Six Naughty Nights: Love in Reverse, Book 2 (6 page)

Toby blinked. “Huh.”

She bit her lip. No way could she read those out.
For example, tell her to pleasure you using only her mouth. Or describe how you want her to touch herself while you watch.
Jeez.

She lifted her gaze to his again. The first time they’d gone down on each other had been on a quiet beach of white sand, tucked out of sight behind a cluster of palm trees. Did he remember? Yes, was the answer, judging by his raised eyebrow and the curve of his lips.

She put the card back and pulled out another one—this one red. “Ooh.”

“What?”

“It’s a girl’s one. ‘You’re a very expensive, high-class hooker, looking for customers in a bar. You see a businessman ordering a drink. Go up to him and ask him if he would like a companion for the evening. Get him to buy you a drink, and then let him take you back to his place. Ask what he wants, and tell him what it will cost. And if he wants anything extra, well, that’s up to you.’” She looked up at him.

“Nice.” Toby’s eyes glittered in the light.

“What’s a hooker?” Charlie asked.

Shit
.
She’d forgotten Charlie had ears. She opened her mouth to tell him not to be so nosey.

“A hooker’s a rugby position,” Toby interjected without hesitating.

“Like Dan Carter?” Charlie asked brightly.

“Well, I wouldn’t call him that to his face.”
 

Esther gave a wry smile and put the cards back into the box reluctantly as Toby proceeded to tell their son about Keven Mealamu and what role the hooker played on the rugby field. How were you supposed to have a love life when you had a two-year-old? Even if she had met someone she’d been attracted to, with nobody to babysit there was no way she could ever go on a date.

Weariness overtaking her, she came back to the bed and stretched out next to Charlie. She ran her fingers through his curls, and he pushed her away and moved to the end of the bed, climbing down. “I’m going to sit on the sofa,” he announced, clear as anything, and ran through into the living room with his magazine.

She sighed and lay back, unable to summon the energy to go after him. Looking up at the ceiling, she thought about the Naughty Nights game and wondered who would get to play it with Toby. Would he tell the lucky girl he had a son? Would Charlie feature in his life at all from now on?

Toby hadn’t said anything for a while, so she turned her head to look at him, only to find him watching her, head propped on his hand. Charlie had pushed the duvet to Toby’s waist, and she could just see the line of dark brown hair heading down from his stomach, disappearing into his boxers. She swallowed and raised her gaze to his in time to see he’d been looking at her legs, bare and exposed right up to the hem of the T-shirt. She smiled, but he didn’t return it. His gaze lingered on her mouth before coming back to hers.

“Why didn’t you try to find me?” His tone wasn’t accusatory, just puzzled. “When you found out you were pregnant, I mean?”

Heat flooded her cheeks. She swallowed. “I did. But the Northland is a pretty big place.”

It was a lie. First, she hadn’t tried to find him because she hadn’t thought he’d be interested. And besides which, he’d already turned her down once. If she’d contacted him to inform him he was going to be a father and he’d reacted by telling her to get lost, how would that have felt? For herself? For Charlie?

Second, she hadn’t told him because she’d wanted to punish him for walking away from her. In the beginning, anyway. She didn’t like what that said about her, but was honest enough to admit it. After her father died and Charlie was born, she’d thought often about trying to track Toby down. Half of her wanted to keep the boy to herself, half of her wanted to share the experience of having a child with someone, plus Charlie deserved to know his father. But something had always made her hold back from contacting Toby. He’d hurt her terribly, and she hadn’t been able to move on from that.

“But I left you messages,” he said. “At the university.”

Crap
.
She’d forgotten that. The receptionist had put them in her pigeonhole every day for weeks, but she’d torn them into pieces and thrown them away.
 

She couldn’t admit to him that she’d refused to contact him on purpose. Not now. “Messages?” she said. “I didn’t get any messages.”

