Page 9 of Defended By the SEAL
Now all she wanted was to be alone.
Grams was talking. “…just about to eat a late dinner. It’s almost ready, and there’s plenty for everyone. Why don’t you two have a drink with Tom while I finish up the cooking? You can get to know each other.”
Tom looked even more uncomfortable than he had, if that was possible, but he led the way through the dark and shadowy foyer into a deep room with a tall fireplace. A fire blazed, the room far warmer than the foyer before it. A plaid blanket was draped over the couch, abandoned, two empty glasses on the coffee table.
Clearly, Cowboy and Charlotte were interrupting an intimate evening, and she felt a flash of guilt for arriving unannounced as they had.
“What can I get you two?” asked Tom, stepping to a sideboard covered in bottles and picking them up one at a time, inspecting them. “There’s an excellent Irish whiskey.”
Charlotte took a seat in a wing chair by the fire. Her shoulders were high with tension and she forced them back down, a flash of longing for Cowboy’s powerful hands on her fisted muscles nearly bringing her shoulders back up again. “I’d like a martini, please,” she said. “I’m guessing Grams has you well versed in how to make one.”
Tom shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ll have to walk me through it.”
Charlotte watched as he poured two whiskeys, servinghimself and Cowboy before making her drink. Did her grandmother come second in her dealings with this man, as well?
Cowboy gave her a knowing look over his glass before asking,“How did you two meet?”
Tom took a hefty sip of his whiskey before answering. “We met during college at Oberlin.”
Charlotte cocked her head. “My grandparents met at Oberlin.”
Tom’s mouth moved into a shape that might pass for a smile. “Yes.” He turned back toward the bar. “Tell me what goes in a martini.”
“Two parts gin to one part vermouth,” she said. “Add five or six olives and a splash of the liquid from the olive jar. Did you know my grandfather?”
“I did. We both majored in poli-sci, both played on the football team.” He picked up the completed martini and headed toward her, his own drink clenched firmly in the opposite hand. “We had a lot in common. I daresay your grandmother may have a soft spot for a particular type of man.”
This time, his smile appeared genuine. He handed her the martini.
It was a classic love story, but Charlotte could smell bullshit a hundred feet away. She had a bad feeling about this one, and she’d long ago learned to listen to her gut. “And now you’re marrying one of the wealthiest woman in the state,” she said, raising her glass. “Cheers.”
Tom’s eyes narrowed, but he raised his glass as she’d done with hers. “I have my own money, Charlotte. Not as much as your grandmother, maybe, but you needn’t worry that I’m after her money.”
Assessing him cooly, she sincerely hoped he was beingtruthful. Because if her grandmother’s new fiance proved to be a gold-digging prospector, Charlotte would hammer him into the ground, no questions asked—and she wouldn’t even need Cowboy to do it.
“Then I won’t have to break your kneecaps,” she said sweetly. Taking a sip of her martini, she felt the tang of the olive brine bathe her tongue as Tom’s expression hardened into a forbidding mask. In the moment it took for Charlotte to swallow, the look was carefully erased from his features, but she hadn’t imagined that gleam in his eye—and she knew exactly what it meant.
This man wasn’t worth the time of day.
Tom downed the rest of his drink in one fluid motion, then set the glass down on an end table. “I think I’ll help your grandmother with the meal.”
“Good idea,” said Charlotte, watching him go.
When he was gone, Cowboy said in a sing-song voice, “You should behave yourself.”
She scoffed and set her martini down. The sip she’d taken felt like battery acid in her belly.“Women who behave get trampled in this world. I will not stand idly by while that jerk takes advantage of Grams.”
“What makes you think he’s a jerk?”
“Just a feeling.”
“Want to know what I think?”
“Not particularly.”
He raised one eyebrow, and she frowned. They often disagreed, and as much as she hated to admit it, he was right more often than not. Crossing her arms over her chest, she said, “Fine. What do you think?”
“I think you’re projecting the stress you feel over our relationship onto your grandmother’s relationship with Tom.”
