Blue Heron: The Perfect Match Part 31

"When you put it that way, sure. Why not? White if you have it."

"We certainly do. Honor's family are winemakers. We've got all sorts of lovely choices. Gewurztraminer? Pinot gris? Chardonnay?"

"Chardonnay is great."

"Wonderful." He poured her a generous gla.s.s and handed it to her. "Do you mind if I start dinner?" he asked.

"Go right ahead," she answered.

Tom pulled off his sweater, revealing the Henley-style T-s.h.i.+rt he wore underneath. Ms. Woods flushed, staring at his Union Jack tattoo. "Can't forget where I'm from, can I?" he asked with a wink.

"And you have another one?" she asked, taking a sip of her wine and pointing to his other arm.

"I do, yes. Bit a youthful mistake." He pulled up his left sleeve and showed her the Celtic circle, which had absolutely no meaning to him but had seemed incredibly cool when he was seventeen. Was he whoring it up a bit for the sake of Ms. Woods?

Yes.

"What happened to your eye?" she murmured.

"Funny story," he said, and told her about the cla.s.s and Honor's ring. "It's better now. The doctor did a nice job st.i.tching it up, don't you think?" He leaned down so she could inspect it, then smiled.

"You poor thing," she said, her voice husky. Spike growled.

"How long have you worked for Immigration, Bethany?" he asked.

"Fourteen years," she answered. "You're right, this wine is wonderful."

"Great." He got out some chicken, grabbed a handful of parsley and a few cloves of garlic and started chopping. "You must have quite a lot of stories," he added.

Cooking, he'd noted over the years, was a strangely intimate activity. Some of his best conversations with Charlie had been in the kitchen as he'd cooked, back in the day. With Melissa, too, who'd always appreciated not having to put dinner together after a workday.

It worked with Bethany, too. "We see all sorts of things," she said, taking another sip of wine. "These visits, we call them bed-checks. Make sure the couple is really living together and not just faking it. You know, is her stuff in the bathroom, or is it just his? Do they actually know each other, or are they complete strangers? You'd be surprised how many people think they can pull off this kind of thing."

"Really."

"There was this one time," she began, and with that, she started on a story about a green-card ring in which couples would try to make it appear they'd been together for months by Photoshopping pictures, pasting their heads onto other people's bodies. "So in one picture, she weighs maybe a hundred pounds. In the next, supposedly on the same skiing trip, she's double the size. Can you believe that? Can you, Spike?"

Tom smiled. "Funny," he said.

"It is funny," Bethany said. "Stupid, but funny. At least you two haven't lied about how long you've been together." She drained her wine. "How did you meet, anyway?"

"We met at O'Rourke's," he said, nudging the chicken. "The little bar in town here. I saw her, and I thought, 'That's her, Tommy, mate. That's your wife.' Felt like I'd been hit in the head with a sledgehammer." He grinned. "That sounds like a cheesy pickup line."

"No. Not at all. It sounds romantic, doesn't it, Spikey baby?"

Honor came back into the kitchen, looking sweaty and rumpled. "All done," she said, handing over the papers.

"Right, right," Bethany said. "Boy, that smells good. I'm starving."

"Would you like to stay?" Tom asked. Honor shot him a murderous look.

"I'd love to!" Bethany answered instantly. Behind her, Honor threw up her hands.

"Lovely. Darling, set the table, won't you?"

She did, rattling the plates and nearly dropping the couscous. He gave her a warning look, but she seemed incapable of relaxing.

"You're a great cook," Bethany said, falling upon dinner like she'd just got back from forty days in the desert. "This is fantastic. Can I give Spike a bite?"

At least Bethany was happy. Honor, on the other hand, pushed her food around and remained silent until he gave her a sharp look. She took a few bites. Was not doing a great job convincing Bethany they were madly in love.

"Okay!" Bethany announced, pus.h.i.+ng back her plate. "What I like to do here is ask you the same questions Honor has already answered and see how well your answers match."

"Fire away," he said. Kicked Honor under the table, as she looked as if her dog had just been bulldozed in the street. Speaking of, where was Ratty? Peeing in another of his shoes?

"What's Honor's favorite color?"

s.h.i.+t. He had no b.l.o.o.d.y idea. Most of her clothes were... "Blue," he said.

"Specifically?"

"Dark blue."

"Navy. I'll give it to you." Bethany smiled at him with a little wink. "When is her birthday?"

"Oh, s.h.i.+t, this is where most husbands screw up, isn't it?" He gave Honor a grin. She didn't return it, her eyes open too wide. "January 4." Thank you, Honor, for your a.n.a.l-retentive dossier.

"Good job!" Bethany leaned across for a high five, her eyes dropping again to his Union Jack. "Where does she fall in birth order in her family?"

And another s.h.i.+t. Let's see, there was the s.e.x-addicted sister, who looked older but acted younger, the sister whose husband was the cop...younger, he thought, but what about the brother? "She acts like the oldest, don't you, sweetheart? Everyone goes to her with their problems. And she's quite bossy." He smiled. She still looked ready to puke. "She's in the middle."

"Correct," Bethany said, not noticing that he'd fudged the answer a bit. "Her favorite TV show?"

He grimaced. "Those dreadful medical dramas about tumors and the like. Horrible."

