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

“Did I do something?”

She shook her head again, reaching up to swipe at her cheek.

“Jesus, Eleanora, please just tell me what’s going on.”

The bell rang again to signal that they’d arrived at the tenth floor, and Eleanora marched out of the elevator, then stood still in the quiet hallway. She didn’t know where to go, and Tom wasn’t telling her until she told him what was wrong.

Gently placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned her around to face him, but she kept her head bent, her eyes cast down.

“Please tell me,” he whispered.

“I’m falling for you,” she said, so softly, he almost didn’t believe he’d heard her correctly until she cleared her throat and said it again. “I’m falling for you.”

“That’s okay,” he said, relief flooding his senses and making him sigh raggedly.

“It’s
not
okay,” she said, finally raising her glistening eyes to his. “It’s not okay to fall for someone so quickly. It doesn’t make sense, and it scares me. It’s not okay to fall for someone you’re leaving in three days. That’s a great way to break your own heart. It’s not okay to fall for someone who’s older and more sophisticated and better educated and just needs a wife so that he can—”

***

Whatever she’d been expecting, suddenly feeling Tom’s arms around her and his lips pressed fiercely to hers wasn’t it. But her feelings were so intense and she needed the comfort he offered so badly, she let her purse drop to the floor and wound her arms around his neck. She parted her lips and moaned when his tongue found hers, sucking it, then sliding against it until her panties flooded with the heat of her arousal. Her nipples beaded under her sweater, and she rubbed them against his chest with every breath she took, threading her fingers through his soft, blond hair, tilting her head this way, then that, delighting in the tickle of his mustache, tasting him from every angle, and begging fate to let her stay just a little longer in his arms.

A person’s forever is a grain of sand on the beach of eternity.

But I won’t be greedy. I won’t ask for forever.

I just want a little longer.

“I’m falling for you too,” he said, his voice gravelly and breathless as he pressed kisses to the top of her head, sliding his hands up her arms to cup her face with his palms.

When he tilted her head up to look at him, his eyes were midnight blue and fierce. “Can you do me a favor?”

“I’ll try.”

“Help me get a tree tomorrow and decorate it.” He smiled at her so hopefully, it made more tears flood her eyes. “Take a walk with me in the snow, and lie next to me on the couch while we watch a Christmas movie. And on Tuesday, after we meet with my grandfather, promise me we’ll talk. We’ll make sense of this, Eleanora. We’ll figure it out together.”

She searched his eyes and saw the emotion there—the tenderness, the warmth, the desire, and concern. And she realized something brand-new: she trusted him.

Sniffling softly, she reached up and dried her eyes before offering him a wobbly smile and nodding. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded again, letting him take her hand and lead her down the hallway to his apartment. “Okay.”

Tom hoped that Eleanora would sleep in his bed with him, but she opted for the guestroom instead, and although he longed for her beside him, he didn’t challenge her or make her decision any harder.

The next morning, he woke early, his subconscious aware of someone else in his space, moving around, living. Well, and the smell of coffee, pancakes, and bacon were making his mouth water. Pulling on a pair of old jeans over his boxers and leaving his chest bare, he left his room, rubbing his eyes as he moved in the direction of the warm, delicious smells coming from his barely-ever-used kitchen.

She had her back to him, wearing tight, dark blue jeans and a light pink sweatshirt that exposed the creamy skin of her left shoulder and made him wonder if she was wearing a bra, though he quickly deduced she probably wasn’t, because he didn’t see a strap. His mouth watered again, and this time it had nothing to do with breakfast.

As if sensing his presence, she looked over her shoulder, her lovely face brightening with a smile when she found him staring at her.

Then her eyes dropped to his bare chest.

And slowly, ever so slowly, her smile faded, and her breathing became just a touch more audible. When she raised her eyes, they were dark, and as she tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, he was sure he heard a soft whimper.

Tom stalked across the living room, beelining for her, reveling in her wide-eyed stare and the rapid rise and fall of her untethered breasts. Jesus, was there a more beautiful woman on the face of the earth? Nope. No way. No how.

He stopped about a foot from her, his voice more gravelly than casual when he said, “Morning, sunshine.”

“M-morning,” she breathed, pressing her palms against her cheeks as she stared up at him.

His lips wobbled beneath his mustache, and he laughed softly. “Want me to put on a shirt?”

“No!” she exclaimed, wincing right after her outburst. “I mean . . . oh God . . . you don’t have to. I mean . . .”

He reached out and covered one of the hands on her cheeks. “I’m teasing you.”

She cocked her head to the side, sliding her palm out from under his so his hand lay flat against the skin of her face, and she leaned against it, her eyes half-lidded and dreamy. “Good morning, husband.”

