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“Reid,” Tom returned.
Gemma watched the battle of wills between the two men, wondering who would budge first. She didn’t have to wonder, because Quin stood next to Reid.
“Cain,” Quin held out his hand for Tom to shake. When Tom met his hand, Quin smiled cordially. “How’s your mother? I never imagined Carolina to be the maternal type.”
Gemma couldn’t help but snicker at Quin’s crack.
Tom, however, didn’t smile. But still he shook Quin’s hand. “She’s not my mother,” he said.
“Carolina left my brother and married your father,” Quin pointed out. “Sounds like she’s your mother to me.”
Tom smirked and looked at Reid. “Trust me, what my father and your ex-wife do is certainly none of my business, nor do I want it to be.” He then nodded at Gemma. “I should be moving on.” He picked up the glass of Rexford Honey that he’d ordered and clinked it against the one that was still in her hand—the one that held the Cain rum he’d poured for her. “Congratulations on the award. I’ll be seeing you, Rexford.”
Gemma said nothing as she watched him walk away. Both regret and relief filled her, but at least she was finally able to breathe.
Reid turned to her. He looked pissed. “What did he want?”
Gemma’s eyes narrowed as she tried to recall what they’d even talked about that hadn’t been innuendo-laced flirting and fighting. She shrugged. “I don’t know. Nothing, I guess. We barely spoke about anything important. He just wanted to provoke me.”
She saw that Lila, Reid’s girlfriend, was watching her. “Based on the way you’re blushing, mission accomplished, I guess.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Instead of answering, Lila grinned and looked away and innocently sipped from her champagne glass.
“The guy’s an asshole,” Quin added, moving past her to the bar. He ordered two glasses of rum—the spiced honey, as well—and passed one to Reid. “Anything for you, Gem?”
She held up the glass in her hand—the rum that Tom had poured for her—and shook her head. “I’m good. Thanks.”
Reid drank his own rum and nodded at the one that Gemma held with a white-knuckle grip. “What’s that?”
She looked down at the glass. “Uh, just some rum.” She still hadn’t managed to drink even a sip of the Cain rum she’d been poured. She held the glass up to the lights and regarded it with a critical eye. The rum was clear—no impurities. She brought the glass to her lips and inhaled before taking a sip. It smelled clean, natural. When she tasted the rum, however, she was impressed. Instead of swallowing right away, she held the liquid in her mouth. The flavor was light but still had weight and substance, there was no trace of burn, and she swished it around in her mouth, over her tongue. It was sweet but smoky, smooth as silk. It wasn’t as good as her own rum, but it was good enough to surprise her.
She raised her eyes to the crowd and found Tom Cain immediately. He was watching her, his eyes intense and a lazy grin on his face, as she drank his rum. He raised his glass and turned away from her and she missed the silent connection as she watched Tom cross the floor on the far end of the large banquet hall. Gemma finally swallowed the mouthful of rum. It flowed down her throat, warming her along the way as she watched him disappear into the crowd.
