Page 70 of That Reunited Feeling

I reach behind me to do up my bra. “But it’s the middle of the night over there.”

“Um, did you realize it’s midnight? Here, I mean. That makes it five a.m. in London. And apparently Desmond is up. What the hell’s going on?”

“Midnight. Shit.” Reality slaps me in the face like a cold, wet rag. “We have to get back. Fuck. Dylan will wonder where I am. Maggie and Jim will wonder where we are.”

Throwing all dignity out the window, bare ass in the air, I clamber back between the seats to find my jeans and the pretty thong that, in the end, no one saw anyway.

“Oh, fuck,” Tom says.

“What?” As I yank my underwear on, I turn to see his beautiful face lit up by the phone he’s holding, the other hand keeping his hair back on top of his head. Good God, I could fall for this man all over again right this very second.

His eyes lift from the phone to meet mine. My stomach flips, but not in a good way. There’s something behind his gaze that tells me he knows I’m not going to like what he’s about to say.

“I have to go back to London.”

19

HANNAH

It’s hard to tell which is worse—the bucket of cold water Tom’s words have thrown over my still-rippling core or the searing reminder of the pain of his leaving last time.

Hurt and frustration churn inside me. “Of course you are. Of course a good thing couldn’t be happening.”

I slump into the passenger seat and retrieve my jeans from the floor where they lay crumpled next to the boxed Cockolate and shove my legs into them. Disappointment sits like a lead weight in my belly. “Of course, you’re going back to London.”

Behind me, he zips up his jeans and thrusts his feet into his sneakers. “Han, look?—”

“Maybe you’re not even a Bridge Person. Maybe you’re just a Sixty-Nine-Her-in-the-Back-Seat-of-the-Car-Then-Disappear Person.”

I might be snapping at him, but it’s me I’m frustrated with. If making bad choices with men were an Olympic sport, I’d have a whole rack of gold medals.

“Fuck.” Tom opens the back door. “Look. Let me…” He climbs out. “Jesus…” The door slams, and he reappears in the driver’s seat next to me.

I speak before he can. “It was bad enough the first time. But this time I let myself do all…thatfirst.” I jerk my head at the back seat.

So much for protecting my feelings by telling myself I’m here just for the hot sex. One text from London has brought that wall—that clearly poorly constructed wall—crashing down.

I ball my hands in my lap because all they want to do is pound his chest in frustration. But, really, I should pound my own chest for being such a fucking idiot.

Tom closes his eyes and flexes his jaw, as if I’m driving him to previously unknown levels of frustration. “Will you just let me?—”

I have no intention of listening to whatever his reasoning is. The reason doesn’t even matter. He’s going. And that’s it.

“I knew you were leaving, Tom. Obviously, I did. But I never imagined it would be likethis.”I bark out a short laugh at the horror of it. “Wham bam in the back of the car, then ‘See ya.’”

I can’t even believe I talked myself into thinking this Bridge Person thing was a good idea, that it could possibly work. But I did. And now here I am about to wave goodbye with the taste of him still fresh in my mouth.

He reaches for my hand. “But it will?—”

I snatch my hand away. “I’m the biggest fool walking this planet to let myself get involved with you again.” I bang my fists on my thighs. “Deep down Iknewit was a stupid idea. I should have listened to my gut, not to Rachel.”

Tom turns in the seat to look at me, the same way he did outside the chocolate shop right before he gave me the kiss of my life, the one that made me want to give myself to him completely.

He lets the silence settle between us. Waits for my breathing to slow.

“Come with me.” His voice is gravelly, with a hint of pleading.

I pause for a second to run that through my head again and confirm I heard it right. I did hear it right. Now he’s the one being a fool. A naive fool.

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