Tom bent his head forward, kissing his wife, his lips a gentle pressure on hers. She opened for him like a flower, winding her arms around his neck and lacing her fingers against his skin. He pulled her into his arms, tilting his head to seal his lips more perfectly over hers. And frankly, he would have kissed her all day if the bacon behind her hadn’t started snapping and complaining.

“It’s going to burn,” she whispered, her breath hot against his lips.

“Let it.”

“That would be a waste,” she said, leaning back, her eyes asking for more, even though her body had started pulling away.

Compromising, he turned her in his arms, holding her from behind, the back of one bare shoulder scorching the skin of his chest. She reached for a wooden spoon—he had wooden spoons?—and moved the bacon around the frying pan a little bit.

He rested his chin on her shoulder, inhaling the sweet smell of this lovely girl and sighing in contentment.

“I didn’t even realize I had food.”

“You didn’t. But you had the name of a grocery store that delivers on your fridge.”

He laughed. “You’re industrious.”

“You don’t know the half of it. I have pancakes keeping warm in the oven too,” she said, leaning her head to the side.

Tom turned his face toward her, his lips brushing the soft, hot skin of her throat, kissing her once, twice, feeling goose bumps rise beneath his lips, and he sucked on them gently, puckering his lips, then pulling away to nuzzle her soft skin again.

She moaned deep in her throat as he kissed her neck, the low vibration under his lips making darts of pleasure launch with precision to his groin, which stiffened against her backside.

“I want you,” he groaned near her ear, taking the lobe between his teeth and flicking his tongue over the soft pillow of prisoned skin. “I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you.”

Her breath caught, but she was silent in his arms, the wooden spoon motionless in her hand. “Tom . . .”

“You want me too, Eleanora. I know it. I can feel it.”

“I do.” She swallowed before dragging in a ragged breath. “But I’m not my cousin. I don’t sleep with men just to . . . get ahead.”

“No,” he said evenly, frustrated by how much he wanted her. “You marry them.”

She stiffened a little. “That sounds mercenary.”

He sighed, brushing his lips against the back of her neck. “I don’t mean it in a bad way. I needed you. You needed me. I’m older and better educated, but you’re smart and resourceful. It levels the playing field between us. It makes me feel like there’s nothing you couldn’t do. It makes me wonder . . .”

“Makes you wonder what?”

. . .
if you could start your life as the daughter of an alcoholic mechanic from a one-horse town in Colorado, and somehow end up the wife of a Philadelphia millionaire. For real. Forever.

“If there’s anything you can’t do.”

She took a deep breath, and he sensed she was sorting through his words. Suddenly she raised her head and pushed the bacon around the pan, making it snap and sizzle. “Well, I can’t make unburned bacon if you don’t let go of me and set the table. So . . .”

He kissed her neck, letting her go. “On it.”

***

A few hours later, they struggled down his street, Tom clasping the trunk of a Fraser fir in his gloved hands and Eleanora giggling as she walked backward holding on to the top.

“Human at two o’clock,” he said, and she burst into laughter, adjusting her course.

“Now?”

“Stroller at eleven, and behind that, a dog walker at two.”

She kept her eyes glued to his, swerving to the left, then right. Turning around and walking forward had occurred to her, but it had also occurred to her that it wouldn’t be half as much fun as watching him struggle with the tree
and
keep her from colliding with oncoming traffic.

In the crook of each elbow she carried oversize plastic bags filled with ornaments, lights, and garlands, and she adjusted one of them to her forearm so it wouldn’t swing into her shin.

“Fire hydrant. Three o’clock.”

She looked up and burst out laughing again. “It’s not going to jump out at me, is it?”

He grinned. “Nope. But I hadn’t heard you laugh for at least thirty seconds. I was about to go through withdrawal.”

“Flirt,” she said, rolling her eyes even as her heart pumped with pleasure.

“I’m not a flirt,” he said. “I’m married.”

“Poor girl.”

“Ha! Lucky girl! I’ll have you know I’m a catch.”

“Oh really? Besides money, good looks, an excellent education, decent taste in books, a private plane, and a bangin’ apartment, what makes
you
a catch?”

His eyes sparkled. “You think I’m good-looking?”

She started giggling and rolled her eyes at him again.

“Well, I think
you’re
gorgeous,” he said, readjusting his grip on the tree trunk. “Apartment building. Nine o’clock.”

She stopped, looking behind her shoulder at Tom’s luxury building. The doorman rushed to open the side door, but Eleanora had already stepped into the revolving door, cackling with glee as Tom hurried to pull the tree upright so that all three of them would fit in one small compartment of glass.

When they reached the lobby opening, Eleanora stepped out, but Tom purposely went around with the tree again, making her laugh so hard, her stomach was aching by the time he dragged himself and his prize into the lobby and stood before her.

