“How you doing, boss?” Jessica asked.
“Good, good,” Honor said.
“Anything need doing?”
“Nope. You look gorgeous, by the way.”
“Thanks.” Jessica wore a short white turtleneck dress that would look boring on anyone else. As it was, she looked like a Norwegian supermodel. Black shoes. No makeup. Simple and stunning, making Honor feel like she was trying way too hard.
“You’re off the clock, Jess,” Honor said. “Have fun, okay? Enjoy yourself, get a drink, eat.”
“Will do. Hey, and you, too, okay?”
“Thanks. I will.”
Nice to have someone looking out for her. Jessica went off to talk to Levi, her old friend. The woman had a way with men, that was undeniable. Maybe Honor should fix Jack and Jessica up. Then again, what did she know?
“Honor. You’re beautiful.”
Brogan. “Hey there,” Honor said.
“To Paul from Liza, ‘Someone Like You’ by Adele!” the DJ boomed, and the song of perpetual misery and inability to move on wailed from the speakers.
“Looks like the night is a big success,” Brogan said, an easy grin on his face.
“Yes, yes. We had an anonymous donation for ten thousand dollars,” she said, glancing around for a sister. Nope. Never around when you needed one.
“Did you?” he asked, winking.
“Yes. Very—oh. It was you, wasn’t it?”
“I believe it was anonymous,” he said, his grin widening.
“Thank you.” For some reason, Honor’s heart felt thorny. Guilt money. Brogan was throwing money at her cause because he—
“Babe, there you are! Oh, hi, Honor. Don’t you look nice.”
“Dana. You, too.” Dana wore a short, white lace dress that looked as bridal as could be. Her ring—the one Honor had so loved before she’d realized that antique was really more her style—flashed, and matching rocks winked from her ears.
“So where’s this fiancé of yours?” Dana asked. “Did he come?”
“Oh, sure. He’s here. Schmoozing, I think.” Hopefully not drinking to excess or brooding in the back somewhere.
“How’s his eye?” Brogan asked.
“It’s good,” Honor answered, her face prickling.
“Right! I heard you sent him to the E.R. Wow, Honor.” Dana arched a silky eyebrow. “Impressive.”
“She doesn’t know her own strength, do you, darling? Here’s your wine, by the way.” Tom, thank God. He put a heavy arm around her shoulders, firmly back in the role of smitten fiancé.
Hey. She’d take it.
“So when is your wedding?” Dana asked.
“June 2, darling? Are we set on that date?” Tom asked.
“I think so,” she said.
“Is that your ring?” Dana asked, seizing her hand. “Oh, wow! It’s really cute. Brogan, isn’t that sweet?”
“It’s beautiful,” he said. His eyes were...kind. Then he glanced at Dana, and his expression changed, and Honor recognized it immediately, having seen it on her own face for fifteen years, every time she was about to see Brogan.
Love. Slightly helpless, a touch confused, a dash of vulnerable and a whole lotta happy. Brogan hadn’t planned on falling for Dana, Honor could see it. It really had just happened...at least, for him.
“So we booked the Pierre,” Dana was saying, “because Brogan knows the Steinbrenners, of course, and they do a lot of business there, so it should be pretty fab. But I have to admit, I’m a little nervous about meeting so many sports gods, right? I mean, like, Robbie Cano? At my wedding?”
“And who’s that?” Tom asked. Honor felt like kissing him.
“He’s the third baseman for the Yankees,” Dana said.
“Second baseman,” Honor and Brogan corrected at the same time.
Tom was looking at her. Flashed that adorable smile, though his eyes stayed somber.
“Heard you’re quite a hero,” came a voice.
“Colleen!” Tom said with genuine warmth. “My favorite bartender.”
“My favorite Brit,” Colleen returned. “Hey, guys. Everyone having fun?”
“Absolutely,” Honor said.
“Who’s your lucky date, Colleen?” Tom asked.
“My brother.”
Tom laughed. “Ah. How uncomfortable for all of us.”
