by Jody Wallace
For three years, he’d run tame in Gram’s house. Gotten himself invited to family gatherings—whole rooms full of humans genetically predispositioned to recognize him. He’d been in the same room when Gram had told her leprechaun story, told her ancestors’ leprechaun stories, and he’d agreed with everyone it was a wonderful fairy tale but also total bunk.
There was always a chance. Finders knew the legends, the signs. They were more likely to believe in magic than other humans, even in this day and age. And he’d been up in their business for three years without a glimmer of trouble.
Liam could do nothing more to hide his heritage from Robair Faolin. Fleeing to a different síth ring was even more dangerous than staying here—and possibly the exact thing Robair was counting on him to do.
But if there was any way he could enhance his disguise over the next two weeks, he’d do it. Failure wasn’t an option. Too much depended on him making it home fast, first and unfound.
Chapter Two
Sal couldn’t hear Liam’s closeted conversation, just his deep, muffled voice and an occasional bout of cursing.Probably something about a woman. With Liam, it always seemed to be something about a woman—a woman who wasn’t her.
His computer was barely affected. The virus was such a minor threat, she was surprised he’d noticed. She deleted the offending files and chased down the blips in the registry. While she waited for the computer to reboot, she feathered her palm across her chest and relived the sensation of Liam’s breath on her cleavage.
They’d been friends since day one, but they’d never been more than friends. There’d never been a hint he was interested in the girl next door, not with the tall, glamorous women he normally hooked up with.
Sal didn’t let it stop her from living her own life. She dated. She had other friends. She just had a little crush on him because he was so sexy. And he made her laugh. And his eyes lit up when she made him laugh. And he sought her out even when he was dating some bimbo. And he came to all their family gatherings, paired off with her as if he and she were a couple.
Stupid man.
Liam exited the closet dressed in a button-up shirt and snug jeans. She’d seen his reflection in the computer screen when he’d had on that damp towel, and she’d been afraid to turn around. The man was delicious with a capital D, and he knew it.
His shirt was unbuttoned. To make up for denying herself the towel, she swiveled her chair and inspected his muscular chest and abdomen as he sorted through his sock drawer. The towel he’d been wearing was lumped near the door.
When he glanced her way, she feigned disgust with his slovenly housekeeping, his porn habit, his good looks, his silly shoe fetish and, well, everything about him.
“What?” he asked.
“Your computer is a mess,” she lied. She tugged off her hat and pretended to wipe her brow. Sitting on her butt was such hard work. “It’s going to take me a while to finish. Is that going to ruin your hot date?”
The longer she stuck around, the more likely he was to order a pizza, pop in a movie and ask her to stay. Then they’d pop in another movie, a bad one, and make fun of it together. It was one of their things.
“I don’t have a date. Take all the time you need.” He paused and stared at her with his eyebrows raised, as if she’d just done something shocking. “Have I mentioned how flattering your shirt is?”
“Thanks.” Self-consciously, she crossed her arms, crunching the hat still in her hand against her ribcage. Gram had talked her into buying the shirt. And wearing it. It plunged to the closure of her bra and fit like a glove—a winter glove, granted, but tighter than her normal blouses.
“Let me ask you a question.” He perched on the edge of the desk, his long legs crossed at the ankles. His gaze lingered on her chest before focusing on her face. “If you had a week before you got shipped off, I don’t know, to war or something, what would you do?”
Sal rolled backwards so she didn’t have to break her neck looking up at him. She wasn’t sure if she could handle his scrutiny of her feminine assets. This wasn’t some guy. It was Liam. She felt breathless and anxious.
She also felt her nipples harden. Good thing she was hiding them with crossed arms.
“Did you join the army?” She hoped she sounded unaffected. “I thought they had a cutoff age.”
“Maybe I asked the wrong question.” He fingered his chin, something he did when he was deep in thought. “Is there anything you’d regret if you didn’t do it?”
