Hold on My Heart

by Tracy Brogan

  Ben pointed his finger at Tom while still holding his drink close to his lips. “Well, that doesn’t sound half-bad to me. Can I come and work for you, Tom? I have virtually no carpentry skills, but I can pound a hammer.”

  “That kind of help I already have.” He tilted his head toward Libby.

  “Hey.” She might have been offended had he not chosen just that moment to lean into her and smile, and she noticed that he had the tiniest cluster of freckles high up on his cheek, like a little constellation. She’d never noticed them before. She’d also never been this close to him. She liked it there.

  “Actually, Libby has been a lot of help,” Tom told them. “And I especially enjoy the updates about Marti’s dungeon-themed wedding.”

  Libby laughed into her glass and bumped him with her elbow. “It’s not dungeon themed. It’s medieval.”

  “Just like marriage,” Ben teased. He kissed Ginny’s temple and then motioned to the waitress to bring another round.

  “Speaking of medieval, have you seen that tattoo?” Ginny asked, crossing her arms over her expanded belly. “She’s hiding it from Mom, you know.”

  “Good call. Maybe Marti hasn’t gone completely crazy.”

  “In spite of her ring tone,” Tom said, sipping from his beer.

  Ginny looked over at her. “What ring tone is that?”

  Wow. Everyone was dumping out secrets tonight. This one might require some finesse, but Libby was fast on her feet.

  “Oh,” she answered. “I was showing Dad how to assign unique ring tones to specific numbers, so he assigned that old Patsy Cline song for Marti. You know, ‘Crazy’?”

  Ginny’s eyes narrowed, making the next logical leap. “What’s the ring tone when I call your phone?” Her tone was as suspicious as her expression.

  Libby smiled, prepared with an answer. “‘Sisters,’ from White Christmas. You know, ‘Sisters, sisters. There were never such devoted sisters.’” She sang the line to sound convincing, but it was a big, fat lie. Her ring tone for Ginny was “Baby Got Back,” but no way in hell was she telling her that.

  Tom coughed a little into the neck of his beer and took a hearty swallow.

  She thumped her knee against his under the table, a warning.

  His knee tapped hers back. A promise to keep her secret.

  She very nearly reached her hand down to give his leg a squeeze, but something held her back. Common sense, maybe?

  “So how did you escape without getting a historical name, Ginny?” Tom asked, deftly changing the subject. Libby tapped her knee against him one more time for thanks.

  “Oh, I have one. I’m Virginia Dare, named after the first European baby born in North America. Lucky for me, no one knows that.” Ginny repositioned again and pressed her hand against her back. “And speaking of babies, this one has been kicking me all day. My back is killing me.”

  The evening rolled on, and as they talked and laughed, shared stories and ordered more drinks, a glow warmed Libby from the inside out. A glow that had nothing to do with her rum-and-Coke and everything to do with Tom Murphy. This was starting to feel like a double date.

  It wasn’t, of course, and that was a good thing. Probably. But… it felt nice. It was fun and comfortable and good. The kind of good you don’t realize you’re missing until suddenly it’s there. A shiny gift from a secret admirer left on your doorstep.

  There were so many more layers to Tom Murphy than she’d thought at first. More than any other man she knew. His job might be straightforward and obvious, but he was complex. And the more she learned, the more she liked. She knew she liked looking at him. A lot. That part was easy. But she also liked the way he extolled the virtues of run-down old buildings, and that sad but determined glow that lit his eyes whenever he talked about Rachel. She liked the flush that came over his face whenever he laughed at something she’d said. And at this moment, she very much liked the way he was looking at her, as if he might be seeing something more to her as well. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad decision after all.

  Butterflies fluttered to the tips of her fingers and toes, tickling everything in between.

  “What?” he asked.

  The butterfly in her throat made it hard to talk. “My car is parked back at the high school. When we leave, can you give me a ride over there?”

  He nodded and set down his drink. “Um, sure.”

  “Well, I will be driving us home,” Ginny said, tipping her head toward Ben. “I think Captain Craptastic has had a couple too many.”

