She’d never learned to ice skate, so Liam had led her around, skating backwards and holding her hands so she could easily follow.
As she glided past the stairway that led down to the kitchen, the sound of clattering plates awoke Amanda from her memories. Probably a good thing, since that bastard Liam had crushed the hope that someone would finally take care of her, as she had taken care of Sophia. Even now, his perfidy left an empty, aching place in her heart.
Her growling stomach reminded her she hadn’t managed to swallow much of Martha’s dinner. She would join whichever of the Chosen Ones was pilfering from the fridge.
Jogging down the stairs to the basement, Amanda stopped short.
Apparently the other person who had had the leftovers idea was Liam.
He stood in the massive kitchen, heaping goat cheese and roasted garlic onto a piece of toasted bread, a glass of deep red wine standing at the ready next to his plate of olives and cold shrimp. Amanda had to admire a man with that much of an appetite, especially one wearing snug blue jeans and not a thing on his chiseled chest except for a dusting of black hair and the famed dragon tattoo. “Aren’t you cold?” she blurted.
He looked up, looked her over, and smiled. Smiled as if the sight of her with her bedhead hair, crummy blue bathroom and fuzzy green socks gave him pleasure. “Well, what have we here?” he asked. “Another lover of the midnight snack?”
Amanda cleared her throat and tried to focus on anything other than that dragon, sprawling across his chest in glorious Technicolor, clawing at his gorgeously muscled bare torso. And his tousled black hair that she wanted to run her fingers through. And that smile that cajoled and reassured.
The man was lethal — in more ways than one.
“Or perhaps another insomniac. Are you worried, darlin’, about tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a good plan you came up with. As good a plan as is possible considering who — or what — we’re dealing with. So don’t worry.” Liam projected reassurance. “And have a little snack.”
“Yes. Thank you.” She appreciated his reassurance even more than his offer of food. “I would like that. The snack, I mean. I didn’t eat much at dinner.”
“Neither did I, darlin’. Planning and eating don’t seem to go hand-in-hand.” Liam grabbed another crimson plate from the stack in the tall, glass-front cupboards and set it on the granite tabletop to fill with food.
“Although I should get back to bed.” She really should. She should run away and try to ignore her growling stomach. Because sharing a quiet meal with Liam was foolhardy. She knew it.
And yet she lingered.
Ignoring her, Liam pulled Tupperware containers out of the fridge, opening them and placing a little of each delicious food on Amanda’s plate. Soon, she had an array of tidbits that made her mouth water. Liam moved like a man comfortable in a kitchen, pulling a sparkling wine glass out of the hanging racks and filling it with wine from the open bottle.
Amanda watched mesmerized until Liam silently offered her a bench seat at the enormous granite-topped table. Shaking her head, she moved to the other side of the table.
He pushed the plate over to her and sat down opposite.
She wrapped ham around a caper berry and dipped both in whole-grain mustard.
Heaven. The dates, almonds, sliced Serrano ham, caper berries, and pesto-smeared bread were precisely what her tired mind needed, and she thoroughly enjoyed herself — until she realized Liam watched her intently.
“Can I help you?” she asked, an annoyed edge to her voice.
Liam smiled slowly, seductively. “Only if you can tell me how you can look so sexy while eating.”
He was mocking her, and she did not appreciate it.
So what if she enjoyed eating? That was no reason to make her self-conscious about it.
But Liam didn’t seem to be following her train of thought. Instead he picked one of the dates off her plate, sliced it halfway through with a sharp knife, slid a spiced almond inside, and held it out for her.
“Liam,” Amanda said firmly, “I don’t need to be fed.”
“You’ll like it, I promise. The cumin on the almond plays upon the sweetness of the date.”
“You’ve been watching too many cooking shows.”
“Come on, darlin’. You said you were hungry.”
Amanda considered how she hard she could bite down on his hand while taking the date from him. But almond-stuffed dates did sound pretty darn decadent. And if she bit him, he might retaliate, and he was stronger and taller and more muscular….
She was staring at his chest again.
So she leaned forward with her eyes closed, ready to savor the delight.
But instead of a date, she was met with Liam’s lips. His firm, warm lips.
Opening her eyes, she pulled back with a gasp and did the first thing that popped into her head.
She slapped him across the face.
The sound reverberated through the high ceiling, echoing off the tile floors.
Liam was clearly shocked that she would slap him.
Amanda was just as shocked. She had never slapped anyone. She’d seen it in the romantic comedies she loved to watch, but she didn’t think women ever actually slapped a man for being brazen.
But other than the violent sting of her palm and the tiniest bit of guilt she felt about the red hand print on Liam’s left cheek, she was pretty proud of herself. Take that, you cocky Irishman!
Liam sat down on his side of the table and stared. “I cannot believe you slapped me. You actually slapped me. Who does that?”
“Probably the same type of over-dramatic people who think switching proffered food for an unwanted kiss is the thing to do!” He deserved it. He really did.
Was she trying to convince herself?
“You used to like kissing me.” He had the nerve to sound indignant. “You used to like it when I fed you.”
