Boy Next Door (Parkside Avenue Book #2) (5 page)

“Thank you. You can leave now.”

“Not until you tell me what’s
upsetting you.”

She grabbed a tissue and dabbed
her face, then picked up a hairbrush to run it through her blonde waves.
“You’re persistent, aren’t you?”

“Yep.” When I made my mind up
about something, it pretty much stuck in my brain and refused to leave. My stubbornness
wasn’t as bad as Kendrick’s, but sometimes it was a necessity, and, this time, I
hoped mine would get me into a whole other kind of trouble than his usually did.

“Why are you so interested?”

“I thought we were friends.
Friends confide in each other.”

The hairbrush landed on the glass
top of the dressing table with a clatter, as she turned to face me. “Okay,
friend. What if I said I was due at the solicitor’s in an hour to sign the
final divorce papers?” Her bottom lip quivered. It was full and inviting, and I
wondered what it would be like to suck on it.

“I’d ask if you needed some
company.” She glared at me, as if not quite understanding. “Do you? Because I’d
be happy to go with you.” I stepped closer.

“I can’t think of anything more
inappropriate,” she said. Her lip quivered again, and I wanted to sweep her
into my arms and tell her everything was going to work out. Tell her, her
two-timing bastard of a husband had never deserved her. But I resisted and
settled for running the back of my fingers lightly down her arm. Her skin was
as delicate as a butterfly’s wing. Just brushing it made my blood pump. Fuck. I
wanted more. But I wanted her to want it too, and to get that, I needed to get
a mental grip on my dick. “It’s personal,” she said.

“Well. You know where to find me,
if you feel like talking when you get back.” I smiled, backing out of the door
to give her the alone time she’d asked for.

A little more than an hour later,
the side bed was neatly cleared, and I was satisfied I’d done a decent
morning’s work. Cora had left the door unlocked, to enable me to help myself to
a drink, and I didn’t want to leave the house unattended in her absence, so I
wandered inside to take a look around. Everywhere was decorated in muted shades
of cream and beige, with small splashes of colour added by way of soft
furnishings. Expensive looking ornaments were specifically placed for dramatic
effect, and modern art adorned the walls. It was a classy joint and must have
cost a packet to fit out. I glanced down at my dirt covered jeans and the soil
under my fingernails. Butt stains and fingerprints would not be well received. I
needed a shower, badly. Stealing a glance at my watch, I wondered if I had time
to grab a quick one before Cora got back, and decided to risk it.

Fifteen minutes later, I was
standing in her kitchen, wearing only my boxers and drinking a glass of milk,
when she returned.

I heard her before I saw her. Her
small gasp of surprise caused me to turn in time to see her eyes graze over my
body, and a small ripple of satisfaction pulsed in my chest. Yeah, that’s
right, baby. Just say the word and it’s all yours.

“Um, what are you doing?” she
asked, pointedly averting her gaze.

I held the glass aloft. “Drinking
milk. You said I could help myself. Want some?”

“Maybe what I should have said
was what are you doing in my house, naked?”

“I’m not naked. I’m wearing
boxers.” I pinged at the waistband to stress the fact. “And I know you noticed
that.”

“It’s hard not to.”

“I don’t mind you checking me
out.”

Her heels clicked along the tiled
floor as she slipped a leather strap from her shoulder and laid her handbag on
the table. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“What was it again?”

“Where are your clothes?”

“On the back doorstep.”

She stared down at her handbag
and fiddled with the clasp. “I’d rather they were on your body.”

I moved closer hoping she’d look
at me again. A moment ago, I thought I’d seen a spark of interest, and I needed
to kindle it. “Are you sure? They were covered with soil. I was considering
your décor.”

“How kind. Clearly my décor comes
before dignity.”

Her bag was getting more
attention than I was, and I could tell she wasn’t buying my excuse. Perhaps the
shower hadn’t been such a good idea after all. Her refusal to meet my eye spoke
volumes, and I didn’t want to push my luck. I had to play it cool. Change of
tact, Johnny. “How did it go with the paperwork?”

Her tone softened. “I signed.”

“Was your husband there?”

“No.”

“Did you want him to be?”

Creases formed over the bridge of
her nose. “No.”

It wasn’t diplomatic, but I had
to know. “No love lost between you two then?”

