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The sound of Harley’s key in the front door has me scurrying back to the kitchen. We’ve done well with avoiding each other for the last week. He spends a lot of his day at the clubhouse, I imagine, because he doesn’t really pop up until late in the afternoon after tending to Aria first thing in the morning.
If I make dinner, I leave it on the stove for him to eat or not. Most days I find a freshly washed plate in the dish drainer and the food has been put away, so I know the man is eating. Last night, I heard the garbage disposal from the sanctity of my bedroom, and knowing he was scraping the remainder of the casserole out didn’t bother me. I had to grin for leaving it out for him in the first place. I knew after the first bite it was trash, but my pettiness seems to be ramping up these days the longer he spends ignoring me.
“Here,” comes a rough grunt behind me. I take my time hanging the dish towel back up before turning around.
I stare down at the folded cash in his hands.
“What’s that for? Groceries?”
He shakes his head. “It’s for you, not groceries.”
“I don’t need money.”
“It’s for taking care of Aria full time.” I shake my head again. “You’ve lost more sleep taking care of her at night than I have.”
That’s not exactly true. He gets up when she cries at night, and I let him tend to her until the crying won’t stop, then I step in. He’s reluctant to let her go, and I can see the pain in his eyes when he can’t get her to settle, but he’d never let her be uncomfortable. He quickly relinquishes her to me, although he stands in the doorway the entire time.
“I’m not helping because I expect to get paid,” I remind him. “My room and board are already free, and meals are covered by Cerberus. I’ve been using their credit card to buy groceries.”
“Those are Cerberus benefits for working at the daycare, Ali. This is for being Aria’s nanny full time.”
He holds the money out closer, his jaw flexing in irritation. He hasn’t blown up or stormed out of a room since the night he discovered I moved the colander, but I’m sure that has more to do with his perfected avoidance routine than his ability to control his emotions. Expecting his normal response, I hold my hand out, letting him drop the cash into my palm.
His brows crease as I put the money in my pocket. Maybe I’ll buy something for the baby, or easier for me, I can just put it back in his room at some point.
“You were supposed to argue more,” he mutters, his eyes searching mine.
“You can have it,” I tell him, reaching into my pocket.
Shit, I don’t know how to act around him to keep him levelheaded. Every damn thing I do is wrong.
“I don’t want the money,” he snaps, his feet carrying him a foot closer to me. “You’re not supposed to just give in.”
“It’s not my nature to argue for the sake of arguing.”
“It drives me crazy.”
I blink up at him, his looming form drawing even closer. A thrill runs through my body that I can’t explain. It’s not fear. I know he’d never hurt me, but there’s this stirring deep inside of me from his proximity.
“I’m sorry I’m not what you expect.” My words are more of a pant than a sure declaration.
Before I can take another breath, his lips are on me. His mouth pressing hard against mine, tongue seeking entrance without the hesitation I’ve experienced in the past with first kisses.
I open for him, of course, his insistence making it impossible not to cave.
Instinct takes over and my hands wrap around his back, needing him closer. He doesn’t disappoint, pressing his body fully against mine. I moan into his mouth at the feel of his erection straining against me, but I’m too short for that delicious pressure to be where I need it most.
He must understand or need something a little different as well because he lifts me with ease onto the countertop before stepping into me again.
Our mouths work together, our breaths coming out in harsh gusts from our noses as he rolls his hips against me. The thin leggings I chose to wear this morning are either going to prove to be the best or worst mistake. They’re heaven in the sense that I can feel every brush of his arousal against me, but will also leave me embarrassed because of my own arousal clinging to the fabric.
I can’t worry about any of it right now as he slides his hand into my dark hair, tilting my head to the angle he demands. I’ve never felt so turned on in my life, and as I slide my hands under the fabric of his t-shirt, I wonder just how far he’s going to take this. I’d be game for just about anything, and that should terrify me considering the fear I felt the last time I thought someone was going to use my body in that way. But Harley Cobreski is not Ronald Higgle.
