The Last Goodbye (7 page)

“Okay, a four-pack. And if I go back for seconds, it won’t be long before I have a keg.”

She fussed around, stacking the bowls. Then she shot him a quick look from beneath her lashes. He didn’t bother trying to hide his grin. Her expression became rueful.

“No need to look so pleased with yourself.”

“I’m not. You just answered a question I’ve been asking myself, that’s all.”

A crease appeared between her eyebrows. “What question?”

“This one.” He leaned across the space that separated them and pressed his mouth to hers.

Her lips were warm and soft and they opened on a surprised inhalation as he kissed her. He waited, keeping the kiss light, even though he’d been wanting to taste her for a long time. After a torturous beat, her mouth moved beneath his and she returned the pressure of his kiss. He palmed the nape of her neck and slid his tongue into her mouth.

She tasted like chocolate, hot and dark and mysterious. Her tongue slid along his, tentatively at first, then with more confidence. He angled his body toward her, leaning closer, wanting more. She gave an encouraging little moan, her hands sliding to his shoulders.

Heat fired in his belly as he felt the weight of her breasts against his chest and inhaled her scent. Vanilla and cloves, sweet and exotic. Their tongues slid and teased, her hunger matching his.

He hadn’t been with a woman for months. And he’d been thinking about Ally all week. Wondering. Fantasizing.

He slid his hand from the nape of her neck, down her arm and onto her rib cage, just beneath the swell of her breasts. He was as hard as a rock, his breath coming fast even though they’d barely started. She clenched her hands in his T-shirt and pulled him even closer, her mouth avid on his.

She was so hot, so sexy, so warm and giving. He slid his hand onto her breast, reveling in the warm, resilient weight of her in his palm, his thumb sweeping across the curve in search of her nipple. She was already hard, the peak straining for his attention and he ran his thumb back and forth over it, smiling against her lips as he felt her shudder in response. He squeezed her nipple between thumb and forefinger and she moaned again and pressed herself into his hand.

He’d known it would be like this between them.
Ever since that moment over their impromptu dinner when she’d made a joke about needing a cigarette after their ice cream discussion. She was earthy and human and real, and he wanted her beneath him, wanted to slide his hands inside her ridiculous, sexless cartoon pajama pants and discover the warm curves of her hips and backside and thighs.

But first he wanted to taste her breasts. Wrapping his arms around her, he hauled her into his lap. He wanted to make her shudder some more, wanted to explore the soft, scented skin of her neck and breasts and belly, wanted to tease her with his mouth and his tongue and his teeth until neither of them could take it a moment longer.

He moved his hand to the hem of her tank top and lifted it, sliding his hand onto the warm skin of her belly as he kissed her deeply. He slid his hand higher, up her rib cage, already imagining the silk of her breasts against his hands, the way her—

“Wait.”

She said the word against his mouth as he was about to cup her breast. He stilled, even though he was hard and desperate to be inside her.

She pulled away from him. He let his hand slide down her rib cage to rest on her hip. She felt so good. So warm and soft and alive.

“This is a bad idea.” It would have sounded a hell of a lot more convincing if she hadn’t been breathing as heavily as he was.

“Why?” He felt like a teenager voicing the
question. It had been a long time since a woman said no to him.

“Because it won’t work.”

She slid from his lap, and even though it had been a hot day and a warm night, he felt the loss of her body heat.

“Unless things have changed drastically since I last did this, I think we were doing okay.”

She straightened her tank top, then took a deep breath. “I’m leaving in six weeks. And your father is dying.”

“I’m not sure what either of those things has to do with us having sex.” He could hear the frustration in his own voice.

“Let me ask you this, then. When was the last time you had a one-night stand?”

He raised his eyebrows, a little taken aback by her question. “I can’t remember.”

“Exactly.” She stood and dusted off the seat of her pajama pants.

He stared up at her, affronted. “So, what, because I usually like to know more than a woman’s name before I sleep with her you’re kicking me to the curb?”

