Just This Night (11 page)

BETH

A
re you sure you don't need any help?” I called over to Mac as he bustled around the kitchen, busily preparing our gourmet dinner of mac and cheese from the bright blue box. And not just any mac and cheese, I noted with a smile, but a
How to Tame Your Dragon
–themed variety. How adorable was that? Beneath the trappings of a rather grown-up looking house, Mac was evidently still a kid at heart. Or at least the consummate bachelor. Kraft Mac and Cheese, red Solo frat cups. Ten bucks said his pantry was stocked with Top Ramen as well.

Not that I was one to talk. Hell, I'd probably be dining on quite a few Ramen noodles myself in the foreseeable future. If I could afford them.

I let out a frustrated breath, reality rushing back with a vengeance. It was funny; for a few blissful moments, I'd actually allowed myself to forget what I was really doing here. To imagine that I was out on a date or visiting a good friend. But no: Mac had only invited me here because he felt sorry for me. Because I literally had no other place to go.

Pathetic, Beth. Truly pathetic.

Pathetic and . . . well, a little scary, too. What was I going to do? Where was I going to go? I mean, sure, I was safe here for the night and totally grateful for his generosity. But what about tomorrow? I'd have to go out and buy all new furniture. All new clothes. And not just any old clothes, either, but expensive clothes, suitable to wear on air. I also needed new tires for my car. A new apartment. First, last month's rent. Maybe a security deposit, too. My head started pounding as the bills racked up in my brain at a startling speed, compounded by the memory of my savings account, hovering near zero balance.

And the worst part? I couldn't even ask my parents for help this time. Not after I'd pretty much disowned them for supporting my sister in her campaign to marry my boyfriend. They'd made it clear from the start that they hadn't wanted me to move out to San Diego. And when the news had surfaced about Ryan and my sister—well, my mom had all but declared, “I told you so.” As if it were my fault. As if by prioritizing my career, I didn't deserve a man.

If I crawled back now, they would probably help. But I would rather die of starvation and poverty than face their gloating. Their smug faces as they affirmed their belief that they had been right all along.

Grabbing my cup, I downed the rest of the wine in one large gulp.

“Need a refill?”

I almost jumped out of my skin as Mac sat down beside me on the couch, holding out the bottle. I'd been so lost in my misery, I'd almost forgotten he was still in the room—that I was still a guest at his house. My body, however, quickly reminded me, practically vibrating from his sudden close proximity and I wondered, wildly, if there was any good way to scoot over and put distance between us, without it being obvious that I was doing it.

Instead, I tried to be a grown-up, holding out my cup, willing my hands not to shake as he filled it. Then, I concentrated on taking another sip—a small one this time—before setting it down on the coffee table in front of me and
staring at it, as if it were a crystal ball that held all of life's answers. In turn, I could feel Mac staring at me and my skin flushed in response, my stomach flip-flopping madly.

Suddenly, I was no longer hungry. Not for mac and cheese anyway.

Come on, Beth, get a grip!

I closed my eyes trying to reset my libido, not to mention my sanity. I mean, seriously, all the guy had done was sit down and offer me a drink. He hadn't even touched me. And here I was, practically orgasming on his sofa.

I so should have slept on the beach.

I started to rise from my seat, needing to get away, to put some sort of temporary distance between us until I could get my emotions in check.

“I need to use the—ow!”

I cried out as I managed to scrape my already raw skin against the rough material of the couch. Glancing over my shoulder, I winced at what I saw. My sunburn had looked bad earlier. It looked even worse now.

“Are you okay?” Mac cocked his head in concern.

“Yeah.” I reached up and ran my hand along my shoulder. It was hot to the touch. “It's just . . . this stupid burn. I fell asleep on the beach earlier, like an idiot. And now it's killing me.”

“Hang on.” He rose to his feet and headed over to his refrigerator, opening the door and sticking his head inside. I watched as a moment later he resurfaced, holding up a bottle of aloe vera. “My sister swears by this stuff,” he said.

