Eventually, though, she had to pull away. Tom’s arms kept her pressed against him, even as she dropped down to her normal height, looking up into his moss-green eyes.
‘You liked my obituary, then?’ he murmured.
Violet shook her head. ‘Not one bit. I’d like it to never be written, please. But...I liked knowing you.’
‘Is this where I give you some kind of line about getting to know me even better?’ Tom asked, one eyebrow raised.
Violet’s laugh bubbled up inside her, as if kissing Tom had released all the joy she’d kept buried deep down. ‘I think it probably is, yes.’
‘In that case, how long do you think we need to stay at this hootenanny?’
‘There’s five hundred people here,’ Violet pointed out. ‘What are the chances of them missing just two?’
‘Good point.’ And with a warm smile spreading across his face, Tom grabbed Violet’s hand and they ran for the waiting car.
* * *
‘Are you asleep?’
It was many hours later, and Violet’s voice was barely more than a whisper. He felt it against his bare skin more than heard it.
‘Not quite.’ He shifted, pulling her closer against his side. Now he finally had her where he’d dreamt of her being, he wasn’t willing to put up with even a centimetre between them. ‘You okay?’
‘Mmm, fine. More than fine. Kind of awesome, actually.’ She smiled sleepily up at him, and he felt a puff of pride at the relaxation and satisfaction he saw in her face. She rubbed her cheek against his chest like a contented kitten.
‘Told you this was a good idea,’ he murmured into her hair.
Violet laughed, low and warm. ‘You did. And you were right.’
Too damn right. This was more than a good idea. This was more than he’d dreamt it could be. He’d known from the first that he was attracted to Violet, but had never really expected to do anything about it. Never imagined he’d want to, not this badly.
But then he’d got to know her. Understand her. Even let her in a bit to understand him. And now look at them.
And she thought it was a good idea, at last.
‘I’m glad you think so.’
‘Plus, with the...last-minute nature of everything, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have even had time to set up a video camera.’
It was a joke, he knew, but there was still something brittle behind the words. Something not quite healed. It made him want to wrap her up and keep her safe—not an emotion he was used to feeling about the women he dated. And in this case...he had a feeling that Violet had been kept safe for too long already. She’d had enough of being protected—and she was ready to take care of herself for a change.
Tom sank down a little lower in the bed, turning on his side until they were face to face. ‘You know I wouldn’t do that, don’t you? You have to know that.’ She might not need him to protect her, but she did need to trust him. To know he would never, never hurt her.
He wasn’t that man any more.
‘I do. I do.’ Violet inched closer and placed another kiss on his lips. ‘I’m just still...adjusting to the idea.’
‘I can understand that.’ Wrapping his arm around her waist, he pulled her against him. ‘I just hope you can learn to trust me.’
‘I think I already do.’ The hope in Violet’s eyes meant he just had to kiss her again.
But when they separated, the hope had faded away and left a question there. ‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘I just wondered...in your obituary, you talked about your mum, how you fell out. And I know you said you hadn’t made up when she died. But you never said what you argued about. I guess I just don’t understand...what could have been that important that you didn’t try to reconcile with her?’
Despite the warmth of the bed and Violet’s body, a shiver ran through him and his muscles froze.
‘Pride,’ he whispered. ‘What else? Stupid, pointless pride.’
Violet pressed a kiss against his collarbone. ‘Tell me.’
Except he couldn’t, could he? Because that one fact, that one omission from his obituary, was the one thing she’d never forgive. Still, he had to tell her something, and the trust in her eyes made him want it to be as close to the truth as he could manage.
‘When I was just starting out as a reporter, I worked for a...less reputable paper. The sort that my mom felt was beneath me. It was run by a guy who believed that the ends—a good story—justified any means. And he expected his staff to do whatever they needed to, in order to get the copy.’ And slowly, the longer he’d stayed there, the more desensitised he’d become to those methods.
‘Mom said I was wasting my talents, that selling my soul for a job wasn’t worth it.’ He swallowed at the memory of his mother’s face, full of righteous fury. ‘She told me she’d brought me up better than that, that she didn’t want to know a son who could sink to such depths.’
Tom risked a glance at Violet, where she lay silent, her cheek resting against his shoulder. Her eyes were damp and he fought back against the instinct to tell her how much he didn’t deserve her pity or her tears.
‘What happened next?’ she murmured, her hand caressing his arm, a comforting, caring touch.
‘I told her she didn’t understand journalism, that she’d never get it. That this was what I had to do to build my career. She kicked me out of the house and told me to come back when I’d found my honour again.’ He squeezed his eyes shut. ‘It didn’t take me too long to figure out she was right. But my pride made me stay away too long. I didn’t know she was sick, and by the time I found out...it was too late.’
He’d quit the paper long before then, of course, the moment that terrible story broke and he realised what he’d done. But when he’d lost his mother’s respect, he’d lost any respect he had for himself too. How could he go back until he’d regained that? And it turned out respect took far longer to earn than to lose.
Violet wrapped her arms tightly around his middle, shifting until she was almost lying on top of him, protecting him from the world. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It was a long time ago.’ As if that made a difference to the pain.
‘Still. I wish I could make it better.’
Tom curled his body arou
nd hers until they were touching skin at as many points as possible. ‘Trust me, you are. Just being with you...watching you move past your own history, it helps.’
‘Is that all that helps?’ Violet raised her head slightly to look at him, and he felt himself warming at the heat in her blue eyes.
‘I can think of one or two other things,’ he said, and kissed her again.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
VIOLET STRETCHED OUT against the sheets, listening to Tom’s steady breathing beside her. The sun was almost fully up outside; it had to be around six. She’d heard her parents, Daisy and Seb returning hours ago, listened to their giggles and their good-nights. She’d texted Daisy from the car to say that she and Tom were heading home early—she figured she didn’t really need to elaborate. Daisy might not be her twin, but she was still her sister. She knew her well enough for this.
What would they all think? Would they be pleased that she was moving on at last, or scared for her because of whom she’d chosen to move on with? Would they understand? And how would it affect the job that Tom was there to do?
‘You’re thinking too loudly,’ Tom murmured, shifting beside her. ‘Go back to sleep.’
‘I will,’ Violet lied. Running her hand down his arm, she listened until Tom’s breathing evened out again. He probably wouldn’t even remember his strange comment when he woke up.
But he’d remember the rest of the night, she was sure. That, at least, was impossible to forget. She might not be the most experienced of women, but the chemistry between them, the connection she felt when they were skin against skin...Violet had never felt anything like that before.
She stifled a laugh as she remembered Tom’s first words to her—about how the frustrated look on her face reminded him of that hideous tape. Maybe Rose had been right when she’d recounted the incident to her. Maybe she really was finally able to laugh about the whole thing.
That had to mean she was moving on. And it was past time.
She glanced across at Tom, one arm thrown above his head as he slept, his dark hair rumpled and his bare chest so tempting. She could just curl back up beside him right now, rest her head on that chest and drift back to sleep until he woke up again for a repeat performance of last night.