Stripped Down (8 page)

“Well,” I said, pursing my lips to hold my laughter in as she sprinkled the last of the grated rind onto the cupcakes. “There you go, then. Plus, Grandpa’s really old, and really old people make their own rules.”

“I said that!” She turned, one hand on her hip, and flipped her head so her hair moved out of her face. “I said, ‘Grandpa, you’re so
old
!’ and he said, ‘I’m fifty!’ And I said, ‘I’m six! You’re so old, and you’re probably going to die soon, because old people die all the time.’”

Sweet baby shit
. “Well... Not all the time. But Grandpa is really old, so yes, he might die soon.” I grabbed the orange and grated that the way I just had the lemon. “You shouldn’t say it though. You might make him sad.”

She pouted, her bottom lip sticking out. “Do you think I made him sad?”

There was a fine line between being honest with your child and saying what was the right thing. I was toeing it right now. “Maybe a little.”

“Oh. Will the cupcakes make it better?”

“Definitely. Especially if you put chocolate chips on them.”

“Okay.” She grabbed the open packet and grabbed a handful. Then dumped the entire handful on one cupcake. Some rolled off, falling between the holes in the cooling rack, and scattered across the countertop. “There. That’s Grandpa’s. Will that say sorry for making him sad?”

I stared at the cake. It was just buttercream and chocolate chips. Mostly chocolate chips.

“Yep. That’ll do it.”

“Okay. Can I go play now? I’m bored of this.”

I met her soft, brown eyes. “You have five minutes before bedtime, okay?”

CiCi grinned and jumped off her plastic steps right as the doorbell rang. “I got it!” she cried, running through the kitchen.

“Ciara Gallagher! Don’t you dare answer that door!” I called after her, dropping the grater and the orange and turning.

“I got it, Mommy!” The sound of the door opening followed that. “Hi! Who are you?”

“Uh, hi...” Beckett’s voice echoed. “Is your mom here?”

Silence, and then, “Moooommmyyyy! There’s a hamsome man at the door for you!”

I smacked my forehead then dragged my hand down my face, walking into the hallway.
Hamsome man
. Of course she’d call him handsome. Not funny or strange. Handsome.

“Ciara. Go and find your pajamas. Now.”

She turned, her eyes wide, and nodded. If I used her actual name twice in a row, she knew she was in trouble.

Honestly. “Don’t answer the door” was
not
a hard order to follow.

I watched as she ran upstairs and disappeared. Then I turned back to Beckett. “What are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?”

“No.” I folded my arms across my chest. “She has school tomorrow and it’s bedtime.”

“Then can I come in and wait until you can talk?” He raised one eyebrow.

“No.”

“Why not?”

I opened my mouth to deliver him a reason then froze. I didn’t have a reason. Not a real one. “I don’t bring people I don’t really know around CiCi. It’s too risky.”

“She’s already seen me,” he pointed out.

I shrugged a shoulder. “I’ll tell her you’re one of those religious people we play a recording of a large dog to to scare them away. If she doesn’t open the door first, that is.”

His lips twitched to one side. “Not great on the listening, is she?”

I wanted to argue, but... “Not really. I think it’s a six-year-old thing.” I sighed. “Fine. Come in. Let me put her to bed.” I stepped back and to the bottom of the stairs. “Got some?” I yelled up to CiCi.

“Yeah!” she shouted back. “I’m coming!” She barreled across the hall toward the stairs and stopped, holding her pajamas out. “Batman.”

“Okay. Get changed in your room and I’ll be right there.”

“Why?”

“Because Mommy’s friend is here and we don’t get changed in front of people we don’t know, do we?”

She opened her mouth but finally nodded. “Okay. I need to pee.”

I grimaced as she disappeared as quickly as she’d arrived and turned to Beckett. “Sorry. Six-year-olds don’t have filters.”

He grinned, his eyes brighter than I’d ever seen them. “I noticed. If she wants to change down here, I’ll go wait in my car.”

“No, no. You’re good.” I guessed it would have been too much to hope he’d drive off. “The front room’s just there. I’ll be right—”

“Cookie’s in the sink!” CiCi yelled, appearing, now in her pajamas. Boys’ pajamas, if you paid attention to the label, because apparently Batman is for boys. Luckily she doesn’t care about that, so neither do I.