“I’m kicking you to the curb because I like you, Tyler Adamson. Us getting involved would be a mistake. You’re the kind of man who wants more than sex and a few laughs, and I’m the kind of girl who leaves.”

“You’re making a lot of assumptions.”

She gave him a level, knowing, very adult look. Then she reached out and took his hand, pressing her fingers to the pulse point at his wrist. He knew what she could feel there—his heart, still pounding away like a tom-tom, demanding more, wanting more. Wordless, she reversed their grips, pressing her own wrist against his fingertips. He felt an answering rhythm beating through her body, just as wild, just as demanding.

“I don’t know about you, but that doesn’t happen for me every day,” she said quietly.

“All the more reason to do something about it.”

He told himself to stop before he begged or reduced himself to the old blue-balls gambit, but everything in him resisted the way she was closing the door on the possibilities between them.

He liked her. He wanted to get to know her. Since when had that been a deal-breaker when it came to sex?

“I’m doing you a favor.” There was finality in her voice. And regardless of the frustration he felt, he wasn’t about to try to importune her into bed.

“Your call,” he said, standing.

They were both silent as they walked to the door.

She handed him the spare key on the threshold. “Thanks for the ice cream.”

“Like I said, I appreciate your time.” He sounded stiff, formal. Pissed off.

Because he hadn’t gotten his way? He didn’t like
the idea that he was so petty. That his goodwill toward her depended on her bowing to his sexual will. He liked a hell of a lot more about her than her body.

He tried again.

“Thanks for sharing it with me.”

“It seemed only fair.”

His gaze slid to her mouth. Her bottom lip was slightly swollen, very pink. He remembered the soft, warm press of it against his.

If she hadn’t called a halt, he’d be inside her right now, driving them both a little bit crazy.

“Good night, Ally.”

“Good night, Tyler.”

He heard the door close behind him. His bags were where he’d left them on the porch and he let himself in then dumped them beside the couch in the living room.

The house wasn’t as musty as he’d remembered, and he saw that someone had left a vase of wildflowers on the mantle and that one of the windows was open a few inches, letting in the fresh night air.

Ally, of course.

He walked to the bathroom to inspect the safety rails that had been installed. He’d been so eager to see her that he hadn’t paused to inspect the set beside the front steps.

A waterproof chair was in the shower stall, ready for his father’s return, and a handheld showerhead was fitted alongside the regular one. The safety rails were
good-quality chrome, their surface cross-hatched for grip. He noted with approval that the installer had fixed them into the stud instead of relying on plaster fasteners. Over all, a good job. He made a mental note to send a thank-you email to the contractor.

He returned to the living room, feeling restless, and yes, frustrated.

He’d driven to Woodend this evening with an idea in his mind about the way the immediate future might pan out. Useless to pretend that Ally hadn’t featured prominently. He’d anticipated getting to know her. He’d hoped to sleep with her, to act on the tension and attraction that crackled between them every time they met. He hadn’t gone much beyond that in his mind, but there’d been a sense of potential around his feelings for her.

But Ally wasn’t interested. What had she said again?
I like you. Us getting involved would be a mistake.
Then she’d held his fingers to her pulse so he understood that she was as aroused and fired up as he was.

Yet she’d turned him away. Because—and he still couldn’t quite get his head around it—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a one-night stand.

What did that mean? That she only slept with “slam, bam, thank you, ma’am,” kind of guys? That she wasn’t interested in liking or getting to know the person she was naked with?

He collected his toothbrush and toothpaste from his bag. He thought about the other thing Ally had
said as he returned to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

I don’t know about you, but that doesn’t happen for me every day.

It hadn’t happened that way for him for years. Not since he’d been a teenager, wild and horny and needy. One touch of her, one taste and he’d been on fire, game for anything. The odds were good that if she hadn’t called a halt he’d have gotten her naked right there on the deck, he’d been so carried away.

And now he was hard all over again, simply from thinking about her.

