Page 43 of Engaging with Her Enemy

“But they didn’t have accounting as their aphrodisiac.”

“I didn’t need accounting to fall in love with you.”

Her throat tightened up. He'd not mentioned that word since the first time they'd slept together. Two weeks later, it still made her uncomfortable. She couldn't figure out why. She cared for him. Her reaction when he was shot proved that. But to put a title on it...

“You'll have to start to get used to it. I love you. I wasn't lying to get you to sleep with me.”

“I never thought you did.”

“Good. But I'll wait to tell you all the time until you're ready.” He wiggled his fingers of the arm still in a sling. “Once you figure it out, I don’t think you’ll be able to keep your hands off me.”

He’d meant it as a joke, to lighten the mood, but she couldn’t smile.

Becky slid off the sofa and walked to the window, looking out at the dark, April night. The topic stifled her. Made her want to move. Have space. She watched him in the window’s reflection. This wasn't a topic she needed to think about. Not tonight.

She turned around. “I have two and a half weeks until my final exam. Can we focus on that?”

“Sure thing.” He looked back down at the book, seemingly unaffected that she didn't want to talk about her feelings. Statem was her home. Did he expect her to fall in love with him and move to Atlanta? To give up the diner? Too many questions she didn't want to face. Too many questions that made this real. The love. The pain if he left.

They studied accounting until Becky could rattle off a long list of expense accounts and revenue accounts. Same with assets and liabilities. “I'm tired,” she finally admitted, resting her head on the back of the sofa.

“Do you want a glass of wine?” He patted her leg and stood. A flicker of pain flashed across his face. She didn't point it out. That specific directive she had taken to heart the second time he'd fussed at her about it.

“Yes, please.” She grabbed the remote control and turned on the T.V. “What do you want to watch?”

“I don't care.” He walked to the kitchen, returning with a glass of wine. He passed it to her before sitting back down on her other side. “I'll focus right here, and you can watch T.V.” His lips pressed against the pulse in her throat as his hand reached across her to grip her hip, his hurt arm cradled in the space between them.

They'd lived together for two weeks. He’d moved out of the bed and breakfast and into her house, with tongues in town no doubt wagging themselves dry with all the gossip. Living with her made sense. He needed her. Neither one of them discussed it in detail. She’d stepped in to help. He’d kept his annoyance of needing her help to himself, but it bothered him. He still stiffened and avoided eye contact each time she helped with his leg.

His teeth grazed her ear, releasing another wave of desire. She sipped her wine, ignoring the sit-com on T.V., and closing her eyes. No other man had ever drawn her so close to admitting she loved someone. But she'd rather focus on the physical and not her emotions. Those were easier to control. Manage. Satisfy.

She drained half the glass of the sweet wine. If she could set her wine glass down, she might be able to straddle him—

A knock at the door pulled her back. “Ignore it,” he mumbled, capturing her lips in a deep, soul-rocking kiss. Admitting she loved him was easy in those moments.

After a second knock, and with a reluctant sigh, she gently pushed him away. “If someone took the time to drive out to my house, I'm guessing it's important.”

“They wouldn't have called first?”

She stood up, reluctantly leaving his side and careful not to jostle his arm. “We're in the country. People like to stop by, or have you forgotten that?” She stepped away from him, straightening her pajama pants. Whoever showed up unannounced, got what they got. As soon as she passed by the side window, and saw Tommy's truck, she slowed down. “I'm sorry, Hudson.”

He met her in the entryway. “For what?”

“For this.” She yanked open the door. “Tommy?”

Tommy leaned against the door jamb. “Hey, Shug.” He'd shaved, wore a clean shirt, and might have knocked the mud off his boots. She knew when Hudson came into view behind her.

Tommy straightened, his face twisting into annoyance. “Why the hell are you here?” Tommy asked. “Becky, what's going on?”

“Nothing that's any of your business.” She crossed her arms. “What do you want?”

“I came to take you out. I figured you'd had enough time to cool off. It's been a few months. Hell, Becky, it's been five months. How long do you plan for this to go on?”

She set her hand on the wall beside the door, keeping Hudson back as he'd crept up close. She remembered the jealousy in his eyes the first night she'd told him about Tommy. And what he’d done to Barry. No matter her annoyance with Tommy, she didn't need Hudson to rearrange his face.

“I'm not dating you, Tommy. We've had this discussion. I said, 'no,' and we broke up.”

“I'd noticed you hadn't gone into the diner as much, so I thought you might be feeling a little blue about ending our relationship.” His lips curled in a sneer. “I can see now what's kept your attention.”

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