He barked out a laugh. “Diabolical as ever. That much hasn’t changed since I last saw you.”
The casual mention of one of the worst days of her life knotted her stomach. Her laugh was high pitched. “Goodness, I barely remember.”
Such acting deserved a medal.
“Yes, well…ahem.”
Her gaze, which had begun wandering the defined contours of his biceps again, snapped upward. Tommy’s lips curled into a smirk, and he tossed his unruly red hair back from his brow in a slow, deliberate movement. He widened his stance, various muscle groups bunching and flexing, and her mouth watered. It was as if he knew she wouldn’t be able to look away. Like he was inviting her to admire every inch of him.
“Permission to cover up? Or do you require more time to ogle me?” His words dripped with a roguish irreverence that sent a delicious shiver down her spine.
What was she supposed to do with this version of her former friend? The gangly, troubled young man had been replaced with a virile, cocky man who bothered her. Who inflicted chaos on her nervous system and roused her hunger for a man’s touch. His touch, damn him.
“By all means.” She snuck one last peek at his sculpted chest before turning around. Clasping her hands behind her back, she distracted herself from the intimate sounds of him dressing by staring at the hole in the ceiling. As if willpower alone would patch it right up. “What are you doing out here?”
“Business.”
“What sort of business?”
There was movement in the corner of her eye, and she tilted her head slightly to see what he was doing. He was crouched on the floor in his union suit, and he was placing what looked like a shiny satchel under her bed. He fluffed a blanket and laid it casually on top to hide it from view.
“I manage a bookshop.”
Imogen was glad he couldn’t see her expression, which most likely resembled a soprano who had forgotten the next note. But how had he gone from barely literate when she’d known him to running a bookshop? The dogged determination required for such a feat staggered her. Made her feel…proud. But why would a bookshop manager need to hide a satchel under her bed?
“You can turn around now.”
She snapped her mouth shut and faced him with a raised brow. “All those afternoons we spent working on the alphabet must have paid off.”
“They did,” he said in a tone she couldn’t quite decipher. “More than you know, Genie.”
Genie.
The nickname he’d given her after she’d helped him stumble through her copy of Arabian Nights. He’d claimed that since she’d appeared in his life like a mystical being, she owed him three wishes. But they’d run out of time.
“You never did get those wishes,” she said, slowly drowning in his cerulean eyes. His expression contorted, as if assailed by the same multitude of memories as she was, and he took a step closer. Her breath caught.
Then he broke their gaze, rubbing a hand over his clean-shaven jaw. “I never could decide between giving the mayor horns or resurrecting a ghost ship.”
She forced another laugh. Hunted for something to say. “Where are your trousers?”
If she hadn’t been watching him so closely, she might have missed the mask that slid over his face. It dulled his features into a polished facade, the guise of an accomplished salesman. Or a liar.
“My horse spooked and threw me into a ravine. By the time I extracted myself, he was gone.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “Why were you riding in your underwear?”
He met her stare without flinching. “There was a disturbance at my accommodations, and I had to leave in a rush.”
“You’re the redheaded scoundrel they’re talking about in town?”
The mask slipped. “What do you mean?”
“When Aunt Judith dropped off fresh supplies this morning, she also shared some scintillating gossip. Apparently, Mrs. Wigglesbottom has a long-winded tale about a guest who made her daughter promises, then slipped away before an engagement could be secured. Then there’s the stableboy, who claims the same man lulled his watch dogs to sleep by waving his hand and muttering an incantation. And let’s not forget the baker, who swears the scoundrel stole three loaves of bread and his wife’s Christmas present on the way out.” She swallowed a chuckle. Trust Tommy to get caught up in something so ridiculous. “I wonder which parts are true.”
Tommy, however, didn’t smile. “Is someone looking for me? Genie, I swear I didn’t touch that girl.”
Despite the painful way their relationship ended, Imogen knew in her heart he spoke the truth. Even if he had always lived by his own moral code, those weaker than himself were always treated kindly. She’d seen it too many times to discount it.
