Modern Heart: City Love 3 Page 18

  He groaned and rolled over.

  Damn.

  His hand reached across to the empty side of the bed. Patted it. Stilled. He cracked open one eye, his hair almost obscuring his view.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Painting.”

  He blinked and sat up. “What are you painting?”

  “You.”

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed and rested his elbows on his knees. Rubbed his eyes. I had to admit, this wasn’t a bad view either.

  “Do you always paint naked?” he asked.

  His eyes were wide open now and taking in my lack of clothes appreciatively. I tried to ignore my skin growing hot.

  “You’re naked. It only seemed fair,” I told him lightly.

  John stood up and stretched, reaching his hands high above his head. My gut clenched. I inhaled then exhaled a long breath.

  He strolled over and looked at the canvas, seemingly oblivious to the effect he was having on me. He whistled. “You did all that this morning?”

  “While you were sleeping your lazy ass off, yes.”

  “I don’t know. My ass looks pretty good, if you ask me.”

  I snickered and studied the painting again, then sobered. “I’ll say,” I muttered.

  From behind, he reached casually around and embraced me. His arms resting on my bare skin made it tingle. Not to mention something else pressing into my back, which made my legs go slightly weak.

  He rested his chin on the top of my head. “Is this what you do with all the men who sleep over?”

  Smart ass. “Apparently.”

  “How’s your apartment doing this morning?”

  He was having far too much fun toying with me. Two could play at that game. “My apartment’s still in shock, to tell the truth. I can’t decide whether to throw you out or cook you breakfast.”

  “Throw me out? After what I did last night? That’s harsh.”

  “My apartment was innocent, John. You defiled it.”

  I could feel him grinning into my hair. “You loved every bit of it.”

  Damn right, but I wasn’t going to tell him that so I stared at the painting again. Aside from a few minor touches, it was almost done. It was one of those works that had flowed. Sometimes pieces could take many sittings. With others, like this one, a sort of possession would overcome me and I just had to get it out.

  “So are you going to cook me breakfast?”

  I shrugged out of his embrace and turned to face him. We were almost touching, but not quite. “No.”

  “I thought you said—”

  I yawned, hiding a grin. “I’m tired after painting. I’m going back to bed.” I walked to the bed and lay down on my back. Staring up at the ceiling I said, “Seeing as you’re still here, you might as well make yourself useful.”

  *

  “Just so you know, this still isn’t a relationship.” I made my statement sound like a joke, even though – coward that I was – there was still an element of truth to it.

  John quirked an eyebrow at me over his plate of bacon and eggs.

  I’d caved and made him breakfast. Hell, anyone who could spend the morning doing that to me deserved sustenance. Not that I’d quite figured out what “that” was. I was an experienced woman of thirty. I knew my way around the bedroom, but with John, everything felt different. Fresh. Unique. I couldn’t describe it even if I wanted to.

  I cracked another egg into the frying pan while humming along to the radio.

  “Then why are you humming?” John asked.

  I stopped humming.

  “That’s OK,” John said, after finishing his mouthful of bacon and eggs. “I figure it’s going to take some time.”

  I let go of the frying pan and turned to him. “What’s going to take some time?”

  “Reforming you.”

  My hands went to my hips. I opened my mouth but John put a hand up to stop me.

  “Calm down. I’m joking. Mostly.” At my sharp look he rolled his eyes. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he reassured me. “We’ll hang around together when it suits us and have sex. Will that do?”

  I dropped my hands from my hips, confused. Actually as far as not having a relationship went, that sounded pretty damn good. John on tap. There were plenty of girls who would be envious. I turned back to the eggs in the pan and took my time flipping them carefully. “But you told me you’re in love with me,” I said quietly. I wasn’t entirely sure why I was bringing it up.

  “I am,” he replied easily.

  I still had my back to him. “But I …” I swore under my breath. I sounded pathetic.

  “But you’re not,” John stated calmly.

  I threw the spatula on the counter and turned around. “I didn’t say that. I just …” The words died in my mouth. God! I had turned into a complete idiot. I certainly wasn’t in love with him, but I did enjoy being with him. Particularly in bed. I could definitely say I loved being in bed with him. How was I supposed to articulate that?

  John pushed his chair back and walked into the kitchen area to join me. He rested his hands on my shoulders. I studied my bare feet intently. My toenail polish was a mess –

  “Scarlett.”

  His finger pushed my chin up so I was looking at him.

  I sighed. “What?”

  “Just spend time with me and have sex with me. I’m happy with that.”

  “You are?”

  John’s brown eyes turned incredulous. “Hell, yes. Tell me you didn’t enjoy last night and this morning.”

  I bit my lip. Staring at him right now made me want to march him back upstairs to my bed. Strike that. He could take me in the kitchen if he wanted.

  “Scarlett,” he warned, reading the look in my eyes.

  “What?” I asked innocently.

  “You know what. I’d like to finish my breakfast.”

  “You’re no fun.”