She ran down the stairs and skirted past me.

“Why is Cookie in the sink?” I stared after her as she went into the kitchen. More to the point, how had I not noticed that?

“Because she was dirty,” she replied simply. “She got pen on her tail. I washed her.”

Oh, well, then. Who was I to question such stunning logic?

“Hi.” She grinned at Beckett, her six-year-old sass shining through her smile. “I’m CiCi. Who are you?”

“CiCi. That’s rude,” I scolded her.

“I’m Beck.” He leaned down despite the fact that she was on the third stair. He was still taller than she was high up. “Is this Cookie?”

CiCi proudly held the tatted, stuffed cat up. “This is Cookie! She’s my best friend. Are you my mommy’s friend?”

“She’s very cute, isn’t she? And yes, I think I am your mommy’s friend. Is that okay?”

She tilted her head to the side. “I don’t know. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Do you prefer strawberries or oranges?”

Beck slid his eyes toward me with a questioning raise of his eyebrows. I shrugged a shoulder. This logic needed questioning, but I didn’t have the answer to it.

“Strawberries,” he said slowly. “They don’t need to be peeled, and they’re sweeter.”

Good answer.

CiCi clapped her hands together and almost dropped Cookie. “Yes! You can be her friend. Oranges stink.”

“Oookay, time for you to go to bed.” If I didn’t interrupt now, it’d have gone on all night. “You were up early this morning and had a long day at school. Quiet time before sleep. Let’s go.” I patted her little butt in encouragement, and she had time to flash Beck one more sassy grin before she shot up the stairs and disappeared into her room.

I followed her in and flicked the light off as she clambered into bed. Batman pajamas in a Disney princess bed. The two things couldn’t have been more polar opposite, but somehow, they looked oddly good together.

“Mommy,” CiCi said slowly and quietly as I put her TV on. “Is that man your boyfriend?”

“No.” I switched the TV controller for the DVD one. “When Inside Out finishes, you come get me, okay? No pretending like last time. I remember how long this is. I’m setting the timer on my phone.”

She nodded, her blond bangs falling into her eyes. “Okay. Why isn’t he your boyfriend?”

“Because he’s not,” I said. With finality. It was far too much of a Monday to be explaining anything to a six-year-old. “You come down only if you need some water, okay?”

Another nod. “Okay. He’s very pretty, isn’t he?”

“Beck?”

“Yes. I like his eyes. He looks like a Disney prince, doesn’t he?”

My lips thinned. “Which one?”

“Flynn Rider,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s the hair, Mommy. And he’d look good with a frog on his shoulder.”

“Pascal’s a chameleon.” I kissed her forehead. “Settle down now, little one.”

She yawned as I straightened and walked out of her room, flicking the light switch again as I went. I pulled her door closed as the opening credits for the movie rang out, but I knew she’d be asleep within thirty minutes. It was always the way—she was totally fine until she had to get into bed. Then she could barely keep her eyes open.

Of course, it was also why she woke up ridiculously early each morning, but I also put a lot of her schedule down to sleeping at my parents’ half the week.

I ran my fingers through my hair as I descended the stairs. This wasn’t the kind of personal I’d meant when I’d said that Beck and I had to talk about our problem outside of work. I’d meant on the phone, in a café, or, hell, a parking lot. Not in my house...my space. I didn’t want any memories of him there.

Not to mention our little house was as far removed from his as possible. You could probably fit my entire house in his kitchen alone.

“So, that’s your daughter,” he said when I walked into the front room.

“Yep. That’s my daughter. Can we talk in the kitchen? I have to clean up.” I turned without waiting for an answer and walked through into the flour-covered kitchen.

“She’s beautiful.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned against the counter opposite to the one I was cleaning. “She’s a lot like you.”

Was that a compliment? “Thank you,” I said quietly, wiping a pile of flour off the edge of the counter and into my hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I tried calling, but you didn’t answer. I spoke to a divorce lawyer today.”

“If you tell me we have to wait even longer...”

“No. I just need to know when you can sign the papers so we can file them.”

“As soon as you get them.” I turned the tap on and ran the mixing bowl under it to get the worst off. Then I set it on the draining board. “As in call me before you even pick them up and I’ll sign them before you.”

“Wow.” He laughed softly. “You’re the first woman who’s ever tried to get away from me before.”