“Thank you,” I replied, relieved. I took it from him and squeezed a generous dollop into my hands. Then I pulled aside the strap of my camisole and pushed my shoulder forward, while struggling to reach the sore spot with my other hand.

“Here, allow me.”

Mac took the bottle from me, then gestured for me to turn around. I swallowed hard, realizing what he was offering to do. Oh God.

I opened my mouth to argue, then somehow managed to
close it again. After all, how could I properly explain how much I didn't want him to do this—and yet, how much I
did
want him to do it—all at the same time? Finally, I gave up, reluctantly repositioning myself to give him full access to my back. As his hands slid under my camisole, I sucked in a shaky breath, trying to mentally prepare myself. But no preparation in the world could prevent the gasp that escaped me as his fingers—wet and slippery from the aloe—connected with my bare skin.

“Sorry,” he said with a laugh. “It's cold, I know.”

It
was
cold. But it was also scorching at the same time and the juxtaposition of ice and fire was making my head spin. As was the sensation of his rough yet tender fingers, gently massaging the aloe into my thirsty skin with firm, deft strokes. It didn't take long for another quiver to surge through me, my nipples tightening and straining against the thin fabric of my bra.

He's just soothing your sunburn, Beth. Not trying to turn you on.

But I couldn't help it. My body tingled with every stroke, my breath catching in my throat, a hot ache pooling between my legs. It was too much, too fast. And too soon it was all I could do to remain still. To stop myself from whipping around and tackling him on the couch. To straddle his thighs and grind myself against him in an attempt to relieve the exquisite torture his touch had stirred deep inside. To take this where we'd gone before. And maybe even further.

Instead, I remained perfectly still, sucking in a breath as his hands shifted direction, moving forward, skimming my hipbones, then brushing across my stomach, my sunburn evidently forgotten. My earlier beach dream came raging back to me with a vengeance and suddenly all I could think of—all I could pray for—was for those hands to keep traveling upward. Easing my bra aside, cupping my aching breasts, tracing the rock hard peaks.

I found myself edging backward, involuntarily curling my body into him, pressing myself against him, rejoicing as I was rewarded by the feeling of his erection against my back. Thank God—I wasn't alone.

I started to turn, wanting desperately to see his face. Wanting to read the same things on it that I knew were written on my own. Attraction, desire, a willingness to see where this could go—tomorrow and its consequences be damned.

Just one night. Just one more night.

But before I could meet his eyes, a sudden blaring noise interrupted the scene. Startled, I leapt back, wondering wildly what it could be. It took me a moment to recognize it as a smoke alarm. Was our passion really that hot? That it set off actual bells?

It was then that I remembered the mac and cheese on the stove.

“Goddamn it,” Mac growled, scrambling to his feet and running to the kitchen. Sure enough, the forgotten pot and its pasta were smoking madly. He yanked it off the stove, throwing it in the sink and turning on the tap. Then he switched off the burner and pulled open a nearby window. A few moments later the smoke alarm fell silent.

I giggled. I couldn't help it. Could this day get any stranger? “Guess those cheesy dragons are just too hot to handle, huh?” I joked.

But, I realized, Mac wasn't laughing. Instead, he raked a hand through his hair, looking flustered and upset. I tried to meet his eyes with my own, to better glean what was going through his head. But he turned away, choosing instead to stare down into the sink. My smile faded and my heart flip-flopped nervously. This couldn't be good.

“Sorry,” he muttered, turning back to me, an uncomfortable look on his face. “I should have set a timer.” He paused, then added, “Do you want me to order pizza or something?”

I stared at him. Everything inside me wanted to get off the couch. To storm over to him and take him into my arms. To insist the only thing I was hungry for right now was him.

But the look on his face forced me to stay in my seat. “It's okay,” I said sadly. “I'm not really that hungry anyway.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. “Are you sure?” he asked.

I frowned. I wasn't. At that moment, I wasn't sure of
anything. Except, maybe, for the fact that if I tried to make another move, I'd be turned down flat. The moment was over. The opportunity lost.