Her laugh was big and hearty. “We’re just friends, as the saying goes. So, Tom, there are no secrets in small towns, as you probably know by now. I heard you saved Honor from drowning. I won’t lie. That’s hot, Tommy boy.”
“What?” Brogan barked. Dana’s eyes narrowed.
“I wasn’t drowning,” she said. Tom raised an eyebrow. “But yes, he was very brave and heroic.”
“Le sigh,” Colleen murmured.
“Stop flirting,” Connor said, joining their little knot. “He’s taken.”
“I know!” Colleen said. “I told you they’d be great together.”
“Did you?” Connor said.
“Yes. I totally called that one. Don’t you remember?”
“No.” Connor gave Tom a long-suffering look. “I tend to ignore most of what she says.”
“To your own detriment,” Colleen said. “I know everything.”
“What’s eight times seven?” her brother asked.
“Everything except math.” She grinned at Honor.
“What about us?” Dana said. “Did you call Brogan and me?”
An awkward silence fell like an undercooked cake. “No, Dana,” Colleen said frostily. “Can’t say that I did.”
“I know. It took us totally by surprise, too.” She smiled—too hard, Honor thought, and for a second, she felt a flash of pity. Dana was an outsider; here with Brogan, but without a...a gang, as it were. Drawing attention to herself, well, that was Dana’s way of making sure she wasn’t forgotten.
She was insecure. Funny. Honor had never noticed that before.
“I hope you guys will be really happy,” she said, and Colleen sighed.
“Thank you,” Brogan said gently.
“Yeah, thanks!” Dana chirped. “Babe, let’s dance, what do you say?” With that, she pulled Brogan onto the dance floor and slid her arms around him.
“I hate her,” Colleen said. “I need a drink. Conn, come with me. I’m going to find you a date who’s not your twin sister. See you later, guys.”
Which left her standing alone with Tom. “Hi,” she said.
“Hallo.” He glanced around. “Shall we sit?” he asked, and her feet practically cried with gratitude.
He cared about her. She knew that. He may have even liked her.
But he didn’t love her. All that shone from Brogan’s eyes when he looked at Dana did not shine from Tom’s. He was a tangled ball of emotions, Tom Barlow was, and whatever affection or attraction he felt for her was snarled in with disappointment and past heartbreak and possibly even some fear, then walled behind a six-foot cement barricade. The gentler, sweeter emotions were buried deep, flashing through only in times of duress, or loneliness.
Because Tom was a lonely man, and this acknowledgment made her feel a bit like crying.
“So,” she began, but then Charlie was there, bounding up to Tom’s side, his black hair flopping in his eyes.
“Tom, Abby said she might be interested in the boxing tournament,” he said, and then those gray eyes did light up, and Honor’s heart ached with the hope that flashed there, the helpless, hapless love he so obviously carried for this boy who was never his stepson.
Dang it.
She was in love.
“Listen,” Abby said. “I might be interested, but probably not. I’m enough of a pariah with boys, okay?” She flopped down in the chair ne
xt to Honor.
“Yeah, right,” Charlie said, blushing furiously.
“Charlie, you have no idea, because you’re so nice,” Abby said easily. “But seriously. My uncle is the police chief. My idiot brother shows my fat naked baby pictures to anyone who comes through the door. Dad glares at every boy in town, and no one can forget the fact that my mother came to a school concert dressed as a Hobbit.”
“Then being a kick-ass boxer can only help,” Tom said, glancing at Charlie. “Right, mate?”
“Yeah! Totally!” Charlie said. He sat down next to Tom, and Tom’s eyes met Honor’s.
This was why he was with her, Honor Holland, perpetual wallflower and old baseball glove. Because of Charlie.
Here she was again, in love with a man who didn’t love her back.
“Another dedication, folks,” said the DJ. “To Dana from the man who can’t wait to be your husband, ‘You’re Having My Baby’ by Paul Anka.”
“Oh, my God,” Abby said. “Honor, aren’t you friends with that guy? Make him stop.”
“Yes, darling, please do,” Tom said.
