Love's Road Home (18 page)

"So go ahead and finish." He kissed the crown of her head, and she never felt so safe and secure.

What was wrong with her that she couldn’t believe this feeling could last forever?

"Beth?"

Right.
One step at a time. Finish the story about college. Then worry about spending the rest of your life without the man you love.

"Um, yeah.
There’s really not much more to it. I chose music as my minor, breezed through the courses on music theory and music history. I’d lived through a lot of the recent stuff firsthand, and the rest I’d heard plenty of stories about over the years."

She looked down at the hands enfolding hers. So strong.
So capable.

"But what I enjoyed the most—and I hadn’t expected to—was the actual music instruction. I took voice lessons and a bit of piano, too. But singing was the best. It was a great way to relieve stress."

Sex was a great stress reliever, too, but she kept that thought to
herself
. Time for that later.
Maybe.

"When I entered the MBA program, I missed the relaxation of music classes. So I joined up with a community chorus. It was fun, and because it only met once a week for a couple hours, it didn’t take much time away from studying. We performed at local schools, nursing homes. Things like that. Nothing like what you guys do—what you’re asking me to do."

"You’ll do great." He placed a kiss on her temple, squeezed her in an encouraging hug. "So what happened after you finished school? Did you stay with the chorus?"

Beth shook her head. "No. I stuck with it for a while, but once Eric and I got together, I quit."

"Did you want to quit?"

"No." The word was out before she could stop it. "I mean, I don’t think so. It just sort of happened. Eric would make plans, and I’d go along with them."

Tom was silent, and, once again, Beth felt ashamed of her past behavior.

"At the time, I wanted to be with him so badly it didn’t matter that my own plans were dismissed.
Pretty pathetic, huh?"

Tom maneuvered so they were once again face-to-face. "No. Not pathetic. Wrong. It was wrong on his part to ignore your interests, your hobbies. Your desires." He grasped her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. "I don’t know why the hell you keep trying to take the blame for what this jerk did to you. From everything you’ve told me, he was a self-serving, domineering prick."

Her lips twisted into a deprecating smirk. "Yeah. That planting of evidence bit certainly doesn’t put him in a good light."

He shook her again. Harder. "That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it. By cutting you off—from your own friends, interests, whatever—he was setting you up from the get-go. He wanted your entire existence to revolve around him. He wanted to control you."

Beth pushed up and walked away. "But don’t you see? I let him!"

She turned back to Tom, still seated. "I let him have control. I lost myself to the point I didn’t care that I wasn’t singing anymore, or having dinner with girlfriends. I allowed it to be all about him."

Tom extended an arm, inviting her back to the sofa. Wanting his comfort, his nearness, she reclaimed her seat next to him.

He wrapped his arms around her, tucked her head beneath his chin, and kissed her hair. "In a healthy relationship, it should always be about them. Two people are involved. And both of them are risking their hearts, their souls, in order to stay together. If both parties don’t support and appreciate the individuality of the other, the relationship won’t work."

Beth raised her head. "How did you get so profound? Is this some of your yoga teachings coming through?"

"Nope.
No yoga." He shrugged. "It’s just that my parents had a great marriage. They were together nearly thirty-five years before my mom died. They had their little quarrels, and there was a lot of compromise, but they were always there for each other. And I want a marriage as strong as theirs was."

Marriage.

How did they get onto that topic?

If he’d meant to get her mind off her affair with Eric, he’d succeeded. But it was best to move on.
Literally.

She once again rose to her feet. "Well, I know nothing about good marriages, but I do know about good food. And my stomach wants some real bad."

She walked to the door and looked back.
"Ready for lunch?"

He shook his head but still joined her, a smile on his face. He reached past her to open the door. "You just love to keep me guessing, don’t you?"

"Right back
atcha
, buddy."

His smile widened into a grin before he leaned down to kiss her forehead. Then he took her hand and led her down the hall.

"Let’s go eat."

•

Something was different in Tom’s performance tonight.

He still looked scrumptious. Still sang and played awesomely.

But he had a new vibe about him.
An extra bit of energy.

She let her gaze roam all around, searching the concert hall, the audience, the stage, for what was responsible for the change.

Maybe he’d already received the gift she’d arranged for him at the front desk. She’d asked that it be delivered when Tom returned to his room after the concert, but the clerk could have messed up.

And that meant Tom’s edginess was due to his impatience to meet with her after the show. Alone, for the first time ever.

