“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.

Sunshine blazed through the open window, lighting up a bright rectangle on the rug. Liam slowly, deliberately went and stood in the middle of that patch of sunlight. An aggressive, wide-legged stance.

So, then. No banter, no chitchat, no lead-in. He was still pissed, but he wanted his blow job anyway. Well, fine. That felt weird, but she was getting comfortable with weirdness in these strange days.

Now all she had to do was act like a femme fatale. It couldn’t be that hard. She’d seen it done in films. But her breath was coming fast, her palms were damp, her knees were jittery. Her thighs kept squeezing around a melting pulse of aching heat at the idea of taking him into her mouth.

A slow, deliberate striptease would be the thing, but she was dressed wrong. She needed more pieces, more complicated lingerie, snaps and straps and ribbons and laces. As it was, she could only let her purse drop to the floor and peel off her sweater with slow, sexy deliberation. She walked toward him until the patch of sunlight illuminated her body below the neck. The chilly breeze from outside tightened her nipples to puckered little brown nubs.

She twitched her braid over her shoulder, pulled out the elastic, and unraveled the braid. Her hair stuck to her damp hands and flew up all around her face, electric and wild, floating around her like Medusa’s locks.

The jeans came next, the appallingly plain white cotton panties, and there she was. Stark naked but for her dangling garnet earrings and Lucia’s sapphire pendant. He stared, eyes burning. Not a word.

“Do you, ah, want to sit down?” she asked, timidly.

He shook his head.

Nancy drew in a deep breath and reached for his belt. It took forever to get the thing undone, but he did not help. His hands were clenched into big fists held rigidly at his sides. The emotion in his face vibrated around him. She felt its pressure against her skin.