Better get over that quickly, mate, because it’s not going to happen.

He was disappointed. More so than the situation probably warranted. Rationally, the world wasn’t going to end tomorrow because a woman he’d met a few times didn’t want to explore the attraction between them. Life was full of small missed opportunities.

Suck it up, big guy.

He spat toothpaste into the basin, rinsed his mouth and dried his face. Then he took himself back to the couch and another bad night’s sleep.

A
FTER TOSSING AND TURNING
for nearly two hours, Ally got out of bed and had a cold shower. Embarrassing to admit to herself how unsettled and aroused she was after a few hot and heavy moments in Tyler’s arms. They’d pressed against each other and kissed
for no more than five minutes, ten tops—and hours later her body was still humming with need.

This is why he’s dangerous. You’re always attracted to men you can’t have.

She let the cold water hammer the back of her neck, the place where she could still feel the imprint of Tyler’s hand against her skin.

The way he’d kissed her…

The extraordinary thrill of need and desire that had rippled through her when he’d slid his hand onto her breast…

In that small breathless moment her imagination had rampaged ahead. She’d seen Tyler peeling off her clothes. Seen herself stripping him of his. She’d imagined him on top of her, big and strong, her legs around his hips. The welcome, masculine weight of him pressing her down. Then, the push of him as he slid inside her, filling her…

She’d wanted it all so badly. Too badly. Too much. An alarm had sounded in the back of her mind, a warning that this was too intense, that he was too much. That if they took this to the inevitable conclusion, it would be much more than a quick roll in the hay with the sexy guy from next door.

Ten years ago, when she’d been in her early twenties, Ally would have thrown caution to the wind and dived headfirst into whatever developed between her and Tyler. Sex, or more than sex, or something in between—her younger self would have been up for anything and everything, heedless of the consequences.
She’d prided herself on being a bohemian like her wild, freewheeling artist mother, on being open to experience. And yet it was experience—bitter, sad, shameful experience—that had taught her that some things were not for her.

Daniel had been broken when she’d left him. He’d dreamed of a future for the two of them, and she’d let him. And then, as always, she’d started to feel suffocated and smothered and she’d chipped away at their happiness until Daniel had finally told her to go if she wanted to. And, God help her, she had.

Daniel hadn’t been the first man she’d walked away from, but she’d promised herself he would be the last. Unlike her mother, she wasn’t willing to toy with other people’s emotions in exchange for temporary happiness. And if that meant she was destined to be essentially alone, then so be it.

For the past five years, she’d done her damnedest to stay away from men who made her feel and think and want too much. Men who had the potential to become important in her life. Men, like Tyler, who she sensed she could care for, and who might come to care for her. Men she could hurt and disappoint when she inevitably packed her bags and left. As she always, always did.

She’d had two lovers in those five years, both of them younger than her, both fellow nomads. Good, safe choices, lovers who had offered her the comfort of human contact for a few weeks without the risk of strings.

Not very emotionally satisfying, perhaps. Some might even say empty. But it was better than letting people down.

She turned off the water and stepped onto the bath mat. For a moment she simply stood in the quiet darkness, letting the water roll down her body.

Absurd, but standing here like this, the memory of what had almost happened tonight still resonating within her, she felt an echo of the panic that had dogged her in the last days of her relationship with Daniel.

The need to go. To put him and the mess she’d made of them behind her.

She took a deep breath, then another. She needed to rein herself in. Get a grip—and some much-needed perspective.

She’d kissed Tyler. Pressed herself against him. Fantasized about doing more. And then she’d called a halt.

They’d had four encounters altogether—five, if she counted the time in front of the hospital when she’d seen him break down in his truck. That was it, the sum total of their interactions to date.

So what if the man had brought her ice cream all the way from Melbourne? In an ice chest no less? So what if she found him magnetic and compelling in the extreme? There was absolutely no reason for her to be carrying on like an overwrought and histrionic damsel in distress.