  Ben offered up a lopsided grin and hugged her to his side. “You drive us home, but I promise I will absolutely h-h-h-hook you up when we get there.” His slightly slurred words ended in a hiccup, prompting laughter all around.

  Ginny shook her head. “Oh, that would be super, honey. I can hardly wait. You’re so romantic.”

  “Romantic enough to knock you up.” He tipped back the last of his drink.

  “Okay. We’re done here.” Ginny shook her head again and pried herself from the booth. “Tom, I’m sorry you had to witness this. I shouldn’t have let him order scotch. My husband really can’t handle the hard stuff.”

  “I’ll give you hard stuff, baby.” Ben giggled like a frat boy.

  Libby gasped with more laughter. She’d never seen her brother-in-law drunk before. Tipsy maybe, but never drunk.

  “Oh, my God, Ben. You are humiliating yourself.” Ginny laughed as she tugged on his arm to get him up out of the booth. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

  “Let’s give her a hand,” Tom murmured, and Libby slid instantly from her seat.

  They left the pub and, with some maneuvering and a lot of laughter, got Ben settled into the passenger side of Ginny’s sedan. It was dark and after midnight. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

  “Are you sure you’re all right from here?” Libby asked her sister.

  “Oh, I’ll be fine. Ben may end up sleeping in the car, but I’m going to bed.”

  Ginny hugged her as best she could and reached a hand out to Tom. “Hey, we didn’t get a chance to talk about this tonight, but Rachel is a really sweet girl. I know it’s not perfect with you guys right now, but she’ll come around.”

  “Thanks.” That usual warning note was nowhere in his voice. He almost sounded relieved.

  They watched Ginny drive away and then walked over to his old blue truck. The door creaked as Tom opened it for her. A gentleman. She climbed in and dropped her purse on the floor as he walked around and got in on the other side.

  He looked at her expectantly, and she smiled back. “What?”

  “Put on your seat belt,” he said.

  “Oh!” She thought for one second about sliding over to the spot right next to him, but that seemed a little bold. She wanted to, though. She could sidle right up beside him and blame it on the rum. But she stayed put instead, way over on her own side, and sighed.

  Tom turned the key, and the truck came to life with a jerky vibration, the rattle and hum filling the silence in the cab. Conversation, which had been so easy all night, stopped, and suddenly Libby felt as twitchy as this truck. She was wide awake, and she didn’t want to go home.

  “Are you tired?” she heard herself asking.

  Tom paused. “Not especially.”

  “Hmm. Me neither.”

  She waited for him to make a suggestion.

  He didn’t.

  She stared at his hands on the steering wheel, those broad, work-rough hands. Maybe he’d be inept with them under the blankets, but even as she thought it, she knew that wasn’t likely. How many times had she watched him glide his palm across a board, just to appreciate the grain? Tom Murphy paid meticulous attention to detail. Another tiny sigh rose up and halted in her throat.

  “Thanks for the ride,” she said as they arrived back at Monroe High School ten minutes later.

  “No problem,” he answered quietly. He pulled his truck into the spot right next to her car and stared out into the dark. “Thanks for making me come
to the talent show tonight. I’m glad I did.”

  That little sigh of hers escaped, a breathy whisper. “I’m glad you did, too. And so was Rachel.”

  “Okay, okay. You’ll get your six bucks.” He finally met her gaze, and his joke fell flat.

  Libby turned toward him. “You can keep your money. I just… you know… want you guys to be happy. I want you to be happy.”

  He stared at her, his face half in shadow, half in moonlight, until her heart somersaulted against her ribs. A clumsy, flailing sort of somersault. The kind that left one breathless. The kind that left bruises.

  “You want me to be happy?” His voice was nearly lost in the space between them.

  The atmosphere inside the cab shifted. A flash of lightning blinded Libby with its brilliance and then left them both in the dark.

  “Yes.”

  He turned the key and cut the engine.

