Marrying Mr. English: The English Brothers #7 (The Blueberry Lane Series Book 11) (6 page)

His eyes had grown progressively more stricken as she spoke, as if he understood her words so perfectly, they could have come out of his mouth just as easily.

“I understand,” he said, offering her his elbow and a genuine, if sad, smile. “The pool it is.”

She placed her hand on his bare arm, and the springy hairs tickled her fingers for a moment until she tightened her grip, letting him lead her around the back of the hotel through well-lit, landscaped pathways.

“Why
The Swiss Family Robinson
?” she asked in an effort to make conversation that would steer them to safer waters.

He chuckled softly, the noise welcome on the warm winter breeze. “I was wondering when you’d ask me about that.”

“It’s not an obvious choice.”

He shrugged. “But it’s my favorite. I think it’s the main character, the oldest brother, Fritz. He’s intelligent and strong, but impetuous. I always liked him.”

“No wonder.”

“What does that mean?”

“It sounds like you,” she said, pushing a long lock of blonde hair behind her ear.

He preened internally from her praise, accepting and savoring it as they walked into the moonlight.

“But isn’t it
Fitz
?” she asked. “Like Fitzwilliam?”

“No,
Burnett
,” he teased. “It’s Fritz with an
r
. A German name for a Swiss family.”

“Ah.” She sighed, then cocked her head, looking up at him. “But you have to admit that Fitz sounds nicer. Like Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

“Mr. Darcy. You’re an Austen fan.”

“Show me a woman who isn’t!”

He laughed again, pulling his arm away from her so that he could find his room key in his pocket and show it to the pool gate attendant. A moment later, they were afforded access to the dark, quiet patio surrounding the glowing blue pool.

“So why else is it your favorite?” she asked.

“I guess I liked the sense of adventure. The idea of living on a deserted island. And, well, if I’m honest, I loved the idea of four brothers. I grew up alone, and I would—oh, I don’t know. I guess I was a little jealous of the Robinsons with all those brothers.”

“I didn’t know you were an only child.”

Tom gestured to a double chaise by the pool’s edge, and Eleanora sat down, swinging her legs up on the canvas seat as Tom sat down beside her. “Technically, I’m not. I have a little brother, my father’s son from his second marriage. But he’s only eighteen. We barely know each other.”

“I see,” she said, her voice kind and warm. “So lots of brothers sounded ideal.”

“A big family sounded ideal,” said Tom, putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his side. “Still does.”

“Is that what you want someday?”

“Mm-hm,” he breathed softly. “A gaggle of kids so they’re never lonesome, so they always have each other.”

“Sounds nice,” she said. “Coming from four, I always thought—well, when I thought of having a family, which wasn’t very often—I always imagined it big. I don’t know any different.”

“A working mom?” he asked. “Managing your bookstores
and
a big family?”

She looked up at him and grinned. “Something like that. Maybe.”

He stared into her eyes for a long time, one hand caressing her shoulder as the other reached for her face. Finally he lowered his lips to hers, kissing her gently, reverently, without the heat from their previous kiss, but with ten times the tenderness.

“I hope you get everything you want,” he whispered, his breath soft against her lips. “I like you so much, Eleanora English.”

“I like you too,” she answered, nestling against his chest and closing her tired eyes.

In no time at all, they were asleep, held fast in each other’s arms, their dreams mingling and marrying under the fathomless desert sky.

When their small plane touched down in Vail the next morning and Van announced that he was staying to spend Christmas with Eve Marie, Tom wasn’t certain who was more shocked—him or Eleanora.

“What are you talking about?” demanded Tom, pulling his friend aside on the tarmac as Eleanora did the same with her cousin.

Van rubbed the back of his neck. “We never . . . I mean, we meant to, you know,
seal the deal
last night, but we fell asleep.”

“You . . .
what
? You
fell asleep
?”

Van shrugged, looking sheepish. “She was talking about Donny and Marie and how much she liked them, and . . . I don’t know . . . I got to thinking if she liked them so much, I should get us a record player and a couple of their records ’cause we could dance and I’ll bet she’d like that. So the concierge rustled up a few albums and brought them up. And then we were dancing and we had some Champagne, and before I knew it, I woke up next to her on the couch. Clothes still on. And the phone was ringing because you and Ellie were already waiting for us downstairs.”

“I’ve never known you to blow a sure thing like this. Should I be worried?” asked Tom, smirking at his friend and vastly enjoying Van’s obvious discomfort.

“Nah.” Van looked over at Eve Marie, who was gesticulating wildly as she told her cousin a similar, if more enthusiastic, version of the story, and Tom noted how his friend’s face softened as he looked at her. “Listen, my folks already left for our ski house in Stratton, and Ellie’s going back East with you, so I just thought I may as well, I don’t know, keep her company. Stick around for a few more days.”