Relief washed over his features. “I assumed you didn’t want to contact me. I didn’t realise you never got them.”

She looked at her hands, her gut twisting with guilt. She was terrible at lying, and she wondered if he’d be able to read the truth on her face. If he did, how would he react? He had every right to be angry with her. She’d denied him the first two years of Charlie’s life. It wasn’t as if he’d made the decision to be an absent father. Maybe he’d have liked to change nappies and do the two a.m. shift. Hard as it had been, the thought of missing out on that quiet time with her baby snuffling at her breast, of not seeing his first smile, first mouthful of food, first step, made her catch her breath. Toby hadn’t had any of that.

He didn’t say anything, and she couldn’t read what he was thinking. How did he feel about having a son? Was he pleased or annoyed she’d upset his plans for the future? What would he do after he went back to the Bay of Islands? Would he stay in contact with her or turn his back on her again?
 

By law, she could demand he pay toward Charlie’s upkeep, but that seemed unfair when she’d denied him access these past years. Shame and defensiveness twisted inside her at the same time. Part of her hated him for finding her, for seeing her in that supermarket, for saving her. She’d been happy in her own little world, just Charlie and her.
 

Hadn’t she?

Chapter Seven

“Tell me about your dad,” he said.

She looked up at the ceiling. “Not much to say.”

“What did he die from?”

Her throat tightened, and she cleared it. “Officially, a heart attack. Unofficially, I think he died of a broken heart.”

“He missed your mum?”

“Yeah.”

“When did she die again?”

“Five years ago. Cancer. He struggled on for a while, but it felt like he faded away, you know?” Sadness overwhelmed her, and she fell silent.

Toby didn’t reply. He remained quiet for a moment while she fought with herself to keep her emotions in check.

Then, to her surprise, he inched closer to her.

She looked at him in alarm. “What are you doing?”

“Moving closer.”

“I got that much. I meant why are you doing it?”

In answer, he lifted a hand to touch her face and brushed her cheek with his thumb. She stiffened automatically, little shivers shooting down her spine at the contact. Her instincts told her to move away, but his touch was so gentle, she couldn’t help but linger.
 

She’d put aside her physical desires since having Charlie, had given every ounce of her affection and energy to him. She’d forgotten what it was like to be Esther, to have someone talk to her, touch her as something other than a mother.

He slid his hand into her hair and cupped the back of her head. His warm eyes searched her face, resting on her mouth. Her lips parted. He was going to kiss her, and that was a step too far. She froze, moving back, but she’d forgotten how strong he was. Holding her in place easily, he smiled, clearly amused at her struggle.

Damn the man. He was remembering their time in Fiji too clearly. She’d never considered herself submissive before—she usually hated being told what to do and thought herself a modern, independent woman who enjoyed being in control of her life. If someone had suggested before she met Toby that she’d enjoy being dominated, she’d have laughed in their face.

But there’d been that incident on the balcony, and she’d been shocked by how much it had aroused her. Afterward they’d talked about it, and she admitted that him being a little…coercive…turned her on. Not being forced obviously, she’d added hastily—she wasn’t into rape fantasies or anything like that. Toby had just grinned and had apparently understood exactly what she meant, because the following night when they were walking along the beach, he pulled her onto the sand behind a large group of rocks and proceeded to make love to her there and then. Shocked and slightly panicky—again—at the thought of being discovered but extremely turned on by his persistence, she’d half-protested that this wasn’t what she’d meant until he found ways to shut her up. It had been some of the best sex they’d had, and she warmed right through as she remembered it.

But that was before, and this was hardly the time. Indignation swept through her, and she put both hands on his chest and pushed. He caught one wrist in his hand, however, and then the other, and before she knew it she was on her back, pinned in place by the strength of his arms and the weight of him on top of her.

“Toby!” Her chest heaved with resentful breaths. He was so much bigger than her, all brown skin and rippling muscles and hot breath. And she wasn’t turned on by it at all.
At all,
she scolded herself, trying to ignore her pounding heart. “Let me go.”