“I hate him with the fire of a
thousand volcanoes,” she said, surprisingly calmly.

At any other time, I would have
laughed, and I did almost choke on my last mouthful of milk, before swallowing
it just in time. She had spunk, and I liked it, but this was a time that called
for sensitivity. “So you don’t still love him?”

“I stopped loving him a long time
ago, the first time he cheated on me with my friend.”

“Your friend? Not the one who was
here earlier?”

“Of course not. An ex-friend.”

“Understandable. So, why were you
crying?”

She turned to lean on the edge of
the table, steadied herself, and exhaled. “I … Well if you must know, I’m
scared.”

“Of what?”

“The future. One minute I had a
husband and a family, and the next minute I didn’t. My girls are almost grown
up. They’ll both be gone shortly too, and then I’ll be alone. I’ve always been
a wife and a mother. I don’t know what else to do with my life.”

I set my glass on the drainer and
stood before her. She looked up at me with those big, grey eyes, like a
frightened kitten. I took her hand and stroked my thumb across her knuckles. “You
can do anything you want. You’re talking as if your life is over. You’re thirty-nine
not eighty-nine. Look on this as a new beginning. You’re a free woman now, and
the first thing you have to do is decide how to celebrate.”

She studied my hand but didn’t
pull hers away. “I’m not in a celebrating mood.”

Every fibre of my being wanted to
protect her, comfort her, and make her smile again. Just holding her hand was
like walking into a Ferrari showroom and running your finger along the
paintwork, just to see what it felt like to touch perfection, and damn, I
wanted to take her for a test drive. “I tell you what, how about I make lunch
for you?” I said, reluctantly letting her go and turning away.

“You can cook?” Her doubt was
evident.

“Sure. I do a mean ham sandwich,
or cheese on toast.” I opened the refrigerator and glanced inside. As I’d
expected, it was full of healthy crap. “Or salad seems to be popular here. How
about some of that?”

“I usually have cream cheese and
tomatoes on rye crackers, for lunch.”

Ugh! I hated crackers; they
tasted like cardboard. But if she liked them, I would force myself to like them
too. “Perfect.” I grabbed two tomatoes from the salad box, along with the tub
of cheese and began opening cupboards searching for the crackers. Cora beat me
to it, and we both turned to face each other at the same time. Her hands
prevented full on body contact, connecting with my chest, and I automatically reached
up to grasp her waist. Our eyes locked for a second, before hers fell to my
lips and mine mirrored them. It was the sign I’d been waiting for. The look
that told me she was interested even if she’d yet to admit it.

Chapter Seven

She coughed. “Sorry. I … um …”

“Don’t be.” I smiled, loving the
feel of her fingers on my skin so much I couldn’t bear to let her go.

She pushed me away and removed
the crackers from their packet, laying them on a board. I didn’t miss the rise
and fall of her chest under her heavy breathing, as she retrieved a knife from
the drawer. “You … You’re flirting with me again,” she stammered.

“I get the vibe you secretly like
it.”

She swung to face me, knife
aloft. The tip would have grazed my chin if my reflexes hadn’t kicked in. “Johnny.
I’ve just ended a relationship of twenty years. My husband was the only man in
my life, and I’m not ready to be hurt by another one.” Her anger surfaced, but
as I tried to decide whether the cause of it was me or her ex-husband, it was
the crackers that suffered, with more of them crushed under the force of the
knife than ones that stayed whole. “And when I say man, I don’t mean boy,” she
added.

“Is that what you see when you
look at me? A Boy?”

Her eyes flickered over my chest
and back to the food. “No.”

“I’d never hurt you,” I said,
swallowing a mouthful of cheesy cardboard.

Cora nibbled on a tomato. “What
is it you want from me, Johnny?”

A good question. I glanced down
at her curves hiding under tightly stretched material and started making a
mental list. I had no idea why my need for her was so strong. Insta-lust was not
a new concept to me, but this time it was fuelled by Cora’s vulnerable yet self-assured
spirit that could only be gained through experiencing life. Sure, I wanted to
fuck her brains out, but I knew that wouldn’t be enough for me. She was more
than just a roll in the sack. I needed her in my life. When I looked back to
her eyes, there was hint of sadness behind them which made it hard for me to
breathe, let alone tell her how I felt. Underneath her crispy exterior, she was
hurting. I wanted to heal her, prove that not all men are bastards, but how
could I put those feelings into words without coming across as a complete prat?

