Beauty from Pain (Beauty, #1)(30)

I can’t resist putting my fingertips against her upper back and slowly following her spine downward. Her skin is so soft and smooth. So perfect. And I can’t wait to have her from behind.

She stirs a little so I lift my fingertips because I don’t want to wake her. I place a butterfly kiss against the skin of her lower back and then leave her to sleep.

I get the newspaper and have my first cup of coffee at the bar in the kitchen. Nothing of much interest in the headlines—mostly last-minute Christmas deals.

Christmas is in two days. I smile when I think of the delivery Paige will get from me while I’m at my parents’ house in Sydney. I’m a little sad I won’t be with her when she opens it. I’d love to see her face.

I’m on my second cup when Paige sneaks up behind me. She steals my MO when she snakes her arms around my waist and kisses the side of my neck. Her lips are warm and wet against my skin. “Good morning.”

I turn my face toward her and kiss the corner of her mouth. “And good morning to you. Want some coffee?”

She inspects my cup. “Hmm … I guess not. I only drink flavored coffee with lots of creamer and sweetener. It ends up being dessert by the time I add everything I like. I’ll take some juice if you have any.”

“I have orange juice.”

She walks around the bar and goes for the cabinet above the dishwasher. “Glasses?”

She almost guesses right. “The one to the right.”

“Have you eaten breakfast?”

“No. I wanted to wait for you so we could eat together.”

She waltzes over to the fridge and takes inventory. She’s wearing the khaki shirt I stripped off and tossed to the floor last night. It hits her high on her thighs and when she bends over to see what’s on the bottom shelf of the fridge, I see her black lace panties peeking out just below the hem.

I love having a woman in my life again.

“Mrs. Porcelli stocked the refrigerator well before she left. Want me to cook something?”

I don’t want her to think I brought her here to be my cook or housekeeper. “I don’t mind eating a bagel or cereal.”

“I’m no gourmet chef like your sister.” She stands with the door open, searching another minute while she sips her juice. “What about an egg and bacon sandwich?”

“A sanger for brekkie sounds good.”

“A sanger for brekkie,” she repeats (with her southern accent I find so charming) as she pulls out the bacon and eggs and sets to work. It doesn’t take her long to prepare our breakfast and so far, so good. We’re finishing up when I hear my phone ring in the living room. I dash to catch it before it stops ringing.

It’s my mum. I wouldn’t answer except I know she’ll keep calling until she gets me. We haven’t spoken in a few days, so I’m sure she’s calling to finalize plans for Christmas Eve. “Hello, Mum.”

“Good morning, Jack Henry. How’s everything at Avalon?”

“Things couldn’t be better.”

“That good, huh?”

I walk into the kitchen and Paige is clearing our breakfast dishes. I walk over to her and whisper, “Don’t. I’ll get it. You did the cooking.”

“Who are you talking to?” Damn. My mum has sonar ears. That’s why I never got away with anything as a kid.

“I have a guest.”

“A female guest?”

She’s going to love this. “Yes, Mum. It’s a woman.”

“She must have spent the night if she’s at your house this time of the morning. I can’t believe you have a girlfriend you haven’t told me about. Are you bringing her home with you for Christmas?”

“No.”

“I want to meet her, son.”

Of course she does. “It’s not that kind of relationship.”

I hear her huff. Really? My mum huffed at me. “And it never will be if you just said that in front of her.”

“She understands.” It’s you who doesn’t understand.

“Trust me. She doesn’t.”

I try to steer her in a different direction. “I think you were calling to touch base with me about your plans for the holidays.”

“That’s right. Everyone will be here around five, and we’ll eat at six.”

She doesn’t have to tell me this. It’s the same every year. “Okay, Mum. I’ll see you then.”

“Please, consider bringing her. It would make me very happy.” Wrong. What she and I are doing wouldn’t make you happy at all.

“No.”

“You break my heart, but I still love you, son. Be careful driving in.”

“I will. Love you too.”

When I hang up, I feel like I need to apologize to Paige for talking about her while she’s standing right in front of me. “I’m sorry about that.”

She shrugs. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

The old girl thinks it’s a tragedy to be almost thirty and unmarried without any prospects. She wants to marry me off to a wife who will start pushing out babies before our first anniversary, like my brother’s wife did.

Not. Gonna. Happen. Hell will freeze over first.

I help finish the dishes and then we’re free. “I’m going to work out. Want to join me?”