“What did he look like?” Alex’s question stopped Gussie short.
“Who, honey?” Gussie asked.
“The man. The one taking our picture. The one you saw.” Alex was trying to stay calm, he could tell, but the low-grade desperation in her voice came through loud and clear.
“Oh, Alex, there’s nothing to worry about,” Gussie assured her. “It was a tourist—”
“Are you sure? Uncle Tommy seems to be concerned.” She looked from side to side, spinning again, searching the crowds. “Did you see his face?”
“Gussie’s right,” Tom said, although he didn’t agree completely. No reason for the girl to be worried. “A tourist or, more likely, one of those eight hundred thousand views.”
Gussie handed the bouquet she’d been making to Alex. “You can finish picking the flowers, honey. What did Suzette say, Tom?”
They took a few steps away, but Alex was still peering hard at every man in the flower market.
“Damn, I hope I didn’t scare her,” he whispered to Gussie.
“I don’t think she’s scared, more like hopeful.”
He frowned, then suddenly understood. “Her father?”
Gussie lifted a shoulder. “She harbors the hope.”
Hope that would never be fulfilled, he knew. “I’ll fill you in later,” he said quickly, something instinctive making him walk back to his niece. “Come on, Alex.” He put a protective hand on her narrow shoulder, guiding her away and kicking himself for overreacting. “Let’s pay for those and finish shopping. I promised you I’d cook a true Niçoise dinner, and we can’t make that out of daisies and violets.”
She took one more look over her shoulder, then fell into step with him. Gussie joined him on the other side, and without thinking too much about it, he held her hand and led the three of them through the market.
He tried really hard not to think about how good and right and, damn it, permanent it felt to be flanked by two people who suddenly mattered a whole hell of a lot more than he’d ever expected them to.
“I can’t have dinner with you guys tonight,” Alex said.
“Don’t tell me, you have a date,” Tom said dryly.
She giggled and turned as red as the roses she clutched to her chest. “Miss Annie invited me to go to the French cinema with Lizzie.”
“And Eddie?” he asked.
More blood rushed to her face, and Gussie squeezed his hand in warning. “Well, yeah, he’ll be there. Is that okay?”
“Over my dead body.”
“Uncle Tommy!”
Another squeeze tempered his reply, so he patted Alex’s shoulder. “Of course it’s okay. I was playing with you, Alex,” he said.
She looked up at him, her eyes a little uncertain before she broke into a smile. “Well, that’s a first.”
It sure was. Inside, he could almost feel something click in his chest. An adrenaline dump from the chase or something else? Something like…an adjustment of his heart.
Chapter Twenty
Gussie settled more comfortably on the barstool at the island counter, mesmerized by Tom’s ease and competence in the kitchen. Okay, his ass in jeans and his biceps in a loose-fitting T-shirt were kind of compelling, also.
The tangy aroma of sautéed onions and shallots wafted through the air, the glow of the day hung over every inch of the cozy apartment, and the man who cooked for her had Gussie’s every nerve ending tingling with anticipation and interest.
This was good. This was all so flipping good.
So, of course, the familiar sensation of dread crawled up her spine and spread all over those tingling nerve endings, promising to numb every sensation like a bucket of ice water.
“I hate when this happens to me,” she whispered, mostly to herself, but he turned from the stove, always tuned in to those kinds of comments.
“You hate what?”
She tipped the glass with what she hoped was a flippancy that wouldn’t give away her real worries. “Oh, you know, when someone exceedingly hot cooks dinner for me after a dreamy day in the south of France and I have to watch while sipping perfectly chilled chardonnay.” She went for a light smile. “I hate that.”
He shook the sauté pan, spreading the garlic and oil with an expert touch. “You had me at exceedingly hot.”
She rolled her eyes. “As if this is a big shock to you.”
“But you’re lying,” he said.
“Lying? I may have my own personal issues, big guy, but if you try to pretend you don’t know that you are…what do we say back in the old USofA? A stone-cold fox, then you’re pretty blind for a man who uses his eyes to make a living.”
He left the stove to pick up the cutting board covered with sliced vegetables. “I meant you’re lying about why you whispered that you hate this. You hate something, and it’s not me, the day, or the food. I call bullshit. What do you hate?”
If he hadn’t been so dang adept at getting inside her head like that, she’d have laughed. Or lied. But why bother? “I get nervous around anything that’s too good to be true,” she admitted.
He snorted as he dumped mushrooms and onions into the pan. “I hope you don’t mean me, ’cause we both know I’m not.”
“I didn’t mean you.” Yes, she did. “I meant”—she made a quick, sweeping gesture that encompassed everything around her—“this. This day, this trip, this place, this”—go ahead, admit it—“this man.”
He splashed some wine from his glass into the pan, causing a sudden flare and sizzle. “I thought you were still stewing over the LaVie situation.”
“Not stewing, exactly. Trying to get used to it. I certainly have never sought fame or fortune, but Ari and Willow seem to think the whole thing is cool and might even help the Brides business. Alex thinks it’s a riot, of course, and you…” He hadn’t really tipped his hand yet. “I’m not sure how you feel about anything.”
