The Morning After The Wedding Before (11 page)

She fought down an absurd disappointment and turned with a smile fixed on her face. ‘It doesn’t go away, does it? Even when we do.’

He smiled back. ‘Okay, then.’ He pushed open the door and walked around to the boot to take out her belongings.

She took a careful, calming breath before climbing out and following him to the front door. She unlocked it and he ushered her past him and inside.

‘Where do you want your gear?’ he said behind her.

‘Here’s fine.’ She gestured beside her and turned to him,
suddenly feeling like a stranger in her own surroundings. Everything felt different and she didn’t know what to say. How ridiculous. She was experiencing morning-after awkwardness
now?

He set the suitcase down and placed the garment bag on top, then straightened.

‘Thanks.’

‘No worries.’

She didn’t know what to do with her hands and clasped them in front of her. How did you say goodbye to a man you’d just spent the past couple of nights having the best sex of your life with?

You said it casually, as if it happens all the time
. ‘Thanks for a great weekend.’

‘My pleasure.’ A flicker of heat darkened his gaze.

Mine too
.

‘I’ll let you get to it, then.’

No
We’ll have to do it again sometime
. ‘Yes. Better get started. So … I’ll see you … around.’ God, did she sound needy? Clingy? Desperate?

He nodded, those dark eyes fixed on hers but giving nothing away. ‘I’ll give you a call some time.’

‘Right.’ Tomorrow? Next week? Next year?

He bent to kiss her. Just a brief brush of those expert lips over hers. Then he must have changed his mind because his arms slid around her waist and pulled her close. Her mouth opened beneath his and she let him in, tasting him as his tongue slid over hers. Her heart thudded against her chest and she clung to his shirt a moment before he lifted his head.

His eyes had changed, she noticed, like hot treacle. But she instinctively knew he wasn’t going to act on it, so stepped back first.
At least maintain a little dignity
. ‘Bye, then.’

‘Catch you later.’

As he turned to leave his mobile buzzed and he yanked it out of his jacket pocket. ‘Carmody.’ He paused on Emma’s doorstep, not looking at her while he listened to the caller. He didn’t look back, walking into the sunshine, his attention already focused elsewhere.

Emma closed the door and listened to the purr of his car’s engine as he drove off. She rubbed a hand over the familiar ache in her chest. It couldn’t be love. Not again. She wouldn’t let it be.

E
MMA
found it tough going over the next couple of days at work—unable to concentrate, thinking of Jake, remembering their time together, wishing she could see him again even if it was just to remind herself that he was a one-weekend wonder. But she didn’t hear from him.

Get over it
. They’d had a fling. One wild, sexy weekend of pleasure. He’d never promised more. He’d been totally upfront with her. At least he’d been honest, and after Wayne that counted for a lot.

She felt different, though. Being with Jake had given her a new-found confidence in herself. As a woman, as a lover, as a person. She wanted to take on the world. She wanted to get serious about her business.

She wanted to see him so she could tell him that.

Meanwhile she filled her orders and surfed the internet for new soap-making recipes and considered how she might extend her client base.

On Thursday evening, humming along with her favourite jazz CD, she collected the ingredients together for honey soap. She melted glycerin bars and honey, poured it into a shallow pan, then melted the goat’s milk, adding it to the mix. She’d just set it aside to cool when she heard the doorbell chime and went to answer it.

Jake.

He was leaning on her doorframe, reminding her of the last time she’d seen him standing there, and her heart tripped and she was breathless all over again. A burst of happiness sang through her veins as she met his warm brown eyes. Tonight he wore a luxurious-looking cream jumper over black trousers.

Her smile was spontaneous. ‘Hi.’

‘I was on my way out and passing this way …’ The timbre of his deep, familiar voice turned her insides as hot and syrupy as the mix on her kitchen bench. ‘Have I caught you at a bad time?’

