His face crumbled into such a heartbreaking look of contrition that I immediately felt bad for putting this on him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll take care of it.” He was drunk, but not nearly as drunk as the rest of them.

Tommy ran over to the garden shed and grabbed the hose while I attempted to assess the damage from a distance. Unfortunately, that wasn’t far enough away because the smell of regurgitated whiskey and pepperoni wafted toward me.

“Oh, god… Matthew,” I complained, covering my mouth and nose. “If you ruined my knockout roses, so help me…”

“I’ll get it cleaned up,” Tommy said. He turned on the water and pointed it at the chunks of vomit, pushing it around instead of breaking it up.

I snatched it from him and rotated the nozzle to hard, direct spray. It broke up the chunks, and gradually, the smell started to dissipate. Thankfully, Matthew had stopped retching and was headed toward the garçonnière.

“Y’all’s little reunion is over for tonight. It’s two in the morning. Get yourselves to bed,” I ordered.

“I’m so sorry, Darcy,” Tommy said again as he took the hose from me, wound it up, and put it away. “Matthew has never been able to hold his liquor.”

“You’re right,” I said with a laugh. “Stop apologizing. I shouldn’t have put that responsibility on you. Everyone out here is an adult and should know their limits.”

“I know, but I told you I would keep them in line—”

“It’s fine. You fellas need to head to bed, though. Goodnight,” I said then, on some inexplicable impulse, I leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek. Just a kiss goodnight. Harmless. Innocent. Completely chaste...

Until he turned his head.

His lips brushed against mine. Hesitant but soft, with the slightest pucker that was barely a suggestion of a kiss. But my body registered it as one. My nipples furled against silk gone cold in the night air — reminding me that I was naked under my robe.

When the tip of his tongue, wet and hot, traced the curve of my lower lip?

I moaned…

But it was more than a moan. It was like the sound of a thing long-starved that had awakened at his touch. The tips of his fingers traced the lapel of my robe, and my pussy fluttered. The shock of it made me gasp his name in a sharp whisper.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Hmmm?” His fingers stilled, stopping just shy of my skin. He looked into my eyes. His were dark, deep pools of want that nearly pulled me in.

“Goodnight, Tommy.”

He let out a long, slow, wistful sigh. “Goodnight, Darcy,” he whispered.