Sophie met his sharp stare. For a moment, she wavered, wondering if she should tell him the truth about why she knew so much about his past. But something in his eyes—the hint of inner suffering and turmoil—made her retreat to a place of safety.
“Does it surprise you? You’re very good-looking, Thomas. You’re single. Lots of women in the building know who you are. People talk.”
“You’re saying some other woman told you about where I lived before I was ten years old?” he finally asked, his tone incredulous.
A bobwhite chirped its eternal question in the taut silence that followed.
“Actually, I think it was one of the doctors I work with who mentioned it. It was in the news back then, Thomas. People have long memories when it comes to something so tragic happening to a child.”
She turned and started to walk again, fearful he would see her pulse thrumming rapidly in her throat.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Thankfully, Thomas didn’t pursue the line of questioning in regard to how she knew intimate details of his life. They spoke of inconsequential things as Sophie took him on her favorite long walk through the woods and they examined the ripeness of the blackberries in a tangled thicket.
On the walk back to the house, Sophie saw from her side vision Thomas place his fingers on his right temple and shut his eyes briefly.
“Headache?” she asked.
“No. I’m fine,” he replied gruffly, dropping his hand.
Sophie doubted that, but she was learning quickly enough that Thomas didn’t want the spotlight of attention turned on him when it came to the topic of his health—physical or mental.
“I’m going to make a marinade for the chicken breasts I’m grilling tonight. Why don’t you go down to the hammock and rest awhile. It’s very relaxing in the shade,” she said lightly. He didn’t reply, so she wasn’t sure if he thought she was patronizing him—treating him like a sick child—or not.
After returning to the house, she pulled out the ingredients she needed for the marinade and set them on the counter. While she was bending over to retrieve a container from a lower cabinet, Thomas came up behind her, his hard thighs brushing against her ass. When she straightened, his arms looped around her waist and he brought her against him. He leaned over her, his chin nuzzling her cheek. Something about Thomas’s embraces overwhelmed her a little, Sophie realized dazedly. He was so tall, so male. She felt enveloped in his arms.
He placed his lips on her neck, making her shiver in pleasure.
She turned her head and they shared a slow, hot kiss. Sophie felt his cock stir against her bottom.
He lifted his head and examined her in the dim light.
“What?” she whispered, sensing his indecision.
“I want to make love to you again,” he rasped.
“Oh,” Sophie mumbled. She set the plastic container on the cabinet clumsily, all too willing to put aside her cooking preparations if it meant quenching the sudden flame in Thomas’s dark green eyes as well as easing the growing ache between her thighs.
All that, just from one of his kisses.
Disappointment trickled into her awareness when he stepped away from her.
“But I have to admit, I’m a little tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night,” he added, his voice thick with regret.
“I understand. Take a nap. It’ll do you good.”
He hesitated, his gaze fixed on her mouth. “I don’t get it.”
“Get what?” Sophie asked, confused.
“Why I want you so much. Constantly. It’s not normal.”
Sophie laughed. “The way you put it, I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted.”
She’d been trying to lighten the moment, but it didn’t work. He just continued to study her soberly for a moment, as though he truly was trying to find the answer for the puzzle in her eyes . . . trying to discern her secrets. He finally shook his head slightly in frustration.
“Will you wake me up in a half hour or so?” he asked.