  “None at all.” He kissed me on the forehead. “Back to our earlier point of discussion before you distracted me, I’m happy with the situation. I only have one requirement.”

  “Being?”

  “While we’re in this relationship we’re not having, you only sleep with me.”

  “Then it would be a relationship.”

  Something wild flared in John’s eyes. “I don’t care what the hell you do or don’t call it, there’s only me.” He reached across the counter and picked up the mug of coffee I’d prepared for him. He took a sip then set it down slowly. “Unless that’s your way of telling me you want to sleep with other people?”

  “No,” I said quickly, and I meant it. “For the record, I’ve never been involved with more than one guy at a time.”

  “Then I’m your guy.”

  “You’re my guy,” I repeated. I waited a beat and then asked, “Is that going to be enough for you?”

  “Why shouldn’t it be? Is it enough for you?”

  I didn’t answer and silence filled the room except for the sizzle and pop of the bacon and eggs cooking. They were done. Happy to be distracted, I grabbed John’s plate and filled it with seconds, then handed it to him. He hadn’t asked, but after last night’s and this morning’s efforts, he was bound to be hungry.

  When I was done, I joined him at the table and started cutting up an egg.

  John didn’t make any attempt to eat his. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  I chewed the mouthful of egg and swallowed. It got stuck halfway down and I reached for my juice. After I managed to swallow I looked at him reluctantly. “You were married.”

  “Exactly. I was married. I’m not anymore.”

  “Eventually you’ll want more.” I returned my focus to my food. I wasn’t sure where I was going with this. I mean, I did want to spend time with him and have sex. Why was I so hellbent on ruining that by reminding him of our complete unsuitability? Probably because I wasn’t stupid. This was John we were talking about. Mr. Nice Guy. Nice guys didn’t wind up with girls like me.


  “Marriage doesn’t mean anything.”

  He’d said it so quietly I almost didn’t catch it.

  My head shot up. “You don’t really mean—”

  “Yes. I do.” He laughed at the irony of his words, but it came out sounding bitter. “I mean it, Scarlett. Trust me on this.”

  I stared at him, unsure what to say. It was tempting to drop a cynical remark but even I had some degree of sensitivity. I attempted to opt for maturity. “Are you saying you never want to get married again?”

  “Unlikely.”

  I blinked in surprise. I hadn’t really believed it. Not until he’d said it. “But your parents are happily married. Some of our friends are happily married.” I was stunned. At him and at myself. Who would have thought I’d be the one to espouse the concept of marriage?

  “And would they be any less happy if they didn’t have a marriage certificate?”

  “No. I guess not. But—”

  “But what?” He was gripping his knife and fork so tight his knuckles had turned white.

  “But it’s important to some people,” I finished carefully.

  “Is it important to you?” he shot back.

  “Well, no—”

  “And it’s not important to me, so it’s not important.”

  I’d been about to say it wasn’t important to me because when you didn’t have serious relationships, the concept of marriage was pretty much irrelevant. However, given how unimportant it apparently was to him, there was really no point arguing.

  John’s chair scraped loudly on the floorboards as he stood and pushed away his plate. “I’m not sure I can fit seconds in, after all. I’m going to take a shower. Leave the mess, I’ll do it after.”

  I watched him stride to the bathroom and then close the door.

  I sat in silence for a while, listening to the sound of the creaking pipes and running water while John had his shower. I guess joining him was out. Eventually, I picked up the plates with a sigh and took them to the kitchen counter.

  I ignored his offer to leave the dishes and started scraping them and putting them in the dishwasher. I needed something to do.

  Otherwise I’d be forced to think about this. Whatever this was. Or wasn’t. And why, all of a sudden, I was so goddamn interested in his love life before me. Prior to John I had cared less about the ex-partners of the men I’d slept with. But then prior to John I’d never let any of them sleep here in my apartment.

  I slammed the dishwasher door with a loud thud.

  It was unnatural, I decided. That’s what it was. I had no illusions about marriage because marriage wasn’t what I wanted.

  But John? John was marriage material through and through. Point in case, he’d married in his early twenties. And whoever this Elise woman was, she had ruined that for him.

  I could respect that he didn’t want to talk about it. I really could. But it damn well wouldn’t stop me wondering.

  Chapter 26

  “Do you think she cheated on him?” Cate asked, green eyes wide.

  “No. I don’t think so. Then again, how would I know?”

  Cate studied me sympathetically. In the past I would have arced up at even the slightest hint of pity from her, but not today.

  We were in the city, walking through Hyde Park together. It was winter and there was a bitter chill to the air. The wind was plucking leaves off the trees like it was its sole purpose in life. I’d shoved my hands into my leather jacket and was forced to keep blinking rapidly to stop my eyes from watering. Cate was better prepared than me. She had a navy scarf, which matched her navy business suit, wrapped tightly around her neck. She’d burrowed her face into it and everything she said came out muffled.

  “He won’t talk about it?” she asked.

  “As Queen of Avoidance, I can definitely say he’s not keen to talk about it.”

  Between the wind and her scarf I almost didn’t hear her mutter, “And you would know.”