“You might be a little crazy,” he deadpanned.

“Me?” she demanded.

“Yes, you, Mrs. English.”

“I’m giddy today,” she said, taking a deep breath around her giggles. “I haven’t had a—”

Realizing what she was about to say, she stopped talking, and her laughter tapered off until they stood in awkward silence.

“Haven’t had a what?” asked Tom quietly, as tall and strong as the tree bundled up beside him.

“I haven’t had a Christmas tree since my mom left. Since I was five,” she said, meeting his eyes.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t wince. She didn’t look away. She wasn’t ashamed of who she was. She wasn’t going to apologize for her past. It was her truth, it was honest, and she wanted him to know it.

He stared at her, his eyes blue and careful as they searched hers. Finally he offered her a small smile and nodded. “Then I guess we better get it upstairs and start decorating, huh?”

Picking up the tree without another word, he carried it to the elevator and pressed the call button, but Eleanora stood there in the middle of his lobby, frozen, processing what had just happened.

He could have felt sorry for her, which she would have hated. He could have felt guilty for all the Christmas trees he’d ever had, and she would have hated that too. He could have asked her to talk more about her awful Christmases, and really, she had no interest in talking about her crappy childhood. He could have looked appalled or dismayed and tried to comfort her, which would have been presumptuous and made her defensive.

Instead, he had accepted her truth without judgment and affirmed who she was now without condemning where she’d been. And if she was in danger of falling for him yesterday, she realized today that the deed was done. Though she dared not give it the name it owned, she knew that whatever happened tomorrow at his grandfather’s house, leaving him now would cause damage, wreak havoc, and break her heart. Losing him would hurt for a long time. Maybe forever.

“You coming, or what?” he called from inside the elevator.

She turned and ran across the lobby, not stopping until she collided with him, her cold hands reaching for his face and pulling it down to hers. He fumbled to press the floor button behind her, then pulled her against his chest, letting the tree fall against the elevator wall as he kissed her. She leaned into him, opening her mouth to his searching tongue and welcoming him into the hot, wet corners of her mouth. He branded her lips with his, slanting them over hers again and again, their teeth clashing, their panted breath swapping and mingling, their sighs and moans making a chorus of desire.

When the bell rang and the doors opened, Eleanora stepped back from him, looking up at his eyes.

“What was that for?” he asked, his voice breathless and husky.

“Because you make me happy,” she answered, taking the top of the tree in her hands and backing out of the elevator.

***

They placed the tree between two large windows in Tom’s living room, and once it was decorated, he made a fire in the fireplace and turned off all the other lights in the apartment, so that the only light was the soft white from the tree and a flood of warm firelight.

Eleanora made scrambled eggs with cheese and sausage for dinner, and they ate it on a blanket under the lights—she called it a Christmas tree picnic—and Tom had insisted on opening a bottle of Champagne and toasting the chef.

“Sorry about breakfast for dinner,” she said, spooning eggs onto his empty plate.

“No complaints here,” he said, digging in with gusto.

“I never learned to cook much. We made do with a lot of heated-up cans, you know? I really only learned to cook when I moved to Vail.”

“Oh,” he said, looking up at her with understanding. “You learned to cook at Auntie Rose’s Breakfast-All-Day Chalet.”

“Exactly.” She pushed the eggs around on her plate, and he sensed she was feeling sheepish, but suddenly her expression brightened and she looked up at him. “But I can make almost any breakfast food you can think of. Pancakes. Waffles. Sausage, bacon, biscuits. Omelets. Eggs any way you want them . . .”

Her voice trailed off as he looked into her eyes. The reflection of a the Christmas lights shone back at him. It was like she was lit up from the inside, and his heart throbbed when he answered, “I’ll eat them any way you make them, Eleanora. I’ll just be glad it’s you giving them to me.”

Her cheeks had reddened then, and they’d finished the rest of their dinner admiring the tree, then lying on their backs beneath it, side by side.

At some point, Tom had taken her hand in his, weaving their fingers together and resting them on his chest, over his heart.

“Eleanora?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want me to tell you a little bit about tomorrow? About meeting with my grandfather?”

She squeezed his fingers. “Okay.”

“Our family estate is called Haverford Park. My grandparents still live there. My father grew up there. So did I. When my parents divorced, my father took an apartment here in Philly, and after college, so did I. But Haverford Park will be mine one day.”

“It’s a mansion?”

“Yes. There are several acres of land, gardens, and a pool. We have six horses that are housed in the stables, and there’s a stocked pond for trout fishing. There’s a lawn for cricket and a gatehouse where the gardener lives with his wife. Our chauffeur and house staff live in apartments over the garage.”