Marrying Mr. English:The English Brothers #7(27)

       
           



       





Chapter 14




Tom stared at her in shock for several long seconds before his lips  tilted up, slowly at first, then wider and wider, until she realized he  was laughing.

"Sunshine, even when you're pissed as hell, you're still spectacular."

He reached for her then, pulling her on top of him, and she covered his  face with kisses, her relief as palpable as her love was strong, and in  between smooches she promised that she'd never get jealous again, though  she was fairly certain they both knew that was a big fat lie.

Tom flipped her over and deepened their kisses until they were strung  out on passion. Trailing his lips along the column of her neck, he  whispered that he loved her, that she had no reason, ever, to be  jealous. He pulled off her sweatshirt, and his lips skimmed through the  valley of her bare breasts, scalding her tummy, then pushing down her  underwear to kiss the secret, hidden parts of her body. He worshipped  her with his lips and tongue until she screamed his name and climaxed in  boneless waves of awesome. And only then did he unbuckle his belt, pull  down his pants, and slip inside her, groaning that she made him happy  as she slid her ankles up his legs and locked them around his waist.

After making love, they faced each other in bed, Tom's hand resting on  her hip as he told her shocking stories about Charity Gordon, stories  that made her gasp and giggle, proclaiming Eve Marie the far less slutty  of the two.

Later, she cut up some onions and potatoes and fried them with the  hamburger, which meant that instead of the fine meal she'd envisioned,  they dined on hamburger hash and two leftover beers for their first New  Year's Eve as man and wife. Good intentions notwithstanding, it was the  best hamburger hash she'd ever had in her entire life.

As they drove to the Gordons' house the next evening, Eleanora reflected  on the wonder of the previous night-how she'd felt so frightened and  heartbroken before she learned the truth about Tom's disinterest in  Charity, and how his voice and assurances and strong arms around her  body could whisk away all the fear and potential heartbreak like it  never even existed.

She smoothed her hands on her black ankle-length skirt-the same one  she'd worn the day she met Tom's grandfather-and hoped that her simple  white angora sweater didn't look too cheap. She liked how soft and  feminine it felt against her skin, and from the way Tom had looked at  her when she met him downstairs, she knew he approved.

As they pulled into Dean Gordon's driveway, Tom turned to her.

"I doubt Charity will be inappropriate since we're here together, but  please, baby, just trust me that I have zero interest in her. Never did,  never will."

She cleared her throat and smiled at Tom, then leaned over the bolster  and kissed him. "Don't worry about it, Tom. It's going to be fine."

Because if Charity Gordon does decide to be inappropriate, it won't go well for her, thought Eleanora.

Tom was her husband, and if she needed to proverbially piss on his leg a  little in front of the flirtatious Miss Gordon to be certain that  territory borders would be respected in the future, so be it. She'd stay  well hydrated, just in case.

Tom kept his hand on the small of her back as they stepped up the  walkway to the Gordons' house, and Eleanora reached out to ring the  doorbell, taking a deep breath in an effort to quiet her nerves. Her  last foray into Tom's world had been the furthest possible thing from  pleasant, with the elder Mr. English calling her a slut and worse. She  braced herself for unpleasantness, and-surprise! surprise!-immediately  found it in the form of Charity Gordon.

"Tom!" she exclaimed, opening the door and offering Tom a beaming smile.  Her eyes flicked momentarily to Eleanora, but didn't rest long. "I'm  delighted you're here! Come in!"

Tom stayed rooted where he stood, his hand still flush on Eleanora's  back, and said, "I'd like to introduce to you my wife, Eleanora."

"Hmm," said Charity, sliding her eyes to Eleanora with all the warmth of a python. "Yes. Welcome."

"Thank you," said Eleanora evenly, stepping inside.

Tom helped her with her coat, then handed them both to Charity. She  draped them over her arm and gestured to the hallway off the foyer.

"Tom, my father's in the living room. My brother, Alex, is visiting, and Geoffrey's come up for the holiday. Go say hello."

