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“Something like that.” She glanced at Alice, who was happily balanced on his knee, her back supported by one of Harry’s big hands.
“Are you okay with holding her for a few more minutes or are you going to break out in hives from all the responsibility?”
“I can handle it.”
“Brave man.”
“Weren’t you making me dinner?”
She rolled her eyes comically before checking on the microwave. The timer was almost done and she opened the door to test the temperature of the potatoes. She was aware of Harry watching her as she worked and an odd little frisson ran up her spine. A couple of minutes later, she slid the plate in front of him, complete with gravy and a slice of fresh bread.
“Looks good,” he said.
“Well, it’s food, anyway,” she said modestly.
She enjoyed cooking, but she wasn’t about to volunteer for Masterchef or anything. Definitely her efforts veered more toward the everyday and practical than haute cuisine.
She reached for Alice, sliding her daughter off his thigh so he could eat his meal unhindered. At the last minute, Alice caught a fistful of Harry’s T-shirt in her small hand, clinging to it as though her life depended on it.
“Alice. Sorry, Harry. She’s not used to men, so you’re a bit of a novelty item.”
“It’s all part of being a babe magnet.”
She winced to let him know his joke was really bad before prying Alice’s fingers loose. Her daughter had a fierce grip, however, and it took Pippa a few seconds to convince her to let Harry go. She was very aware of the firm warmth of his chest beneath the fabric and how close she stood to him. It hit her that this was the most intimate she’d been with a member of the opposite sex since she’d gotten pregnant. A less than impressive reflection of her social life, but also a solid explanation for the way her heart suddenly pounded in her chest.
“You live to fight another day,” she said as Alice finally relinquished her prize.
“Phew,” Harry said. “Thought it was all over for a moment there.”
Pippa moved to a safe distance and gestured for him to eat. “Dig in. Don’t let it get cold.”
He dutifully picked up his cutlery and started eating. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to regain her equilibrium. From the moment he’d dropped her car keys into her hand she’d been off balance. Exposing herself and then prying her daughter off him hadn’t helped matters.
Funny, but she’d never thought of Harry as someone she could ever be nervous around. But then she’d never been alone with him at nine o’clock on a Friday night before, either.
Right, because so much is going to happen. He’s probably just waiting for his moment to pounce, single mothers being a huge turn-on for him and all. Add to that the fact you’re his best mate’s ex and you’re practically irresistible. It’s a wonder he’s still got his pants on.
The thought calmed her. The very idea of Harry being interested in her or her being interested in Harry was absurd. Beyond absurd, really, moving into insane territory.
Common sense restored, Pippa crossed to the sideboard to find her handbag. She grabbed her checkbook from the side pocket and found a pen.
Behind her, Harry made an appreciative noise. “This is really good. I love schnitzel.”
“It’s my Aunt Bev’s recipe. She married an Austrian.”
“Go Aunty Bev.”
She opened the checkbook to a fresh page.
Harry’s eyebrows rose as he registered what she was doing. “That had better not be what I think it is.”
“You have to at least let me pay for parts. I’ve gotten some money together, so I’m not a total charity case.”
“It was a gasket and some oil. A few bucks. Like I said, consider it Alice’s birthday present.”
“Except it’s going to be another seventeen-odd years before she actually needs her own car.” She fixed Harry with a level look. “I appreciate your generosity, and I know I can’t fully repay you for your time, but please let me make sure you’re not out of pocket.”
He gestured toward his plate. “You cooked me dinner. We’re square.”
She made a frustrated noise. Harry cut another slice of schnitzel and popped it into his mouth. He chewed slowly, purposefully, a steady, confident expression in his eyes that as good as said, “I just had the final word and you can’t do anything about it.”
He really was a cheeky bastard. Too cocky and smug and charming for his own good.
“I’ll find a way to pay you back, Porter.”
“You can try. But I don’t like your chances.”
She harrumphed to let him know she didn’t agree, then crossed to the fridge and refilled his juice glass. Alice started fiddling with her buttons again and Pippa switched her to the opposite hip in the hope that it might distract her.
“I have to ask—what’s with all the books on teaching?” Harry asked.
