Mr. Nice Guy by Belinda Williams

Chapter Twenty-One

Tom arrivedhome to the smell of steak cooking and the welcome sight of Chelsea in the kitchen. He’d been on a high most of the afternoon, even despite a particularly depressing call-out late in the day. Tom considered himself a practical guy, so it made no sense that the inclusion of two tiny x’s in a message could put a spring in his step, but they had.

He closed the front door and watched Chelsea unnoticed from the entrance. She wore a cute black knee-length skirt that flared out from the waist and a fitted light blue top that hugged her curves and cleavage. She’d possibly worn the skirt to work, then changed her top when she got home because her employer had a purple shirt with the childcare’s name emblazoned on it.

Chelsea moved around the kitchen confidently. She generally didn’t consider herself a great cook, but like everything else, when she thought no one else was watching, she always got on with the job at hand capably.

‘Oh, hi. You’re home.’ Chelsea looked up from the griddle pan she was using to cook the meat. ‘I hope steak is OK. I figured I had the least chance of messing it up.’

Tom walked to the edge of the kitchen and hovered near the counter. It had been like this all week—the feeling of being perpetually being drawn to her, but not wanting to come across too strong or put a foot wrong.

‘It smells great,’ he said. ‘Do I have time to shower quickly and change out of my work clothes?’

‘Yep. Probably about ten minutes.’

Tom nodded. ‘Sure. I won’t be long.’

He set off for his bedroom, already berating himself for his typical Mr. Nice Guy behaviour. He should have just walked into the kitchen, caught her by the waist, and planted a kiss on the nape of her neck. Instead, he was hurrying to his room because that seemed like the safest thing to do.

So much for naughty.

Tom pushed the negative thoughts aside while he stripped out of his work uniform and hopped in the shower. He let the hot water sluice through the stress he was feeling. The tension related to work was usually unavoidable, but there was also tension about the woman in the kitchen.

By the time he was dressed, he felt slightly more at ease and more like himself. He returned to the kitchen and found a beer bottle waiting for him on the bench.

‘You’re a saviour,’ he told her, and wasted no time opening it.

She watched him from her position near the cooktop while he took a much-needed swig of beer.

‘How was your day, honey?’ She winked at him, but the question was serious.

Tom placed the beer down. ‘Not good. Not bad.’

‘Which means nothing traumatic,’ she said intuitively.

‘You’re right, but what makes you say that?’

Chelsea returned her focus to the meat. ‘I don’t know. You don’t like talking about work, but when you do, it’s usually the less serious cases or the rewarding cases that you mention. If something’s been particularly bad, I won’t hear about it.’

Tom picked up his beer again, reflecting on Chelsea’s insightful observations.

‘Am I right?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ he admitted.

‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Chelsea continued, ‘I get why. Sharing the darker moments of your job outside of work probably isn’t considered politically correct. Nadia says a few things now and then, like when a patient has died, but she doesn’t go on about it either. I assume it comes with the territory.’

‘It must,’ Tom agreed. ‘I guess I’ve learned to compartmentalise.’

Chelsea started serving up the meals, placing the freshly cooked meat onto a bed of lettuce she’d prepared earlier.

‘My guess is that you learned to do that when your mum was sick.’ Tom must have frowned without realising it, because Chelsea rushed to add, ‘But then, what do I know?’

Tom stood and came around to collect his plate and take it over to the table. ‘You know more than you let on, as it turns out.’

She poked her tongue out at him. ‘I hide it well.’

Tom smiled, but it didn’t touch his eyes because he was remembering the past. ‘We all dealt with it differently. My mum’s illness, I mean. I helped care for her and put on a happy, brave face for her. Luke kept the family together and organised us all. Seth was at that age where it was easier to play the idiot and rebel. And Noah became even more introverted. So yeah, I guess out of all of us, I was the one who kept smiling through it all.’

They sat down at the table and Tom surveyed the meal Chelsea had cooked for him.