Tom looked at Eleanora, asking her with his eyes if she was okay. She  grinned at him and winked, and he kissed her cheek before heading off to  find the other men.

"So," said Eleanora, watching as Charity hung their coats on hangers and closed the closet door. "Thanks for having us."                       
       
           



       

Charity turned around, giving Eleanora a frosty smile. "What was your name again?"

"Mrs. English," she responded.

Eyes narrowed, Charity clarified, "Your first name."

"Eleanora."

Clearly she'd thought that Eleanora would be some coltish pushover.  Well, she wasn't. She'd lived through far worse than Charity Gordon  could imagine.

"Eleanora English. Well, that's ridiculously alliterative."

"I prefer to think of it as melodic."

"I'm sure you do," said Charity, eyeing Eleanora with interest.

Eleanora endured her perusal without flinching.

"You're not what I expected," Charity finally said. Her eyes flicked  down Eleanora's sweater and skirt, sizing up the younger woman. "And  you're very young."

"I probably seem that way to you," said Eleanora, referring to their  decade age difference. "But I'm certainly old enough to be married."

She wouldn't be pushed around, and she wouldn't let another woman make a move on what was hers. And Tom belonged to her.

Charity's smile, which had been frosty in the first place, disappeared, leaving a thin line of red-painted lips behind.

"Recent reports mark a higher chance of divorce for young, impetuous  couples." Charity tapped her chin. "Daddy says you married very  quickly."

"Yes, we did," she said. "And, you know, I recently read a report that  said your chances of surviving marriage, or an engagement, for that  matter, are better if you're not a total bitch."

Charity's eyes narrowed as she gasped.

"I may as well add that your unspoken suspicions are entirely true:  Tom's dynamite in bed. However, that said, he's mine, Charity, so I'll  thank you not to visit him at the library anymore and embarrass yourself  by inviting him out on private lunch dates." Eleanora smiled  congenially, but her eyes felt fierce, focused on Charity's like lasers.  "All clear?"

Charity sputtered, "I . . . well, I . . ."

"Shall we join the others?"

Eleanora spun around and walked in the general direction that Tom had  headed, her heart thumping uncomfortably even as she made an effort to  look as cool as a cucumber. Thankfully, it didn't take long to find him,  in front of a crackling fire, surrounded by three other men who looked  equally rich and preppy. She sighed, then waved at him from the doorway  of the room, and he excused himself to come to her.

His eyes scanned her face. "Everything okay?"

"The proverbial leg pissing is done."

"What?"

"Don't worry. I won. Introduce me?"

He leaned down and pressed his warm lips to her cheek. "Tell me all about it later."

"You bet," she said, letting him lead her over to the other men.

"Gentlemen," said Tom, "may I present my wife, Eleanora English?"

To Eleanora's left was the eldest of the three men, whom she assumed to be Dean Gordon.

"My dear," he said warmly, taking her hand, "what a delight. You are very welcome."

"Thank you," she answered, with a genuine smile of her own, and  wondering how a shrew like Charity had such a congenial father. "Tom is  so looking forward to working with you."

"And I him." Dean Gordon looked at the young man to his left. "You must meet my son, Alex."

Eleanora held out her hand, and Alex grabbed it eagerly, his eyes  dipping to her breasts for a moment before returning to her face. "A  pleasure, ahem, Mrs. English."

"For me too," she said, smiling at the young man.

He grinned back at her, his smile impish. Oh, you're trouble, she  thought, pulling her hand away from his tight grasp with a little tug.

"And this," said Tom, "is Geoffrey Atwell. Geoff and I were at Kinsey together."

Eleanora turned away from flirty Alex and met eyes with a man who looked  considerably older than Tom, despite the fact that they were the same  age. His blond hair was thinning, and his blue eyes looked tired. She  remembered Tom mentioning to her that Geoffrey was Charity's erstwhile  fiancé, and her heart went out to him.