Kimber's Daughter - Tommy Shelby x Reader Fan Fic

Chapter 23

After washing the day off in the hotel bath, I dried my hair and put my silk nightgown on once more. Tommy had already called reception and asked if we could take dinner in our room. He was in the bath, after having insisted I wash first. I bit my lip, wondering for just a moment how he might have reacted if I suggested we bathe together.

Stop it, I snapped at myself. I needed to pull myself together. Grumpily, I climbed into bed, turning off my lamp so that only Tommy's still gave the room a glow of amber. We had business again tomorrow, though Tommy wouldn't tell me what. Best I just get a good night's sleep, get all the alcohol gone from my system, and start tomorrow fresh.

The bathroom door clicked open. I instinctively lifted my head to look, freezing when I saw Tommy Shelby wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.

"Something the matter, Kimber?" he asked, cigarette between his lips. His chest was still wet, his hair slick in the dim light of the lamp.

I gulped. Was this my karma for being so obstinate our first night, for insisting we share a room? Would my life have been easier if I'd let Tommy bully the poor concierge into finding another?

"Nothing," I breathed.

Tommy blinked slowly, approaching my side of the bed. "Doesn't look like nothing to me."

"I'm just tired," I whispered.

If he stepped any closer, I'd be eye level with the hem of his towel. I glanced down at my hands, blood pooling in my cheeks at the thought. I squeezed my eyes shut. I could endure this. I would endure this.

I needed to turn the tables. Grasping at inspiration before I lost my nerve, I dropped the bedsheets and stretched my arms upward, faking a yawn. My sleeveless gown stretched across my chest. As I brought my arms to rest behind me, still pulling the fabric skintight, I saw Tommy's eyes flicker. Checkmate.

"You like the clothes I bought you, then?" He asked.

"Do you like them?" I replied innocently.

Fuck. He'd decided to take a step closer. I could make out every ripple of muscle in his stomach, his arms. Arms that had nearly killed a man today. Nearly killed him for me.

"I like them very much," he murmured.

I struggled to suck air into my lungs. I needed to stop. But instead I threw caution to the wind, deciding to blame the last few drops of alcohol that hadn't worked out of my system yet.

"Do you like the fabric?" I breathed. I reached for his hand, wrapping my fingers around his own. I pulled them back to graze across the silk gown just below my ribs. My legs tightened at his touch beneath my own. "Isn't it soft?"

His eyes darkened. He took another step closer. I tried to keep my own expression innocent — this was a battle of wills, after all — but I couldn't hide my chest rising and falling with each struggling breath.

Tommy released his fingers from beneath my own. He ran them up my sternum, between my breasts, and scaled my throat before resting them beneath my chin. He tilted it back so I had no choice but to look at him, to meet his dangerous gaze. For a second I thought he might lower his head and bring his lips to mine. For a second, I yearned for it.

A sharp tap at the door sent a jolt through us both. "Your meals, Mister Shelby," came the concierge's muffled voice.

Tommy's fingers trailed away from my jaw. His voice was a murmur. "Dangerous, Kimber." He stepped away to answer the door.

I gave my head a sharp shake. I'd meant to get him all flustered and worked up, not myself. I suddenly found I couldn't stomach any food. Tommy appeared to be of the same mind — he threw on a pair of loose shorts and slid into bed beside me, the silver dish of food forgotten on the other side of the room.

"Night, Kimber," Tommy said, turning off his lamp.

I balled my hands into fists. "Goodnight, Tommy."

Once more, the air between us was electric, possibly even more so. I did not face away from him as I had done the night before. I could make out only his silhouette in the darkness, the curve of his arms, his neck.

"I suppose we'd best get used to sharing a bed," he said quietly.

I nodded. "When we're married."

He was silent for a moment. "You didn't seem frightened today." He rolled onto his back. "Last time I beat a man in front of a woman, she screamed."

"Have you forgotten who my father is?" I said quietly. "Violence doesn't bother me. Not when it's bad men, at least."

Tommy turned his head in my direction. "Am I a bad man?" he asked.

"You're the worst," I whispered.

Once more, he seemed to intoxicate me. The butterflies resumed the thumping of their wings against my stomach. I wondered how long until I would become used to this feeling.

Tommy quietly said, "Why did you ask my brother if I still fuck whores?"

I brought my hands to my face in embarrassment, praying he couldn't see. "That game was private."

"Hard to come by among Shelby's, I'm afraid."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Image reasons. If we're beginning this pretence, I don't want whispers my husband is still sleeping around."

"Hmm. I almost believe you."

"Good enough for me." My heart sped a little in anticipation of my next words. "You called me your wife today. With that jockey."

"I did."

I swallowed. "Why?"

Tommy didn't answer at first. I began to wonder if he'd ignore the question, when he finally spoke. "Image reasons," he echoed my former answer.

"I almost believe you."

We settled in for the night, bare inches between us. The silence settled comfortably. I opened my mouth to break it, just the once, before we slept.

"I'm sorry about your horse," I whispered.

"It happens," he murmured. "Beautiful things get broken. They die."