She’d spent almost eight months walking past
Crowley
’s Hardware on a daily basis, hoping for a glimpse of him through the store’s large windowpanes.

There would be no reason for someone of her social class to enter a hardware store, so why draw attention to
herself
? Men like Tom preferred a more subtle approach. She was sure of it.

He came from a working-class family, but he deserved high-class treatment all the way. Which was why she’d had delivered an elegant fruit tray consisting of luscious strawberries, grapes, pears, apples, and oranges.

Of course, the warm caramel and chocolate fondues would be useless if her gift was sent too early, but she could quickly have them replaced. And in the meantime there was always the whipped cream...

A dreamy smile crossed her face as she momentarily got lost in her thoughts, and when she refocused on the present, Tom was standing by the back-up singers.
Which didn’t bother her because Tom often moved around the stage when he wasn’t singing.

But as she continued to fixate on him, she noticed he spent an extraordinary amount of time near the blonde in the black dress.

Wait. She was sure there hadn’t been a blonde back-up singer in Roadhouse’s previous shows.

She fumbled through the tour program she held—her eleventh one—scanning over the photo spreads of the band.

No, the only blondes pictured were Leo and Jack. No blonde woman anywhere.

She’d thought the backing vocals had sounded a bit off.

The girl’s eyes narrowed as she followed Tom’s movements, watching as he threw numerous smiles in the blonde’s direction.

This had to stop. And it would, after tonight.

Tom would find the note she’d written him, directing him to her room and instructing him to bring her gift along with him.

Erotic visions of feeding each other fresh fruit, drizzling caramel and chocolate over each other’s body only to lick it off, took over.

She lost track of what was happening on stage, but it didn’t matter. She knew the entire song list by heart, and what happened later, with Tom, was going to be the most exciting event of her night.

Of her life.

Because it was the start of their new life.
Together.

Before she knew it, Leo was introducing the band members.

She clapped appropriately for Sam, Jack, and Dylan, but then whistled, screamed, and shouted her head off for Tom. Even though her parents would disapprove of her actions, saying she was making a fool of herself, she didn’t care.

She would do anything for Tom.

And then Leo got to the back-up singers. "And last, but certainly not least. Ladies and gentlemen, let me present two very lovely and talented ladies."

She waited.

"Hannah Patterson …" The redhead smiled and waved to the audience.

"… and Beth Miller!"
Now the blonde received her acknowledgement from the crowd.

The girl once again opened the program, this time looking for the band listing. Under "Backing Vocals" were the names Hannah Patterson and Elizabeth Garcia.

So who was this other woman, and where had she come from?

And then her eyes caught the name Bethany Miller. It was listed under the category "Crew Personnel."

A roadie.

The woman was a roadie.

There was only one way that a woman hired to haul equipment could attain the status of singer: She had somehow tricked Tom into helping her.

Obviously Bethany Miller was a money-grubbing tart who was trying to sink her claws into him.

Well, the blonde could still sing if she wanted, but that was all she could have. After tonight, the woman would know her plan to seduce Tom wasn’t going to work.

Because Tom loved her.
And this Beth was nothing to him.

Nothing.

Chapter Eleven

Tom couldn’t stop watching
Bethany
.

She was clear on the other side of the room, talking and laughing with Hannah, Jack, and
Sam,
and he couldn’t stop looking at her.

Prior to tonight, he would’ve told the world he thought she was beautiful.
But not now.

Because at this moment, she was beyond her usual beauty.
She was absolutely stunning.

Her everyday
stylings
were gone.

No more long braid or ponytail with a baseball cap. No more simple applications of eyeliner and lip-gloss. No more jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers.

With Hannah’s help, Beth had transformed into a vivacious siren. And just like the sailors of lore, he was helpless to ignore her call.

Tom’s gaze drifted over her. Her face was professionally made up so as not to appear washed out on stage. But now, instead of looking garish under the suite’s softer lighting, the cosmetics served only to emphasize her eyes and cheekbones. And her lips were outlined with a plum-red shade to match her eye shadow.

Watching those lips curve around the rim of her wineglass, then seeing her throat work as she swallowed a sip of the alcohol—it made his blood boil.

He shifted his gaze upward as Beth continued to converse with her new friends.

Her long blonde tresses now had soft curls in them, and the sides were held back with rhinestone barrettes. Dangling rhinestone earrings drew attention to her delicate collarbones, exposed by the thin straps of her short black dress.