“It is. Scotch and popcorn, then. Perhaps Daisy will join us.”
“Or perhaps we could just not invite her.”
His lips twitch, letting me take this as a joke, if that’s what I’d like. My choice.
“She has had a long day,” I say.
“And we ought to be considerate of that.”
His eyes dance, and I find myself leaning his way, drawn to him in spite of myself.
In spite of myself? No, I think we’re past those games. I want Tom, and if he wants me back, well, we’re both consenting adults, aren’t we?
“So Liam isn’t coming over tonight?” he murmurs.
Reality taps icy fingers on my shoulder, but I shove it aside and reach out to touch Tom’s arm. I run one finger over his biceps. His gaze lowers, and he looks at me through long, dark lashes.
“A cold drink sounds good,” he says.
“For a start?”
An easy smile. “Sure, a cold drink for a start, and then we’ll move on to popcorn.”
He’s telling me to slow down, and it is delightful. Those lowered lashes. The hair on his arm rising as I run a finger over it.
You’re a little shy, aren’t you, Tom?
Not what I expected. Not normally what I like. But it shifts me into the control seat, and I do like that.
I rub my finger over his forearm. “Scotch and popcorn it is.”
Undergrowth snaps behind me. I turn to see Liam step through. His gaze falls to my hand, still on Tom’s arm.
“Should I back up and announce myself first?” Liam says, his lips quirking in a humorless smile. “It seems someone didn’t expect me to show up tonight.”
Tom doesn’t jerk his arm away. He only lifts a level gaze to Liam’s. I run a finger down a tattoo that looks like a stylized rabbit.
“I was just asking Tom about this one,” I say.
“Ah.”
Liam’s lip twitch calls me a liar, but he seems more amused than jealous, which puts me on guard.
“And what did he say?” Liam asks.
“Nothing yet,” Tom says. “I was about to say it’s the trickster, from Seminole stories.” He turns to me. “I’ll take that cold drink to go, if it’s still on offer.”
“A cold drink?” Liam says. “Is that what she offered?”
The two men lock eyes, and I have to resist the urge to kick Liam. He’s not annoyed with me for flirting with Tom. His attention is entirely on the other man, the trespasser.
“Nah,” Tom says. “She offered me scotch, but I told her not to waste it on me. I’m guessing that’s more your speed.”
“It is.” Liam puts out a hand. “Liam Garey. I’m not sure we’ve formally met.”
“We have. You just don’t remember me.”
Tom steps forward and takes Liam’s hand, and Liam’s arm muscles bunch under his sleeves as he squeezes hard. Tom’s muscles don’t even twitch. He sees the game, and he’s not playing it.