“I didn’t know they were spending Christmas in Vermont. I’ve always loved Stratton,” said Tom, giving Van a sly smile. “You could easily jump on a plane and join them, you know.”

“I kinda—aw, fuck. You want me to say it? I’ll say it. I kinda like her. She’s, I don’t know, she’s sorta dumb and sorta sweet, but she makes me laugh, and when she looks up at me with those big blue eyes, I just . . .”

Tom shook his head at Van with a mixture of teasing and disbelief. “I never thought I’d see it happen.”

“This from the one who got married in Vegas yesterday,” muttered Van grumpily. “Which, by the way, I still think is completely nuts.”

Tom’s grin faded, and his voice held a strong note of warning. “Keep your opinions about Eleanora to yourself, okay? For however long, she’s my wife. I need you to respect that.”

Van scoffed, looking back over at the girls. “I guess I’m not the only one falling for a Watters cousin, huh?”

Tom shrugged, glancing over at Eleanora, who was hugging Evie tightly. She caught Tom’s eyes over her cousin’s shoulder and winked at him.

“You’re definitely not the only one,” said Tom, his gaze locked on his bride.

Tom wrote Eve Marie a check for Eleanora’s share of January’s rent, and the cousins hugged goodbye, with Eleanora promising she’d be back before New Year’s. As they stood side by side on the tarmac, waving at the departing cab, Tom reached for Eleanora’s hand, delighting in the way she laced their hands together and looked up at him with a sunny smile.

“I’m glad she won’t be alone for Christmas,” she said.

“Me too. Ready for Philly?”

“I don’t know,” she said, cocking her head to the side. “Is Philly ready for me?”

He chuckled, putting his arms around her. “Let’s hope so.”

She leaned against him, her blue eyes serious and her voice husky when she spoke. “It was nice waking up next to you, Tom.”

“Yeah,” he said, drawing her closer and brushing his lips against her forehead. “For me too.” Though, frankly, he wouldn’t have minded waking up beside her naked body in a bed, instead of her clothed one in dew-covered pool chairs.

She rested her cheek on his chest, her voice a little muffled when she spoke. “I know that we only have a few days together, but . . .”

“But what, sunshine?”

She leaned back and looked up at him, seemingly surprised by the endearment, though her grin told him it pleased her too.

“Could we just be happy?” she asked. “Just . . . pretend like we’re really married? Like this is our first Christmas as a married couple?”

“We really
are
married, and this really
is
our first Christmas as a married couple.”

“I know. But you know what I mean . . . Could we just—”

“You mean, get a tree? Drink eggnog? Take a walk in the snow?”

“Exactly,” she said, her voice warming. “Maybe watch a Christmas movie. And I can make dinner for us . . . you know, if you wanted me to.”

I want you to. I want all of it just as much as you do.

But real life intruded on his dreams.

“If everything goes according to plan, we’ll have to go to my grandparents’ house for Christmas.”

“Oh.”

“However, if I’m disowned, we’ll hang out at my apartment, and I’ll be glad to eat whatever you make.”

“They’ll believe us, Tom,” she said, drawing back to look into his eyes. “We’ll make sure of it.”

Her eyes were sharp and serious, her pillowed lips pressed together with earnestness. She was so beautiful, such a capable teammate, he couldn’t help himself: he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

Her hands had been trapped between them, but she looped them around his neck, pulling his head down, sweeping her tongue into his mouth and bowing her back so that their bodies were flush. Her fingers played with the hair on the back of his neck, massaging and pulling, and his body caught fire with the heat of his longing. He groaned into her mouth as he hardened on command, wanting to feel more of her, know more of her, have more of her.

“Eleanora,” he panted near her ear. “What are you doing to me?”

“The same thing you’re doing to me,” she sighed.

He held her tightly, breathing in the sweet scent of her maple syrup hair and reveling in the feeling of her small body pressed so intimately against his. And then it came to him, in a flash, in a flame, in a burst of realization that made him shudder as she clung breathlessly to him:

Love.

Was this love?

He frowned.

Infatuation? Sure.

But love? Impossible.

Even if what he felt was the zygote of a someday love, he wasn’t even comfortable calling it that at this point. He’d only just met her. Christ, he barely knew her.

She sighed in his arms and readjusted her cheek against his shoulder, and his heart throbbed with it again—this deep, spreading, as-yet-unnamed feeling that was multiplying with every moment they spent together—and it felt both terrifying and fucking awesome, and frankly, Tom didn’t care if he never felt it with another woman for the rest of his life, as long as he got to feel it with Eleanora forever.

Forever.

And therein lay the problem.

He didn’t have forever.

He barely had now.

***

Tom was quiet on the plane ride East, despite Eleanora’s attempts to engage him. He wasn’t rude to her, just distracted, and finally she stopped trying, resting her head against the window and falling asleep to the white noise of the engine.