“I’m studying to get my Dip. Ed.”
“You’re going to be a teacher?”
“No need to sound so surprised. It’s not that shocking.”
“You’ve never mentioned it before, that’s all.”
She pulled a strand of her hair free from Alice’s grasping fingers. “I need a job. A real job, not a joke job that I can pick up and put down whenever I feel like it.”
Harry’s gaze went to Alice and she knew he understood.
“Do you like it?”
“Sometimes. I’ve had two class placements so far and they both went pretty well. No one died on my watch, at least.”
“Setting the bar pretty low there.”
“These days I find it’s best to have low expectations.”
They talked about her studies as he finished his meal, leaving nothing but a thin trail of gravy. Testament, she hoped, to how much he’d enjoyed it. Afterward, he set his knife and fork neatly side by side on the plate and carried it to the sink. She watched as he glanced around for the dishwasher—there wasn’t one—then proceeded to wash his plate.
“Wow. You’re actually house-trained. Who knew?”
There was a reluctant grin on his lips as he glanced over his shoulder at her. “Jesus, you’re a smart-ass. To think I used to miss you hanging around.”
If the look on his face was anything to go by, he’d surprised himself as well as her with his inadvertent admission. She smiled, oddly touched, as he focused on rinsing his plate. She’d missed him, too, when things had gone south with Steve. Harry’s irreverence and easygoing charm had always appealed to her. In another time and place, perhaps, they might have been friends. In this lifetime, however, it was never going to happen. Too many old loyalties on his side and too many bad associations on hers.
“I should get going,” Harry said as he set the plate on the drainer.
“Okay.”
She led him to the hallway, edging past the broken door. “Sorry about the obstacle course. The landlord assures me he’s going to fix this thing before the turn of the next century.”
This time, thankfully, the lock opened easily and she watched Harry step onto the porch.
“Thanks for dinner. And the show,” he said.
Trust him to bring up the moment with her bra again.
“And I’m the smart-ass?”
“Maybe it takes one to know one.”
“Maybe.” The smile faded from her lips as she held his eyes. “Harry, what you did tonight … I will never be able to tell you how much your generosity means. I feel as though I’ve had a visit from my fairy godmother or something.”
He shrugged modestly. “Honestly, I could do it in my sleep. It’s really not a big deal.”
“It is to me and Alice. A very big deal.”
On impulse, she stepped forward, stood on tiptoes and flung her free arm around his shoulders.
“Thank you for being so damn kind,” she said fiercely, pressing a kiss to the angle of his jaw. His shoulders were warm and firm beneath her arm and his five-o’clock shadow tickled her cheek. She inhaled the good, honest smell of him, touched all over again by what he’d done.
Before she could withdraw, his arms came around her, returning her embrace, and for a split second she and Alice were pressed firmly against his chest and side. Then he let go and she sank onto her heels. When she went to step away, however, she discovered Alice had once again grabbed Harry’s T-shirt and was not about to let go.
“Maybe you really are a babe magnet.”
Harry eyed Alice indulgently. “Nah. She’s just got good taste.”
He brushed his forefinger across the back of Alice’s knuckles. Alice lifted her face to his, eyes wide, her mouth open in an almost-smile. Full of curiosity and wonder.
“Come on, cutie,” he said gently, smiling in return.
He brushed her hand again and Alice let go, transferring her grip to his finger. Pippa stepped back, and after a long second Alice let Harry’s finger slip from her grasp.
“Should have known you’d be an expert at the cut and run,” she said.
“Lots of practice.”
For a moment they simply smiled at each other.
“I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah. Look after yourself, okay?” she said, a little alarmed to feel her throat closing over with unexpected emotion.
Although maybe it wasn’t that unexpected—he’d saved her ass tonight, after all.
“Sure thing.”
He raised his hand in farewell and headed for his car. She watched him, only belatedly realizing it must have been quite an operation to get both her car and his here. She wondered how many favors he’d called in and knew she’d never know. Just as she’d never know how much she really owed him for parts and labor.