‘No … no.’ She forced the surprise and excitement from her voice.
Act natural. He’s on his way out, after all
. ‘Come on in. I’m just finishing some soaps.’ She turned, casting a deliberately casual glance over her shoulder as she moved to the kitchen. ‘What brings you by?’ When he didn’t answer, she stopped at the kitchen table and turned. He almost crashed into her.

‘You,’ he said, his eyes melting into hers.

The heat from his body seemed to shimmer right through her. He smelled of warm wool and apple and cinnamon pie.

‘More specifically, your soaps.’ He rubbed his knuckles together audibly. ‘It’s my PA’s birthday next week. I’d like to buy some for her.’

‘Uh-huh. Well …’ She swished her own hands down her coat. Her palms were sweating. ‘I’ve got some pretty flower-shaped ones with a “Happy Birthday” imprint somewhere. I’ll—’

‘No birthday imprint.’ He caught her arm as she started to move away.

‘Oh. Okay …’ She blinked once.

‘She doesn’t want anyone to know.’ He lifted a shoulder. ‘She’s shy about birthdays.’ Jake lowered his voice, curling
his fingers around the lab coat’s thick fabric. He felt Emma’s gentle warmth beneath, the smooth muscle over bone against his palm, before letting his arm drop to his side. ‘I thought I’d take some extras into the office at the same time. Let some of the staff try them out.’

‘Really?’ Surprise and humour glinted in her eyes and her lips curved and he knew she was wise to his game.

‘Really.’ He smiled back. ‘What can you recommend?’

She moved to the plastic containers stacked along the wall. ‘They’re all made with goat’s milk for sensitive skin, but I have a range of fragrances. How about amber, which has a sweet woody note suitable for both sexes? Or vanilla? Or, for something extra special …’ She pulled out a container, carried it to the table. ‘I’ve got some gorgeous little cupcake shapes in different fragrances—vanilla, blueberry, cinnamon, coconut. They’re my favourite stock and very popular. I can pack them in a little basket for you if you want.’

He grinned. ‘Do you wash with them or eat them?’

She opened the box, closed her eyes briefly and inhaled the fragrance, her ecstatic expression reminding him of when she’d come apart in his arms. She lifted out a pretty pink sample that matched the colour in her cheeks. ‘I love cupcakes to death, but I wouldn’t recommend eating these.’

Amazing, this transformation from the solemn girl who’d greeted him at her door only last week. The obvious joy she got from her creative work. The sparkle it put in her eyes and the glow it brought to her cheeks. And she was right; this was no mere hobby. Little wonder she’d been insulted he’d called it such. She had something unique here, a marketable product.

He leaned a hip against the table. ‘Have you given any more thought to expanding this business online? Because
I see a different woman standing here tonight. One who might be willing to take that chance now.’

‘Maybe I
am
a different woman.’ He noticed her eyes had turned a darker hue as she looked at him. ‘You’ve had something to do with that. And I
am
thinking about it.’ She picked up a green cake, held it to his nose. ‘What do you smell?’

‘Fresh mown grass?’

‘It gives a bathroom a pleasant scent.’ She set it down. ‘So many fragrances. I love them all.’

‘Which one do you use?’ He leaned in to catch more of that scent he’d missed over the past few days, heard her tiny intake of breath.

‘Tahitian Fantasy.’ Her breath hitched again. ‘Why are you really here, Jake?’

Her husky voice vibrated against his lips as he set them on her smooth neck. ‘Nothing like a little Tahitian Fantasy. Because I wanted to see you again. Are you okay with that?’ His hands drifted to her waist, lips tracing a line over the fragrant flesh beneath her ear.

‘Ah … yes …’

‘Good, because I can’t seem to stay away.’ He nipped at her earlobe. ‘What’s in it?’

‘The tiare flower. Tahitian gardenia.’ She arched her neck. ‘It has healing properties.’

‘I’ve got this itch …’

‘Where?’ she murmured.

