unzipped his jacket and she flinched, her eyes drawn instinctively to his chest and then away, fixing on some point in Oliver’s hallway.
She forced herself to resist the command in his tone. She’d been making her own decisions for years now and she intended to carry on doing so. To listen to what he had to say would risk being sucked back into the darkness from which she’d fought so hard to escape.
‘There is absolutely nothing that you and I need to talk about, and this is supposed to be an evening spent with friends,’ she replied calmly, turning away from him with as much dignity as she could muster. ‘I haven’t seen Oliver for years and I want to get to know Helen.’
Strong fingers caught her wrist and swung her back round to face him. ‘And you and I no longer share the category of friends?’
She closed her eyes, breathing deeply.
Friends?
Once he’d been everything to her. Her friend, her lover—her world.
His fingers tightened and she felt his touch with every fibre of her being. Her traitorous body yearned for more. Yearned for everything this man was capable of giving.
And then she remembered that he wasn’t capable of giving enough.
He hadn’t been able to make that commitment to her.
And neither had anyone else in her life.
And she’d finally learned to live her life alone, depending on no one.
‘Of course we can be friends.’ Her answer was suitably bland. ‘After all, we’re working together.’
‘That’s colleagues,’ he replied softly, his eyes narrowing slightly. ‘Friendship is something completely different. We had it once.’
‘And I seem to remember that you decided that you no longer valued that friendship.’ She gave a cool smile to indicate that the conversation was over, ignoring the traitorous thump of her heart. ‘Oliver is handing out drinks in the kitchen. If you don’t want to miss out I suggest you move quickly.’ With a determined twist of her wrist she freed herself and walked towards the kitchen with a determined stride, feeling his frustration with a faint flicker of satisfaction.
Not everything goes your way, Tom Hunter.
She walked back into the kitchen and said, ‘Tom’s here,’ in her most casual voice, and then proceeded to top up her glass of wine.
There was a tense silence and Bryony put her hands on her hips and glared at Oliver. ‘You invited Tom?’
‘Why not?’ Oliver’s tone was calm. ‘He’s my brother. I refuse to stop socializing with him just because he used to go out with Sally. It’s been seven years, for crying out loud. It’s history. We all need to move on.’
‘But—’
‘Hush, Bry,’ Sally said quietly, reaching out and squeezing her friend’s shoulder to reassure her. ‘Oliver’s right. It’s fine.’
And it was fine. She was totally in control.
She’d always known that she wouldn’t be able to avoid Tom. And she didn’t want to.
What she wanted was to work and live in a community alongside him and not feel anything.
Bryony rubbed her fingers over her temples, visibly stressed, and Oliver glanced towards the door where Tom was leaning, listening to the exchange in silence, his handsome face devoid of expression.
He’d removed his leathers to reveal a pair of snugly fitting jeans and a black jumper that simply accentuated his masculine looks.
He looked dark and dangerous and just about as sexy as it was possible for a man to be.
‘I can’t understand why you use the motorbike in winter.’ Oliver’s tone was mild. ‘It’s freezing out there and it worries Mum.’
‘I’ve been worrying Mum since I was able to walk,’ Tom drawled, strolling to the fridge and helping himself to a bottle of beer. ‘And I like the fresh air. Good evening, Bryony.’
Ignoring the irony in his tone, Bryony glared at him and Oliver sighed.
‘You’re destroying the atmosphere of my dinner party,’ he said mildly. ‘Sort it out, bro, or we’ll all get indigestion.’
‘I intend to sort it out.’ Tom pushed the fridge door shut, his eyes on Sally. ‘So what do you say, Sally? Can we work together and socialize together without creating an atmosphere?’
Sally tensed, her fingers gripping the stem of her wineglass so tightly that it was in danger of snapping.
He stepped towards her, his gaze only for her. ‘My sister thinks you should hit me. So do it, Sally.’
She felt smothered by his closeness, by his overwhelming masculinity. She took a deep breath and then wished she hadn’t because his tantalizing male smell filled her head and clouded her senses. She had only to lift a hand to touch him but she kept both hands firmly by her sides and stared at the floor.
She decided to let him speak. If she let him speak then he’d leave her alone.
‘I don’t want to hit you.’
‘You should. It would make Bryony feel better. And stop looking at the floor.’ Tom lifted his hands and cupped her face, forcing her to look at him. ‘I want you to look at me.’
Startled by his touch, she stood without moving, staring into her past, feeling the brush of his fingers on her sensitized skin.
She’d loved this man so much.
‘I’m sorry, Sally.’ His voice softened with genuine regret. ‘Sorry for hurting you so badly.’
Those blue eyes drew her in and she struggled against the powerful sexual attraction that still existed between them.
With a monumental effort she broke the contact. First the emotional, then the physical.
Shutting herself down, she stepped backwards.
‘You did what you believed was right,’ she said lightly, managing what she hoped was a dignified smile. ‘And it’s in the past. Oliver’s right—we’ve all moved on. The future is what’s important now.’
And her future wasn’t going to feature this man.
She would never allow herself to be so vulnerable to hurt and pain again.
She lifted her chin and looked at Oliver. ‘When are we eating? I’m starving.’
There was a collective sigh of relief around the room and everyone started talking again.
Everyone except Tom.
His eyes were firmly fixed on Sally, his blue gaze narrow and assessing as he looked at her.
Instantly
