Maybe she could attend Drexel or Penn or Bryn Mawr. She could share his apartment, and he could take care of her. And all the while, they could get to know each other better: talk until dawn, hold hands as they took walks and discussed books, have long dinners together while they shared their dreams and helped each other make them come true.
Maybe it didn't have to be an arrangement.
Maybe it didn't have to end.
"Are we here?"
Eleanora had been so quiet on the ride home, Tom wondered if she'd fallen asleep, but her voice was crisp, not sleepy, so she must have been awake the whole time, thinking, just like him.
"We're here, sunshine."
She lifted her head but turned away from him, and by the time he'd exited and circled the car to open her door, she was already standing on the curb looking up at his building.
"You live here?"
He nodded. "Yep. I own the penthouse apartment."
She whistled low, the way she had when he told her that he'd gone to Princeton. "Whoa."
He reached for her hand, but she didn't give it to him, adjusting her purse on her shoulder instead, then walking through the revolving door and into the lobby.
The town car driver loaded their luggage onto a cart, and the doorman headed for the service elevator, leaving Tom and Eleanora alone, waiting for the tenant elevator in the lobby. And Tom realized that Eleanora hadn't looked him in the eye since they'd arrived. No teasing grins, no entwined hands . . . nothing.
"Hey," he said, nudging her with his elbow. "You okay?"
"Sure," she answered quickly, staring at the shiny brass elevator door.
The bell rang and the doors parted. She stepped forward, into a far corner, then turned around, staring at the Persian carpet beneath her feet. Her jaw was clenched tightly, and she blinked several times.
What was going on? She looked miserable, and he couldn't bear it-not if he was the cause or could help with a solution. He reached forward and pressed the button for the tenth floor, then stepped back against the railing, beside her, but not touching her.
"Are you worried? About my grandfather? About not getting the money?"
She gulped softly, shaking her head, but she didn't answer him.
"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."
Chapter 7
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.