‘This looks amazing, Chels. And I’m not just saying that. I could get used to this.’

Realising he’d said too much, he sliced off a piece of meat, skewered it with his fork, and popped it in his mouth.

Chelsea watched him, her blue eyes amused. ‘That’s if you’re still alive at the end of the meal. My cooking might be more lethal than yours.’

Tom coughed with a mouthful of food, but fortunately managed not to choke. Once he swallowed, he spoke. ‘Is this some sort of test, or a form of retribution? Should I be worried that you’ve booby trapped my food?’

‘I’m not that kind of girl. Life’s too short to hold grudges. Unlike Nadia. Did you have any idea about her and Luke, by the way? She still refuses to talk about it.’

Tom shook his head. ‘My big bro tends to keep things to himself. I didn’t even know they knew each other until the other night.’

‘Well, well. It seems like one of the Pierce brothers has managed to get under her skin, and that’s a rare achievement for any man.’ Her blue eyes flashed mischievously at him from across the table. ‘It must be something about the Pierce boys.’

Tom swallowed another mouthful and noted that the food didn’t go down quite so easily this time on account of her playful expression.

He managed to drag his gaze back to his food, and they ate in silence for a while before Chelsea cleared her throat quietly.

‘Have you been avoiding me, Tom?’

He looked up. The mischievous look had disappeared and had been replaced with curiosity and possibility a tiny bit of hurt.

He swore under his breath. Then he said, ‘No. Yes. Maybe a bit. You know, I don’t know, exactly. I just didn’t want to put a foot wrong, that was all.’

‘I thought we said we weren’t going to ruin things between us.’

‘That’s what I’ve been trying to avoid, but clearly I’m not doing a very good job. I’m sorry.’

‘That’s OK. I know it’s because you don’t want to hurt me. But can I ask another question?’

He nodded.

‘Do you want to sleep with me?’

Tom set down his knife and fork. His heart continued to beat steadily in his chest, but for some reason he felt light-headed.

That’s probably because all the blood has left your head, you idiot.

‘Tom?’

‘You know I do,’ he managed.

‘Then why haven’t you?’

Good question. Damn good question.

‘I didn’t want—’

‘To ruin things between us, I get it.’

Tom sighed. ‘It’s not just that. Once we do, we can’t take it back.’

‘Tom Pierce, are you worried I’ll be lacking in the bedroom?’ she accused. The twinkle in her eye was back, and he loved her for it.

‘No, maybe I’ll be the one who’s lacking.’

She frowned. ‘Good God. This from a man who dressed up in a costume to make a girlfriend happy. I doubt it.’ Then she gave him a shy look. ‘So will you? Sleep with me?’

‘Tonight?’

Of course that’s what she’d meant, but Tom was proving slow on the uptake this evening and he wasn’t sure it was merely because he was tired.

She cleared her throat softly. ‘I was kind of hoping.’

Say yes, you fool.

Instead, something else came out. ‘Not yet. Not . . . just not yet. But that doesn’t mean we can’t do other things.’

What was wrong with him? Why was he avoiding sleeping with Chelsea when he knew without a doubt that he wanted to?

Chelsea studied him openly, her expression thoughtful. ‘I thought you said nice guys don’t play hard to get.’ Before he could answer, she shook her head. ‘Forget I said that. You’re right. We both need to be ready, and I’m rushing things. God knows that hasn’t worked for me in the past, and I don’t want to make the same mistake again. In the meantime, we can entertain ourselves in other ways. Tonight I think it should be your turn.’

‘My turn? For what?’

Chelsea grinned—a wicked grin that sent a jolt of heat straight to his groin.

‘For me to have my way with you. Stand up and get naked.’

Tom blinked at her, hardly believing what he was hearing. Surely he’d come home after work, gone to bed for a nap and this was a dream.

‘You heard me, Mr. Nice Guy. Dessert can wait.’