Page 30 of Never Marry the Best Man (Whatever It Takes #4)

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Ranney

Between the flickering fireplace and the view beyond the windows, they were surrounded by glittering lights. Tom returned from his shower, wavy dark hair wet and gorgeously mussed, his bathrobe tightly cinched at the waist, yet - it was clear.

He was, well... ready to play.

He took one side of the sofa and she curled into the other, tucking her legs underneath her and tugging the hem of the shirt down as far as possible.

For good measure, she pulled a toss pillow onto her lap.

After her bath, she’d decided against wearing the thick white robe because it had seemed so undressed, but maybe it would have been a better choice.

Especially given Tom's decision.

“Usually the serious conversations happen a little further on,” he said with a rueful little smile. “But we’ve done everything out of order so far, why should this be any different?”

“I think I’ve already said my piece. I have been having a wonderful time with you for two days now, but it’s been a 48-hour adrenaline rush. That’s not real life. And okay, through some weird set of circumstances, we happen to be married, but that’s not real life, either.”

All she got in answer was a head tilt, complete with a small smile that widened as he studied her.

In the other room, her phone began to ring–Nessa’s ringtone, which she had set as a bypass so that even when the phone was silenced, her daughter’s calls rang through. In typical mom fashion, no matter that her child was an adult, she reacted as if it were a tornado alert.

“I have to get that! Excuse me.” Also like a tornado alert, she wasn’t sure whether she should be running out into it or taking cover.

She ran, but by the time she spotted her phone on the marble counter and picked it up, the call was gone. Holding it in her hand, she pondered calling back.

Who was she becoming? Of course she should call back. It could be Kari or -- oh. It was Nessa.

Regardless, the mere idea that she wouldn't be available at any given time for work or her daughter was becoming tantalizingly... delicious? Choosing Tom over work was so easy. Too easy.

Yet it felt so right.

For so many years, Ranney's life revolved around Nessa, work, and Mame. What if there was more?

And Tom was offering that more to her right this very moment?

The text chimed.

Mom, I’m really sorry. I talked to Matt, and I know you would never do anything inappropriate or God forbid dangerous and I totally overreacted.

We’re all a little worried that we can’t reach either of you, though, so if you get this message, please let someone know where you are and what’s going on. Okay? Love you

She was rereading it when the bouncing dots announced a followup.

Mame called me. She said you usually check in with her when you are traveling but she hadn’t heard from you so she was concerned. I told her you were fine, so you better be fine or she’s going to kill me

Ranney rolled her eyes, but she smiled. A little. An article she’d read last week about how her generation was finding themselves caring simultaneously for their parents and their children suddenly resonated.

When she walked back into the bedroom, her head was down, rereading Nessa’s messages. Her stomach was roiling with the butterflies familiar to lifelong rule followers when they veer off the track.

“All good?”

“Ah, not sure how to answer that. No one is sick or anything, but it’s not good for me to be MIA to my employers, my clients, and my family, no. If I don’t check in pretty soon, it’s going to become a firing-level offense. It’s not like there’s no cell service in the entire state of Nevada.”

“Maybe you should do that now? I don’t want to distract you from your responsibilities. Any more than I already have, at least.”

Glancing up at Tom, she could see that he was sincerely concerned.

What she could also see, suddenly, was how incredibly attractive he was.

His dark hair was still damp from his shower, a little spiky and uncombed.

He hadn’t shaved since he left Boston–both their bags now awaited them at the Freestone–but she loved a slight scratch of stubble against her skin.

His build, his body, was perfect. Not perfect in a gym-sculpted, running-toned way, thank goodness–that did not appeal to her at all.

No, Tom was perfect in a three-bears kind of way: He was neither too thin nor too heavy, too tall nor too short. He took care of himself but wasn’t too manscaped, his clothes (what she had seen of them, anyway) were good quality but not overthought.

In her eyes, he was perfect.

And that sincere concern that she could see on his face?

That was part of it, too. He actually cared about her world, even as his own work life was in turmoil, awards given, awards snatched away, the situation unresolved.

