“There’s a problem with a shipment, and I have to go look into it.”
“Why can’t you send Martin, or Brady?”
“You want something done right, you got to do it yourself.”
“That doesn’t apply to your family, however,” she said frigidly.
His father’s mouth became a hard line. “I make sacrifices to keep you in style, Fiona, and all I ever get from you is whining and nagging.”
“Did I ever ask you to make these sacrifices? No, Frank. All I want is to see you more than once a month.” His mother’s voice shook. “All I’m asking is that you keep your word and go with us to Niagara.”
His father’s fists clenched. “God, Fiona, why can’t I make you understand? It’s my responsibility—”
“Go, then. Just go. Your bag is right by the door.” She walked stiffly out of the room. Her back was very straight, but her face was crumpled.
His father looked at Liam, immobile on the couch. “Sorry, son. When you’ve got a family of your own to support, you’ll understand.”
“Go to hell,” Liam said.
Frank Knightly’s face darkened. “Don’t speak to me that way. I’m your father. Show me some respect.”
“You’re not my father anymore,” Liam said in a cold, very clear voice. “You’re a terrible father. You’re fired.”
His father stared at him, grabbed the suitcase, and walked out. That was the last Liam had seen of him. Twenty-six years. A lifetime.
Liam shook himself back to the present, and savagely attacked the kindling pile again. Fuck this. Fuck it all. No way. Not him.
He looked around some time later at the sound of a car. Nancy’s Volkswagen Jetta came buzzing down the driveway. He clutched the ax handle as she got out of the car. Wishing he’d bathed.
She was elegant in faded low-slung jeans that clung enticingly to her hips and a charcoal high-necked ribbed sweater that showed off a discreet strip of flat belly. Her hair was wound into a loose braid, backlit by the sun like a halo of fire. She looked gorgeous. And nervous.
“Hello.” She gave him a tentative smile.
Liam crossed his arms over his chest. Her smile faltered.
She opened the back door of her car and pulled out a cat carrier. A plaintive meow issued from the white plastic box. Her cat? He peered into her car windows. The backseat was piled high with stuff.
Suitcases. Computer equipment. What the fuck? Was she actually planning to…Oh, sweet Jesus. She was. His heart started to gallop.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
She’d known this was going to be hard. Nancy stuck out her chin. “I was under the impression that you’d invited me.”
“Yes, and you blew me off.”
His icy tone chilled her. “I did some thinking this morning,” she said. “I realized when I got to the studio that I’d made a mistake.”
“What changed your mind? Another ambush?”
Nancy threw up her hands. “For God’s sake, I’m sorry! I made a mistake! Can’t a person be allowed to make a mistake sometimes?”
He shrugged. “People make them whether they’re allowed to or not.”
“Cut out the snide remarks, Liam. I’m trying to be serious.”
He was grimly silent. “Yeah. That’s what I’m afraid of, Nancy,” he said finally. “I think that for us, getting serious would be a bad idea.”
Nancy fought for control of her face. Be a big girl. Be a sport. God knew, she had the practice. She knew the next part of the script by heart. Okay, forget it, then. Forget I ever said anything. Have a nice life.
The words wouldn’t come out. She was going to get a freaking backbone, and try a little bit harder, damn it. She cleared her throat.
“So, Liam. Are you done punishing me yet? Because this part is really boring and irritating, and I’d like to move on to the good stuff.”
The darkness in his eyes changed, like clouds shifting in a turbulent sky. “I’m not punishing you,” he said. “Just being clear.” He waited a moment, trying hard not to say it, but in the end, he couldn’t help himself. “And what exactly do you mean by the good stuff?”
She looked over his big, gorgeous body, the opened shirt sweat stained, showing his ripped, cut pecs. “If you have to ask…”
Liam started to speak, bit back the words, and closed his eyes. “I’m not a person who takes this kind of thing lightly.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I’m not, either.”
Liam’s hands clenched. “We’re going to hit a wall, you know.”
She ached to touch his face. “You’re so sure?”
“I feel strongly for you,” he said. “But I see that wall in the distance, just waiting for us.”
Nancy swiped tears from her face with the back of her hands. “Maybe you’re right,” she said. “But you know what? I don’t care.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “No?”
“No. Let’s just go for it. Full speed. We’ll hit that wall together.”
“If this is because of those guys who attacked you—”
“I’m glad you mentioned that,” she broke in. “This was a point that I wanted to make. I appreciate your offer to protect me, but that has nothing to do with the fact that I think you’re really special, and I want to spend some time with you.” There it was, bald as an egg.
She waited for the verdict.
And waited, and waited. It was agonizing, to go this far out on the limb, and just stay there, fighting for balance. One last, desperate sally before retreating in despair. She sucked in a deep breath.
“And there is, ah, one more little thing,” she said.
He looked like he was bracing himself. “Yes?”
She cleared her throat again. “I’d, ah, like to give you a blow job.”
His face went blank. Probably wondering if he’d heard correctly.
“I hope you’re not too shocked,” she added. “But the last two days have sort of burned away all my maidenly shyness. I can’t promise any world-class fellatio technique, but I still think that performing oral sex upon you right now would be the absolute highlight of my day.”
Liam blinked, coughed. “Ah…” He turned, and swung his ax in a big arc. It landed in the block with a sharp thunk that made her jump. He grabbed her cat carrier and headed toward the house.
“Follow me,” he said.
Chapter
8
Nancy trailed after Liam, up the steps of the wide wraparound porch. She was so dizzy with the success of her last-ditch ploy, she barely even registered the details of his home. Just an impression of airy rooms, big windows, sparse and graceful furnishings. He knelt down and flipped the lever that opened Moxie’s carrier. The cat stalked out, sniffed his hand, and padded away to investigate, tail high.
Nancy wanted to break the tension, but the purposeful way that Liam strode through the dining room with his back to her discouraged speech. She scurried after his long strides. He’d started up the stairs without turning to see if she was being pulled along in his wake.
It looked like she would be making good on her rash offer. Her toes were curled with lust at the thought, but she hadn’t pictured going down on him when the weather conditions were this, well…stormy.
He stopped outside a door. “I’m sweaty. I need to take a shower.”
“No,” she said. “You don’t.”
He gave her a doubtful look. She waved him in the door. God forbid she lose her nerve, or lose her moment, or miss her window of opportunity. Besides. He looked great, just like that. Gleaming with sweat, hair damp and spiky. Salty and virile and vigorous.
He opened the door and beckoned her in.
The room was stark in its simplicity. An antique brass bed sported a beautiful green Irish Chain quilt. An earth-toned Navaho rug lay on the gleaming wooden floor. Musical instruments from around the world decorated the white walls. There was a straight-backed chair, a narrow, upright antique chest of drawers. A turn-of-the-century steamer trunk. Old-fashioned, sparse, simple and neat.