Amanda could feel the heat rising in her neck, flushing her cheeks. Her anger filled every inch of her until it rushed out, smashing into Liam and his good memories. She pointed her finger at him. “You’re right, Liam. I used to like all of those things. Then you betrayed me.” Half-rising from the bench, she poked his chest for emphasis. “You ruined my life. You made me lose my job. You made me lose my home. You made me lose my sister.”
Liam leaned back, then stood up, trying to escape her rage.
Amanda stood and stalked toward him. “I am tired of keeping all my emotions in check. I am tired of seeing you every damn week when all you do is make me think about Sophia. I am tired of tricking good people to help the bad ones. And I am sick and tired of you, Liam Gallagher.”
As he backed up toward the refrigerator, his lips became tighter and tighter.
Amanda had never really seen Liam angry.
But he was now, and he came back at her, eyes flashing a hot blue. “You think my life has been a picnic? Since that day, none of the Others and none of their thugs have trusted me. I’ve been mocked and beaten. Then I have to see you every week and have you use every chance to tell me how I ruined your life!”
Amanda stood stock-still, her finger still raised in front of his chest.
His voice grew quiet, the heat of his anger cooling as he leaned back against the metal refrigerator door. “I shouldn’t care what you think of me. I shouldn’t be telling you why I am what I am. But I do care, so look — the Others saved me from a miserable existence in Ireland. They fed me and clothed me. No one had ever bothered to do that. I was asked to do questionable things to people who possibly didn’t deserve it. But that’s a small price to pay for not starving every winter.”
Deflated, Amanda lowered her finger.
She hadn’t known that. Why hadn’t he told her?
Maybe because she hadn’t asked about his past. He had seemed the perfect man, interesting and interested in her, kind to her sister, looking toward a future together.
That should have made her suspicio
us if nothing else did.
But he hadn’t been perfect. If what he had said was true, he had been abused as a child, raised in austerity, cold and hunger. None of that was an excuse for his behavior … but now she wondered … “Why did the Others send you to work on us? Surely seduction isn’t your talent.” A horrible thought occurred to her, and she waved her hand up and down at him. “Is this your real form?”
“Yes!” He rubbed the scar on his forehead, the one Robbie had put there with the butt of his gun. “Man, you’re suspicious. And yes, yes, I know why. I betrayed you and your sister, and it’s my fault she’s a statue. If it helps, I feel like shit.”
“It doesn’t.” But actually, it did. If he meant it. Which he probably didn’t, and his story about his youth was probably a lie, too. But if it was the truth, well, that would explain a few things.
“They sent me because they like to keep their talents busy — Osgood gets his pound of flesh — and at that moment, he had no other job for a shapeshifter.”
“And you’re good at romance,” she snapped.
“You don’t have to make it sound like a sin.” But his gaze slid away from hers.
“It’s only a sin when you’re lying about your feelings.”
“You think I don’t know that?” He glanced at her, then away. “But conscience is a slippery thing, and from an early age mine learned to accommodate anything to remain alive.”
Why did she so badly want to believe him?
He looked back at her. “Then there was you. The Others sent me to spy on you, to draw you in, to find out if Sophia really had a power and exactly what it was. But as I spent more time with the two of you, I realized what a real family was like. You were like nothing I’d ever seen: close, warm, thoughtful, loving.”
She remembered what it was like to feel her sister’s love, her sister’s warm hugs before bedtime. She clamped down on her emotions, and in a soft voice, she said, “We were a good family, weren't we?”
“I shouldn’t have cared what happened to you. It took me forever to realize I couldn’t hand Sophia over to them. That child deserved all the chances I never had.” He shook his head, and his blue eyes grew brighter, almost as if he looked at her through a sheen of tears. “And I couldn’t break your heart like that.”
Amanda's upsurge of emotion caught her by surprise. “You already did, Liam.” Her tears matched his, and they spilled over, running down her face unchecked.
Embarrassed, she turned and walked out of the kitchen, her sock feet making barely a sound.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
AMANDA HURRIED toward the main stairs, torn between a desire for Liam to follow her and a fear of what would happen if he did. Tonight she needed comfort, and each moment she spent alone with him brought the bright thrum of affection and joy rushing back at her. She had loved him so much….
No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t convince herself that she truly hated him. Even with all the evidence stacked against him, she didn’t know if she believed that he had meant to give Sophia up to the Others. Her mind was whirling; a thousand thoughts trying to solidify into one conviction. Maybe he really had had second thoughts. She hoped so. She hoped—
She gasped when he grabbed her shoulders. He turned her around, spinning her effortlessly on the marble floor of the entryway.
She caught a glimpse of rugged, scowling face, his blazing blue eyes, the scar on his forehead and the mouth about which she had never stopped dreaming. Then she was enveloped in his arms, her face turned up to his, his lips on hers, his tongue claiming and taunting.
Their kisses had always been tender before, when he was wooing her. But this was different. This was emotion, strong as a hurricane, buffeting her with passion, impatience, demand.