She glanced at her glass, still nearly full, but maybe the wine was too potent for her if she was going to start confessing things better kept inside.
“My opinion doesn’t matter.”
Like hell it didn’t.
Leaving the stove, he came around the counter behind her, setting his glass next to hers. “So what are you hating?” he asked, genuine confusion in eyes the same blue as the flames flickering under the burner.
“I just told you…all of this is too…good.” Wonderful, really. Impossibly, perfectly wonderful.
He slid his hands over her bare shoulders, his thumbs slipping right under the straps of her tank top. “But why is that a problem, Gussie?”
She tipped her head to the side to rub her cheek against his knuckles, a hungry puppy taking all the affection he gave her. “Because it’s too good to be true.” Too good to last.
“But it is true.” He rubbed his thumbs in circles, causing a cascade of chill bumps on her arms.
“And it is too good,” she cooed into his touch. “When things are really nice and easy and swell and sweet, then I’m in suspended animation, waiting for it all to blow up in my face.”
He was quiet for a moment, then she felt his lips press against the back of her head, over the hair that partially covered her scar. “Understandable, I guess,” he whispered. “Since your good life did once blow up more or less in your face.”
More chills exploded, but not because of his warm lips or gentle hands. It was the softness of his words and sympathy that gave her a slight shiver. This man understood her like no one she’d ever met.
And that slayed her heart.
“You know, Tom, I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t be quite so ideal.” She turned the stool to face him. “That way, when it blows up—or over, as the case may be—it won’t hurt so much.”
He searched her face, his eyes piercing, his mouth unsmiling. “What do you want me to say to that?” he asked.
How about…It’s not going to blow up, Pink.
Except that would have been a lie. And Tom didn’t lie.
“I want you to say exactly what you feel,” she said. “Because that’s what you get me to do. So do the same for me. Tell me exactly what you feel.”
She could take it. She could take his explanation of how he liked her, but he was a loner, drifter, desperado type, and the end was inevitable, and this couldn’t la—
“Let’s skip dinner and go right to bed.”
She choked on her unfinished thought. “Why didn’t I see that coming?”
“You did.” He leaned in and whispered the words over her mouth. “I want you.”
And every single cell that carried a double-X chromosome started marching in order, preparing for the onslaught. Yes, yes, yes.
“Skip dinner? I’m hungry,” she lied. Well, she was hungry. But not for chicken chasseur.
“You’re scared.”
“No shit.”
He opened his mouth and scared her some more, this time with plenty of tongue. She put both hands on his shoulders, ready to ease him back, but that didn’t work at all. The moment she touched his arms, all she could do was dig in and pull him closer to kiss some more.
“Don’t be scared,” he murmured.
She laughed into the kiss. “Easy for you to say.”
He drew back, opening his eyes slowly. “No, Gussie, it’s not easy at all.” All the sexual playfulness evaporated at his tone. “I’m scared, too.”
“Forgive me if I find that a little hard to believe.”
“Why?” He took his hands off her, and immediately, she felt cold, but she followed suit and let go of his arms. “Why is that so hard to believe?” he asked. “You think I’m fearless?”
“I think you’re the leaver. You’re the mover. You’re the guy who lives for his independence and tattoos proclamations of solitude on his arm.”
“Proving my point,” he fired back. “A man who embraces his solitude has a lot more to lose when faced with…”
She froze, not even breathing as she waited for him to finish. But he shut down, shaking his head.
“With what?” she demanded.
“This.” The word was barely audible.
This. This? “What exactly is this?” she asked.
“This is”—he swiped his hand through his hair—“getting complicated.”
“And falling into bed together is really going to simplify things.”
He started to turn away, then froze, taking in a quick breath. In a flash, he wrapped her in his arms and pulled her off the chair, practically lifting her to nearly the same height, crushing her chest against his.
“No, it isn’t,” he ground out the words. “But when I’m with you, I keep thinking I can…clean up the mess later.” He punctuated that with a swift kiss, squeezing her so tight breathing wasn’t an option.
She wanted to push away, knew she should slow this pain train before it flattened her on the tracks, but then he eased her feet back to the floor so his hands traveled up her sides, over her breasts, under her throat, into her hair. His mouth burned kisses along her jaw, and he kept pushing her back until she hit the counter and he could really press himself into her.
Her skin sizzled like the onions in hot oil, his hands making every tender spot crackle with the fire of his touch.
She couldn’t stop, couldn’t fight the urgency that made her touch all the same places on his body, over his shoulders, down his abs, lower to get her hands on the rock-hard—
The door latch echoed through the whole apartment, jerking them apart.
“Oh, hi.” Alex walked in as they somehow let go of each other, all three of them blinking in surprise. “I…I…”
“Hi, Alex,” Tom managed. “You’re back early.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m…sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about,” Gussie said quickly. “We’re just making”—out—“dinner.” She gave a tug to her T-shirt.
Great, just great. Some role model she was.
“Well, I’m not staying, if that’s okay. I’m going to spend the night with Lizzie and—”
“Spend the night?” Tom asked. “There’s a boy over there.”
