Sam went back to work after a few weeks. And he started dating the nurse from the ER once he got back on his feet.
My mother came by when she returned from visiting my sister. Her main concern seemed to be that my scars wouldn’t be healed by Lisa’s wedding. Oh, and she gave me a bill from Total Plant Replacements, since all the inconsiderate traitors in her apartment died due to my abject neglect…even though said neglect happened while I was recuperating from a near-fatal attack.
Other than going to the grocery store in the wee hours of the morning—in the new, champagne-pink-colored Mercedes CLK convertible I leased—I laid low until my lip was back to semi-normal and I’d found a way to hide the re-growth where my hair had been shaved.
Patrick made the mistake of dropping by when Jane, who worked out religiously, was on duty. She was quite specific about which orifice he should shove his flowers up and gave him ten seconds to go away or she’d be the one doing the shoving.
Jane visited and made sure I kept current on my scheduled payments to Harold so the remodel stayed on track.
Tony sent flowers and a card. Or more accurately, his secretary arranged for the flowers. I knew this because the card was typed and I recognized the arrangement. It was the classic Dane, Lieberman employee floral spray. Tulips and daisies in a brightly colored vase. I’d probably sent a hundred of them in my years at the firm. I should have been grateful that they acknowledged my ordeal, but a small part of me was a little disappointed that Tony didn’t drop by. Not that I wanted him to see me at my worst; it just meant that I’d misread the signals and he wasn’t interested in me after all.
The most notably absent person was Liam. Not a call, not a card, not a peep. Guess he wasn’t that into me either.
Tonight everything would change. Becky and Liv were taking me out to dinner to celebrate my return to visually normal. Jane was going to try to make it as soon as she finished a couldn’t-get-out-of meeting.
In addition to the car, I’d splurged on a pale pink, sleeveless, BCBG dress, with a ruffled collar and the most adorable pair of Zanotti heeled sandals accented with light pink crystals—to-me-from-me gifts for passing my online continuing ed course with the highest final grade in the class.
Because the ruffle was such a focal point, I slipped on a pair of gold hoops and added some bangles to each wrist. Deep fuchsia lipstick obliterated the scar, and two discreet hairpins ensured that the scars on my head were concealed.
I couldn’t do anything but apply bronzer to the scar on my arm, but I was thrilled to see that the one above my knee was so faint that it was impossible to see.
When Becky came to the door promptly at seven on Saturday night, I was ready, except for switching purses to the oversized leather clutch I’d scored on an eBay auction.
“Ready to rejoin society?” Becky asked.
“I am. You look great,” I said as I locked my apartment door behind us. In theory, I had another week until I moved into the beach house, but on a stealthy nighttime visit two weeks ago, I didn’t see how that could happen. I’d worry about that next week. “New skirt?” I asked.
It was silk and in her signature shade of rust, with a leg-baring slit on one side. She paired it with a simple cream shell and lots of big, clunky, amber jewelry. I offered to drive. Wanted to, actually; it was a lot of fun to sit behind the wheel of the two-seater Mercedes, but Becky insisted that we take her environmentally friendly hybrid. That made her the designated driver, which was actually a plus for me.
“Marks?” I asked. The City Place restaurant was a spot we reserved for very special occasions.
“Nope. We found a new place.”
“Where?”
“Chill. It’s a surprise.”
When she headed east on Okeechobee, I figured we were going whole hog and dining at one of the restaurants at The Breakers. But then she passed The Breakers and sped to Chilian Avenue.
“Oh. My. God,” was all I could manage when I saw my house. Even before I got to the front door, I saw window treatments.
Liv greeted me with a big smile and a glass of champagne. “Welcome to Chez Tanner.”
My jaw dropped. Sam, Liv, and Jane—the cagey liar—were inside, along with every stick of furniture. Every piece of art was hung. Every window was dressed. Fresh flowers adorned the table, and candles floated in the pool. Something wonderful was in the oven, filling the kitchen with the scents of thyme and lemon. The dining room table was set for six, and I was honestly stunned speechless by the transformation.
I went from room to room, oohhhing and ahhhing. It was perfect. I ran to Sam and gave him a big hug. “When did you do all this?”
“I am a limitless well of talent.”
“You are,” I agreed. “You shouldn’t have been working so hard,” I said as I gently ran my fingertip over his fading scar.
