Taking care not to slip, as the branches were damp with the fog, Posey climbed down from the tree, making a mental note to climb one again when it wasn’t night and they weren’t spying on people. She jumped down the last few feet and brushed off her hands.
Liam was still looking at the house. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low. He didn’t look at her, but his expression was…well, miserable. Remembering his admission last week about his accident, his fears over Nicole’s well-being, her heart gave a tug.
“It’s okay.” She punched his shoulder. “She’s a good kid. And you seem like a good dad, in a neurotic, insane kind of way.”
“Right.”
“Oh, come on. I’m sure a lot of parents envision the worst.”
“True enough.”
“They just don’t…run with it the way you do.”
He looked at her then, a slight, self-deprecating smile in his eyes. “Thank you for climbing up there.”
“You’re welcome. It was kind of fun.”
His smile grew, her girl parts meowed. Danger, Posey. “Well, it’s pretty damp out here. We should get going, huh? I think I’ll skip that beer, okay? You could just take me home. That would be great.” Posey took a step toward his car, but Liam stepped in front of her, blocking the way. “What? You want me to climb up again?” she asked.
“No.”
He was looking at her…at her mouth, specifically. Posey’s stomach gave a warm squeeze. “So, let’s get going, okay?” she said, her voice a little loud in the cold night.
He nodded but didn’t move, just studied her mouth, then finally raised his eyes to hers. “Did I kiss you the other day?”
She sputtered, her face suddenly blazing with heat. Looked at the Carlisle house, the car, the tree.
“Did I?”
God, that voice. Low and smoky and such a turn-on! She cleared her throat. “Um…sort of. Yes.”
He didn’t answer. Risking a glance at his face, she saw that he was smiling. Just a little. She licked her lips. Mistake, because his gaze dropped again to her mouth as if…well…like he might…
“How was it?” Liam asked, and her knees threatened to give out.
“Um…you know. You were medicated. I’ve had better.” Her voice was breathy now. If he stepped on her foot, she might well conceive a child.
“Can I give it another shot?”
Holy Elvis Francis Aloysius Xavier Presley! “Um…”
He stepped a little closer, enough that she could feel his warmth. “Doesn’t seem fair that you remember and I don’t, that’s all,” he murmured.
“Life is often unfair.” Her voice sounded brisk, despite the wobbly knees, so at least there was that.
“Can I kiss you, Cordelia?”
Her brain barked out an admonishment…something about his track record, his current stable of interested women, his…his…his eyes were just beautiful, it should be against the law, the way he looked at her with that faint smile. If she took half a step toward him, they’d be touching.
“Okay,” she said. “Get it over with.” She jammed her hands in her pockets and waited.
Liam closed the small distance between them, and he was so warm, she could’ve melted right into him, that heat was so welcome, so wanted. His hands cupped her face, his smile fading as he studied her, and Posey’s eyes fluttered closed—yes, fluttered—she couldn’t seem to help it. Then his lips were on hers, softly, gently, and she had to clench her fists inside her pockets to keep from grabbing him by the belt buckle and throwing him to the ground right there. Oh, Elvis, it was the world’s most perfect kiss, soft and warm and so…affecting, heavens…his mouth moving gently on hers, their lips fitting together like they’d been made just to kiss each other.
Then it was over, and Posey forced open her eyes. He was looking at her, that light still in his eyes. She swallowed, rather loudly. “Not bad,” she announced. “It’s just that with all the hype, I don’t know. I guess I expected more.”
Liam burst out laughing, so surprising her that she jumped back. “I really like you,” he said.
“My life’s work is done, then,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice that she seemed to be shaking.
“So…take you to your house?” he asked, opening her car door.
“Just driving me home, big guy. Don’t get any ideas.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
Posey was somewhat surprised she could form sentences, as her brain was roaring with white noise. Her limbs were flooded with a hot buzz, and her heart clattered in her chest as Liam started the car and pulled into the street.
