The Perfect Match (Blue Heron #2)(71)

Without thinking, he put his arm around her. Said nothing, just looked at the telly. Tiny Evil jumped up with only a slight snarl and settled onto her owner’s lap, and Honor stroked the dog’s rough fur, earning a little moan of pleasure from the beast. Tom almost felt jealous.

Actually, he was jealous.

“Are these your relatives?” Honor asked.

“Yes,” he said, snapping out of it. “That’s Auntie Liz right there. Cousin Chuck. The boys. Lovely lads.”

They watched a few minutes in silence. “How was the rest of your day?” she asked.

“It was all right. Did Mrs. Johnson find a dress?”

“She did. It’s beautiful.”

“Good.”

Honor looked back at the screen. “So you like documentaries?” she asked, nodding at the screen, and he was oddly grateful for the neutral question.

“Yes,” he said. “Especially about how different things were made. Bridges, dams, subway systems. That sort of thing. What about you?”

“Medical shows. The 149-Pound Tumor, stuff like that.”

“Ah. You romantic, you.” He glanced at her, saw her smile. “Honor,” he said, “I’m sorry we squabbled before. Just because ours isn’t a typical arrangement doesn’t mean I don’t want it to work.”

Her eyes softened. “Me, too.”

“I just don’t want to...disappoint you.”

“You won’t. And you’re not.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” She didn’t look away until Tom settled back against the couch. Don’t kiss her, his brain warned. That’d be dumb.

Right, except they’d be getting married soon. Shagging again, as soon as she gave the green light. Which could be in about three minutes, he suspected, if he put the moves on her.

“Tom?”

Ah-ha. So she was feeling it, as well.

“Yes, love?”

“Do you think you might be drinking too much?”

All right, so she wasn’t feeling it.

“Perhaps,” he answered. “I am British, though.”

“I just thought I’d mention it.”

“Already nagging, darling?”

She didn’t take the bait. “A little concerned.”

He didn’t speak for a minute, then sighed. “I suppose you’re right. It doesn’t help anything, does it?”

“No.”

“One drink a day, then. Two if I deserve it, and no more than that. Scout’s honor, as you Yanks like to say.”

This time, she was the one to pull back and look at him. “You’re a good guy.”

Something tightened in his chest. “Glad you think so,” he answered.

“Your dad thinks the world of you.”

He smiled. “It’s mutual.”

“He’s a butcher?”

“Yes. Don’t get him started on great cuts of beef.” He paused. “My mum left when I was six.”

“I’m sorry.”

“She wasn’t a great mother. Wasn’t bad, either, just not born to it.” He paused. “She visited a bit for the first year or two, but that tapered off. My dad’s been single ever since.”

“Mine, too. Ever since my mom died. That’s why we’re all pretty thrilled about him and Mrs. Johnson.”

“And your mum died in a car accident?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Shit.” The urge to kiss her was back. “I’m sorry.”

“It was hard. We were really close.” She paused. “I haven’t had too many close relationships. You might’ve guessed that.”

He tucked some hair behind her ear. “I wonder what she’d think of all this,” he said softly.

Honor smiled. “Me, too.” She glanced down at her dog, and her cheeks pinkened. “I guess we should get a marriage license.”

At which point the clock would start ticking till their wedding...and his green card. “Yes.”

“I’ll get one Monday, then.”

He took her hand and turned it palm up, stroking the silky skin of her wrist. “Thank you,” he murmured. He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

Her eyes were soft and wide, her lips slightly parted. His eyes dropped to her mouth.

And then, just as he was about to kiss her, she stood up abruptly and picked up the sleeping dog, cuddling it against her chest. “I should—I should go to bed. Um... Good night.”

With that, she padded upstairs, leaving him alone in the cold living room.

Which was not what he expected at all.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN

IT WAS ONE of those days. Not in the good sense.

First, Honor had woken up to the sounds of Tom in the shower. He was whistling slightly, and not very well, and the image of him, warm and wet and soapy, had the eggs tossing aside their dairy-free meals and stampeding for the door.

They were getting married. They were going ahead with it. She’d come home from work yesterday and stopped at city hall for a license, and once that was filed, they had sixty days. That meant that by June 10, she would be someone’s wife.

Tom’s wife.

The thought inspired equal parts of terror and disbelief, with a side of lust and a chaser of panic. They were going through with it. Committing fraud against the government of the United States of America.