The Perfect Match (Blue Heron #2)(62)

Which, of course, it was. But more than that, more upsetting, was this side of Dana, a side Honor has seen unleashed on other people more than once. Honor had always thought she was exempt. Irrationally, tears burned behind her eyes. Once, Dana and she had laughed and drank and commiserated together, watched movies and suffered through yoga class.

“That’s what it is, isn’t it?” Dana said, hands on her hips. “You just can’t stand that Brogan and I have something special, so you go out and somehow find some loser to—”

“Hallo, darling.”

Tom stood in the doorway, his eyes on her. “Jessica said you’d be down here. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Not at all,” Honor said, clearing her throat.

Dana’s face had grown very red.

Spike awoke and, realizing that her nemesis was here, pounced on Tom’s shoe, snarling.

“Come now, Ratty, haven’t we had this talk?” He picked up the dog and handed her to Honor. “I’m Tom Barlow,” he said, offering Dana his hand. “Honor’s man. I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.”

Honor would bet her left pinky that Tom remembered exactly who Dana was. He’d remembered her, after all. Men loved catfights, for some reason.

“Dana Hoffman,” Dana muttered.

Tom came over to Honor and kissed her on the temple, then took her damp hand and squeezed it. “Well, I just wanted to stop by and have a peek at you, love.”

“Hi,” she said, squeezing back. She kind of loved him at the moment.

“And the kite-flying went well?”

No kind of about it. She’d mentioned this to him last night, but she hadn’t been quite sure he’d been paying full attention, as he’d had some airplane plans up on the computer. “Yes. Thanks.”

“Lovely. Dana, what do you do for work?” Tom asked.

“I’m a hairdresser.”

“Very nice.” Tom smiled. “Right-o. I didn’t mean to intrude on your chat, ladies. Honor, I’ll see you at home, then. Unless you want me to stay and help clean up?”

“No, that’s... I have some things to take care of first. But yes, I’ll see you at, um, home.”

He leaned in, cupped her cheek with one (big) hand and kissed her, and she kissed him back. Would’ve probably done him on the floor in gratitude had Dana not been standing there, one eyebrow arched.

Tom looked at her, his gray eyes unreadable, smile gone. Then he turned to Dana. “Lovely to meet you.”

“We should have dinner sometime,” Dana said unexpectedly. “The four of us.”

“Absolutely,” Tom said. “And, sorry, who would make the fourth?”

Oh, yes. Honor would name their firstborn Tom, boy or girl.

Dana snorted (unattractively, Honor was pleased to see). “Um, Brogan?” she said.

“And who is Brogan?”

If she had twins, Honor would name them both Tom.

“Really?” Dana said. “I’m surprised Honor’s never mentioned him. Since she used to sleep with him not that long ago.”

Tom turned to her. “Oh, yes, that friend of yours I met at Hugo’s. Right. I didn’t realize he was your old boyfriend, Honor,” he lied, his voice warm and delicious. “We absolutely must have dinner now. Any other old lovers you have stashed around town?”

“Oh, I—you—Ryan Gosling?” Honor said, her voice odd. “No one. It’s...yeah.”

Tom grinned. “I’ll let you girls alone, then.” With that, he kissed her quickly once more, and she practically staggered after him.

When his footsteps had faded away, Dana turned to her and pursed her lips. “I’m having a hard time believing that guy just fell out of the sky with a marriage proposal.”

Honor cleared her throat. “As I said, it just happened. Took us both by surprise.”

Another line borrowed from Dana herself. She didn’t seem to recognize it.

Dana fake-smiled. “We’ll be looking forward to that dinner.”

* * *

TOM HAD ALREADY had one glass of whiskey and was working on the second when the front door opened, and his fiancée came in. That suit didn’t do anything for her perfectly acceptable figure (which was quite nice, now that he thought of it). Plain navy blue skirt and jacket, white shirt, distressingly sensible shoes. The little rat-dog’s head was visible in her purse.

“Hi,” Honor said, setting the little creature on the floor, where it snarled at him. “Thank you for saving me there.”

“With Dana, you mean?” He kept his eyes on the dog. Ratty had peed on his gym bag yesterday.

“Yes. I owe you.”

“Do you?” He could think of a few ways she could repay him, starting with getting out of those boring clothes. Hopefully, she had slutty underwear.

Not the line of thinking that was going to help.

The only reason Tom had any hope of this working, this marriage, was because he and Honor were a business arrangement. Love hadn’t worked out for either of them, had it?

But when he’d heard that nasty little baggage laying into her, he’d wanted to...help. Laid on the British charm, played the part of the devoted fiancé, pretended not to know about either Dana or Brighton.

And when he kissed her, it felt like a current jolted right through him. Not good. He wasn’t up for having his heart skewered again. Melissa had done that so well, and her son was keeping up the tradition. But Honor was nice. Honor was pleasant. Nice and pleasant were about all he could handle these days, so electric jolts and the urge to pull a little white-knight action...not smart.