My Darling Beloved Spouse . . .
To the Father of My Children: I'd Choose You All Over Again . . .
To the Man Who's Been With Me Through Thick and Thin . . .
For My Soul Mate: I'd Be Lost Without You . . .
They all felt too heavy-handed for Tom, and suddenly she felt like a child who pretends to be a princess by wearing dress-up, for whom the illusion is shattered when her mother calls to her to set the table or take out the garbage. Here she was, in bona fide Wife Land, and she felt nothing like a wife. It's not that she felt like an impostor either, and maybe she'd feel differently after they'd consummated their marriage-but mostly she just felt new. And young. And, to her great shame, as she considered Tom's sacrifice, uncertain.
Finally she dropped her hands, her fingers playing nervously with the simple gold band on her ring finger as she took a step back in defeat.
And then she saw it:
Two hands clasped together, with the sunset behind them, and the words The most perfect place in the world . . . Eleanora reached for the card and opened it, whispering aloud, ". . . is anywhere with you. Happy Birthday, with love."
She hadn't realized that she was holding her breath until she released it, then drew in another, and it was stilted and ragged with emotion because the words felt so right. Tom wasn't the only person who'd given up his life, she thought, plucking an envelope from behind the small stack of cards and adding both to her basket, careful not to get them wet. Eleanora had given up her life too-living with and looking after her cousin in Vail, college, and independence. Not that she believed Tom would begrudge her visits with her meager family, and he'd already insisted that her education would be one of their priorities as couple, but surely she was giving up her independence, wasn't she? Yes. She was. Whatever dreams she'd had as a single girl were gone for now, as she and Tom tried to make a go of marriage.
And yet, she thought, picking up the cake without looking at the baker and making her way to the checkout, she was exactly where she wanted to be. She'd chosen Tom, not the other way around. She'd asked to bind her destiny to his, to marry him. And when he finally did choose her this afternoon-to the exclusion of his family-she'd chosen him again.
Yes, I want you against the odds. You choose me? Well, guess what? I choose you too.
She handed the cashier her emergency credit card and signed her name to the receipt, taking her bags and walking out of the store. And there was Tom, pulled up close to the curb, no doubt because snow had started to fall.
His eyes met hers through the passenger window, and he grinned at her as she opened the door.
"You're back," he said.
"You doubted?"
"No," he said, pulling away from the store. "I'm just happy to see you."
She smiled back at him before turning to her window to watch the snow fall. And in a rare state of perfect contentment, she heard the words in her head and knew they were true:
The most perfect place in the world . . . is anywhere with you.
***
Tom had taken the two grocery bags from Eleanora as they walked into his building from the car, but she shooed him from the kitchen when he tried to help her unpack them. So banished, he headed back to his bedroom for a few minutes. A nervous energy, fueled by today's daring and in anticipation of his time alone with Eleanora, made Tom straighten up and make his bed-something he hadn't done in years, since his building employed a maid service. But the service didn't come on Christmas Eve, so Tom plumped the pillows and straightened the sheets on his own, then bent down to gather up his laundry and place it in the bathroom hamper. He brushed his teeth and briefly considered lighting the two candles he found in his medicine chest, but he heard Eleanora call his name, and wiped off his mouth quickly, heading back to the living room.
She stood in front of their Christmas tree in her black skirt and lavender blouse. She'd kicked off her boots, but her feet were dark in black panty hose. Holding two glasses of red wine, she held one out to him, and that's when he noticed the little cake, covered with a blaze of candles, on his coffee table.
"Happy birthday," she said, smiling at him as she lifted her glass to clink his.
"Is this what you bought in the grocery store?" he asked.
"Among other things." She nodded, bending down to place her glass on the table and lift the little cake. "Everyone should have a cake on his birthday."
He laughed softly, trying to remember the last time a woman had had his name written on a birthday cake, and his smile faded when he realized it was probably his fourth birthday, when his mother was still in the picture. Such frivolities hadn't been part of Haverford Park celebrations after she left. His birthday had been celebrated with a donation to a local charity in his name and a brief, perfunctory salutation at breakfast.
"Is it okay?" Eleanora asked.
He nodded, overcome with emotion, unable to trust his own voice.
"Then make a wish," she encouraged him.
"It already came true," he whispered, holding her eyes as he blew out the candles.
His declaration changed the electricity between them from playful to intense, and he set his glass down on the coffee table beside hers, then carefully took the cake from her hands, listening to the sound of her breathing as he placed it back on the serving plate.
When he straightened, her eyes were wide and dark, full of promise and invitation. Tom reached for her face, placing his palm gently on her cheek, his body tightening as she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.
"I'm crazy about you," he said softly, his voice thick and gravelly with lust and tenderness and wanting it to be good for her, and him, and . . . and . . .
Her eyes opened slowly, and her tongue darted out to lick her lips. "Then kiss me."
Chapter 10
Flattening her hands on his chest, she felt the strength of him through his shirt and undershirt, the ripples of toned muscles, the certain, steady pressure of his lungs as he breathed her in, sucking her tongue into his mouth and groaning softly.
From the moment they'd walked back up the driveway of Haverford Park hand in hand, Eleanora had known this moment was coming. She'd been nervous, of course, but her feelings for Tom-and her pure, undiluted lust for him-overpowered any notions of backing away or putting on the brakes. She wasn't a wanton woman, but she wanted him every bit as badly as he wanted her.
Sliding her fingers to the lapels of his navy suit jacket, she pushed it over his broad shoulders, listening as it dropped to the floor. As he ravaged her mouth with his, her fingers skimmed to the buttons on his shirt. They trembled with nerves and longing as she opened each in its turn, one by one. Then, smoothing her hands down his arms, which tensed beneath her touch, she pushed the material to his wrists, where it got caught.
Leaning away from him, her lips slick and raw, she said, "Take it off."
"My shirt?"
"Everything," she whispered.
His face registered surprise at first, then he grinned at her as he unbuttoned his cuffs and let his shirt drop to the floor. Her fingers reached to pull his T-shirt from the waistband of his pants, but he covered her hands gently with his, stopping her.
"Eleanora?"
She gulped, her nerves taking over now that they'd stopped kissing and she'd more or less demanded that he strip. Taking a deep breath, she looked up into his intense blue eyes.
"I have no problem getting naked for you, baby," he said, cupping her face with his hands. "And if you want fast, we'll go fast." His thumbs stroked her cheek, and she felt herself relaxing, melting, his touch stoking her desire. "Because whether it's now or later, I'll have you slow too. I'll have you so slow that every tremble, every gasp, every goose bump, will know where I've been and belong to me."
His thumb slipped into her mouth, and she sucked on it, trying to remember how to breathe. He rubbed the slick digit along her bottom lip, his eyes dark, almost fierce, as he stared down at her. Then he reached behind his neck and tugged his T-shirt over his head, baring his chest to her as she'd asked.
She dropped her eyes to his torso, noting that, while it was muscular-he did, after all, ski-it wasn't oversculpted. Strong, and dusted with blond hair, he was so beautiful in her eyes, she almost winced. Reaching out to touch him, the pads of her fingers alighted on his chest, and she flattened them, her palms covering his nipples, which beaded under her touch, making him groan softly.
Her eyes darted up, and his lips tilted up in a tender smile, even as his brows furrowed in an expression caught somewhere between pleasure and pain.
"Your turn," he said, holding her eyes as he slowly unbuttoned her blouse and spread it open. He ran his palms reverently along her collarbone, and the silk sluiced down her arms with a soft whoosh. Without asking, he pulled her into his arms, unfastening her bra and sliding the straps down to her wrists, then watching as they slipped to the floor.