He looked resigned. “I’ll set up an office for you,” he said. “I’d give you the spare room, but if you want a phone line, it’ll have to be in the living room. I’ll go get the stuff from your car.”

When he’d hauled in and set up all of her office equipment at the desk, he kissed her. “I’ll try to stay out of your way,” he said. “If I can.”

She tried not to smile. “Don’t freak if I turn my cell on, okay? I need to charge it up and check my messages.”

“Be my guest,” he said magnanimously. “I’ll be in my workshop.”

Her voice mail was loaded with petulant messages from Peter and Enid, so Peter was her first call.

“It’s about damn time!” Peter scolded, the second he picked up. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for twelve hours!”

“Horrors,” Nancy said mildly. “What’s up?”

“There’s no reason to be snotty.” Peter sounded hurt. “Enid and I did the opening act at the Bottom Line last night for Brigid McKeon and the Beltane Beldames, remember?”

“Of course. I sweated for months to get you that gig.”

“I figured you’d forgotten, since you didn’t bother to come. Well, get this. Brigid liked Enid’s voice so much, she wants her to go on tour with the Beldames!”

“Wow,” Nancy said. “That’s great. Did you tell her to call me?”

“Of course, but you’ve been unreachable, so I expect you’ve missed her call. So, what now? It’s not like Enid can say no at this point in her career to Brigid McKeon!”

“True. She shouldn’t,” Nancy said.

“But she can’t throw away her solo career to be a Beldame, either! Enid belongs in front of the band, not singing backup!”

She lost the thread when she glimpsed Liam in the doorway, listening. He moved around behind her, out of her field of vision.

“Relax, Peter,” she soothed. “I’ll talk to Brigid’s manager and get the dates, and see if I can switch Enid’s concert schedule, or maybe agree to just one tour, and use it as a selling point for her own tour.”

She squeaked, startled, as Liam’s arms slid around her, cupping her breasts. He started to kiss her neck, and she batted his head away.

“You’re up there with some guy, aren’t you?” Peter said suddenly. “The graphics are overdue for my album, it’s a week until FolkWorld Conference, it’s a critical moment in my and Enid’s careers, and all you can think of is your hormones? We’re talking serious money, here!”

“Speaking of money, remember when I advanced you the registration fees for the FolkWorld Conference?”

“But we still haven’t gotten paid for those five gigs upstate!”

She wiggled madly as his hand slid down her belly and into the waistband of her jeans. “Meanwhile, my credit cards are maxed, and you haven’t reimbursed me for the last two mailings.”

“I can’t believe you’re bugging me when we’ve got this huge decision to make. I don’t want to talk to you again until you’re ready to act professional,” he snapped, and hung up on her.

Nancy let the phone drop. “Damn. Now he’s furious.”

“Good.” Liam’s hand delved deeper. “Heard the name Peter,” he murmured. “Couldn’t help myself. Let him stew in his own juices.”

“Easy for you to say!” she snapped.

“What have you got to lose?” he demanded. “The cheap bastard doesn’t even pay you what he owes you, right?”

“Butt out of things that don’t concern you, Liam,” she said tartly. “I appreciate all your help, but please do not interrupt any more of my business calls with inappropriate sexual advances.”

“Inappropriate?” He grinned. “I’ll show you inappropriate.”

“Not today, you won’t.” She stuck out her chin.

“Later, then,” he said.

Nancy swallowed, riveted by the hot promise in his eyes. “Later.”

The day raced by. She spent most of it on the phone rearranging concert dates and dealing with Brigid McKeon’s agency. Liam was unobtrusive, but she was intensely aware of his presence, sneaking hungry glances at the unconscious grace and power of his every movement. More than once he caught her peeking, and his grin made her heart twist joyfully.

Daylight faded. She printed up labels for the next mailing of the new Mandrake promo brochure, exited out of her database, and closed the computer. She hesitated for a moment and turned off her cell. It was the professional kiss of death, but right now, she could give a flying flip. She went to the door that led to his workshop, which was dominated by a large and beautiful dining room table. He’d left the door open.

He was bending over a workbench, sanding some piece too small for her to identify. He looked up, though she was barefoot and had tried to make no sound, and put the piece down.

“You done for the night?” he asked.

She nodded. “Just shut down the computer.”

He held out his arms. “So you’re all mine?”

She wrapped her arms around him and breathed deeply of the fresh smell of wind and rain and fresh-cut wood that clung to him. “All yours,” she promised rashly. “I even turned off the phone.”

Silent laughter vibrated his big frame. “Wow. That’s huge, Nancy.”

“It is, it really is,” she agreed. “Shall we think about dinner?”

“In a bit,” he said. “First, there’s something that I want to try out with you. I’ve been thinking about it all day. And before, too.”

She kissed the triangle of skin at the V of his shirt. “What’s that?”

Without warning, her jeans slipped down around her hips and around her knees. He’d sneakily unbuttoned them. Her panties soon followed, and she stepped out of them, giggling. “Liam—”

“Let me just put you right…here,” he said, hoisting her naked bottom up onto the edge of the table he was making. The varnished surface was cool and smooth against her naked buttocks.

She smothered more giggles, gasping as he pushed her thighs apart. “Um, what exactly do you have in mind?” she asked, breathless.

He sank down onto his knees. “Let me show you.”

The week that followed was strange and wonderful, a seesaw of emotional extremes. Her days were spent in the makeshift office in Liam’s living room, working, or trying to. She vacillated from wiggling her toes with manic joy and laughing out loud for no reason to worrying obsessively about her sisters, or stressing about the stairwell thugs. And missing Lucia, so sharply she could taste it. Grief left a hard lump in her throat that only Liam’s embrace could ease.

It comforted her, somehow, that Lucia had handpicked him for her. Like a benediction from beyond. Her sisters approved of him, too. One night, Vivi and Nell had driven up in Vivi’s van from the city to have dinner. Liam had impressed the hell out of them with leg of lamb, new potatoes with herbs, and a good red wine. Gooey chocolate profiterole had clinched the deal. They were blatantly rooting for him. Which was great, but it ratcheted the pressure up even higher.

Nancy and Liam ate all their meals together, and feasting on Liam’s abundant home-cooked food was having its inevitable effect. After only a few days, her jeans were noticeably tighter, to her chagrin and Liam’s unqualified approval. She’d brought an espresso pot, a bean grinder, and a sizable stash of coffee beans to his house, and with that small but crucial detail taken care of, she was in hog heaven.

On evenings when it didn’t rain, they wrapped themselves in a fluffy afghan and sat together on the porch swing, listening to birds, crickets, frogs, wind chimes. Talking about anything and everything, or sitting in a companionable silence. A fearful little voice whispered cynically to enjoy it while it lasted. And goddammit, she would.

Liam was still carrying the gun around, but after over a week had passed with no attacks upon her person, the immediacy of the threat had eased. Nancy was almost ready to broach the subject they were so carefully avoiding. Which was, what came next.

She couldn’t stay up here cloistered in his bed forever. And in any case, the time he’d taken off to work on Lucia’s house was coming to an end. He had other jobs scheduled after it. The real world beckoned.