Jon loved a project and he’d thrown all his energies into making the business the go-to store in the district for trade accounts and Mr and Mrs DIY. Boolanga was slowly growing, but that also meant the big boys were poking around. There were rumours Bunnings might build a store, which made Jon more determined than ever to make Hoopers number one for stock range, service and sustainability. Now that he’d won the award that officially endorsed all his hard work, he’d be looking for a new challenge. Perhaps she should create a husband-of-the-year award for him to strive for so his charm and boyish enthusiasm swung back to her.
‘There’s not one business in this town that isn’t working hard and looking for creative ways to stay one step ahead of the next challenge,’ Jon continued. ‘None of us is looking for a handout, but every business owner on Irrigation Road’s either battling graffiti or been broken into this year. It’s time the shire stepped up and installed lighting in the car park.’
‘Too right, Jonno!’ a voice from the back yelled. It was followed by the tinkling of glassware and a roar of applause.
Tara glanced at the councillors’ table. Vivian’s head was almost touching the mayor’s. Were the rumours true? Tara doubted it. Vivian was far too glamorous to slum it with flabby and florid Geoff Rayson. Besides, Sheree was sitting right there at the table. But whatever Vivian was saying to him, Geoff was nodding his agreement. Tara hoped it related to the lighting.
She raised her thumbs to Jon and mouthed, ‘Love you.’
He grinned back. ‘We won’t let this award go to our heads. Come tomorrow morning, Hoopers will be offering its same friendly service backed by local know-how.’
‘But with a hangover,’ Chris Hegarty called out.
Not if Tara had her way. She’d accompany Jon on one quick circuit around the room to shake hands and pat backs—half an hour tops—and then she and her husband were going home. A slightly buzzed Jon was fine—good even; a few drinks relaxed him—but full-on drunk and he fell asleep fast. She shied away from acknowledging there’d recently been nights when he was asleep in the chair by nine o’clock, stone-cold sober.
She met him as he came off the stage and slid her arm through his. ‘Great speech, darling.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Jonno!’ Ben, the photographer from The Standard, waved his camera at them. ‘Can I grab a photo of you and your team?’
‘No worries.’
Jon had paid for the head of each section to attend the dinner. As they gathered around him and Tara, she heard Leanne Gordon say, ‘Is she really going to be in the photo? She’s hardly worked this year.’
‘Too busy working on herself,’ Samantha Murchison replied. ‘Tough life being a Boolanga WAG.’
Tara squashed the urge to swing around and grab Samantha’s orange spray-tanned arm. She wanted to say, ‘Just because you don’t see everything I do at home so Jon can concentrate on the business and keep you in a job doesn’t mean I’m not part of the team.’
‘Say sex,’ Ben said from behind the camera.
Amid the mixture of mirth and groans, Jon laughed and gave her waist a squeeze. ‘Sex!’
For the first time all night, Tara relaxed.
While Jon paid the babysitter, Tara checked the kids were fast asleep. When she came downstairs, the TV was on but Jon was sitting on the couch with his head back, his eyes closed and a smile on his lips. He looked tired but happy and she planned to make him happier still.
The tight fit of her dress prevented her from straddling his lap so she kneeled between his legs and put her hands on his thighs. ‘Hey.’
‘Mmm.’ His eyes stayed closed.
She reached up and undid his tie before pulling it out from under his collar. ‘It was a great night.’
‘Yeah.’
One by one, she undid the buttons of his shirt and pressed a kiss on each bit of warm exposed skin. His hand lightly stroked her hair and by the time her lips reached his belt, her body throbbed with heat and anticipation. Excitement made her fingers fumble on his belt buckle and it took her two attempts before she smoothly slid the leather from around his waist. Then she undid his fly and reached into his boxers.
He wasn’t completely hard so she treated him to her mouth, closing her lips around him.
His thighs jerked. ‘What are you doing?’
She blinked up at him, her brain fuddled by need. Had he just asked her what she was doing? She must have misheard him. She concentrated on the pressure of her mouth on him and her own building desire.
His hands gripped either side of her head and he gently pushed her away. ‘Stop.’
Startled, she released him. ‘Did I hurt you?’
‘No.’ He zipped his pants. ‘But should you really be on the floor in that dress?’
His concern for her frock was unexpected, but he had a point. It had cost a bomb and it wasn’t designed for kneeling.
Pressing her hands on his thighs, she rose. ‘How about you peel me out of this dress, throw me on the bed and have your wicked way with me?’ Please.
He gave her a long look, his velvet brown eyes caressing her like they’d done so often in the past. Her recently wobbly world steadied.
He took her proffered hand and together they climbed the stairs to their bedroom. Jon shucked off his clothes and she stepped in, kissing him. His penis stirred, pressing against her belly, and Shannon’s words, ‘men are uncomplicated’, came back, reassuring her.
Smiling to herself, Tara deepened the kiss. He returned it, but without the urgency vibrating inside her that wanted to skip foreplay and go straight to the main game. Jon’s touch was almost languid, as if he had all the time in the world.
