The Perfect Match (Blue Heron #2)(84)

“At least someone does,” he grumbled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard for you to fake a little affection if we were sleeping together.”

It dawned on her that she was still pressed against Tom. Intimately. In fact, if she weren’t swathed in flannel, the eggs would be quite happy, let’s put it that way.

“I thought we were waiting till we got married,” she whispered.

“I find that very hypocritical,” he muttered. “Since you’ve already boffed me three times.”

“One night. With three, um, sessions.”

He didn’t answer.

If he kissed her now, she’d offer no resistance. She was exhausted from stress, not to mention weak-willed and lustful. And the years were precious. Besides, the memory of his weight on top of her, the hard, thick slide of—

“Tell me about being mugged.” His voice was quiet.

“What? Oh. Um, why?”

“Because I want to know.”

She swallowed. “I already told you.”

“Yes. But I was busy yelling.” He pulled her closer, so that her head was on his hard and utterly wonderful shoulder. Her hand had nowhere to go other than his chest, and she felt his heart thudding, such a lovely, secret pleasure, that feeling, the marvel of the human body.

Bethany’s footsteps sounded on the stairs. The door to the other room opened and closed.

“I was walking home from the library,” Honor whispered. “My roomie and I had a little apartment about three blocks off campus, and it was only about ten, so I figured it was safe.” Wrong on that count. How many times had her father fussed over the fact that she was in a big city? Warned her about walking home alone?

“All of a sudden, some guy had me by the arm, and he shoved me into this doorway and told me to give him my purse. He had a gun, and I remember looking at him and thinking I had to remember his face, but I couldn’t. The details kept sliding away, like my brain couldn’t quite grab on to what was happening.” She paused, remembered fear making her knees tingle. “So he asked for my money, and I threw my purse over his head and ran. To a police station.”

Tom’s hand covered hers, and Honor’s throat was suddenly tight. “That was very clever,” he said, his voice just a soft rumble.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

“Why didn’t you ever tell anyone?”

She hesitated. “I did. I meant I never told anyone in my family. It was over, and they would’ve just worried. But I told the police. And, um, a friend.” She winced.

“Brogan?”

It was the first time Tom had gotten the name right. “Yes.”

“And was he...what’s that word you Americans like so much? Supportive?”

“Of course. He was very nice.” She paused. “He’s a nice man.”

“I’m sure.” Tom’s voice was mild, but it suddenly felt awkward, lying this way. Her neck felt stiff, and the shoulder under her head seemed to have turned to granite.

“Did they ever catch the man who did it?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. And thanks for asking about it.”

“Right. I’m an engineer, after all. It didn’t make sense, your hauling off and hitting me like that. I figured there was a cause and effect going on.”

A car drove past on the street below.

She wanted to say something more, to address the stew of feelings that seemed to roil and change between them like a Midwestern storm. But maybe that was just her. Maybe Tom wasn’t feeling much of anything, just an engineer who liked to understand how things worked.

“Sleep well, Honor,” he said.

“You, too.”

Honor turned on her side, away from Tom, and closed her eyes, but it was a long time before sleep wrapped her in its soft embrace.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

FROM HER OFFICE, Honor had a stellar view of the vineyard, the fields stretching down to the woods, Keuka glittering a steel-blue this cold day. Weather was on her mind. The cold hadn’t let up, not that she expected spring to actually begin on March 21; she’d lived here all her life, after all. The snow had melted for the most part, though there were still large swaths of white blanking the fields. The temperature dropped to freezing each night, only hitting forty-five or so during the warmest part of the afternoon. Then again, she knew well that it could hit seventy later this week. There was little rhyme or reason to the weather of April, the cruelest month for just that reason.

Tomorrow was supposed to be in the fifties, the never-reliable forecasters had sworn. Honor was hoping they were right this time; a little sun might be enough to make more daffodils bloom in time for the Black and White Ball this weekend. Last fall, Faith had planted thousands of bulbs around the Barn, and the bravest had already opened in the patches of ground where the snow had melted, their yellow blooms so bright and hopeful.

The first of the spring weddings to be held at the Barn was later in April. Faith had asked if she and Tom would get married up there as well; Honor knew it would mean a lot to her sister if they did. Then again, the thought made her stomach hurt. Tom certainly had qualities that could make him a great husband—he was so devoted to Charlie, he loved his job and had a great sense of humor. Commitment. Stability. Sex appeal, heavens yes. But Honor would be promising to love, honor and cherish him all her life, and while she could definitely see herself doing just that, she was well aware that while he might feel some affection (and definitely gratitude) for her, and while he didn’t find her unattractive, well...things weren’t balanced.