“I want to see Niagara Falls.”
Liam shook his head. “Other types of things. The kinds of things you’re too chicken to do, not too cheap to do.”
“I’m not cheap, I’m frugal.” Liam was goading her, but knowing that didn’t keep her from feeling goaded.
Unexpectedly, he grabbed the arms of the office chair and rolled it into the bed. When she tried to get up, he blocked her with his body. Even more unexpectedly, he brushed aside a strand of hair that had fallen onto her face.
This close, his eyes weren’t pure brown. They were almost hazel and twinkled like holiday lights. His contacts fluttered at the edges of his irises. “How long have we known each other, Sal?”
“Two years, eight months and… Give or take a year. A while.” She tore her gaze away from his, blushing furiously.
She’d moved in with Gram when the feisty old lady had broken her hip while salsa dancing. Liam had arrived not a month later. Though she could afford it, Sal hadn’t gotten around to buying her own house, and it had absolutely nothing to do with Liam. Nothing at all.
“I just realized something.” Liam shifted, bringing himself even closer. “I’d regret it if I never asked you out.”
“We go all sorts of places.” Her heart lurched. Good Lord, he was leaning in. He was about to kiss her. Where had this come from, the closet?
Oh, yes. Oh, yes, yes, yes! She parted her lips and angled her face toward him, closer, closer…
But he didn’t kiss her. He straightened and put his hands on his hips. “Can you believe it’s taken me this long to ask you out?”
“No…no…I mean, what?” She huddled in the chair and clutched her hat. Her heart pounded madly. Had he noticed her trying to lay one on him?
“We should go on a date. Tonight. Forget the damn computer. I’ll make reservations at the…at the Matador.”
“A real date?” To match her heart, her stomach lurched. Was this really happening? The shirt was magic. And she’d just thought it was kind of slutty.
“Hell, yes, a real date.” For a man who’d been beguiled by a slutty shirt, Liam seemed full of a different kind of energy. He paced to the bay window that overlooked his front yard and ran his hand through his hair. “It’s the perfect plan. You and me, together. Salvia Rose Winter, granddaughter of Dorothy Ann Winter. Maybe we could even invite Gram.”
Sal’s heart clunked back to normal. “Gram’s busy tonight,” she said sourly.
“You’re right. That would be overdoing it. We’ll do better on our own. Seven. No, seven-thirty. I am a genius.”
Was he even talking to her? She watched him stride out of the room, still babbling about this date, the muscles in his tight rear and thighs bunching.
What was wrong with this picture? Well, nothing was wrong with his butt, but there was definitely something afoot in his attitude.
She might have on a titty shirt, but the last time she’d hung out with Liam, she’d mocked him for visiting a site that claimed to have naked photos of some actress. The site, of course, had trashed his PC. He’d laughed, tossed her a bottled water, and picked up the phone to argue with his most recent ex.
She’d fixed his computer, all right, and loaded net-nanny software on it set to “child” so he wouldn’t infect himself with yet another virus. When he’d realized the Internet hadn’t deleted all its porn sites—that she’d turned his PC into a PG—he’d phoned her at her office and cussed her out.
No, aside from the shirt, she hadn’t done
anything recently to make her secret dream come true—to have Liam notice her. Really notice her. Despite her efforts, which, granted, weren’t drastic, their relationship had never budged out of the sibling category.
Which was for the best. Liam had a terrible track record, and this way she got to keep him as long as she wanted.
So why had he asked her out? Was the shirt that sexy? Had three years of her winning personality finally sunk in? Or was it something else?
Maybe she shouldn’t go.
Who was she kidding? Of course she was going. If nothing else, the man owed her a steak and lobster dinner for all the free computer service.
Chapter Three
“I’ll be home around midnight, Gram.” Sal waved to her grandmother and allowed Liam to take her arm. She needed the support.“Don’t you worry about me, baby girl.” Gram rubbed her left arm absently. Her arthritis was flaring in the onset of cooler weather. “Stay out all night. I know what you young people like. Plus, I know where he lives.”