“You going to the parade this weekend?” Posey heard herself ask after a mile or five.
“I guess so,” he answered, turning onto South Church Road. “Does Guten Tag still go all out?”
“We sure do.”
He pulled into her small driveway, and Posey had the car door open before he came to a full stop. “Okay, see you soon,” she said, bolting.
“Uh…good night,” she heard him call.
She practically ripped the church door off its hinges, slammed it closed behind her and slumped to the floor as her wobbly legs gave out. From the great room, Shilo woofed twice before collapsing back in front of the wood-stove. Gretchen had said she’d be working late, thank goodness. Meatball gave a little squeak of welcome, and wind gusted around the steeple, the only sound other than the roaring in her ears.
Now that she was safe, the reality of that kiss sank in. If he could make her feel this much with one chaste kiss, then what—
A knock on the door made her jump. “Who is it?” Her dog, purchased for protection, gave a snuffling snore.
“It’s Liam.”
Posey scrabbled up off the floor and opened the door a few inches. “Yes?”
His expression was wry. “You forgot your purse.”
“Oh. Thanks.”He handed her the battered leather backpack. “Have a good night,” he said, turning to go.
“You, too. Um, Liam?”
He turned back, and without further thought, she’d grabbed the front of his leather jacket, yanked him inside and kissed the stuffing out of him. One hand was gripping his damp, soft hair, and the other was inside his coat already, and she felt him smile against her mouth, and thank the heavens, he was kissing her back, pushing her against the wall of the little foyer (oh, the wall!), his strong, solid arms wrapped around her tight and sure. He slid one hand down her back, pressing her against him, and his heat and strength, his mouth on hers, was un-bleeping-believable; she was panting already. He dragged his mouth off hers, then kissed her neck, and Posey’s knees buckled.
Then Liam pulled back, kissed her lightly on the mouth once more, and looked at her, his eyes narrowed. “I have to say,” he murmured, running his thumb along her lower lip, “I’m a little surprised.”
“Mmm,” she managed. His weight was the only thing holding her up.
“I wasn’t even sure you liked me.”
“Who says I do?” she managed. He grinned, and without her explicit permission, her fingers tightened their grip on his shirt.
“Do you like me enough that I can I come in and stay for a little while?” he asked, leaning against her a little more purposefully. Elvis! One lean, and she was halfway to the moon.
She didn’t answer. Waited for a reason to say no.
None came.
“Want me to go?” he whispered before kissing her jaw, trailing a finger down her throat.
“Nope,” she said, her voice calm.
“You sure?”
“Yep,” she said. Now or never, Posey. She grabbed his hand and towed him through the great room. “Shilo, you remember Liam,” she said as they passed her dog, who snuffled in response before resuming his power nap. Through the kitchen strewn with Gretchen’s detritus. Don’t let him change his mind. Don’t let him over-think this.
At the top of the stairs, Posey pushed open the door to her bedroom, then stopped abruptly, dropping Liam’s hand. Then, even though it wasn’t easy, she forced herself to really look at him.
Liam Murphy. With her. Despite aeons of adolescent yearning and a goodly amount of more recent lust, Posey had never actually believed that anything like this would really happen. That he would choose her. That he would look at her the way he was, intently, seriously.
Then he reached out and touched her lips, gently, almost reverently, and that’s what did her in.
Before he even kissed her again, she was in love.
Again.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LIAM SQUINTED AT the clock, the only thing illuminating the room: 12:13 a.m. He’d fallen asleep for a few minutes. Not that he hadn’t earned a nap, he thought with a grin. He might’ve been a little out of practice, but yeah, he could say that things hadn’t been half bad.
In fact, things had been pretty flipping fantastic.
Reaching over, he was a little surprised to find the bed was empty. After that Olympic round of sex, he’d expect her to be out cold, too. Well, there was something…a cat, apparently, because it mewed softly, then jumped down. But no human.