Grateful tears stung the back of her eyes as she waved him off. Pippa wasn’t one of those people who had random good things fall in her lap every day, and she’d never considered herself particularly lucky, but there was no doubt the universe had been smiling on her when Harry drove past on the highway last week.
Suddenly she wished she’d said more to him, even if it would almost certainly have made him deeply uncomfortable. They’d been so busy giving each other a hard time, playing up their old dynamic, that she didn’t feel as though she’d properly expressed her feelings.
Right now, Harry was her hero. Pure and simple.
She felt a tug, and when she looked down she discovered Alice was once again undressing her. Clearly, she needed to either invest in some safety pins or a pair of mittens for her daughter. Or, alternatively, some truly excellent underwear if she was destined to be flashing all and sundry on a regular basis.
For a split second—the most fleeting of moments—she allowed herself to wonder what Harry had thought of the “show” she’d put on tonight. Then she as quickly pushed the thought from her mind.
After all, it was absurd to even think—
Shaking her head, Pippa went to put her daughter to bed.
HARRY DIDN’T CONSIDER himself a saint. Not by a long shot. He had his faults and flaws, and some of them were worse than others, but one thing he’d never done was look twice at a mate’s girlfriend or wife.
It simply wasn’t in his makeup. As far as he was concerned, there were more than enough single, ready and willing women in the world without him even considering a woman who was taken.
So why in the name of all that was good couldn’t he get the memory of Pippa’s creamy, curvy breasts out of his head?
It wasn’t just that she’d been wearing a cherry-red bra—not what he would have guessed was under her old-fashioned dress, that was for sure—although the way the bright lace had cupped her pale skin had been pretty damn memorable.
It was everything. The sway of her body as she’d moved around the kitchen, the way she’d tilted her head when she sent smart-mouthed zingers his way, the way she’d turned pink when she’d realized what her enterprising daughter had done.
Pippa White, it turned out, was sexy. In a quiet, subversive, get-under-a-man’s-skin kind of way. She might not put it all out there like the brunette who’d punched her number into his phone last week, but there was something about Pippa that made a man think about things he shouldn’t be thinking about when she was his best friend’s ex-girlfriend—or, better yet, the mother of his best friend’s child.
The worst thing was, Harry suspected he’d always been aware of her in that way on some level. When she’d been going out with Steve, Harry had always been able to pick her voice out in a crowd. Same with her laugh. And he’d whiled away more than one night lounging around a pool table with her, shooting the shit, laughing at her jokes and enjoying her sharp take on the world. Enjoying her.
Not gonna happen. Ever. So get that dirty little thought out of your head right now.
Harry pulled into his driveway and braked with more force than necessary, slamming the car door hard as he exited and headed for the house.
It was just as well he wouldn’t be running into Pippa again in the near future, because he wasn’t interested in being either the nobly-tortured, self-restrained chump or the dick-driven moron who threw away years of friendship for a roll in the hay. He liked things nice and easy. No complications. Lots of fun. Pippa didn’t fall under any of those headings.
He strode into the living room, automatically reaching for the remote to flick on the TV. He wasn’t really hungry, but he went into the kitchen and made himself a big bowl of ice cream. He sat on the couch and dug in, kidding himself that he was watching the cricket report when really he was thinking about the way Pippa had hugged and kissed him on her doorstep.
She’d called him kind, which was a pretty big joke given all he’d been able to think about was her breast pressed against his biceps. And when he’d returned her embrace—an impulse he hadn’t been able to control—he’d sucked in a lungful of her perfume and the warm, milky smell of her daughter.
Who—yeah—had totally been in Pippa’s arms while he was thinking about how soft her breast felt against his arm.
He was so kind. Practically a saint.
Disgusted with himself, he pushed his half-full bowl onto the coffee table and dropped his head against the cushion, trying to find some clarity. Or at the very least a little peace of mind.
He’d left as soon as he’d registered his own interest—he figured that counted in his favor. And he’d held her for only a second. And even though he wouldn’t swear on it, he was pretty sure he’d helped out with the car with absolutely no expectations. Just as, even now, a part of him itched to grab his toolbox and go over to her place to fix that ridiculous abandoned door leaning against the wall, as well as that stupid, half-assed lock she had to wrestle with.
