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“Me, too.” The mask of good humor was back. “But life surprises you, doesn’t it? Maybe I’ll meet someone more my speed. Honestly, I just want to settle down and have a fucking baby before I’m shitting in nappies myself.”
“I’m sure you can find someone to do all that with you.” I wasn’t just trying to make him feel better. A guy like Ian—handsome, financially secure, sensitive, artistic, and ready to start a family—would not stay single in New York for long.
“Go on,” he said, nodding toward the door. “Enjoy the party. And don’t tell Neil. I don’t want to ruin his birthday.”
We both slipped from the kitchen just as Neil was entering the dining room. He gave me a puzzled expression, and I mouthed, “later.” He appeared to mull over whether to pursue it, but his crooked smile told me he’d decided against it.
I thought back to Neil’s party the year before. Two hundred people, packed into a nightclub with deafening music and free-flowing booze, but it didn’t hold a candle to being with actual friends in our own house. But that damned book was always in the back of my mind, beating like a telltale heart just down the hallway.
I was going to have to tell Neil about it, and Valerie was right, the sooner the better. But how?
CHAPTER NINE
After the last guest had gone—and Neil had unsuccessfully tried to badger Emma and Michael into accepting a guest room because of the late hour—we ended up in the kitchen. Slumped side by side at the table with a piece of cake between us, we were stealing a quiet moment to celebrate the day together.
Neil drowsily contemplated the bite on his fork. “I’m torn between eating until I burst, or stopping now in the hopes of having birthday sex tonight.”
I sighed happily. “I give you birthday sex three-hundred-and-sixty-five days a year, baby.”
“That you do.” He took the final bite and pushed the plate toward me. “Tell me what happened with Ian?”
My sense of easy peace punctured somewhat. “He and Gena are separating.”
“Oh, that’s a shame.” The pitch of Neil’s voice rose a little with shock.
“Did he say anything to you that night that they were here?” Maybe anything to do with not wanting to sleep with us, that I would have really liked to know before we’d done it? But I knew better. If Ian had expressed doubt to Neil, nothing would have happened that night.
“No,” Neil answered automatically, but he paused, a vertical frown line appearing between his brows. “Nothing that caught my attention at the time. But, in hindsight, I do recall that he made a remark about things being the same as ever with Gena’s family. They don’t like him.”
“And Gena said something when we were in the kitchen,” I remembered aloud. “She said he drinks a lot.”
“That he does,” Neil agreed. He drummed his fingertips on the table. “I was a bit worried about him leaving tonight. I sent him off with Tony.”
“Good idea.” The thought that his drinking might have had something to do with Ian’s split made my stomach turn over.
As always, Neil picked up on my subtle shift in mood; the man had missed a calling as a CIA interrogator. He reached across the table and covered my hand with his, pinning my gaze just as he pinned my fingers. “Sophie. I will never let that happen.”
I nodded, but I didn’t trust myself to speak. I didn’t want to cry or fight about this on his birthday.
He lifted my hand between both of his and brought it to his lips. With a simple touch, he reassured me and lightened our brief moment of darkness, without bypassing the subject entirely. “You’ll be pleased to know that I had two drinks tonight, in total. And only one of them was whiskey.”
I traced a spiral on the tabletop. “I know that bar is really, really cool. And you stocked it up and everything—”
He sat back with a resigned sigh.
“Look,” I began, a little defensively. “All the websites I’ve been reading said you have to remove temptation. How are you going to quit drinking if you’re living in a house with a bunch of booze, and a very attractive setting to drink it in?”
“It’s not for drinking, it’s for…entertaining,” he finished. “I can have alcohol in the house. I don’t have to drink it.”
“A man of restraint, as always.” I teased, leaning into him.
“Or a man who likes restraints,” he reminded me. “Speaking of which…”
A little zing went up my spine. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me out of my chair then boosted me into his lap so quickly that I lost my breath. Our lips were centimeters apart. My pulse beat in the hollow of my throat, and I imagined his mouth there, his tongue swirling over that throbbing hollow.
I remembered he still held my hand when he suddenly jerked it toward the cake. I squealed and tried to pull away, dragging both of our fingers through the frosting, and we laughed so hard we bumped foreheads.
“Well, I was coming in here to see if you needed help cleaning up, but it looks like you’re just making more of a mess.” Mom shuffled from the swinging kitchen door to the island with a tray of glasses in her hands. “I think the caterer missed these.”