Alex battled a little smile. “I don’t think he’s going to be in our room,” she said. “And Miss Annie is there, and she said it was fine. Isn’t it fine, Gussie?”
“Of course it’s…” Not her place to give permission, she remembered. She turned to Tom. “I think it’s fine,” she said. Better, even, since it left them alone in the apartment.
But that side benefit hadn’t even registered with Tom, who was still frowning with a parental-like concern. “You sure Anne is there?”
“Uh, yeah.” Alex shifted from one foot to the other. “Do you need to talk to her or anything?”
He hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. “No, it’s okay.”
Alex looked from one to the other, no doubt taking in exactly what she saw. “You want me to call or text before I come home?”
Oh, Lord. “Absolutely not,” Gussie said quickly, not caring if it was her place to say or not. “You have a key, and you can come and go as you please, as long as we know where you are.”
We. Why did she say that?
“Cool.” Alex headed back to her room, leaving them a few feet apart and a million miles away from where they had just been.
“Shit.” He picked up his wineglass and lifted it for a mock toast. “Here’s to ‘do as I say and not as I do,’ right?”
Gussie smiled and returned the toast with her own glass. “Told you all good things must come to an end.”
Over his glass, tapered blue eyes warned her loud and clear. The end wasn’t in sight…yet.
* * *
Maybe it was because Alex had unexpectedly popped in on them, but Tom managed to focus his attention on getting dinner on the table and quit trying to drag Gussie to bed. They were both a little gun-shy after the interruption, so they enjoyed the food, the view, the company and, in the back of his mind, the fact that they’d be alone overnight.
“I have to say something.” Gussie toyed with her last few bites, finally setting down the fork without taking one.
“Not sure I like the sound of that.”
“No, it’s a good thing. I mean, it’s an observation I’ve made about you. An incongruity in your character, if you will.”
“Nope, definitely not going to like this.” He stabbed a piece of chicken the way he’d like to stab any conversation about incongruity in his character, whatever the hell that could mean.
She ignored his comment, sipping ice water before making any pronouncements. “For a guy who is, you know, hell-bent for leather to stay completely free of any responsibilities, you sure take yours seriously.”
“What am I going to let her do? She’s my…” He shook his head and gave up on the last bit of chicken. “Look, I had to take care of my sister when she was a teenager. The first thing she did when she turned eighteen was hook up with an idiot and get pregnant. Can you blame me if I get a little nervous about history repeating itself?”
“But in the flower market today, when you thought someone was on our tail? You were as protective as a paid bodyguard.”
Hardly. “A good one would have taken that asshole down for getting pictures of you.”
“But we know why he was doing it. He’s probably on Instagram or Facebook.”
Tom thought about that, the echo of Suzette’s marketing stats still in his head. Ninety percent of the people who’d seen the shots were women. That guy had been kind of a bruiser, with muscles and a look of intensity on his face that still made Tom uneasy.
“You can admit it,” she urged. “You have a protective streak. I think, deep inside, there’s a man who wants to care for his loved ones and, you know, guard the cave.”
He looked skyward at the phrase. “Excuse me if I don’t grunt and drag you by the hair.” Then he winked at her. “Although, the idea has merit.”
“Scoff if you want,” she said. “But I think there’s hope for you, panta monos. You’ll
have to find the right…situation. Then maybe you won’t have to stamp an expiration date on your other arm.”
She went for a teasing tone, but the words hit him hard anyway. “I don’t expire, Gussie… Other people do.” He felt the sensations well up, familiar and dark. He looked away, trying to manage them, but the view of a sun-streaked sky melting into twilight took him back to…
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I mean that, for me, in my life, I’ve lost the people that I…” Damn it, his voice would crack if he said the word love.
“I’m sorry.” She shifted in her seat and started to reach out to him, but stopped as if the look on his face warned her not to touch him right then.
But he didn’t want to push her away. Not now. Not…ever. “Don’t apologize, Gussie. You’ve only been real and open with me.” He took her hand, threading their fingers together, already wanting her support for what he knew was about to come out.
“And you?” she asked, tracing her thumb over his knuckle, the touch sexy and intimate and better than any conversation. “Have you been completely open?”
Swallowing, he studied their joined hands, her long, tanned fingers and his blunt-tipped, stronger ones. Intertwined like lovers. But, of course, they couldn’t be lovers. Not yet. Not until he told her everything.
“I haven’t lied,” he finally said. “But there’s more.”
Her thumb stilled on his knuckle. “Really?”
“Really.”
They sat in silence for at least thirty seconds. Gussie didn’t move, patiently waiting for him to continue, but Tom couldn’t move, paralyzed by his thoughts and the memories that he liked to bury.
“I guess I am protective,” he finally said. “I don’t want to lose anyone else in my life.”
She nodded sympathetically. “You’ve lost both your parents and your sister. That’s more than a lot of people have to endure at such a young age, Tom.”
“But they aren’t all I’ve lost.”
He felt her fingers tense as she waited.
He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry and his stomach was tight and, son of a bitch, something hot was burning his eyelids.