  CHAPTER eleven

  Tom heard thunder in the distance. Or maybe it was in his chest. He shouldn’t have asked her that. Because they both knew what he really meant.

  Do you want me to be happy for an hour? Maybe two? Will you wrap those legs around and squeeze me tight, and then let me be on my way?

  Because he couldn’t really offer her more than that.

  And she shouldn’t offer him half that much.

  The snick of her seat belt unlatching sounded as loud as china shattering against a concrete floor.

  The seat shifted as she moved closer, but he stayed still. Then Libby reached over and undid his seat belt, too. She may as well have been unzipping his pants for the message that sent.

  He should stop her. He should warn her about his mistakes and all the damage he had caused. But the truth was, she already knew. He’d told her everything. In bits and pieces, he’d revealed all there was to him. And she wanted him anyway. And he wanted her. The notion struck, reverberating through him like a metal bat against a chain link fence.

  Her face was always alluring, but he was unprepared for this. She gazed at him with open desire, and such certainty. She looked at him with… trust.

  No one had looked at him like that in a good long while. He’d freeze that moment if he could, but Libby’s hand reached up and touched his cheek, running her fingertips along his jaw and down his neck. His head tilted against the seat. His breath hitched, and every red blood cell in his body rushed straight to his groin. If the sheer force of an instantaneous erection could tear through denim, his was about to do it.

  She leaned in close, not taking her eyes from his, but he reached out to pull her closer still, aching to feel more of her. All of her. He ran his hands through her hair, that dark gold hair he’d wanted to get tangled up in for weeks now. She rose up, letting it cascade down around both of their faces, and in that safe shelter, she kissed him. Sweet but firm. A simple kiss that was anything but. A begging-for-more kind of kiss. Her hands were on his face again, and she sighed, her breath soft against his mouth. Her motions were innocent enough, but flames shot through his veins like wildfire.

  He kissed her back, deeper and more insistent, unwilling to resist. Ignoring all the warning bells pealing in his mind. The pull between them was undefeatable. It was magnetic, mindless, and elemental.

  He ran one hand down her side, lingering over her breast, filling his palm and squeezing until she offered up a tender little moan and arched toward him. His other hand caught her chin. He leaned back, capturing her gaze, reading her expression. She did want this. She wanted him. Right here, right now.

  He slid away from the steering wheel, toward her, and caught her leg with his hand, pulling her so that she straddled his lap. The move was sudden, but she followed his lead, and pressed down against him with another breathless gasp.

  “Goddamn.” He couldn’t stop the words from slipping out any more than he could stop the motions of his hands or the violence of his heartbeat.

  He’d been eighteen years old the first time he kissed Connie, and she’d been the only one since. Until now. He hadn’t forgotten how, but somehow he’d forgotten the pure bliss of it. The discovery and the revelation of pure, unhindered want. Libby’s body rubbed against the fire in his pants, and he knew there was no turning back. He wanted to taste every part of her, to memorize the curves and swells and valleys of her body. Even knowing that once he had, his life would never be the same.

  He kissed her harder, breath mingling with breath. They melded together like honey and butter, slick and sweet, the perfect complement. Libby’s soft little sighs and urgent gasps nearly undid him. Her hands traced his face and tugged at his hair, and when she slid her fingers inside the open collar of his shirt, he thought his heart might rip right through the wall of his chest.

  She tugged at the buttons with an impatient gasp, loosening one and then another until his skin was free for her to explore. She pushed the edges of the fabric far apart and chuckled, an earthy, seductive sound. Her sultry gaze lifted to meet his eyes. She leaned forward, and he felt her smile against his lips.

  “I’m going to hook you up, Tom Murphy.” Her voice was a breathy tease, a challenge and a promise, and he exhaled in a burst. She dropped her mouth to his shoulder and scraped the muscle with her teeth. He groaned and grabbed her hips to guide her movements, wishing with all his might that he could melt away pants with the heat of his body.