Sal clenched her teeth. Liam led her to the cab waiting at the sidewalk.
“Breakfast’s at nine sharp,” Gram said as she waved. “Have a good time, and make sure you do everything I’d wanna do.”
“Jeez, Gram, then I’d break my hip,” Sal called over her shoulder. Despite her nonchalant words, a blush suffused her cheeks when her so-called date gave a low chuckle.
“You look amazing. I like the Manolo Blahniks you’re finally wearing.” Liam opened the door of the taxi and she climbed into the back.
“Uh, thanks.” Sal reinspected her knee-length black skirt, green blouse, black angora cardigan and the strappy black sandals Liam had given her for Christmas last year. Did something in this outfit say amazing to her? No, it said clean and less than five years old. She hadn’t worried…much…about getting dressed. She was positive this was some kind of joke. Or bribe. Anything besides a date, no matter what her grandmother said.
“And you smell…” Liam slid into the seat beside her and inhaled, disturbingly close to her neck.
“I smell?” Sal quirked her eyebrow.
“You smell like roses. I love roses.”
“You do?” She didn’t think that was true. He brought Gram violets on pot roast night. Of course, Gram had a garden full of roses, so why would she need cut ones from the store?
“Love ’em.” He arranged his blazer on the seat beside him.
“You look all right yourself. Nice Blackio Wingtipios.” She sniffed him, loudly. She was determined not to lose their usual rapport just because he’d put her on edge with all this date talk. “You smell okay too.”
“My new Mephistos have a toe medallion and punch-out trim. Very old-style, new-style.” He angled his foot so she could appreciate his shoe in all its shiny wingtip glory.
And he did look good—grey slacks, crisp white shirt unbuttoned enough that she could see a slice of tan chest. No tie. Big, seductive smile.
Sneaky expression.
“Matador,” he said to the cab driver. He leaned back against the seat and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Take your time. The lady and I are in no hurry.”
Sal resisted the urge to smack his arm away because, hey, it felt nice there. His long fingers cupped her shoulder.
“What’s with the cab?” she asked.
“My car’s in the shop.” He shrugged. “That’s what I get for buying a Cadillac with computerized everything. You know my luck with computers.”
“Why didn’t you say something? I could have driven.” Sal’s Toyota never broke down, but then, her computer didn’t, either. It helped when you didn’t delete your antivirus software or visit porn sites.
“What if we want to drink? I thought we could relax and enjoy being chauffeured.”
They rode in silence for several miles while Sal tried not to squirm. Aside from the fact Liam had his arm around her, he wasn’t paying attention to her. There was nothing lover-like in his demeanor.
The Matador was a place for lovers—the most expensive restaurant in town. In several surrounding towns. You had to get reservations. Liam’s dates often cooked dinner at their condos, or so she gathered. She happened to know, from the many times he’d eaten with her and Gram, he preferred home cooking.
Liam was pulling out all the stops. For what, she had no idea. She’d only been to the Matador for Gram’s seventy-fifth birthday party—which he’d thrown. He’d invited the whole gang. Her parents had even flown in from whatever European country they’d been touring, though they rarely visited Stevens Point.
“So tell me, where have you been all my life?” Liam murmured. His gaze was trained on the cab’s rearview mirror.
Sal made a rude noise. “Quit being such a dork.”
Liam blinked. “What?”
“You know exactly where I’ve been, Liam Connell. Next door, when I wasn’t in your house, fixing your stupid computer.”
Liam tugged a lock of her blonde hair, which bounced on her shoulders, clean and curly. “My little technowhiz. Beauty and brains.”
She considered her hair one of her best features, second only to her refusal to put up with crap. “Yeah, about that. We need to talk.”
“We’ve got all night. I specifically heard Gram say breakfast was at nine a.m.” He glanced over his shoulder, as if checking to see if they were being followed.
