The Perfect Match (33 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

T
OM
WASN
’
T
HOME
. Honor threw some food in a bowl for Spike and dashed back out, then ran back in, wrote a note that said “Please call me ASAP”
and taped it to the front door. Called his cell. He didn’t answer. She didn’t blame him.

Should she go to Wickham? Better yet, maybe she could call before driving all the way up there.

“Dees ees Dr. Dragul speaking,” came the voice. “How may I help you dees evening?”

“Oh, Droog, hi, it’s Honor Holland. I’m looking for Tom. Is he there, by any chance?”

“Ah, Honor, how nice to hear your voice! No, I em afraid that Tom is not here, but I veel tell him you called eef I see him. I must talk to him myself, as a metter of fact, but I heff date tonight. A luffly young woman named Clarissa, and I feel very—”

“Good luck,” she said, cutting him off. “Gotta run. Sorry, Droog. See you soon.”

She bit her lip.

Okay, this was all very juvenile—she hadn’t
really
been kissing Brogan—but her heart was pounding so hard she thought she might levitate. Tom would understand once she explained things to him.

She just had to find him, that was all.

Just then, her phone rang, making her jump so much she dropped it, causing Spike to pounce on it. “Give that back,” she said, pulling it free of her dog’s tiny mouth.

“Hello? Tom?”

“Hey, it’s Pru. When’s your wedding again?”

“Um, I’ll call you back.”

“Fine. I’ll just ask Tom. I meant to, but I was distracted when he took off his shirt. Those tats
do
something to me. I wonder if Carl would get one.”

“Okay, I’ll— What? When? Where did you see him?”

Prudence paused. “You okay? You sound weird.”

“Where’s Tom, Pru?”

“He’s in the bottling room, fixing something for Dad.”

“Talk later. Bye.”

A few minutes later, Honor pulled into the parking lot of the vineyard. Tom’s car was there.

Maybe he wasn’t mad, after all. He was here, being a good almost-son-in-law. He probably understood. How mad could he be?

Very, apparently.

He was lying on the floor in jeans and a T-shirt, and Pru was right. It made a very nice picture indeed, her college professor gone all handyman on her. “Hi,” she said.

He didn’t look up. Twisted a wrench, undid a coupling, then sat up in one neat movement.

“I should explain what you walked in on,” she said as he brushed past her. He didn’t pause, just went down the stairs into the cask room, where some of the wiring from the bottling machines ran. Honor followed, twisting her hands.

She wasn’t used to men being jealous. It was a freakishly new sensation, and not one hundred percent bad, if she was being honest. Seventy-five percent bad, sure. Twenty-five percent thrilling, in a guilty sort of way.

The cask room was dim, as always, even with the lights on, the hulking barrels standing guard on one side, the stone walls giving off their pleasant, limestone smell. Tom was already reaching up for a wire that laced under the floor of the bottling room and into the cask room’s ceiling. He took a knife out of his pocket and stripped away the rubber sheath.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” Honor said, figuring he could at least listen. “Um, it’s not what you think.”

“Yes. So you said earlier. Funny, that phrase. Everyone uses it when trying to excuse their bad behavior.”

She pressed her lips together. “I didn’t do anything that can be construed as bad, Tom.”

“Darling, just because you and I have a business arrangement doesn’t mean I like it when you go off snogging your old boyfriends.”

“We weren’t—”

“Your mouth was on his, Honor. Looked like snogging to me.”

A hot blast of irritation surged unexpectedly through her. “I’m not the type, Tom. I’ve never flirted with another woman’s boyfriend. I’ve never littered, never broke the speed limit and I certainly never even entertained the idea of cheating on you.”

“Really. So kissing the great love of your life—”

“I have to say, I’m a little surprised you noticed. Since you’ve been ignoring me this past week.”

“Is that grounds for cheating?”

“I didn’t cheat on you! I would never do that.”

“It looked rather convincing to me.”

“Maybe you could just listen.”

“Why?” he snapped, yanking a wire down from the ceiling. “So I can hear how you accidentally kissed him? This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Your best friend stole your man, and now you’ve got him back.”