When she woke up, it was dark outside and the plane was still. Tom was squatting in front of her, holding her hands, his face gray in the dim light.

“Tom,” she murmured.

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

“You’re like a dream.”

“Or a miracle,” he said softly, dropping his lips to her hand and kissing it gently. “We’re here.”

She took a deep breath and sighed, opening her eyes and pulling her hands away so she could stretch her arms over her head. “How long was I out?”

“Hours. We didn’t sleep that well last night, I guess.”

“Or the night before,” she added, feeling around for her shoes with her socked feet. “I could sleep for a million years.”

“It’s only seven o’clock here. How about some takeout first? Then sleep?”

“Sounds good.”

She held out her hands, and he pulled her drowsy body up from the comfortable airplane seat, leading her down the aisle to the open door and down a small set of stairs. The cold air was jarring, and she shivered, wishing she hadn’t packed her coat but worn it instead. On the tarmac was a black town car, and Tom opened her door, letting her get settled before climbing in beside her.

“You’re cold,” he said, sliding closer to her as the car made its way through the small airport gates and onto the adjacent highway.

“A little,” she said, rubbing her freezing hands together.

Tom put his arm around her, drawing her against his side, and she rested her head on his shoulder, sighing with pleasure.

Earlier today, when he’d asked,
What are you doing to me?
she’d felt it deep inside, the way she felt an awesome orgasm gather—only it wasn’t her muscles clenching in readiness for release, it was her heart clenching in readiness to let go, or let in, or let loose. She didn’t recognize the feeling, but her chest tightened, head swam, and she felt dizzy as he held her, the taste of him still on her lips.

It’s love
, whispered her heart.

It couldn’t be
, she thought, her eyes suddenly burning as she tried to concentrate on the even rhythm of Tom’s breathing near her ear.
It couldn’t be. It can’t happen this fast. That would be impossible and . . . disastrous.

Her heart raced, and she clenched her eyes shut, swallowing over the growing lump in her throat, because Eleanora Watters hadn’t had much good luck in her life, and recognizing disaster came easily.

She was
falling for Tom English.

God damn it, Eleanora.

What a stupid, ridiculous thing to do.

***

Too soon, they pulled up in front of Tom’s apartment building in downtown Philadelphia.

With the light weight of his wife’s head on his shoulder, Tom had fantasized for most of the ride that it was all real—that he’d fallen in love with Eleanora in Vail, gotten married in Vegas, and here he was, bringing his bride home to Philadelphia to celebrate Christmas and meet his family. He smiled at his reflection as he thought about her and their marriage in those terms, and part of him wished it was true.

Even though it wasn’t.

An arrangement. That’s all it was.

But . . . did it have to be?

Maybe, after they’d met with his grandfather the day after tomorrow, no matter what the verdict, he’d ask her to stay a little longer. Through New Year’s. Maybe she could stay a few weeks, a month, a year. Hell, the way he felt, maybe she’d consider staying forever.

Maybe she could attend Drexel or Penn or Bryn Mawr. She could share his apartment, and he could take care of her. And all the while, they could get to know each other better: talk until dawn, hold hands as they took walks and discussed books, have long dinners together while they shared their dreams and helped each other make them come true.

Maybe it didn’t have to be an arrangement.

Maybe it didn’t have to end.

“Are we here?”

Eleanora had been so quiet on the ride home, Tom wondered if she’d fallen asleep, but her voice was crisp, not sleepy, so she must have been awake the whole time, thinking, just like him.

“We’re here, sunshine.”

She lifted her head but turned away from him, and by the time he’d exited and circled the car to open her door, she was already standing on the curb looking up at his building.

“You live here?”

He nodded. “Yep. I own the penthouse apartment.”

She whistled low, the way she had when he told her that he’d gone to Princeton. “Whoa.”

He reached for her hand, but she didn’t give it to him, adjusting her purse on her shoulder instead, then walking through the revolving door and into the lobby.

The town car driver loaded their luggage onto a cart, and the doorman headed for the service elevator, leaving Tom and Eleanora alone, waiting for the tenant elevator in the lobby. And Tom realized that Eleanora hadn’t looked him in the eye since they’d arrived. No teasing grins, no entwined hands . . . nothing.

“Hey,” he said, nudging her with his elbow. “You okay?”

“Sure,” she answered quickly, staring at the shiny brass elevator door.

The bell rang and the doors parted. She stepped forward, into a far corner, then turned around, staring at the Persian carpet beneath her feet. Her jaw was clenched tightly, and she blinked several times.

What was going on? She looked miserable, and he couldn’t bear it—not if he was the cause or could help with a solution. He reached forward and pressed the button for the tenth floor, then stepped back against the railing, beside her, but not touching her.

“Are you worried? About my grandfather? About not getting the money?”

She gulped softly, shaking her head, but she didn’t answer him.