But maybe that was for the best.

“I should probably go to bed,” I said, rising from the couch, feeling stupid and more hot and flustered than I'd been before the aloe. I glanced over at the front door, wishing there was somewhere else I could go—anywhere else in the world would be less awkward right now. But I knew in my heart that would only make things worse in the end. I could run away screaming tonight, but tomorrow we'd still have to work together.

And no anti-awkward spell in the world would be powerful enough to make that okay.

MAC

B
UZZZ!!

I groaned as the morning alarm blared in my ear, dragging me back to consciousness with the delicacy of a sledgehammer. Rolling over in bed, I reached out, slamming my fist against the snooze button, then pulling the comforter back over my head. I couldn't believe it was morning already. I felt like I'd just closed my eyes a second earlier. Which probably wasn't far from the truth.

I'd tossed and turned for hours the night before, unable to chase sleep. Unable to stop my heart from pounding in my chest or my balls from aching in my groin. I'd considered relieving myself of the pressure about a hundred times, but always ended up staying my hand. It just felt . . . weird. Disrespectful, maybe, knowing the subject of my hard-on was sleeping innocently in the next room.

Which led me to the other thing that had kept me awake. The idea that I was so close. That it would be so easy to simply crawl out of bed, cross the hall, and slip into her room. What would she do if I just slid in behind her in bed? If my hand wrapped around her, slipping between her thighs. Finding
and parting her panties—which were lacy, bare scraps of silk in this fantasy scenario, by the way—my fingers slipping between her soft folds. Would she moan in pleasure, half-asleep, but fully turned on? Would she rock against my hand and murmur my name as she rode the wave to orgasm? Would she, once sated, want to roll over and return the favor?

I groaned.
God, Mac, what is wrong with you?

My mind flashed back to the evening before. How things could have ended up, had the macaroni not burned. Talk about being saved by the bell! Here I'd promised the poor girl a safe, platonic place to stay, no strings attached. Then, before I know it, my hands are up her shirt, my cock pressed against her back, my mouth mere inches from devouring her whole. If I had a gentleman card, I would certainly have been forced to turn it in. No passing Go; no collecting any two hundred dollars.

And that wasn't the worst part either. The worst part had been the look I'd caught in her eyes as I'd turned back from dumping the pasta in the sink. The hurt and confusion radiating from her dark pupils when I refused to rejoin her on the couch.

She didn't understand and I couldn't explain.

I tried to tell myself that turnaround was fair play. That she was the one who had used me to begin with—and that payback was a bitch. But, try as I might, instead of justified, I felt nothing but a mixture of guilt and remorse.

But it couldn't be helped. I'd made a promise and I was determined to keep it. And while there was no way to take back that first night, I sure as hell wasn't going to double down on a second. I had vowed to stay away from romantic entanglements. To always put my daughter first. And from now on I planned to do whatever it took to keep that promise.

Once Beth walked out my front door this morning, she wouldn't be back. We could be coworkers; we could someday maybe be friends. But that was as far as it could go. I refused to put myself in such a compromising position again.

But, oh, what a position. I closed my eyes, thinking back to the feel of her skin. Hot and slick under my aloe-drenched
hands. And her scent! How was it possible for her to smell so sweet after spending all afternoon by a smoky fire? At the time it was all I could do not to rip off her shirt and lick every inch of her and then go back for seconds.

I groaned, rolling over in bed. My morning wood pressed against my boxers, begging for release. This was getting ridiculous. I closed my eyes. If could just manage to tune out for even a few more minutes of sleep . . .

Unfortunately a few more minutes turned into a few more and the third time I must have accidentally shut off the alarm instead of hitting snooze. When I finally did manage to claw my way to consciousness the clock on my bedside table read quarter to eight.

Shit. I jerked up in bed, all sleepiness forgotten. Sadie was supposed to bring Ashley home in fifteen minutes so I could get her ready for school. And Beth was presumably still in the guest room.