Bethany smiled at him. "I have to agree. Okay, next question. What would Honor say is your biggest vice?"

He c.o.c.ked an eyebrow. Honor closed her eyes. "Drinking. Wait till she meets some of my mates back home."

"Drinking is correct, Tom." Bethany gave him another high five. "And what contraception do you use?"

He choked on his water. "Right." Took a second to answer. "We're hoping to start a family very soon. So none."

"That's not what she said."

He looked at his bride-to-be. "Darling? I thought we'd talked about this."

"I, uh, yes. Just, you know." She was sweating, her forehead s.h.i.+ny with it.

He took her hand and tugged her onto his lap, where she sat like a brick. "I thought you wanted babies right away, sweetheart," he said, squeezing her knee to hopefully clue her in.

"Yeah, well, I don't...um. Definitely. Soon. But maybe we could be married for a few months before we toss the, um, pills."

"I can't wait," Tom said. He tried to pull her in for a kiss, but she was clenched. He leaned his head against her shoulder instead and smiled at Bethany. "Any other questions?"

"Nah," Bethany said. "I think you guys are really cute. Where's Spikey? Aren't they cute? They're cute!"

Thank the Christ child. In about five minutes, then, he was going to pour a very generous gla.s.s of whiskey. Just one, mind you, but generous.

He stood up, having to push Honor off his lap, then gripped her hand in his. "Well, this was lovely, meeting you. Thank you, Bethany."

"Thanks for dinner!" she said, pulling on her coat. "This was really nice. Most people can't wait for me to leave."

"Really?" Tom said. "Can't imagine why."

"Good luck to you both." Bethany shook their hands hard, smiling at them.

"Thanks," Honor said, letting out a ma.s.sive breath. He gave her a quick glare, then turned back to Bethany. Walked her to the door, dragging Honor behind him, and opened it.

b.u.g.g.e.r.

A foot of snow had piled up.

"Oh, crud," Bethany said. "I don't know if I can drive home in this. My tires are completely bald, and it's an hour and a half to my house in good weather."

Tom closed his eyes for a second. "Not to worry," he said. "You can stay here for the night. Right, darling?"

HONOR FELT LIKE her head was about to explode. She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her face looked wind-burned, she'd been blus.h.i.+ng so long.

That woman had been here for four hours. Four hours of Tom kissing her a.s.s, playing Devoted Fiance, four hours of Honor trying to lie when all she could hear was ten years in prison. Which, yes, she already knew, but it had a different ring to it when said by a federal agent!

Finally, Bethany had yawned (hugely) and said a fond good-night to Tom, who looked like he was going to hug her.

"See you kids in the morning," she said. "Don't make too much noise, okay?" A gruesome wink that made Honor die a little inside.

And now she had to sleep with Tom.

Got to sleep with Tom.

Under normal circ.u.mstances-normal for them-the idea would have made her nervous enough, if rather thrilled. With a federal agent across the hall, she was close to losing control of her bowels.

How had Tom known her favorite color was navy blue? And that thing about how she acted like the oldest...was he right?

"Is the bathroom free?" Bethany asked.

"Um, just a sec," Honor said. Too bad she didn't have sleeping pills. She could drug all three of them.

She opened the door, smiled at Bethany and went into Tom's room and closed the door.

"Do you think you could possibly act a little less like a piece of wood?" he whispered.

"What?"

"You sat there like a lump, Honor."

Four hours of stress had taken their toll. "It's better than stripping down to distract her," she hissed. "Think I didn't notice that? Were you going to do a little Magic Mike number if she kept asking questions?" The water turned on in the bathroom.

"One of us had to talk, Pooky."

"Do you think it's going to help our case if she says, 'Groom seems like a man-wh.o.r.e'?"

"I didn't strip. I took off my sweater. And since you seemed to be struck mute, someone had to keep her occupied."

"Look," she whispered. "I'm sorry I got hung up on the fact that there was a federal agent in my house who got invited to dinner and a sleepover!"

"Lower your voice, she's coming out."

"Good night!" Bethany called.

"Good night!" they chorused merrily back, then resumed glaring. Spike, at least, was comfortable; she jumped onto the bed and curled up on a pillow, yawned and closed her eyes.

The radiator ticked on. "Bedtime, darling," Tom said.

She was starting to hate that particular endearment, as he had never once used it with sincerity. That being said, he had a point. "Sure." But she had to change into her pj's. "Um, can you close your eyes?" she whispered.

"I have seen you naked, you realize."

"Yeah, well, you're not going to tonight."

"Fine." He pulled his s.h.i.+rt over his head, all predatory male grace, tossed it in the corner, then unb.u.t.toned his pants.

Right. She should probably turn around.

And she would. Soon. Anytime now. Definitely by tomorrow.

That was quite a beautiful male body. A boxer's body, arms curved with heavy muscle, broad chest lightly covered in hair, the hypnotic washboard abs. She remembered how it had felt to trail her fingers over that part of his anatomy, that night when she'd been a s.e.x kitten, when she'd been so unlike herself.

Tom c.o.c.ked an eyebrow, and she turned away, feeling her face ache with heat once more this night.

A second later, she heard the bedsprings creak. "Okay, close your eyes," she whispered.

"Done."

"Really?"

"Honor, for the love of G.o.d, would you just get into bed, please?"