“No! That’s not it at all. I don’t want him back. I never had him to begin with, and honestly, he’s very upset about something—”

“Poor lamb.”

“And he kissed me! There’s a difference.”

“You sound bloody ridiculous.” He yanked down some more wire and practically attacked it.

She took a breath. “You don’t understand, Tom. I’ve been friends with him since I was nine years old, and I can’t just—”

“I know the whole story, darling, and I certainly don’t want to hear it again.” His voice was cold and calm now, and he still wouldn’t look at her.

“So you haven’t talked to me in eight days, and now you won’t listen.”

“I believe I spoke to you this very morning.”

“To ask if I wanted coffee. You know what I’m talking about. Something happened with Charlie, and you won’t tell me anything. What kind of a relationship is that?”

“A business relationship. Remember?”

Irritation unfolded and grew. “You know what your problem is, Tom?”

“I love when women start a sentence that way. Please, go on, tell me.”

“You’ve got this huge part of yourself locked away, and every once in a while, something shows through, and then you race to lock it away again, and I have no idea who you really are. And I think that’s much more of a problem than stupid Brogan stupidly kissing me because he was upset with stupid Dana!”

Tom tossed down the wrench with a very satisfying clang. “And I happen to think it’s a problem that every fucking turn of our relationship has come about because of something your Brogan has done.”

“What?”

“You only met with me that first time because you were desperate to get over him. The first time you slept with me was when he told you Dana was pregnant. You agreed to marry me to show him you weren’t mooning over him, and the night of that ridiculous ball, you slept with me again because you were heartbroken seeing them dance. And now the first chance you get, you let him kiss you. So yeah, I’ve got a problem. This is not what I signed up for.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of that. A single U.S. female citizen willing to commit marital fraud was what you signed up for. We don’t have an audience, Tom, so save the jealousy act, okay?”

Tom strode across the room, heading for the stairs.

No. Not for the stairs.

For her.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her, her breath leaving in a squeak of surprise. He pushed her against a giant barrel, his mouth hard and hungry and demanding, yes, yes, finally. His arms pulled her against him, his body hard as oak, and all the pent-up frustration of the past week burst out, and she kissed him back just as hard. Her mouth opened under his, taking as much as she was giving. He was hers, damn it. They belonged together.

His hands drifted down to her ass and lifted her against him, one hand groping under her skirt, and holy porno, it was hot and tawdry and wonderful. She wrapped her legs around his waist and buried her hands in his short hair, wanting him in an overwhelming throb, right here, right now.

It was hard and urgent and so, so good, his breath rasping out of him, the muscles in his shoulders bunching as he lifted her, and yes, she was so definitely that type.

When they were done, he stayed against her, which was good, given that her legs were water and Honor was positive she’d collapse if he let go.

Sex in the cask room.

Who knew she was that kind of slutty person?

We were hoping,
the eggs said smugly.

Her legs, wrapped around his waist, were shaking. She pressed a kiss onto the side of Tom’s sweaty neck, and it seemed to bring him out of his fog.

He stood up, smoothed her hair away from her face, his eyes on her mouth, rather than her eyes. Then he stepped back a little and pulled down her skirt, then buttoned his jeans. “Sorry,” he said.

She sure as hell wasn’t. “No apology necessary,” she murmured, swallowing. A repeat performance, however, would be most welcome.

He turned away, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, I’m sorry, Honor. You deserve better.”

“I don’t think better exists.”

He wasn’t smiling. “I don’t love you.”

The words were like a slap, and yes, that did take some of the sheen off the moment. Tears stung at her eyes, and she swallowed.

“I wish I could. I’m sorry.” He started to say something else—once, twice—but then closed his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said again, and with that, he went back upstairs and resumed fixing the bottling machine.

* * *

T
OM
WAITED
TILL
he heard Honor’s car pull out of the parking lot. She’d been crying.
Nice, Tom,
he thought viciously.
Very fucking nice.

