Page 115 of Not Your Average Vixen
He glanced away. “I’m tired. It’s been a long night—that’s all.”
Bridget turned the knob and opened the door to their room. “We should all get some rest. Tomorrow’s a big day. We’ve got the rehearsal and then—”
“Then, I plan on eating as many of those little ball éclair thingies as I can. Lori says it’s one of your signature desserts,” Tom replied with a grin, and he barely recognized the man.
They’d summited Everest, went skydiving in New Zealand, and had picked up women all over the globe.
Now, the guy was jazzed about balls of dough.
“He can’t wait for the croquembouche!” Lori added, patting Tom’s cheek.
“Well, good night,” Bridget said, throwing a pointed glance his way.
Christ! What did he do now?
He closed the door behind them and turned on a lamp just as she spun on her heels to face him.
“You can’t even summon up a sliver of kindness toward my sister, can you?” she snapped, eyes flashing.
He took off his coat and slung it onto the sleeper bed. “What are you talking about?”
Color rose to her cheeks as she paced in front of him. “Just now! The contempt in your eyes! It makes me want to…”
“Makes you want to do what?” he asked, gripping her elbows and holding her in place.
Her eyes glittered with that damned determination that made him want to shut her up with a kiss that left them both breathless.
She lifted her chin. “It makes me want to hate you, but I can’t.”
“Why not? Why can’t you hate me? You can see that I don’t want Tom to marry your sister.”
There! Now, the gloves were off. But just as quickly as she’d switched into the take no prisoners vixen, her gaze softened.
“I don’t think my sister is the only issue you have with this wedding.”
“Issue?” he repeated, incredulity coating the word.
“Can’t we call a truce? Can’t you see what’s right in front of you?” Bridget pleaded.
Oh, he saw it. His friend might be playing the happy groom, but the man had been railroaded into marriage by the oldest trick in the book. And Bridget didn’t even know, which gave more credence to his conclusion.
Tom was trapped.
“I don’t want a truce, Bridget.”
She huffed an exasperated breath. “There’s nothing left to do. This wedding is happening.”
He tightened his hold on her. “You don’t think I know that. You don’t even know the half of it.”
“Then tell me why you’re so against Tom marrying my sister.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “It’s complicated.”
“Then tell me what’s happening between us,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
“Do you really want to know?”
She lifted her chin, challenging him. “Yes.”
