Within Reach (16 page)

Angie was aware of a certain tension inside herself as it drew closer and closer to Michael’s usual time to get home from work. Then she heard his car in the driveway, followed by the telltale rumble of the roller door on the garage. A minute later his footsteps sounded in the hall and her heart did a strange little shimmy in her chest. He walked into the room, rumpled and worn out by the day, his curly hair tousled. He was holding Charlie under one arm, his son wriggling and protesting, and something warm and hot and primitive thumped in the pit of Angie’s stomach.

“Hey,” he said, offering her a faint smile.

She nodded an acknowledgment, appalled by the wash of sexual heat that was flushing through her body, flooding through her torso, up into her chest and neck, making her breasts tingle and triggering a faint, needy ache between her thighs. She’d been so miserable and confused all weekend. All she’d wanted was to know that Michael was still talking to her, that they were going to be okay. She’d had that assurance this afternoon—and now her body was ambushing her, reminding her in no uncertain terms that she had slept with the tall, dark-haired man standing not four feet away from her.

He’d been inside her body. He’d kissed and licked and bitten her breasts and slid his hand into her pants. He’d made her come, his name on her lips. She’d slid her hand along the silken steel of his erection and gripped the firm, rounded muscle of his ass as he thrust into her. She’d—

Angie shut her laptop with a snap. “I should get going,” she said, sliding off the stool so quickly she knocked it off balance.

“You don’t want to stay for dinner?”

She knew he was simply being polite, trying to get things back onto an even keel, but right now she needed to be someplace he was not.

“I’ve got yoga,” she lied.

Michael frowned. She waited for him to point out that she usually had yoga on Tuesday nights, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he put Charlie down and walked across to kiss Eva hello.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he said. “You want to turn that off for a second?”

Eva muted the TV but kept both eyes on the screen in a blatant attempt to have her cake and eat it, too. “Yeah…?”

“Grandma Faye is coming to town. She’s arriving tomorrow morning and she wants to make sure she gets a chance to see you.”

That got Eva’s attention. Angie’s, too. He hadn’t mentioned that his mother was coming to town.

“Is she staying with us?” Eva asked, bouncing on the couch. “Because she can have my bedroom if you like and I can sleep in with Charlie.”

“I was thinking she could have my room and I would crash on the couch,” Michael said.

“Oh. Okay. That sounds good, too,” Eva said, her gaze drifting to the television.

Angie was hovering, halfway to the door, caught mid-exit by Michael’s news. “Did you know she was coming?”

His expression was wry. “Nope. Mum won a mystery flight in a raffle at bingo night and it turned out it was to Melbourne. She’s got two nights in town.”

“It’s a long way to come for only two nights,” Angie said, frowning. Michael’s parents lived in Perth, a three-and-a-half-hour flight away.

“I know. But apparently the tickets are non-transferable and Dad won’t spring for a one-way ticket home because he says it’s highway robbery and Mum never argues with him when it comes to money, so…”

Angie knew he wasn’t hugely close to his parents, but she couldn’t help thinking it was a shame his mother wouldn’t be staying longer. Still, it was none of her business.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you will,” Michael said.

She smiled, recognizing the echo of her earlier words. The smile held until she was in her car.

She didn’t understand how she could feel sick with regret all weekend and yet still want to do it all over again the moment he walked in the door. It was crazy, absolutely counterintuitive and more than a little self-destructive.

She scrubbed her face with her hands. She didn’t know what to do. What move to make next. She’d tried business-as-usual and failed spectacularly. She’d tried keeping her distance, which had not exactly been a big winner, either. She was all out of strategies.

How about you stop being an idiot? Michael is not some hot guy you had great sex with. He’s
Michael,
and right now you’re the biggest regret on his horizon. The sex doesn’t matter.
He
matters. Get with the program
.

Such good advice. So sane and rational.

She started her car, throwing it into gear with a little too much punch before heading home to yet another night of giving herself a hard time for feelings that she couldn’t seem to control.