Granted, she had done her utmost to help him, definitely gone above and beyond, but even so, she knew plenty of guys who would have been totally focused on their phones all day and less than pleased if her own work interrupted their evening plans.

“You’re not distracting me,” she replied. “I interrupted you. Where were we?”

Another excellent quality: He could handle a curveball.

He’d seen plenty of them in the last two days, and it hadn’t fazed him.

Well, maybe a little, but he recovered quickly.

She couldn't help but compare him to Carmine again, who would be seething right now, or half drunk and on his phone, pestering assistants to right his world, making his problem their problem.

“I think where we were was, you were explaining to me that the last few days have not been like real life, and you’re right about that.

And thank the Lord, too–if real life were like the last two days, no one would survive it.

” They both laughed. “But I would argue that getting to know someone is never like real life. In my experience, this has been more real than months and months of dating someone who is always showing you only their very best side, all dressed up and going out to dinner or whatever. And if it’s a long-distance relationship?

It takes probably two years to peel back the layers, trust me. ”

“You’re right about that, I know. But I meant something a little more specific.

There is a big age difference between us, and there’s no point in pretending it doesn’t exist or doesn’t mean anything.

We grew up in different countries, and even though it was England and the U.S.

, there is still a cultural difference. And that can be fun and engaging, no problem at all, but then you add that we are almost different generations–our viewpoints are not going to be the same.

We aren’t going to remember the same music or tv shows or catch phrases–we won’t laugh at the same jokes. ”

“Love Me Tender,” he whispered.

She cracked up.

“See? We’ll make our own. You’ll never again see a pink RAV-4 without thinking of me.”

“I’m fairly sure I’ll never see another pink RAV-4 at all.”

“Don’t be so literal. Even just ‘Las Vegas’...”

How could she not smile? “Okay, so maybe we’d be okay on humor, but there are serious things, too. We will never meet anyone who doesn’t wink at me, or think I’m your aunt, or that I’m supporting you financially.”

“Screw ‘em. Who cares what anyone thinks?”

“Your family?”

“They know you’re not my aunt, and they’ll be fairly sure you’re not supporting me financially.”

“You can be very hard to talk to.”

“Why? Because I present logical counterarguments?”

She sighed. “Exactly.”

“A bad habit instilled in me from childhood. In my family, if you wanted to be at the dinner table with the grownups, you were expected to keep up your end of the discussion.” He grinned, but then his expression grew serious.

“Look here, it’s one thing to woo you a bit, convince you to take a chance on me, even if it’s just for a lovely, romantic evening.

But I don’t want to have to argue you into it, Ranney.

You have to want me as much as I want you.

Or at least, almost as much, because I want you very badly.

” Reaching out, he traced one finger lightly down the soft inside of her forearm, from her elbow to her palm, and she shivered with desire.

Whatever their age difference, they were both adults. Whatever other differences existed between them did not need to be negotiated at this moment.

“I do,” she whispered.

“That’s the second time you’ve said that to me today,” he teased gently, but then he looked into her eyes and his smile faded. “And I’m going to make you say it over and over: ‘I do, I do, I do…’”

I believe that anything can happen– she didn’t so much think it as feel it in every part of herself.

Tom’s hand lingered on her forearm, warm and steady, his touch sending a wave of heat up to her shoulder and down to her fingertips.

The teasing glint in his eyes softened, his gaze holding hers like it was the most natural thing in the world, like she was the only woman who had ever truly mattered.

Ranney’s breath caught.

He leaned in, and for a heartbeat she thought for the hundredth time about all the reasons this shouldn’t happen. Age, time, the fact that their lives didn’t intersect in any logical way, but logic dissolved the second his lips brushed hers.

It wasn’t a hurried kiss. It wasn’t tentative, either. It was slow, deliberate, as if Tom wanted her to feel the thought behind it. The warmth of his mouth, the gentle pressure, the way he tilted his head to fit perfectly against her, it all unraveled her carefully wound nerves.

Her hands slid into his still-damp hair, the strands cool under her fingers, and she felt him exhale against her, the sigh of a man who had wanted this just as much. Maybe more. Every objection, every piece of doubt, melted like snow in sunlight.