She swallowed. “Just tidy up my
garden, as we agreed, and try not to complicate things.”

“It’s only complicated if you
make it so. I’m single. You’re single. You really should start dating again,
and I’m happy to let you practise on me.” I licked spread from my finger as I
waited for her to say something. She didn’t. She leaned back against the
counter and stared into space as she ate. “Look, I’m guessing you haven’t had
much fun in your life, have you? So, I have an idea. Get the rest of those
crackers down you and change out of that dress into something more casual. I’m
taking you out.”

Her head shook. “No. You’re not.”

“Yes. I am. I’ll be back in ten.”

As promised, I returned ten
minutes later, freshly clothed in a navy T-shirt and cargo shorts. Cora was
cleaning the counter top, dressed exactly as she was when I’d left.

“I thought I asked you to
change.”

“Demanded, you mean. And I told
you I’m not going anywhere. I have things to do, this afternoon.”

Damn, she frustrated the hell out
of me. Any other woman and I’d have called off the chase by now, and yet all I
could think about was devouring her, every infuriating inch of her. “Such as?”

“Clean this mess up. Prepare tea
for Vanessa—”

“Boring.” I spun out the word.

“And I have brownies to make for
my wine club tonight.”

Bingo. Our first day out could wait.
“I love brownies. Teach me how to make them.” It wasn’t a lie. My sweet tooth
threw a bunch of cash the bakery’s way with alarming regularity, but I’d never
actually attempted anything homemade.

“I’m sure you have better things
to do.”

“Well I was going to take a
beautiful woman out on a date but she cancelled at the last minute.”

She pursed her lips with
vexation. “I meant something that doesn’t include me.”

“Nope. I want to make brownies,”
I said resolutely.

“I’m not getting rid of you, am
I?”

“I’m going to be that annoying
piece of gum that gets stuck to your shoe and you can’t shift however hard you
try.”

Her face creased into a smile,
her breath blowing soft puffs down her nose. I loved that I’d made her chuckle.
“Fine,” she said.

When the ingredients were laid
regimentally on the worktop, Cora set to work measuring them out.

“Right. What do we do first?” I
asked.

“It’s quite simple,” she said. “Break
the chocolate into that bowl, and I’ll whip the eggs.”

“Do I get to nibble a bit?” I
asked, holding the bar to my open mouth.

She smacked my hand away,
playfully. “If you’re going to mess about, this is going to take all afternoon.”

I lowered my eyes, sheepishly.
“Sorry. Blame my grandmother.”

“What for?”

“My love of chocolate. She often
slipped a bar in my trouser pocket when Mum wasn’t looking.”

Cora’s eyes flicked to my face.
“Do you miss your mother?” she asked, silently instructing me to add butter to
the bowl.

“Every day. But no, I’m not
looking to replace her, if that was your Freudian thought.”

“I didn’t mean to imply …”

“It’s okay. Yes, I miss my mum. I
miss both my parents. Pappa is great, but he shouldn’t be burdened with dependants
at his age. That’s why I’m aiming to set myself up as soon as possible.”

The ingredients came together, and
when Cora turned away, I purposely covered my hands with flour. Then when she
wasn’t expecting it, I grabbed her by the hips, moving her to the side so that
I could stir the mixture. Her waist was slim and delicate, her hips full and
firm. A small thrill warmed through me as I stole sideways glances at my
handprints on her ass, as I worked. Soon I would turn them into a lasting
impression.

“It’s good to have ambition,” she
said. “By the time I was your age, I was married with two children.”

“But you were happy.”

“Yes. I was.” She peered into the
bowl. “Okay. It’s ready for the tin now,” she said. “I’ll do it. You’ll probably
spill it all over the counter.”

My interference had turned a
routine job into a children’s baking session. Cora’s pristine kitchen had more
than a few new pieces of artwork splattered around it, and I guessed it had
taken far longer than normal to do the job, but I was pleased she didn’t seem
to mind. I certainly didn’t. The more time I spent in her company, the more it
was all I wanted to do. “Fair enough, but I get to lick the spoon.”