* * *

“M
ICHAEL
. Y
OU
’
RE
SO
SKINNY
. Haven’t you been eating?”

Michael kissed his mother’s cheek. If he’d thought about it, he could have guessed this would be her opening gambit. Even before Billie’s death she’d always been on about him putting some “meat on his bones,” something he’d always found ironic since both she and his father were lean and tall.

“I’ve been eating.”

“More than frozen meals, I hope,” his mother said, her gaze scanning the kitchen as though searching for giveaway cardboard boxes and plastic containers. She was dressed neatly in a pair of tailored trousers and a peacock-
blue twinset, her steel-gray hair sitting in a smooth chin-length bob.

“I
can
cook, you know, Mum.”

“Yeah, Daddy cooks all the time. Spaghetti and more spaghetti. Luckily Auntie Angie cooks for us on Wednesday nights or me and Charlie would be spaghetti-shaped by now,” Eva piped up.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Eva. I know I can always count on you,” he said.

“No worries, Daddy,” Eva said, the heavy irony in his tone going over her head.

“Angie. She’s Billie’s friend, isn’t she?” his mother asked.

“That’s right.”

“The tall, dark-haired one. The pretty one.”

His mother’s gaze remained fixed to his face as she waited for his confirmation.

Michael picked up her overnight bag. “That’s her. I’ve put you in my room.” He headed for his bedroom, very aware that his stilted response had made his mother curious, but he hadn’t trusted himself to say anything else. He wasn’t ready to talk about Angie, even in the most innocuous way.

He dropped his mother’s bag beside the bed. “There’s a fresh towel for you there. Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

“You don’t have to give up your bed for me, Michael. Don’t be silly. I can bunk in with Eva or sleep on the couch.”

Michael’s shoulders relaxed as he realized his mother wasn’t going to pursue more talk of Angie.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” he said firmly. “Now, do you want to eat in or go out?”

“Which would you prefer? What’s easiest?”

They went out, back to the family bistro where he’d used Angie as a shield to protect himself from Gerry and her friend. He listened to his mother detailing the cruise to Canada and Alaska they had planned for next year and answered her questions about being back at work and the children.

“And what about you?” she asked when Eva took Charlie to inspect the dessert bar. “How are you?”

He slid his empty drink coaster half an inch to the right. “I’m getting there.”

“Are you going out? Doing anything?”

He was uncomfortable with the conversation for more than one reason. He’d never had a confiding-type relationship with either of his parents, and he wasn’t about to start now. Plus the only thing he’d “done” lately was Angie. He could barely let himself think about it, let alone talk about it. He could imagine how shocked his mother would be if she learned he’d slept with another woman already, and that that woman was Billie’s best friend.

He shifted in his seat. “The kids keep me busy. And work.”

To his surprise, his mother reached out and rested one of her hands on his. She gave his hand a squeeze, her eyes sympathetic.

“I think you’re a wonderful father, Michael. But don’t let that become everything for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you’re allowed to have a life, too.”

“I have a life.”

His mother simply patted his hand again. They went home not long after, and once the kids were in bed and he’d won yet another tussle with his mother over who was sleeping on the couch, he stretched out across the cushions and stared at the darkened TV screen. For the first time since Billie’s death, he tried to think about the future in terms of what he wanted and not what he had to simply endure.

Some of it was easy. No-brainer stuff, really. He wanted Eva and Charlie to be happy and healthy and safe. He wanted to be enough for them. Despite the fact that his interest in the firm had died to next to nothing in the early days of his grief, there was still a tickle of professional ambition itching at him. There were things he wanted to achieve, projects he’d like to land.

Which left only his personal life—the empty side of the bed. Not so long ago, he’d honestly believed he could spend the rest of his life living off memories of Billie. The incident with Angie was proof positive that that had been nothing but a noble, naive fantasy. He was a man. He enjoyed sex, and he enjoyed women—apparently that part of him hadn’t died with Billie.

