The Perfect Match (Blue Heron #2)(110)

“No! That’s not it at all. I don’t want him back. I never had him to begin with, and honestly, he’s very upset about something—”

“Poor lamb.”

“And he kissed me! There’s a difference.”

“You sound bloody ridiculous.” He yanked down some more wire and practically attacked it.

She took a breath. “You don’t understand, Tom. I’ve been friends with him since I was nine years old, and I can’t just—”

“I know the whole story, darling, and I certainly don’t want to hear it again.” His voice was cold and calm now, and he still wouldn’t look at her.

“So you haven’t talked to me in eight days, and now you won’t listen.”

“I believe I spoke to you this very morning.”

“To ask if I wanted coffee. You know what I’m talking about. Something happened with Charlie, and you won’t tell me anything. What kind of a relationship is that?”

“A business relationship. Remember?”

Irritation unfolded and grew. “You know what your problem is, Tom?”

“I love when women start a sentence that way. Please, go on, tell me.”

“You’ve got this huge part of yourself locked away, and every once in a while, something shows through, and then you race to lock it away again, and I have no idea who you really are. And I think that’s much more of a problem than stupid Brogan stupidly kissing me because he was upset with stupid Dana!”

Tom tossed down the wrench with a very satisfying clang. “And I happen to think it’s a problem that every f**king turn of our relationship has come about because of something your Brogan has done.”

“What?”

“You only met with me that first time because you were desperate to get over him. The first time you slept with me was when he told you Dana was pregnant. You agreed to marry me to show him you weren’t mooning over him, and the night of that ridiculous ball, you slept with me again because you were heartbroken seeing them dance. And now the first chance you get, you let him kiss you. So yeah, I’ve got a problem. This is not what I signed up for.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of that. A single U.S. female citizen willing to commit marital fraud was what you signed up for. We don’t have an audience, Tom, so save the jealousy act, okay?”

Tom strode across the room, heading for the stairs.

No. Not for the stairs.

For her.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her, her breath leaving in a squeak of surprise. He pushed her against a giant barrel, his mouth hard and hungry and demanding, yes, yes, finally. His arms pulled her against him, his body hard as oak, and all the pent-up frustration of the past week burst out, and she kissed him back just as hard. Her mouth opened under his, taking as much as she was giving. He was hers, damn it. They belonged together.

His hands drifted down to her ass and lifted her against him, one hand groping under her skirt, and holy  p**n o, it was hot and tawdry and wonderful. She wrapped her legs around his waist and buried her hands in his short hair, wanting him in an overwhelming throb, right here, right now.

It was hard and urgent and so, so good, his breath rasping out of him, the muscles in his shoulders bunching as he lifted her, and yes, she was so definitely that type.

When they were done, he stayed against her, which was good, given that her legs were water and Honor was positive she’d collapse if he let go.

Sex in the cask room.

Who knew she was that kind of slutty person?

We were hoping, the eggs said smugly.

Her legs, wrapped around his waist, were shaking. She pressed a kiss onto the side of Tom’s sweaty neck, and it seemed to bring him out of his fog.

He stood up, smoothed her hair away from her face, his eyes on her mouth, rather than her eyes. Then he stepped back a little and pulled down her skirt, then buttoned his jeans. “Sorry,” he said.

She sure as hell wasn’t. “No apology necessary,” she murmured, swallowing. A repeat performance, however, would be most welcome.

He turned away, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, I’m sorry, Honor. You deserve better.”

“I don’t think better exists.”

He wasn’t smiling. “I don’t love you.”

The words were like a slap, and yes, that did take some of the sheen off the moment. Tears stung at her eyes, and she swallowed.

“I wish I could. I’m sorry.” He started to say something else—once, twice—but then closed his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said again, and with that, he went back upstairs and resumed fixing the bottling machine.

* * *

TOM WAITED TILL he heard Honor’s car pull out of the parking lot. She’d been crying. Nice, Tom, he thought viciously. Very f**king nice.

He wanted to tell her what she needed to hear, but he couldn’t. The truth was, not everyone gets saved. Not everyone becomes a better person. His mother didn’t. She never came back, never made an effort once he turned eight. Melissa wasn’t saved, didn’t become a loving wife, didn’t lose her restlessness. She left him, too, to take up with Mitchell.

It didn’t seem that Charlie would be saved, either. The fact was, Tom wasn’t going to get to find out.

And Tom’s name could be added to that list, as well.