His embrace was strong, holding her possessively, trapping her against his warm, muscled chest, enfolding her in his smell of cloves and orange spice and that indefinable erotic smell of aroused male. He brushed aside her surprise just as he brushed the blonde hair away from her neck. He dealt impatiently with her feeble attempts to escape, teaching her to kiss more deeply.
He tasted of cherries and cedar from the wine.
She loved those cherries. She loved that wine.
When he had thoroughly subdued her, he pulled back. “What do you mean, I already did? I already handed over Sophia or I already broke your heart?”
He was asking if she loved him, now or then.
He didn’t deserve to know that she had loved him once.
She didn’t know, didn’t want to know, if she loved him still.
She was tired of this Pandora’s box of confused feelings. She no longer wanted to think; her heart couldn’t take any more.
She wanted to forget.
Maybe Liam was a liar. Maybe he had betrayed Sophia. Maybe tomorrow he was going to betray her to the Sculptor. Or maybe he was going to fulfill their mission, take Irving's money, and run.
She just didn’t care anymore.
Because one thing she knew Liam was good for; for tonight, he could make her forget her pain, her loneliness, her fears.
Grabbing his neck, she pulled his face to hers and kissed him.
She stopped trying to think, stopped attempting to decide where she stood with Liam and where he stood with her.
She would savor this moment, this passion. She would use him to forget her heartache and her loneliness.
And tomorrow she would rescue Sophia and live. Or she would fail, and die.
Even if Liam truly meant to help her, even if he did help her — the odds were irrevocably stacked against them.
For a boy who had been raised as he had, without kindness or pity, and with the odds already irrevocably stacked against him, the fact he agreed to help her meant … meant she did mean something to him. And whether she liked it or not, he meant the world to her.
Liam drew back, supporting her as she wobbled, woozy from their fiery kiss. He stood panting for a moment, capturing her gaze, demanding the truth, looking at her as though he wished to decipher her thoughts, read the desires of her heart.
Then he nodded, as if he understood, and without a word, he reached down and picked her up, hugging her to his chest as he walked up the stairs.
She clung to his neck. She rested her head against his shoulder. She felt his arm muscles clench around her, holding her effortlessly. He ascended the stairs as though she were nothing, as though she weighed little more than a feather, a flake of snow. His tightening jaw was the only indication that his emotions were in a state of upheaval, that he felt as much conflict as she did.
When he reached the top of the stairs, he turned right, walking briskly past the oil paintings that lined the hallway until he reached the door of her room. He paused, and Amanda realized it would be next to impossible for him to hold her and open the door. In the split second where he made a move to put her down, she decided she wanted to stay in his arms, protected from her thoughts and from the world.
“I’ve got it,” she whispered in his ear, reveling in the shiver that ran through him at her breath on his neck.
She extended her hand to the dark bronze handle and pushed the door inward.
Turning sideways, Liam walked through the doorway, nudging the door closed with his foot. With a glance at the simple, sturdy wooden desk, he carried Amanda over and placed her on its cool surface. Gently, he reached up and moved her chin until she was forced to look into his eyes, his beautiful blue eyes. Eyes that had laughed with her so many times in the past … were completely serious.
“Now, what’s this about me breaking your heart?” Liam’s voice was so quiet, so forceful. He would keep pushing her for answers, answers she couldn’t give to him.
She could feel the tears pushing at her eyes again, threatening to burst through her reserve, her control. “Liam, it no longer matters.”
He leaned down, placing his arms on either side of her, his palms flat against the dark sheen of the desk. “It matters to me.”
&
nbsp; CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LIAM’S BREATH fanned Amanda's cheek, his lips so close, so tantalizing.
She couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t let her guard down enough to tell him that she had adored him, had wanted to be with him forever. What good would it do now? Their love was an impossible concept; the odds were stacked against them. And she simply could not let her emotions get in the way of protecting Sophia. She had done so once before, and now they were all paying the price.
Sophia was paying the price.
So instead Amanda trailed light airy kisses along Liam’s neck, building up to the moment when she slowly, warmly sucked on his ear lobe. “I would love … a wee dram … of whiskey.” Taking his head in her hands, she directed his gaze to the small side table with a crystal decanter.
“Now?” He couldn’t have looked more horrified.
She leaned back, put her hands against the desk, and smiled. “Liquid courage.”
“Yours or mine?”
Her smile faltered. “Mine.”
He swallowed. “First time?”
“Yes. When would I have had the chance?”
“I dunno. High school?”
“Pimply-faced boys.”
“Nursing school?”
“Married doctors and linen closets. It never appealed. And I had to get home. It was no big deal. I was never tempted.” She swung a nervous foot. “Until now. Scared?”
“God, yes.” He swallowed again, and as if he couldn’t believe it, he repeated, “Your first time. I’m your first…”
“Lover. Yes.”
His complexion was pale. His voice was gravelly. “Thank you, Irish whiskey sounds great.”
That was reassuring. Not.
He let her go. He stepped away. Turning to the decanter, he filled the glass next to it with a healthy splash.
When he returned to her, the color had returned to his face and had been replaced by a different reaction than she had ever imagined. He now looked possessive. Proud. Like a man who had been given the gift of trust.
He held the glass to her mouth and watched her sip.