It was tacky, sure. Or maybe it wasn’t, Honor thought, watching Dana and Brogan dance, looking very much like a bride and groom. Maybe it was sweet. Dana’s face was red, and she was smiling...nervously, maybe aware of how icky it was, having a guy announce your pregnancy via an incredibly sappy song.
Brogan, though, looked as if they were the only two people there.
Suddenly, the idea that Honor would be pregnant one of these days, that she and Tom would be a happy or even just contented couple seemed as far-fetched as winning the Nobel Prize in physics. That being a mother, a wife, having a family of her own, was just not going to happen. Her throat tightened.
When she glanced back at Tom and the kids, Tom wasn’t there. Abby was showing Charlie something on her phone.
Dad and Mrs. J., however, were approaching, as well as Goggy and Pops. “How are you?” Dad asked, sitting down next to her. “Having a good time? You look so pretty, Petunia!”
“This party is wonderful,” Mrs. Johnson said sternly. “You have done a magnificent job, Honor dear.”
“I didn’t care for the shrimp,” Goggy said. “I prefer herring.”
“Yet you ate seven of them,” Pops observed, getting an elbow in the ribs from his bride.
“Where’s Tom? I haven’t seen you dancing together,” Dad said, feigning a casual air. “Everything okay with you two?”
“Oh, you know how it is,” Honor said. “I have to be in charge and all that.” A lame excuse. Surreptitiously, she looked around for Tom, hoping he wasn’t at the bar.
At that moment, the Paul Anka song ended (thank you, Jesus), and there was some anemic applause. “Another dedication, folks, this time for our chairperson tonight, Honor Holland—”
Uh-oh.
“—from her fiancé. Kind of a strange song choice, but he insisted it was her favorite. ‘Paint It Black’ by the Rolling Stones.” The opening chords twanged, and Honor closed her mouth.
“I love this song!” Abby exclaimed. “Cool, Honor! I didn’t know you liked the Stones!”
As Mick Jagger started bewailing the grim state of his soul, all eyes swiveled to Honor. “Uh...” she said.
“Why does he want to paint the door black?” Goggy asked, frowning. “Red is a much nicer color.”
“Hallo, darling,” Tom said. “Shall we dance?”
He was already singing along, already dancing there in front of her, and wow, he was bad. Looked a bit like Faith when she had an epileptic seizure, albeit a bit more energetic. “Come on, darling!”
He grabbed her hands and yanked her out of the chair, towing her onto the dance floor. Oh, dear God. She caught a glimpse of Faith laughing, and Colleen, too, and Levi shaking his head, grinning. Tom was jolting around her with complete abandon, singing with his countrymen at the top of his lungs, grinning so that his eyes crinkled, off-key and...and...completely adorable.
Then Abby grabbed Charlie’s hand and pulled him out on the floor, and he began jumping up and down, Abby much more graceful. Tom grabbed Honor’s hand and spun her around, and as Mick despaired that he’d ever be happy again, Tom wrapped his arms around her and kissed her soundly on the cheek.
Levi and Faith were on the dance floor now, and Pru and Carl, Connor and Colleen, and Tom stepped on Honor’s foot and she didn’t care one bit.
The night had just turned fun.
Tom was sweaty and ridiculous and utterly irresistible. His crooked smile made him go from knee-weakeningly hot to dorktastically goofy, and honestly, if he would smile at her like that every day, she’d never ask for another thing.
Except his love. And his baby.
Screw their arrangement. She wanted his heart.
* * *
TOM WAS ALMOST sorry when the ball ended.
“This was fun,” Charlie said as they pulled up in front of the Kelloggs’ house. “See you, guys.”
Tom almost choked in surprise. Two entire sentences, unprompted. Polite sentences at that.
“Great having you along, mate.”
“Thanks for coming, Charlie,” Honor added. “And thanks for dancing with Abby.”
He smiled. Charlie Kellogg actually smiled. Crikey, it had been a long time since Tom had seen that.
They watched to make sure he got inside okay, and then Tom pulled away from the curb and drove the short distance to their place.
Now that they were alone, they didn’t talk.