He looked up and tipped his head as if he was thinking about it, and then his gaze came back to hers, hot and taunting. “No.”

Their eyes met. Fury blazed through her at his arrogance, his smug smile. “Let me go or I’ll—”

He cut her off by crushing his lips to hers. She squirmed beneath him and tried to give a muffled complaint, but as she opened her mouth he took the opportunity to sweep his tongue inside, and that brought her world crashing down as much as the earthquake had the day before.

Her complaint turned into a low moan as he kissed her thoroughly. The tension melted, and his lips became gentler as her resistance faded. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the moment, to the feel of his young, strong body pressing against hers, to the power of his passion and need for her.
 

There was something about him that was so full of life. He was like a comet blazing through her cool, quiet solar system, awakening every nerve ending in her body that had slept for so long. Her nipples tightened against his chest and a dull throbbing began between her thighs. He pressed his erection against her, and she sighed at the thought of him sliding inside her, filling her to the brim.

She loved the way he gave a low murmur of approval when she moved beneath him, how he took such delight in just kissing her. He’d done this to her in Fiji, coaxed her out of her shell, brought her alive with his enthusiasm and ardour and his expert touch. She’d had such little experience in the bedroom, just a couple of partners at university, and sex for her had been awkward and polite, not at all like it was in the movies. Before, she’d felt self-conscious the whole time in case she did something wrong, wanting to let go and experience the passion she knew was inside her but too awkward with her partners to give in to it.

With Toby, though, it had been exciting and fevered, right from the beginning. He’d lit her up like a lantern, and he hadn’t cared if she got her hair caught in her top or bumped noses—in fact he’d told her at the time, “Sex isn’t about being polite, honey. Give me everything you’ve got.” She’d done so nervously at first, slightly overawed by this huge, enthusiastic, passionate man who certainly knew his way around the bedroom and seemed keen to show her a thing or two. But the more she’d let go, the more it had turned him on, and in the end she’d held nothing back.

Maybe that was why it had hurt so much when he left her.

The thought of him walking away killed her passion. She’d never be able to forget the pain that had knifed through her. All the nights she’d lain awake, thinking about him, aching for the touch of his hands on her skin. The times she’d awoken with a gasp from a nightmare of drowning or falling, and him turning away. How could she ever get over that?
 

Toby obviously felt her passion ebb because he lifted his head to look at her.

She pressed her lips together. “I can’t,” she whispered.

A frown appeared on his forehead, and for a moment she thought she’d made him angry. To her surprise, however, he just kissed her nose. “I know.” He released her hands.

She rolled over and sat up, fighting to keep back tears, only then realising that Charlie stood in the doorway, watching them. Alarm shot through her. He was sucking his thumb, but now removed it to say, “Daddy kissed you, Mummy.”

“Yes.” Flustered, she couldn’t think what to say. “It’s okay, it’s…” Her words tailed off as she noticed his face bore several black marks. Her gaze dropped to the item in his hand. “Oh shit.”

“You said shit,” Charlie announced.

She ran up to him and dropped to her knees to remove the marker pen. “Oh, Charlie, where did you get this?”

“It was on the worktop.” Toby walked past them into the kitchen. He stopped in his tracks. “Ah.”

She pushed herself to her feet and followed him out.

The previously pristine white cupboards were covered with drawings.

“Oh my God.” Blood drained from her face and left her dizzy. “Toby, I’m so sorry.”

He put his hands on his hips. “Well, I guess that’s my deposit gone.”

Cold filtered through her. If he hadn’t been there she would have scolded her son and given him an appropriate punishment—no television for the day, or no chocolate—something he would have understood. But she wasn’t sure how Toby was going to react, and she couldn’t suppress the instinct to defend Charlie, even though he’d done wrong. Would Toby get angry, yell at the boy? Tell them to leave?