  He tugged at her shirt then, thrilling at the touch of her velvety skin underneath. She lifted her arms so he could pull it off over her head. He dropped it to the floor and soaked in the vision of Libby in the dim light in her lacy little bra. It was something he’d imagined, but his imagination had not done her justice. She was perfect. Just enough muscle, just enough curve.

  He pulled her close and pressed his mouth against the lace even as he reached around and fumbled with the hook.

  Libby gasped, and reached behind her back to make short work of the clasp. He slid the straps down her arms and chuckled to himself as he hung it from his rearview mirror.

  “Nice.” Libby smiled and pulled his face back to hers. He kissed her, hard and fast, but there were breasts to be discovered, and he wanted to know everything about them. His mind cleared of thought and flooded with nothing but desire.

  This was Libby, here in his lap, kissing him back and grazing her teeth along the tight muscle of his shoulder. He opened his eyes and leaned back to see her, to watch her face. He ran a finger along inside the waistband of her jeans. She sighed, and smiled. Her thighs squeezed his hips, and she reached between them, tugging open the button of his jeans.

  “I like big butts, and I cannot lie…”

  Libby’s eyes went round and met his. “That’s Ginny calling,” she gasped. “But it’s so late. Something must be wrong.”

  She arched, trying to reach the floor of the cab to grab her phone from her purse. Tom winced as she scrambled and accidentally bumped her knee against his very optimistic hard-on.

  “Sorry,” she said, and then answered the phone. “Hello?”

  “Hey, I’m sorry if I woke you up,” Ginny said, her voice strained. Libby turned so she was sitting on the seat next to Tom while he pressed one hand against his forehead. He looked at her from one squinted eye.

  “No, you didn’t wake me. But it’s almost two in the morning. Are you okay?”

  “Sort of. I think my water just broke, and my husband is passed out in the car.” There was a slightly hysterical quality to her giggle.

  “Oh, geez. Are you kidding me?” Libby looked at Tom, who was now looking back at her with obvious concern. “Her water broke, and Ben’s passed out in the car,” she told him.

  “Who are you talking to?” Ginny asked.

  “Um, Tom.”

  “Really? Well, that’s, oh—” She paused and took a deep breath. “Hang on. Contraction time.”

  “Contraction time? God, Ginny. How long ago did those start?”

  “Well, I guess a while ago. I mean, I was having the fake kind all day, and tonight during the talent show,
on and off. But I guess maybe they weren’t fake.”

  “The fake kind? What the hell is a fake contraction?” Libby reached down on the floor and grabbed her shirt, holding it in front of her. She really couldn’t have this conversation with her sister while sitting topless in Tom Murphy’s truck.

  “They’re called Braxton Hicks, and I’ve had them for months. They were really bothering me today, but I thought I was just stressed out about the talent show. But now I don’t know. They’re getting kind of intense.”

  Libby’s throat went dry. “Did you call your doctor?”

  “Yes, and she said I should come to the hospital. But she told me not to drive myself, and Ben is useless to me right now.” The hysterical giggle evaporated, and Ginny burst into tears. “How am I supposed to tell my doctor I can’t come to the hospital because my husband is too drunk to drive? They’ll take my baby away if I tell them that.”

  Libby held the phone away from her ear because Ginny’s personal volume was rapidly increasing in decibels. She turned to Tom. “She says—”

  “I heard her,” Tom said. “We’ll go and get her. Tell her we’re on our way.”

  “We’re on our way, Gin. Get your stuff together.” She tossed the phone back in her purse and pulled her bra from the mirror.

  “You don’t need to take me. I can just drive over there myself.” She said it, but she didn’t mean it.

  “You take care of your sister. I’ll deal with Ben.”

  A swell of adoration wrapped around Libby. She looked at him, sitting there with his shirt pushed wide open looking very much like a sexy man, and all she wanted to do was climb back on his lap. “I’m sorry about this,” she said.

  Tom gave a little shake of his head. “Babies don’t wait.”

  He would know about that, wouldn’t he? He’d had one. It was easy to forget he was somebody’s dad when she saw him here in the moonlight with the button of his jeans undone. But he was. And she realized she didn’t really mind that at all.