By whom, her grandmother?
“I want to know why we’re really going to the Matador. On this…date.” She paused before she said “date” so he’d be sure to note her skepticism.
Liam tore himself away from the window and his brown eyes bored into hers. So close. He smelled of fresh soap and woodsy aftershave. A lock of his dark auburn hair fell across his forehead in a rakish strand. Her breath hitched like it had today when he’d leaned over her shoulder and whispered sweet nothings to her boobs.
His gaze dropped to her lips. “If you have to ask that, after all these years, you’re not as smart as I thought.”
She would like to believe him, but why now? Nothing had changed. It was like she’d scripted the evening straight out of her puerile fantasies, except for the sneakiness he kept exhibiting. Like he expected to see something. Somebody.
Hit the pause button! The last time she’d debugged his computer, he’d had that painful phone call with Kristiana, otherwise known as the Stork—by Sal. She’d wanted to stuff wax in her ears like Odysseus’s rowers to blot out the quarrel. She hated it when Liam was single almost as much as when he was with someone, because she wondered if this time he’d see the light and realize he was deeply in love with her. Or at least ask her out.
This time, she guessed he had. And she didn’t trust it.
“I’m smart enough to know when something’s not right,” she said. Her conclusion made sense. He wanted to shake a stalker ex. Enlisting Sal as his newest flavor was part of the plan.
Why couldn’t he let Sal in on it? Why trick her too? It’s not like she would refuse to cooperate if he said please.
Before she could confirm her suspicions, he continued. “I want to apologize for yelling at you last week.” He gripped her shoulder gently. “You didn’t deserve to be called a managing shrew because you turned my computer into the Disney Channel. No, let me finish.” He placed a finger over her lips. “I’ve been thinking, Sal, about how you’re always there for me and how much we enjoy each other’s company. I saw you today and wondered why I’d never asked you out. Rick was a fool to have dumped you.”
“He didn’t dump me, I dumped him.” Her lips brushed his finger, and a smile twitched the corner of his mouth.
“Of course.”
“You asked me to go to the Server because you want to ditch the Stork, didn’t you?”
“Kristiana and I broke up some time ago.” He rubbed his finger slowly back and forth across her lips, and she drew back.
They hadn’t sounded broken up during that phone call, but Liam wasn’t a liar, or he hadn’t been a liar prior to tonight. “Is there
a new chick who’s going to be there? Am I supposed to act like your girlfriend to throw her off?”
“You don’t think I could possibly have asked you out because I like you? Because I thought you might like to go to the Matador with me? Because you’re a lot prettier than any IT professional has a right to be?” He cupped her face, his thumb tracing her cheekbone.
Liam was touchy-feely, but not with her. The unaccustomed contact was a huge distraction. “Friends don’t hook up after a billion years of living in the neutral zone.”
“Why wouldn’t friends make the best lovers?” His breath whispered across her hair, and a rush of desire yanked at her. “Besides, I don’t need help breaking up with women. I—”
“Since when do you not need help?” she interrupted. “You spent a month hiding at Gram’s after the last stalker.”
Liam, with his smooth good looks and amiable charm, with his astounding knowledge of footwear, had had his share of semi-stalkers. Sal almost sympathized. You had to value a man who understood the importance of the perfect pair of shoes.
“The women I’ve dated before now don’t mean anything,” he said. “I do think you’re pretty. I want to take you out and get to know you better.”
“How much better can you know me?”
He grinned. “I’ve never seen you naked. And I’ve never—”
“Shut up, you perv.” Sal crossed her legs to inhibit the desire pooling between them. “Why don’t you just confess? You’ve got yourself a shadow, and you’re too embarrassed to admit it. I told you to be honest with these women and not give them the friends line, didn’t I?”
“You tell me a lot of things.” He put his hand on her knee.
“You told Kristiana it was you, not her, and that you wanted to be friends, didn’t you?”