But that didn’t mean he wanted to do the whole falling-in-love-and-marriage thing again. He was almost certain he didn’t have it in him to love like that a second time. More important, he didn’t want to. He wasn’t sure he could survive the loss of someone who meant so much to him again. Maybe that made him a coward, but so be it. It was too much, the hurt too profound.

No, he was done with that kind of love.

He rolled onto his side, yanking the quilt with him. A faint waft of perfume drifted to him and he inhaled, chasing the scent. Citrus and flowers.

Angie. She was the last person who’d used this quilt, of course.

He tucked a hand beneath his head and closed his eyes, refusing to think about Angie or the other night in any detail. It had been a mistake. Something he wanted to put behind him. Something he would regret till his dying day.

Except for the part where you slid inside her. Except for the fact that you now know how soft and firm her breasts are. What her nipples taste like. How tight she feels. What she sounds like when she comes. Be honest and admit you don’t regret knowing any and all of the above.

He swore, the sound muffled by the couch. He rolled onto his back again. The quilt was a tangle around his legs and guilt an acid burn in his gut, a perfect counterpoint to the throbbing of his hard-on.

Could you be any more messed up?

He didn’t think so. The truth was, he had no idea what he wanted anymore. He needed his friendship with Angie, relied on it to get him through, yet he couldn’t stop thinking about the other night. Couldn’t stop the guilt, either, that accompanied those thoughts—it was too early for him to want what he wanted from Angie, especially because of who she was and what she’d been to Billie.

It took him a long time to fall asleep.

* * *

T
HE
NEXT
MORNING
,
HIS
mother insisted on taking Charlie for the day, something Michael was more than happy to agree to. Angie arrived as he was leaving and he realized from his mother’s baffled expression that he hadn’t explained about Angie taking over the studio, an oversight he honestly couldn’t explain.

There was nothing to feel ashamed about there, after all. Just one friend helping out another.

“It sounds like an excellent arrangement,” his mother said crisply when he’d finished outlining Angie’s problems with the Stradbroke and his difficulty finding someone to collect Eva from school.

“It’s worked out well,” Angie said with a small smile.

She was uncomfortable. He could see it in her eyes and the way she held her body.

“I’ve always admired your work, Angie. Billie was always wearing one of your pieces,” his mother said.

“She was my biggest fan,” Angie said.

“I think Eva’s your second biggest. She’s been raving about you. Apparently you make a terrific chicken curry.”

“Oh. Yes. It’s not
my
curry, as such. I got the recipe from the paper. But the kids seem to like it.” Angie was blushing now. She took a step toward the French doors. “It was nice to see you again, Mrs. Robinson.”

“It’s Faye. And it’s lovely to see you, too, Angie.”

Michael busied himself gathering his things as Angie exited to the deck.

“I’d forgotten how warm she is. Quiet, but she has a lovely presence, doesn’t she?” his mother said.

“Yes. I’ll see you later, okay? Call if you need anything.”

Like last night, his words sounded stiff and unnatural, and, like last night, his mother didn’t comment on it, simply tilting her cheek for his kiss. “Have a nice day.”

“You, too.”

He didn’t have a nice day, he had a shitty day. Temperamental clients, wayward contractors, a huge blow-out on the budget for a project he was trying to convince a client to commit to—he was more than happy to draw a line under it when he left the office that evening.

Angie’s car was gone when he arrived home. Not really surprising, given how uncomfortable she’d been with his mother this morning.

“Something smells good,” he said as he entered the house.

“Homemade chicken nuggets and chips,” his mother announced. “Charlie and Eva’s choice.”

She was watching a DVD with the children on the couch, her feet stretched in front of her.

“Sounds good. When are we eating?”

“
We’re
eating in half an hour. I’m not sure when
you’re
eating,” his mother said.

“Sorry?”

“I’m giving you the night off. Go out, see a movie, catch up with a friend. Whatever.” She made a shooing motion with her hand. “Have some fun.”

He blinked. How like his mother to make plans for him without consulting him.