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“A guy who runs a rug company, Jules? Come on, I was doing you a favor. I knew as soon as I got him talking about it, you’d see visions of your dinner conversation for the next fifty years. Aaron Roberts would turn your brain to minestrone.”
She hmphed, annoyed because he was right. Of course, the mere existence of Tad was enough to turn her entire body to a soupy, gloopy mess.
He brushed the underside of her jaw with his knuckles. “You mean so much to me and the thought of you with some other guy who might not get how great you are pisses me off to no end. You’re a fucking queen and you deserve the best.”
She had no idea what she deserved but she sure as hell knew what she wanted.
This man before her, in the worst way possible.
“That’s a lovely thing to say,” she whispered, because it was.
“I have my moments.” He smiled, heartbreaking and beautiful at once.
“A queen, huh?”
“Afuckingqueen. And don’t you forget it.”
In the charged space between them, she felt closer to him than ever. Which made what she had to say next exceedingly difficult.
“About the opening tomorrow…well, I can’t make it.”
His face darkened to thunder. “Why not?”
“Usually I can rely on Frankie or Cara to look after Evan, but all the DeLucas will be here to celebrate their golden boy made good.”
He shot her a look more black than golden and extracted his phone from his pocket. As usual, she was envious of the phone that got to spend so much quality time next to Tad’s lovely assets.
“Sylvia, it’s Tad.” His dark mood changed to sunny in an instant. “I need a favor.”
She backed away, meaning to give him privacy but he hand-shackled her wrist and pulled her toward him. The light pressure from his fingers on her wrist made her tingle everywhere. As if he knew just what an effect that had on her, he rubbed heated circles over her pulse with his thumb, all without paying attention to her face. It was the most erotic thing she had ever experienced and she had plenty of options to call upon from her Tad playlist.
About forty finger pad whirls later, he lifted his eyes to meet hers. She hadn’t heard a word of his conversation.
“Aunt Syl can take care of Evan.”
“But doesn’t she want to go to the opening?”
“I promised her a free meal for her next date with Father Phelan. Guy’s an oenophile and his secret is that he uses a nice Bordeaux for the sacramental wine instead of the special kind the Archdiocese ships in by the crate load. I’ll wait on the two of them hand and foot if it means you’ll be there.”
Sylvia was a big fan of the clergy at St. Jude’s, or rather one clergyman in particular. The parish priest couldn’t actually date, and if he could, it probably wouldn’t be a bouffant-crowned widow in her sixties, but trust Tad to know the woman’s weakness and exploit it. He seemed to know every one of Jules’s.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said, her voice scratchy.
He clasped her hand. Warm, dry, secure, but not safe. Never that.
“It wouldn’t be the same without you. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Nineteen
The knock on the office door was soft, yet ominous, and Tad braced against the onslaught of the people he didn’t want to see. Pretty much the lot of them except Jules.
“Your public awaits,” he heard in Francesca’s sweet soothe.
His public.All waiting to wish him well or tear him down. What in the hell had he been thinking opening his own business? So the myths of restaurant failure were exaggerated but it was still as high as twenty-five percent.
He raised his head from where he had been resting it between his legs while he willed blood to flow to his brain, but she was already inside, hunkered down with her hand on the back of his neck.
