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—’