“He didn’t tell me about who he’d been in high school because he was afraid it would lead back to the fire.” She is making conclusions, but that’s what she has to do. Assemble what she’s learned and try to sort through all the different versions of Tom—the star basketball player, son, cousin, friend, responsible business owner, possible thief, successful lawyer, beloved husband and father—to discover his core truth.
She continues, “One of the qualities about Tom that I found most endearing was how good he was. He was always calm and in control. Everything he did fit the image he wanted me and everyone else to believe. Tom, the driven lawyer committed to defending against injustice. Golden and good.”
“Hewasa good person, Diana.”
“Was he like that because it was his true nature? Or because he had to be that way to make amends for a mistake he never owned up to?”
Chris returns to his chair. “Maybe Tom was there with Carson that night, maybe he was at the farm for a completely innocent reason. Or maybe we’re wrong, and this isn’t even the story Tom meant in his letter.”
“The timing lines up, Chris. He did something he was ashamed of—haunted by—when he was eighteen. He never visited the O’Connors in the hospital or contacted Grace later to check on her. He left town earlier than planned. He avoided returning home for years afterward. These are signs of someone who—”
“Had something to hide,” Chris finishes, frowning.
The rage that threatened to consume Diana in Uncle Brian and Aunt Teresa’s guest room, after she’d learned the origins of Duncan’s name, flares back up again, bright and searing. “What did hedo?” Diana stands up from the table, kicking aside the chair. It skitters across the floor, bumping into Chris’s sofa. “Not only did Tom leave this secret for me to unravel, but these people he mentions ...”
The missing photo of Tom and the kids flashes across Diana’s vision. She can’t get enough air into her lungs. Dizzy, she sinks to thefloor, arms wrapped over her head, panting. Chris comes to her side and pulls her into his lap. He holds her gently, murmuring her name.
After several minutes, Diana’s breathing settles. She slowly releases her arms and tucks herself against his chest. Chris pushes her hair from her face, and his calloused fingers are rough against her overheated skin. Her stomach tightens in response. Diana looks into Chris’s eyes and sees not the sympathy she’d expect from someone who just watched her fall apart, but something completely different. Desire.
She didn’t understand until this moment how much she needs a man to look at her the way Chris is looking at her now. Her body sings with her attraction to him. She heard this song yesterday when she first arrived at his home, and it’s still there, urging her on. She doesn’t care that Chris is Tom’s cousin, that he looks so much like her husband, that acting on his desire and her own need is likely a bad idea. She wants him to hold her closer, to touch her. How she craves to be touched.
Letting his sawdust and cotton scent fill her lungs, Diana traces her fingers along his cheekbone and down to his mouth, pausing to rub her thumb against his bottom lip. Chris’s hazel eyes are wide and glowing.
She slides her hand to the back of his neck, and his arms tighten around her. Diana’s lips are only inches away from his.
“Diana,” Chris whispers.
She presses her mouth against his, and he holds still for the briefest of seconds. She nudges his lips with her tongue, and when he responds, Diana forgets everything that happened before this moment. She thinks only of how Chris tastes like wine, how good he feels against her, and how he’d feel inside her. She runs her hands down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt. When her fingers dance across his bare skin, Chris groans and pulls her onto her feet. His lips never leave hers as they maneuver toward his bedroom, shedding their clothes with each step.
Chapter Twenty
Diana curls against Chris’s chest. For the first time in weeks—or years,she thinks—she’s at ease. The strain she always carries is gone, and she relishes the feeling of Chris’s hand on her hip, warm and sure. He nuzzles her neck, and she rolls over to face him. She takes in his bare chest and the hollow of his collarbone where, she’s recently learned, he very much likes to be kissed.
Chris smiles and pulls the blanket over her shoulders. “You okay?”
Diana weaves her legs through his. “That was good.”
“Good?” Chris arches an eyebrow. “That salmon was good. The wine was good. What we did? It wasmuchbetter than good.”
Diana laughs. “Okay, it was great.”
“Was that”—Chris pauses—“the first time since Tom?”
“It was that obvious?”
“Not at all,” he says, winding his fingers through her hair. “I only wondered if you’d been ... out there yet.”
“Out there?” Diana frowns. “I’m a single mom with two kids, a demanding, full-time job, a mortgage, and a husband who haunts me from the grave. I have no time to be ‘out there.’”
Chris blinks at the bitterness in her voice. “Your life is complicated.” He gestures to the two of them. “This is only difficult if we let it be, and we don’t have to.”
“Okay, so we won’t,” Diana says, though she has no idea if that will be possible.
Chris kisses her temple, and his hand moves down her back in long, lazy strokes. She feels sleep beckoning.
“You’re welcome to stay the night,” Chris whispers. “I’d like you to. Plus it’s late, and you have a long drive home.”
“Yes,” she sighs. “I’d like that.” She ignores her practical, responsible side that says each moment in this bed is a mistake, one that will demand time and energy she doesn’t have.This is for me,she thinks, unable to remember the last time she did something that wasn’t for someone else—her colleagues, her extended family, Tom, her children.