“Cordelia?” he said. No answer. Too bad, because he had quite the urge to kiss her again. And not only kiss her, either. He’d been right about what lay beneath all that flannel. Well worth finding. Lean, but not scrawny, everything in proportion. She was small—but in a nice way. Not underfed, just…nice. She was strong, too, and he hadn’t been afraid of hurting her or being too heavy. Her skin was surprisingly soft and sweet, and the way she smelled was like an addiction, that orangey, clean smell. And man, that mouth of hers… The girl could kiss, and when her legs had wrapped around his waist…yeah. Olympic covered it pretty well.
Liam got out of bed, groped around for his jeans and pulled them on. Maybe she was taking a shower. Maybe he’d join her in there.
The bathroom was empty. Huh. He padded down the stairs, curious. Even though Cordelia didn’t seem like the cuddling type, most women didn’t bolt after sex, did they? Back in the day, he was the one itchy to leave. Which made him kind of a prick, he knew. Using women for sex, however willingly they’d offered themselves up, was not something he was proud of. Not anymore. When he was seventeen, back in his idiot days, sure. Amazing how fatherhood changed a guy’s perspective.
One of the cats, the one with the big head, hissed at him and ran upstairs. Strange house, this old church. There was a light on in the kitchen, though Cordelia didn’t seem to be there, either. But wait. A door was slightly ajar. Ah-ha. He could hear the telltale rattle of a food wrapper. Liam opened the door, and there stood Cordelia in the pantry, turned slightly away from him and clad in her bathrobe, hair all messed up, stuffing four or five Ritz crackers into her mouth, the giant dog staring at her, drooling impressively. “Hi,” Liam said, folding his arms over his bare chest.
She jumped. “Urmph,” she said, a few crumbs flying. A blush crept up her neck. She swallowed thickly and gestured with the crackers. Her dog took this as an invitation to gently remove the roll of crackers from her hand, then stepped delicately around them both, leaving with his booty.
Cordelia swallowed thickly, then shoved her hands in the pockets of her robe, an aging blue-and-green flannel thing that reminded Liam of something worn by his alcoholic uncle. Her feet were bare. And cute. “Hi,” she said.
“I was wondering where you’d gone.”
“Oh…just a…snack. Do you want anything?”
“No, I’m good,” he answered. He stood there, looking at her. She made no attempt to leave the pantry. “You gonna stay in here all night?”
“Nope.” Still blushing, she brushed past him—there was that nice smell of oranges again—and sat at the kitchen table. He joined her.
She was uncomfortable, that was clear. And man, she was cute. Those big brown orphan eyes, that little chin. She definitely looked like an elf, though Liam knew that most women wouldn’t cherish the comparison. Her gaze made it about as far as his throat, then went back to his bare chest, then to his arms. She swallowed again, then looked at the sugar bowl.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Sure. Of course. What could be wrong?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t the one hiding in the pantry.”
“I wasn’t hiding. I just didn’t, um…want to wake you up.”
“Thoughtful of you.”
“My cousin will be home soon,” she said, eyes on the sugar bowl.
“Want me to leave?”
“Oh! Um…well, you can if you want.”
She still couldn’t seem to meet his eyes. He suppressed a sigh. Why didn’t women come with a user’s manual? She’d practically mauled him in her front hall and now wouldn’t even look at him. “Cordelia, I thought that was a lot of fun. Was I wrong?”
“Nope. It was fun. Very fun. Thank you.” The blush flared again. She bit her lip—he wished she wouldn’t, because frankly, he’d like to. He’d like to tug her up by the belt of that ratty robe, push it open and lift her onto the table and—
“Are you thinking about Emma?” she said, and Liam was so surprised that his head jerked back. “I mean, you must be. It’s natural. It’s fine. You loved her, she was your wife. I understand. It’s all good.”
Emma. Right.
“It’s just…you know. You and Emma were together a long time. And, um, you must be thinking about her. About Emma.” She finally met his eyes. “Are you?”