He’d made her smile. Laugh, even. Rather saved the day, in his own humble opinion, which was the least he could do, given that she’d worked so hard on this night. He’d bet that tomorrow morning, people would be talking more about Honor and her strange Brit than about Brogan and his viperous little fiancée and the bun in her oven.
He’d seen Honor’s face when the other couple was dancing. He knew that face, that helpless, confused look. He’d seen it in the mirror often enough when he was with Melissa, after all. Perhaps he should’ve been jealous, but instead, without a lot of thought, he found himself doing something to change her mood.
He pulled up in front of their house. Odd, that—their house. Home. He got out and slid across the hood of the car so he could open her door before she did. Another smile, making him feel like he’d won the Irish sweepstakes.
“Miss Holland?” he said, offering his hand, and she took it. Didn’t let go, either. Then again, she was teetering a bit in those heels. Which were quite slutty and evocative. Wouldn’t mind seeing her wearing those and nothing but, all pale skin and—
“Thank you,” she said. “For the song.”
“What’s that? Oh. Sure, it was nothing.” He let go of her hand and unlocked the door, causing Ratty to awake from her coma and begin hurling herself against the door.
“Honor,” he began. “For what it’s worth, I think Brogan’s a right prat.”
Her eyes flickered. “What exactly does that word mean, anyway?” she asked, fiddling with her bag.
“A wanker. An idiot. An idiot wanker.”
She gave a small smile. “Oh. Gotcha. I appreciate that.”
“You were the most beautiful woman there tonight.” Bloody great. Next he’d be quoting Nicholas Sparks.
She gave him a dubious look. “Thanks.”
“I mean it.”
“Look, you don’t have to—”
He was kissing her then, the cool night air wrapping around them, her dog thudding against the door from the inside. Her mouth was sweet and soft, and he pressed against her, because if he had to stop, it might ruin him. His mouth moved to her throat, his teeth scraping, crushing her against him, and he couldn’t get enough; he’d do her on the porch if she—
“Tom?”
He pul
led back, his breath uneven. Waited.
Her eyes were soft and huge. “I just...I don’t want to do anything stupid.”
He smoothed a wisp of hair behind her ear. “Does that rule me out, then?”
She gave a shaky laugh.
He was throbbing for her, every beat of his heart telling him to get her inside and naked and fast. “Come to bed with me, Honor.”
Her breath shuddered, and her hands fisted in his shirt. She still didn’t answer.
“Please,” he added in a whisper.
That did it. She stood on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around him, and then her mouth was on his, thank you, God. Without breaking the kiss, Tom fumbled with the door, and when they managed to get inside and Spike bit him on the ankle, he found that he didn’t even care.
Up in the bedroom, they fell onto the bed, and Tom kissed her like his life depended on it, because that’s how it felt. Then he unzipped her dress and pulled the silky fabric off her, following its path with his mouth.
He left the light on.
And her shoes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
EVERYTHING HAD CHANGED.
Okay, actually nothing had changed, except that she and Tom were sleeping together. As in doing it. Every. Night. And sometimes first thing in the morning, too.
Life was good. Life was meltingly, sweetly, achingly wonderful, in fact. She wasn’t faking it anymore. This was the real thing.
For fifteen years (fine! seventeen years), Honor had been in love with Brogan Cain. There was no denying that fact. But with Brogan, she always had to work so hard, always putting forth her best face, never impatient or irritable or even just quiet. She turned herself inside out trying to match him, to be the most fascinating, smartest, funniest person she could possibly be, somewhat terrified that Brogan, who flew all over the world and photographed some of the most famous people on the planet, would realize she was not nearly as interesting as he was.
But Tom seemed to like her just as she was.
The other night, tired from a happy lack of sleep, she’d fallen asleep on the couch, waking up to find him looking at her from the other end, her feet in his lap, Spike curled on her shoulder. And his face, while not smiling, had been decidedly...interested. Then he’d crawled on top of her, setting her dog on the floor with only minimal hostility from Spike, unbuttoned her shirt and slid his hand under her skirt, like they were naughty teenagers necking on the couch.
Blue Heron [2] The Perfect Match Page 29