“I had help,” he said.
I turned to my friends and smiled. They all shook their heads. Becky said, “Not us.”
As if choreographed, the doorbell chimed. I liked it. It sounded expensive. I assumed it was Sam’s new boyfriend.
I assumed wrong. Liam walked in, carrying a cake box. After the long absence, I felt as though I was being introduced to his handsome face for the first time. It was a special moment.
“Sorry I’m late. I had a thing.”
Thing? Moment over.
“BECKY COULD HAVE DRIVEN me home,” I said as I sat in the passenger’s seat of Liam’s Mustang, raising my voice to be heard over the rattle coming from some loose part. “My apartment is completely out of your way.”
Even though it was dark, the dashboard provided enough illumination for me to see the sexy half smile and amused lines on his profile. “It’s not a thing.”
“Everything with you is a thing,” I said as I nervously twisted my bracelets.
“Try, ‘Thank you, Liam, I appreciate the ride home.’”
I sighed. “Thank you for the ride home. And thank you for having my dress cleaned and sent to my apartment.”
“You already thanked me. You sent me a card. The scented pink envelope was a first for me.”
“Mocking my stationery? Fine. Next time I’ll scribble something on a napkin.”
He laughed, which only seemed to pour fuel on the conflicting emotions smoldering in my stomach. I twisted my bracelets harder and faster, relaxing only when he reached the parking lot in front of my apartment.
I tugged on the antiquated handle and stepped clear of the sputtering, I-don’t-want-to-die engine, but not before it belched a big cloud of pungent blue smoke.
“You don’t need to walk me to the door,” I said, feeling the heat of his presence behind me as I nervously fumbled with the key.
Liam reached over my shoulder, gently covered my hand, and easily guided the key into the slot.
The door swung open, but I didn’t move. My pulse quickened, and I could only manage small, uneven breaths. His body was against mine. I could smell him, feel him, and knew that all I had to do was turn around and all these months of wanting and wondering would finally end.
The better angels in my brain tried to shout down the needy demons urging me to go for it. As the seconds passed and I heard and felt his ragged breathing, I knew the demons had won.
Turning my hand in Liam’s palm, I laced my fingers with his and wordlessly pulled him inside. The door closed and he turned me in his arms. “This is a lot better than the last time I had you in my arms.”
“That was months ago,” I said, sure he could feel my heart pounding in my chest.
He pulled back slightly and eyed me suspiciously. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
“Forget it,” he said as his head dipped toward mine.
I raised my hand and placed a finger against his warm, slightly parted lips. “Tell me.”
He shrugged and smiled. Not his normal smile, but an almost bashful one that really pushed me off balance. “It’s nothing.”
“No,
it isn’t. As soon as you tell me, we can get back to the kissing part.”
Bashful melted into sly and sexy in the blink of an eye. “The last time you were in my arms was after Jill tossed you into the ocean.”
The blinking of my eyes became literal instead of figurative. “I thought Fire and Rescue…”
He was shaking his head. “I heard about the shooting at your apartment and raced over. Sam’s pulse was strong, and he tried to tell me something about a woman before he passed out.”
“You left him there?”
“I called an ambulance. I found your list in the bedroom printer and called the cops, thinking Melinda had you. But she’d already been found dead, so I had the Palm Beach police run up to the Gilmore mansion. No one home but the help.”
“You went to a lot of trouble.”
He ran his finger along my chin. “You were in a lot of trouble.”
“How did you get from the mansion to the marina? What clued you in?”
“Some guy loading bait onto his boat called the cops to report seeing a woman drag another woman onto the Checkout. I heard that on the scanner and figured Gilmore Supermarkets and a boat named Checkout had to be a connection.”
“You came for me,” I said, almost teary.
“Right, so can we get back to the kissing part now?”
I reached around his neck and practically dragged his mouth to mine. He kissed me hungrily.
I was kind of aware that my back was against the wall. I was totally aware that his tongue was toying with the seam of my lips and his hands bracketed my waist. Even with heels, I pressed up on my toes, wanting, no, needing to feel every inch of him.
His thumbs were making dizzying little circles against my rib cage. Moving higher and higher until his palm tested the weight of my breast.
I moaned against his mouth and slipped my fingers between us, searching for a belt, buttons, anything that would start the process of separating him from his clothes.