I cut my eyes to his as I grabbed my sponge to clean the rest of the flour on the counter. “If you’re trying to endear me to you, that’s not the way to do it. Or surprising at all,” I added on a mutter.

“Surprising? Why would it be surprising?”

Because I think I’m still coming down from the orgasm you gave me.
“Because it’s not exactly a secret how many women you get through, Beckett. I’m actually a little ashamed I’m one of them.”

“You’re ashamed you slept with me?”

“It wasn’t my finest moment.”

“I dunno, Cassie. You looked pretty fucking fine to me.”

I spun and threw my handful of flour at him. It smacked into his chest, right in the middle of his T-shirt, and peppered the black material with its powdery brightness.

I froze.

Oops.

He looked down at his T-shirt then burst out laughing. “Eager to divorce me, ashamed to sleep with me, and now, you’ve covered me in flour. I gotta say, there’s a first for everything, and you just knocked all three out in the space of five minutes.”

My hand itched to grab another handful from the packet still on the counter behind me. “Yeah, well. Someone has to put your ego in check.”

“Yeah,” he said, brushing his hand down his front, “I can see how the flour will do that. There’s nothing more damaging to self-confidence than being covered in flour.”

That was it. I grabbed another handful right out of the bag, stormed across the few feet of floor between us, and flattened my palm against his shirt. The flour exploded across his chest, creating a cloud of white dust that swirled in the air and came right back at me a little.

His laugh was deep but loud and oh so delicious, skin-tingling at its loudest points. The hair on my arms stood on end as it rumbled through the room, and I hated how my mouth dried out when he met my gaze.

A mischievous glint danced in his eyes, and I sucked my lower lip entirely into my mouth. He was unpredictable and impulsive, and the way he was looking at me, like revenge was imminent, made my stomach flutter.

It had been right to flutter.

He grabbed me against his body with one sweep of his arm. My back pressed against his front, and I cried out a shrieking laugh when he dragged me across the room, grabbed the packet of flour, and held it over my head.

“No—no,” I managed to get out through my giggles. “Please don’t.”

“Do you apologize?” he said into my ear.

The smart answer was yes. “No. You deserved it.”

“Wrong answer, Cassie, baby.” He sprinkled a little flour onto my head, and I squirmed. His body shook behind me with his silent laughter. “One more chance. Do you apologize?”

I shook my head again and screwed my face up.

He tutted. “I hope you were done baking.” Then he dumped at least half of the remaining flour onto the top of my head, dropped the packet onto the counter, and rubbed his hand across the top of my hair.

I wriggled in his hold and gasped in horror, but his arm was locked so tight across the top of my body, pinning my own arms down, that I couldn’t do a thing but bend forward to get away from him. Of course, that meant my ass wriggled against his cock.

It slowly hardened against my ass, and I froze.

“I promise not to throw any more flour at you if you let me go,” I whispered, cutting through the tension that had quickly descended. “Pinkie promise.”

He lightly wrapped his other arm around my waist and touched his nose to the side of my head. “I’m deciding whether or not letting you go is a good idea.”

His cock was getting harder.

“It’s a great idea. Best you’ll ever have.” I swallowed, pushing against his arms.

Surprisingly, he let me go, and he didn’t move when I stepped away from him and turned, batting flour off my face. “You look like an idiot,” he remarked, his lips pulling into a grin.

“You
are
an idiot,” I shot back. I shook my head and ran my fingers through it to dislodge most of the flour he’d dumped on me.

I couldn’t believe he’d done that. Seriously—how ridiculous was he? He was almost thirty and he was having a flour fight with me.

In my defense, I was much younger and had a child I had to be an idiot around on a regular basis. That was how I kept my sanity. I acted her age.

“Feisty.” He grinned, leaning past me and grabbing a dishcloth. He ran it under the tap. Then he grabbed the bottom of his shirt and wiped most of the flour off. “You’re covered in flour. Need some help getting it off?”

I stared at him. I couldn’t decipher the glint in his eyes—I didn’t know whether he was genuinely asking or not. “Is that a trick question? If I say yes, are you going to dump water on my head or suggest you help me in the shower?”

Beck squeezed out the last of the excess water from the cloth and ran it down my nose. I didn’t know what I looked like, but I imagined that my face was pretty much white, now except for that one line down the middle of my nose.