Snowkissed!: The Midwife's Marriage Proposal. Fiona HarperЧитать онлайн книгу.
cooking.’
The years fell away.
Suddenly she was ‘Sal’ again, and it felt good. Comfortable and safe.
During her childhood, being with Bryony, Oliver and Tom had been the nearest she’d come to belonging anywhere.
The nearest she’d had to family.
Suddenly she was glad that Bryony had married Jack. If she hadn’t, would she herself ever have found the courage to come home? Preoccupied, Sally walked to the front door and tugged it open, her smile of greeting fading as she found herself face to face with Tom.
CHAPTER FOUR
HE WAS dressed in black leathers, his motorbike helmet tucked under one arm, the dark stubble on his jaw an indication that he’d left the hospital in a hurry. He looked dark and dangerous and his blue gaze locked on hers in blatant challenge, his mouth tightening as their eyes met.
Her heart stumbled and her stomach lurched but her instinct to close the door and pretend that there was no one there was curbed by the knowledge that this wasn’t her house. She had no right to shut him out of his brother’s home.
And she really didn’t want him to know that she cared that much.
It was the one thing that stopped her dropping her glass and reaching for her coat.
Pride.
She was no longer so weak and pathetic that she believed that she couldn’t exist without Tom Hunter in her life.
Calling on inner reserves, she reminded herself that part of coming home had been to confront what she’d felt for Tom, and she couldn’t do that by avoiding him.
Avoiding him implied that she still felt something for him, and she wasn’t that foolish.
‘Well?’ A faint smile of self-mockery touched his firm mouth. ‘Are you going to slam the door in my face?’
The fact that she’d considered doing exactly that brought a trace of colour to her cheeks and she stepped to one side to let him in, careful that her gaze revealed nothing.
‘I hope I’m not that uncivilized, Tom.’
She wanted to ask why he wasn’t working, but stayed silent. She didn’t want him knowing that she cared that much or that she’d taken that much notice of what he’d told her earlier.
‘I want to talk to you, Sally.’ He unzipped his jacket and she flinched, her eyes drawn instinctively to his chest and then away, fixing on some point in Oliver’s hallway.
She forced herself to resist the command in his tone. She’d been making her own decisions for years now and she intended to carry on doing so. To listen to what he had to say would risk being sucked back into the darkness from which she’d fought so hard to escape.
‘There is absolutely nothing that you and I need to talk about, and this is supposed to be an evening spent with friends,’ she replied calmly, turning away from him with as much dignity as she could muster. ‘I haven’t seen Oliver for years and I want to get to know Helen.’
Strong fingers caught her wrist and swung her back round to face him. ‘And you and I no longer share the category of friends?’
She closed her eyes, breathing deeply.
Friends?
Once he’d been everything to her. Her friend, her lover—her world.
His fingers tightened and she felt his touch with every fibre of her being. Her traitorous body yearned for more. Yearned for everything this man was capable of giving.
And then she remembered that he wasn’t capable of giving enough.
He hadn’t been able to make that commitment to her.
And neither had anyone else in her life.
And she’d finally learned to live her life alone, depending on no one.
‘Of course we can be friends.’ Her answer was suitably bland. ‘After all, we’re working together.’
‘That’s colleagues,’ he replied softly, his eyes narrowing slightly. ‘Friendship is something completely different. We had it once.’
‘And I seem to remember that you decided that you no longer valued that friendship.’ She gave a cool smile to indicate that the conversation was over, ignoring the traitorous thump of her heart. ‘Oliver is handing out drinks in the kitchen. If you don’t want to miss out I suggest you move quickly.’ With a determined twist of her wrist she freed herself and walked towards the kitchen with a determined stride, feeling his frustration with a faint flicker of satisfaction.
Not everything goes your way, Tom Hunter.
She walked back into the kitchen and said, ‘Tom’s here,’ in her most casual voice, and then proceeded to top up her glass of wine.
There was a tense silence and Bryony put her hands on her hips and glared at Oliver. ‘You invited Tom?’
‘Why not?’ Oliver’s tone was calm. ‘He’s my brother. I refuse to stop socializing with him just because he used to go out with Sally. It’s been seven years, for crying out loud. It’s history. We all need to move on.’
‘But—’
‘Hush, Bry,’ Sally said quietly, reaching out and squeezing her friend’s shoulder to reassure her. ‘Oliver’s right. It’s fine.’
And it was fine. She was totally in control.
She’d always known that she wouldn’t be able to avoid Tom. And she didn’t want to.
What she wanted was to work and live in a community alongside him and not feel anything.
Bryony rubbed her fingers over her temples, visibly stressed, and Oliver glanced towards the door where Tom was leaning, listening to the exchange in silence, his handsome face devoid of expression.
He’d removed his leathers to reveal a pair of snugly fitting jeans and a black jumper that simply accentuated his masculine looks.
He looked dark and dangerous and just about as sexy as it was possible for a man to be.
‘I can’t understand why you use the motorbike in winter.’ Oliver’s tone was mild. ‘It’s freezing out there and it worries Mum.’
‘I’ve been worrying Mum since I was able to walk,’ Tom drawled, strolling to the fridge and helping himself to a bottle of beer. ‘And I like the fresh air. Good evening, Bryony.’
Ignoring the irony in his tone, Bryony glared at him and Oliver sighed.
‘You’re destroying the atmosphere of my dinner party,’ he said mildly. ‘Sort it out, bro, or we’ll all get indigestion.’
‘I intend to sort it out.’ Tom pushed the fridge door shut, his eyes on Sally. ‘So what do you say, Sally? Can we work together and socialize together without creating an atmosphere?’
Sally tensed, her fingers gripping the stem of her wineglass so tightly that it was in danger of snapping.
He stepped towards her, his gaze only for her. ‘My sister thinks you should hit me. So do it, Sally.’
She felt smothered by his closeness, by his overwhelming masculinity. She took a deep breath and then wished she hadn’t because his tantalizing male smell filled her head and clouded her senses. She had only to lift a hand to touch him but she kept both hands firmly by her sides and stared at the floor.
She decided to let him speak. If she let him speak then he’d leave her alone.
‘I don’t want