He wanted to tell her what she needed to hear, but he couldn’t. The truth was, not everyone gets saved. Not everyone becomes a better person. His mother didn’t. She never came back, never made an effort once he turned eight. Melissa wasn’t saved, didn’t become a loving wife, didn’t lose her restlessness. She left him, too, to take up with Mitchell.

It didn’t seem that Charlie would be saved, either. The fact was, Tom wasn’t going to get to find out.

And Tom’s name could be added to that list, as well.

He knew what Honor wanted. He just didn’t have it.

He’d failed with his mother, failed to win her attention and devotion, failed in somewhat the same way with Melissa, failed with Charlie after three long years of trying.

If he failed with Honor, what then?

This was not what he signed up for. Honor was supposed to be easy, a low-maintenance, pleasant companion. He wasn’t supposed to want to beat the living shit out of her ex-boyfriend, wasn’t supposed to lose control and take her against a rough wooden barrel, wasn’t supposed to feel like kissing her feet out of gratitude for letting him. He wasn’t supposed to have to worry that she might leave him for the wanker who rejected her, worry that she was settling for him, because of
course
she was settling for him. That was the whole fucking point.

Everything was wrong. It was just wrong. He didn’t love her. Not yet.

And even if he did, he’d been shown again and again that his love wasn’t quite enough.

What if she left him? What if she had his kid and left him, and instead of just Charlie, there’d be another child out there in the world that he loved and failed? What if Honor Grace Holland, who was everything her name implied, decided she wanted something different? He’d be ruined, even worse than he already was.

Two hours later, Tom was sitting in his classroom at Wickham. In his in-box was an email from Jacob Kearns, asking for a recommendation to the University of Chicago, where he was hoping to transfer for the fall semester.

The one good student Tom had. It probably didn’t matter. Tom would be back in England, anyway, now that his reason for staying was moving to Philadelphia.

The door opened. “Ah! Tom! Vat are you doing, sitting here all alone! I thought you vould be home with dee luffly Honor! She called for you, did you know?”

“Droog. How are you?” Tom dragged his eyes off his computer screen to the head of his department.

“I am well, thank you, Tom! I think I have met Dee One, as you say. She is so...beautiful.”

“That’s great, mate. I’m glad for you.”

“And I heff good news, Tom! Again and again, I petitioned dee board of dee college, and yes! You vill heff your vork visa after all!”

Ah, irony, always good for a brisk slap. A green card right at the exact moment when he no longer needed it.

* * *

H
ONOR
WAS
STILL
awake when he got home, Ratty sprawled on her back on the cushion next to her.

“Hi,” she said, lurching to her feet. On the telly was an X-ray of a woman with a metal hook in her eye, so it must be
World’s Best Impalements,
one of those nasty shows she loved. He’d almost miss those. “Listen, Tom, I’d like to say something.”

“I’ve some news,” he said.

“Oh. Okay.”

He took the remote and turned off the show. “The college has renewed my work visa.”

“That’s great!” Then his words seemed to register, because her face changed. “Oh.”

“Right. Also, Charlie’s moving to Pennsylvania with his father.” The words, jammed in his chest for so long, came out in a surprisingly smooth rush. He looked at her dog. “So I don’t...require you to commit fraud any longer.” He paused, forcing himself to look back at her. “And I will always be tremendously grateful that you were willing to do so.”

Her face was pale. “Are you breaking up with me?” she whispered.

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

She swallowed, her throat working. “Tom, I— Look, I know what you said. That you don’t love me, and I believe you. But I think you could, maybe. And I already lo—”

“Don’t say it, darling.”

She paused and pressed her lips together. “But I do. I love you. You’re right, what you said before. We were getting married for other people and other reasons, but that’s not true, not anymore, not for me. I’d still marry you, Tom. I’d take good care of you.”

The words hit his dead heart and seemed to bounce right back off. “I’m sure you would, sweetheart,” he said as gently as he could. “I’m not sure the reverse is true of me, however.”

“I think it is,” she whispered. “I think I’d be lucky to be married to you.”

He went to her, and pressed a kiss on her forehead. “The fact is,” he said in a whisper, “I’m all used up inside, love.”

Two tears slid down her cheeks. “That’s not how I see you at all.”