Muttering a curse, I bolted out of bed, then proceeded to unceremoniously slip on the pair of jeans I'd left on the floor the night before, nearly causing me to fall flat on my face. Cursing again, I managed to grab the pants and slide them over my hips, then make my way out the bedroom door, still shirtless. I had to get Beth up and out of here before Ashley showed up.

I stopped short, just before the kitchen, sniffing in confusion. Was that bacon I smelled? Did I even have bacon in my fridge? Scrunching my eyebrows, I turned the corner, my eyes widening as I entered the kitchen. Not only was Beth awake, but evidently she'd been up for some time, judging from the amount of food piled on the kitchen counter. Mountains of scrambled eggs, stacks of fluffy pancakes, slices of thick toast, dripping with butter. And, of course, the bacon. Cooked extra crispy, from what I could tell, just the way I liked it.

For a second, I considered the idea that I was still dreaming. After all, I couldn't remember the last time I'd woken to such a feast. As the mac and cheese last night could attest, I wasn't exactly a master chef and Victoria couldn't boil water.

“I was about to wake you,” Beth said, pushing a plate of food into my hands. Her sunburn looked better this morning and she was fresh-faced and makeup free. Her hair was piled in a messy bun on the top of her head, a few strands left free to frame her face. My stomach wrenched—and not only with hunger. “I didn't want it to get cold.”

“Where did it come from?” I stammered, still feeling a little dumbstruck.

She grinned, looking proud of herself. “Not from your cabinets,” she teased. “But I'd noticed the convenience store down the road as we drove in last night. I figured I'd just walk down this morning and grab a few things.”

A few things. She must have cleaned out half the store. “That's . . . awesome,” I managed to say. “So sweet of you.”

But it was more than sweet. It was goddamned heroic and way more than I deserved.

My eyes traveled back to the clock, guilt knotting in my stomach. I was running out of time. And yet—how could I just kick her out? After she'd clearly gone through so much effort . . .

“Aren't you going to eat?” she asked, her smile slipping a little. “I cooked a little bit of everything. I wasn't sure what you liked . . .”

“Thank you,” I said, my heart pounding in my chest. “You really didn't have to . . .”

“I wanted to,” she declared firmly. “In case you didn't notice, you kind of saved my life last night. I wanted you to know that I was appreciative.”

“It was nothing,” I declared. “But thank you all the same.” I forced myself to take a large bite of eggs. They were delicious. And suddenly all I wanted to do was sit down with her for a leisurely meal and good conversation—forgetting reality for the rest of the day.

But reality was going to arrive on my doorstep any second now, whether I liked it or not. I had to get Beth out . . . and fast. I made a show of glancing at my wrist, realizing too late that, of course, I wasn't wearing a watch.

“Did you need to get to work?” I asked.

She gave me a puzzled look. “I don't have to go in until eleven,” she told me. “Just like you.”

Oh, right. Of course. “Well, did you . . . want to go look for a new apartment in the meantime?” I tried again, desperation making my skin itch.

She frowned. “Are you trying to get rid of me or something?”

“No! I mean, of course not.” I cried, trying my best to look surprised. Insulted even. My pulse skittering erratically as I tried and failed not to look at the door.

She walked around the breakfast bar, scanning my face with worried eyes. “Mac, you're scaring me,” she said. “What's going on? Did I do something wrong?”

I glanced at the door again; I couldn't help it. And when I looked back at Beth her face had turned white as a ghost's.

“Oh my God, you're married,” she whispered. “You're totally married, aren't you?”

“No!” I protested, horrified. “I mean . . . I was. Not anymore. I'm single. I swear to God, I'm single. I would never . . .” I trailed off, giving her a tortured look.

She bit her lower lip. “Okay then,” she said in a slow voice. “If you're not waiting for your wife to walk through that door, do you want to tell me who you're expecting instead?”

I drew in a breath. Guess it was time to come clean. “My daughter,” I said.