‘Everywhere,’ he murmured back, moving nearer, pressing open-mouthed kisses up her neck, over her jaw. ‘I itch every damn where.’

‘That sounds serious.’ She stepped back to see his eyes, her own dancing as she slid his sleeve up to his elbow, fingers lightly massaging his forearm. ‘Do you exfoliate?’

He had to lean forward so he could drop a lingering kiss on her lips. ‘Only when I’m with you.’

Her blue eyes twinkled up at him. ‘Ha-ha.’ She picked up a dark-coloured soap that looked like congealed breakfast cereal. ‘Honey and oatmeal,’ she said, and gave his chest a light prod with one finger. ‘Sit down … if you’ve got a moment?’

‘For you, yes.’ He yanked out a chair and watched her fill a shallow bowl with warm water.

The last time he’d been in her place she’d been uptight and defensive and prickly. Tonight she was the relaxed woman he’d enjoyed the weekend with.

Was it only four nights ago? It felt like four weeks. He’d spent those nights in a kind of limbo, caught between wanting to call and ask if he could come over and reminding himself they’d agreed on a weekend and the weekend was finished.

Had she spent the last few nights thinking of how good they’d been together? In bed and out of it? She was fresh, honest and fun to be with. He regretted putting a time limit on their affair.

‘It’s almost as good as sex.’ Her words had him sitting up straighter as she carried the bowl to the table, set it in front of him along with a handtowel.

‘What is?’

‘Push up your sleeves and put your hands in the bowl.’ She moistened the soap in the water and worked it between her palms till it glistened, then slid it over and around his hand in a slow, slippery massage. ‘Good?’

He watched, fascinated, her small fingers with their short neat nails gliding over his, between his. He looked up, met her eyes. ‘Very good. Exceptionally good. But … Do I need to work on my bedroom technique?’

The twinkle in her eyes sharpened. Her lips stretched
into a full-on smile. ‘Okay, that was my selling point before the weekend. Damn—now I’ll have to think of something else.’

‘We could always test the theory again, just to be sure …’

‘There’s nothing wrong with your technique, Jake.’ She twined her fingers against his. Silky heat on silky heat.

‘Nor yours.’ He reciprocated, pressing his thumb into her palm and drawing lazy circles, watching her cheeks pinken, her eyes turn to liquid pools of blue desire.

His own vision was growing hazy as they continued to watch each other while they made out with their joined hands. ‘Do you give all your clients the personal treatment?’

She leaned in so that her lips were a whisper away from his. ‘Only the ones who knock on my door.’

‘I’ve been thinking,’ he murmured back, ‘there’s no reason why we can’t continue seeing each other, is there?’

Her whole body stilled. ‘What are you saying?’

He soothed his lips over hers just once. ‘I like being with you. Don’t look too far ahead. Let’s just enjoy the ride. What do you say?’

‘Uh-huh …’

He lifted her damp fingers to his mouth, kissed them and released her. ‘In the meantime, I’ve got an appointment in King’s Cross. If tonight goes as planned, tomorrow the Pink Mango could be looking at a new owner.’

She continued to stare at him, unblinking, gaze unfocused. ‘Uh-huh.’

But she didn’t seem to hear him. ‘Don’t congratulate me yet,’ he said anyway. He wiped his hands on her little towel, then pushed up. ‘Talk to you tomorrow evening.’

‘Uh-huh.’

He folded the towel, set it on the table. ‘I’ll let myself out.’

He smiled to himself when he heard her call, ‘Yes!’ as clear as crystal as he walked to the door.

For Emma, the following work day dragged. Unlike what was happening with Jake, which seemed to be taking off at warp speed. She couldn’t focus on anything except their unexpected sexy interlude last night.

He liked being with her
. He wanted to be with her some more. It brought a smile to her lips every time she remembered. So often that her co-workers cast more than a few Emma-had-got-lucky glances her way over the course of the day.

She left the call centre five minutes before closing time; something she’d never done before. She tapped along with the beat of the latest pop song on the radio as she drove home, looking forward to Jake’s call.

