulled out the leftover roast potatoes and chicken schnitzel from dinner and ferried them toward the microwave.

“If that’s for me, please don’t bother,” he said.

She slid the plate into the microwave before facing him.

“Tell me what you had for dinner and I’ll put it in the fridge.” She was aware of Alice latching on to one of the buttons on her bodice and she ran a finger distractedly over her daughter’s head.

He eyed her for a beat before responding. “Okay. I haven’t eaten yet, but I’ve got food at home.”

“If I can accept you repairing my car for me, you can accept a meal.” She hit the button to start the microwave and waved him toward one of the two stools tucked beneath the kitchen counter. “Especially when the reason you went hungry is because you were doing me a favor. Grab a seat.”

“I don’t remember you being this bossy.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

“Maybe.”

He sat as she collected coffee-making paraphernalia from the cupboard.

She laid out a knife and fork for him, grabbed a glass of juice, too, then folded a paper napkin and placed it beside the cutlery.

“Don’t go to any trouble.” He seemed awkward as hell sitting there, waiting for her to feed him.

“Relax. It’s a paper napkin.” She went very still when his gaze dropped to her breasts.

In all the time she’d dated Steve, she’d never—not once—gotten the vibe that Harry was interested in her as a woman. His attitude toward her had always been strictly friendly—no eye drops, no ass checks, no speculative looks. If she’d been asked by someone to describe the way he treated her, she’d have said his attitude was fraternal. Big brotherly.

Yet right now, right this second, he was staring at her chest with a single-minded intensity that made her belly tighten with nervous self-consciousness.

The moment seemed to stretch. Then Harry lifted his gaze to hers and realized he’d been busted. Dull color stained his cheeks.

“Sorry. It’s just … your dress …” He gestured toward her chest, his gaze trained resolutely over her shoulder now.

She glanced down and discovered that the top two buttons of her bodice were undone, offering him an untrammeled view of her deep red bra and a whole lot of cleavage.

SHE GATHERED THE sides of her dress together in her free hand, heat burning its way into her face. “Sorry. Alice must have—She’s never done that before….”

It was true. Alice was always fiddling—with Pippa’s necklace, her earring, the collar of her shirt or the buttons on her coat—but she’d never unbuttoned anything before.

Pippa tucked her chin and tried to rebutton her bodice one-handed, very aware of the warmth in her cheeks. Unlike many of the women in her mothers’ group, she had been unsuccessful at breast-feeding. A series of infections and an inadequate milk supply led her pediatrician to recommend bottle-feeding Alice when her daughter was barely a month old. Consequently, Pippa wasn’t nearly as casual about flinging her breasts around as some of her friends. To her, they were about sex and intimacy, not sustenance.

And Harry had copped a very decent eyeful.

“Here, I’ll take her.” Harry held out his hands, ready to accept the baby so she could secure her dress.

“You’re sure?” she asked, surprised. He didn’t exactly seem the baby type.

“She hasn’t just eaten, right?”

“She won’t throw up on you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Then we’re cool.”

She had to release her dress to pass Alice to him, and Harry kept his eyes averted during the exchange. She quickly refastened her dress, fingers racing to push the buttons home.

“Sorry about that,” she said once she was decent. “Bit more than you bargained for.”

She couldn’t quite make herself meet his eye.

“Should I slip the kid a tip or would that be overkill?”

He surprised a laugh out of her. “I don’t think she needs the encouragement.”

“Guess it depends on where you’re sitting.”

She risked a glance at his face. He was smiling, a devilish glint in his eyes. She grinned.

“You’re hopeless.”

“Because I’ve got eyes in my head?”

“Something like that.” She glanced at Alice, who was happily balanced on his knee, her back supported by one of Harry’s big hands.

“Are you okay with holding her for a few more minutes or are you going to break out in hives from all the responsibility?”

“I can handle it.”

“Brave man.”

“Weren’t you making me dinner?”

She rolled her eyes comically before checking on the microwave. The timer was almost done and she opened the door to test the temperature of the potatoes. She was aware of Harry watching her as she worked and an odd little frisson ran up her spine. A couple of minutes later, she slid the plate in front of him, complete with gravy and a slice of fresh bread.

“Looks good,” he said.

“Well, it’s food, anyway,” she said modestly.

She enjoyed cooking, but she wasn’t about to volunteer for Masterchef or anything. Definitely her efforts veered more toward the everyday and practical than haute cuisine.

She reached for Alice, sliding her daughter off his thigh so he could eat his meal unhindered. At the last minute, Alice caught a fistful of Harry’s T-shirt in her small hand, clinging to it as though her life depended on it.

“Alice. Sorry, Harry. She’s not used to men, so you’re a bit of a novelty item.”