His mouth moved from my lips. My skin felt flushed as the sense of urgency kept building and building, turning my insides into something molten and dangerous. I found the bottom button of his shirt and twisted it free. My hand snaked higher, over silky hair and cement-hard muscle.
Our eyes met for a minute, then he reached up, flicked open my earring, and tossed it to the ground. Using his teeth, he drew my lobe into his mouth while his hot breath tickled my ear. His hand wandered off my breast to the front of my dress. He made quick work of the closure and stepped back as he pushed the edges apart.
His gaze scorched my skin before he dipped his head and planted a thousand little kisses just above the lacey edge of my bra.
“No fair,” I said, my trembling fingers unable to manage the buttons.
“Very fair,” he said, running the tip of his tongue through the valley between my breasts. “If I let you touch me, this won’t last very long.”
“It doesn’t have to,” I insisted, grabbing his waistband and letting my fingers slip inside.
“Yeah, it does,” he countered.
My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might rupture. Pounding, pounding…no, knocking.
Somewhere, my sex-fogged brain connected enough neurons to realize someone was knocking at my door. Tugging my dress closed, I nuzzled his neck and whispered, “It’s probably my neighbor, Mrs. Hemshaw. I can get rid of her in a half second.”
Liam closed his eyes, and his head fell back as he raised his hands so I could duck under his arm. I quickly redid some of my buttons and called, “Just a minute.” Liam grabbed me around the waist and nuzzled and nibbled my neck. “I can’t button buttons when you do that.”
“I know.”
Pushing his head away from me, I went to the door and opened it. “Sorry, I-Patrick!”
His smile ebbed when he saw my disheveled appearance. It completely disappeared when he looked past me and saw Liam.
“What are you doing here?” I snapped.
“Don’t be mad,” he said, returning his gaze to me. “I left my wife.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, genuinely meaning it. “But that doesn’t change anything.”
“I know,” he agreed as he pushed his blond hair off his forehead. “I was hoping this would.”
His arm came out from behind his back. I recognized the gold crown on the red square box. Rolex. Quickly, because he surely knew he had my full attention, he flipped open the top. Nestled inside was the watch of my dreams: the Ladies’ Datejust with the pink oyster face surrounded by diamonds.
I swallowed both my shock and the urge to reach out and touch it.
“Patrick,” I stammered.
“Take it, Fin. We both know it’s the one thing you want most in the world. I want you to have it. I want you to have everything. And I want to be the man who gives it to you. Tell him to leave.”
I was distracted counting the diamonds that circled the watch face. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I said, “Who? Liam? No!”
“Liam, yes,” Liam mocked as he brushed past me.
I practically shoved Patrick to the ground to follow Liam. God, if he fell I hoped he didn’t scratch the crystal.
“Wait!” I called as Liam reached the Mustang.
He had the door open and was standing behind it, using it like a shield. I expected him to be angry, scowling, irritated, frustrated, possibly even hurt. I did not expect the calm, reasonable smile. “What?” he asked.
“I don’t want you to leave.”
“Irrelevant.”
“It is my call. Patrick is my past. You saved my life.”
“And I helped Harold finish your house on time and under budget.”
I had a death grip on the door. “Thank you for that. For everything. Please, please don’t leave like this. I want you to stay.”
He leaned back as he slipped behind the wheel. “I want that too.”
I threw my hands up. “Then get out of the car.”
He hooked his thumb in Patrick’s direction. “Seems like you and that guy have some unfinished business. I would be one selfish bastard to come between you and the thing you want most in the world.”
Mustering all my nerve and choking on all my pride, I said, “No. I want you.”
“It’s good to want things,” he replied, his palm reaching up and cupping my cheek. “Don’t get all flustered. After all, I saved your life. I think that means you have to grant me three wishes.”
“Staying is not one of your wishes?”
“It’s all of my wishes,” he said matter-of-factly as he started the engine. “And I’ll be collecting soon.”
I watched him drive off, crushing my libido under his balding tires. “Not if I collect first!”
acknowledgments
THANKS SO MUCH TO Maggie Crawford—a great editor I’ve learned volumes from already. Donna Bagdasarian and Maria Carvainis, great agents who remind me to be positive and for working so tirelessly on my behalf. And for Mo Bishop, Shirley Leonard, and all the folks at Mo’s Danceworks who keep my daughter occupied so I can write.
3 Fat Chance Page 27