It was nearly six o’clock when he rang. Emma picked the phone up on its first ring.

‘It’s done,’ he said without preamble. ‘The Pink Mango’s history.’

She almost heard the drum-roll of satisfaction in his voice and smiled. ‘Hooray for you.’

‘Can you clear your evening schedule and come out to celebrate with me?’

Her smile broadened. ‘Consider it cleared.’

‘I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes?’

‘
Thirty
minutes?’

‘You’ll look gorgeous whatever you’re wearing,’ he said, obviously familiar with the female ritual, ‘and I’ve got somewhere casual in mind.’

Thirty-five minutes later, after three changes of clothes, she’d decided on her best jeans and an ivory jumper with a bright turquoise-and-orange scarf when he arrived.

Seeing him was like cresting the top of a rollercoaster
wave, all excitement and anticipation. He wore black jeans and a black T-shirt beneath an often washed black, white and navy flannel shirt, open down the front. Definitely casual.

‘Hi.’ She sounded as breathless as she felt.

‘Hi.’ With one arm still propped against the doorframe he tugged on her scarf, pulled her towards him and kissed her.

He tasted
sooo
good, and she felt herself rushing down the other side of that slippery breaker. Then he straightened, and with a wickedly hot twinkle in his eyes, said, ‘If we don’t get moving we might never get there.’

‘Wait up. You forgot something last night.’ She picked up a little cellophane-wrapped basket from the shelf by the door and held it out with a grin. ‘Tell your PA happy birthday from me.’

He nodded, eyes twinkling. ‘How much do I owe you?’

‘Nothing. Free sample.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Positive. Promotion’s good for business.’

‘Okay, but don’t forget to write it off as an expense.’

Moments later they were cruising along a well-lit Bondi street bustling with Friday-night shoppers. But Jake bypassed the usual restaurants and turned into a suburban street.

She looked out at the luxury homes, roofs glinting in the streetlights. ‘Where are we going?’

He pulled up in front of a buttercream wall. Beyond, Emma could see an expansive red-tiled roof. ‘Welcome to Jake’s Place. Home of great food and magnificent views.’ He pressed a remote and the gates swung open revealing a large two-storey house.

‘Wow.’ She took in the view as the car came to a stop under an open carport. A long curve of beach, dark now
but for a couple of lights blinking near the horizon. ‘It’s magnificent, Jake. You’ve achieved so much in such a short time.’ The location alone had to be worth a fortune.

He swiped the keys from the ignition, his gaze on the black waves laced with a fine line of white in the distance. ‘The bank still has a share, but we’re getting there.’

Reaching across the console between them, he cupped the back of her neck with one hand, unclipped her seat belt with the other, his gaze hot with smouldering promise. And before she could blink he meshed his lips with hers.

He’d had no intention of jumping her until he’d fed her, but when Jake looked into those sapphire eyes which had kept him from the precious little sleep he’d managed over the past few nights, every thought flew out of his mind bar one. Having Emma.

‘Have you missed me?’ he murmured against her lips. When had he ever asked that question? he wondered vaguely, and was stupidly happy when he felt her lips curve against his mouth.

‘Yes.’ She sucked in a breath.

His impatient fingers found the hem of her jumper and rushed beneath to feel the firm, warm flesh of her torso, the ridges along her ribcage, and higher to the curve under her breasts. Her nipples tightened as he swirled his fingers over the crests. Beneath his hands he felt the same urgency that whipped through his own body as she strained against his palm.

‘Emma …’ The breathless sound registered somewhere as his own voice. ‘Missed you too.’ Flicking the clasp, he loosened her bra, shoved it up and out of the way so he could feast on the sweet taste of an engorged nipple. He slid his palm between her thighs, cupped her hard through the hot denim, felt her shudder and arch in response, heard
her muffled sigh as she forked her fingers through his hair and pulled it tight against his scalp.