  Again, I didn’t arc up. How strange. Something had changed between the two of us during our time spent in New York, and I was thankful. Before New York I wouldn’t have even considered calling her. Today, I had hit call on my mobile phone without even thinking about it. And not just because Maddy was well and truly occupied with her new role as a mother, or because Christa had been chained to her desk at work trying to meet a deadline. I was genuinely interested in her opinion.

  “I still can’t believe he’s been married and divorced,” she said.

  “You and me both. Not to mention the whole just go and have fun discussion with his mother.”

  Cate giggled and her wind-blown cheeks appeared even more flushed. “Gosh, are you going to tell her you took her up on her advice?”

  “Remind me to bring it up next time I’m over there for dinner.”

  “Do you think you’ll get another invite?” She eyed me curiously.

  I shrugged. “Depends if John wants more than hanging out together and having sex.”

  Cate stopped walking and turned to me. “Alright. I’m confused. You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

  I’d already told her what had happened. Usually I’d have thought twice about sharing the details, but that was before a painful morning of not being able to get anything accomplished at work. The truth was, I was still reeling from the news and I needed to talk to someone.

  “Sex with John is not a bad thing.”

  Cate’s cheeks turned pinker. “I wasn’t implying that, silly. What I meant was it sounded like you might want it to be more than that.”

  I shot her a sharp look.

  She raised her eyebrows at me, unperturbed. “Do you?”

  “No. I’m worried he will want more.”

  “But I thought you just said he didn’t?”

  “He says that now, but what about later on? It’s John. He’s in love with me, Cate.”

  “That’s not a bad thing.”

  “For you maybe,” I grumbled.

  Cate sighed. I couldn’t hear it but I could tell by the rise and fall of her shoulders. “I’m heading into dangerous territory, I know, but why don’t you want a man like John to be in love with you?”

  “Any man,” I corrected.

  “OK, so any man.” Her green eyes were cool as she waited for me to answer.

  Bloody hell. If she wanted my whole life story, she wasn’t going to get it. “Love equates to expectations,” I stated bluntly.

  Cate blinked. “Love is also about acceptance.”

  I hadn’t expected that. She didn’t know how close to the truth she was. I paled.

  Cate was still watching me. “Was it a man?”

  A harsh laugh erupted from my throat. “Hardly.”

  “Your parents.”

  I turned and started walking again. I didn’t want to look at her. God, this was so ridiculous. I was a thirty-year-old woman and here I was grappling with issues from my childhood. It was pathetic.

  Cate’s hand grabbed my arm. Her grip was surprisingly tight. I let out a huff and stopped walking. When I met her eyes, I frowned. Only a moment ago they’d been cold like the winter wind. Now they were swirling with emotion.

  She dropped her hand and took a deep breath of the frigid air. “My dad,” she said flatly. “He’s not a very nice man. I won’t repeat the things he used to shout at me. That’s why I came to Sydney. It’s why I’ll never go back home.” Her voice was wavering but there was a firm set to her jaw, showing me that she meant it.

  I stared at her. I didn’t know what to say, but I had to say something. I cleared my throat. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “It’s not something I really bring up.” She looked away.

  “I get it.”

  Her eyes darted back to meet mine. “I know.”

  A thought occurred to me. “He didn’t,” I started, then stopped. I tried again. “Did he …?”

  “Abuse me?” Cate shook her head. Her eyes hardened. “No. Not physically anyway. He’s what you would cal
l a useless no-hoper. One of those people who goes through life thinking the world owes him something, which is pretty rich considering he lives on government support and is too lazy to work. My entire family is on support. Aunts, uncles, cousins.”

  I was having a hard time processing her words. Up until now, I’d been convinced she’d been brought up middle class, leading a blessed, easy existence. I never would have guessed she’d grown up in a disadvantaged environment if she hadn’t told me.

  “You’re surprised, aren’t you? The reason I’m telling you is to remind you that you can’t choose your family. Some people are lucky. Look at Maddy and John. Their families are amazing. I wasn’t quite so lucky, and it sounds like you weren’t either, but for different reasons. It’s the roll of the dice, Scarlett. Don’t let it define you.”

  I was still staring at her, open mouthed. I felt ashamed. For so long I’d dismissed Cate as an innocent, fluffy type, whose optimism was the result of naivety. Apparently I was the naive one.

  “Do Christa or Maddy know?” I asked.

  “Christa, but not in a lot of detail. I told her a long time ago when we first moved in together. It’s never really come up with Maddy.”

  “Thank you for telling me.”

  She tilted her head to look at me. “It’s not a secret. While it’s not the sort of thing I broadcast, I’m not ashamed.” Her mouth twisted into a wry grin. “Not now that I’m an adult anyway. My family made their choices. I’ve made mine.”

  She had, I realized. She was an accomplished, successful woman in spite of her upbringing. “I underestimated you,” I blurted.

  Cate’s smile softened into something genuine. “I know. It doesn’t matter.”

  But it did. It really did. I was filled with respect for my friend.