“Great. I’m a little hungry. All that dancing earlier has worked up quite an appetite.”
Sam’s eyes took in every aspect of the town’s local eatery. There were a few people dotted around the place, mostly women and kids. The tension, always present when he entered a new place for the first time, left his back and shoulders as he ascertained that there were no immediate threats present. He rolled his neck in an attempt to loosen up even more. All eyes were on them, and he knew the exact moment when that registered with Lia and she started to doubt her decision to bring him here.
He went straight to a round table dead center in the place and politely drew back the chair and ushered her into it. He made a deliberate show of it, knowing that the last thing she wanted was to draw any kind of attention.
“So where to after this?” Sam asked after they were both seated. Lia couldn’t seem to meet his eyes, which annoyed him a little. He remembered her being equally evasive when he first met her—of course, back then he’d considered it a challenge. But while he enjoyed a challenge, he didn’t enjoy the tedium of going through the same motions over again. He wanted to get all the boring shit out of the way and move straight back into bed with her. He didn’t doubt for a moment that he’d be able to convince her to pick up where they’d left off in November, but first he had to play this ridiculous game with her. Where she got to act innocent and outraged for a hot second in order to appease the outdated moralistic code she operated by. He didn’t know if he had the patience for that.
He watched cynically as she fiddled with a saltshaker, still coyly denying him her pretty eyes.
“I’m stopping by the library for story hour,” she muttered, finally lifting those luminous gray eyes to his.
“Story hour?” he repeated blankly, trying very hard not to be affected by that beautiful gaze.
“It’s part of the Books Are Fun campaign that the head librarian and I have devised. It’s a grassroots program aimed at elementary school children. I read to them every week from whatever our spotlight book is, and after that we encourage the children to read or even act out the scene I just read.”
“It’s almost inevitable that I get to see you in a library,” Sam said with a grin. “It was written in the stars, you know.”
Predictably, she blushed, and Sam refrained from rolling his eyes. He didn’t want her to be predictable. Predictability was tiresome, and he needed Lia to be interesting, exciting. He needed her to surprise him and keep him on his toes.
He wasn’t sure how long his interest in her would last, but with her shyness and her sweetness and her do-goodness, he was pretty sure it would wane in short order. He wanted to at least sample her charms a few more times before the inevitable boredom set in.
He was reevaluating his time line. Waiting two weeks before sleeping with her was perhaps a bit unrealistic.
“I have to get there in an hour, before the first graders get out of school, so that I can set up. I don’t mean to rush you, but this is going to have to be a fast lunch.”
“And maybe you want to get me out of here before more of the townsfolk wander in and spot us together?” Another blush. He stifled a sigh.
So sweet. And so expected.
Lia wasn’t sure what had changed, but the interested and disarming Sam Brand of that morning disappeared sometime between lunch and the library. Instead of charming everyone he came into contact with, he barely acknowledged them. He stifled yawns and seemed distracted and just plain rude. The children were clearly intimidated by him and kept well away. Mrs. Salie, the librarian, smiled and introduced herself warmly. All she got in response was a curt “how do you do?” without a smile or a handshake in sight.
Lia ushered him into the farthest corner of the reading room and hoped that the children would forget he was there. But the more he sat there and glowered, the more annoyed she became.
By the time the kids’ parents came to pick them up, she was fuming so much she wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself. She rarely lost her temper and never raised her voice, but right now both of those seemed not just possible but highly probable.
She was silent on the drive back, ignoring his attempts at conversation, and when they got back to the cabin, she swiveled in the driver’s seat and glowered at him. The expression felt heavy and unfamiliar on her face, and she wasn’t sure how it looked. Lia frowned, she glared, she froze with a stare, but she rarely full-on glowered. She was tempted to glance in the rearview mirror to check if it looked as awful as it felt but didn’t want to spoil the effect, especially not with him blinking at her in surprise.
“What did I do to earn this look?” he asked, and she’d swear he sounded amused, even though his bland expression didn’t change at all. That annoyed her even more.
“You were so rude. I asked you to be nice. I asked you not to be dismissive, and yet you were both.”
“To be fair, you made those requests before the senior citizens’ dance.”
“Would it have been such a stretch for you to behave like a civilized human being all the way through the afternoon? You scared the children.”
“Hardly.”
“This may seem like some kind of joke to you, Brand, and maybe it all seemed small and trite, but the people we met today, the things we did, are important to me. This is my life, not some show I put on exclusively to entertain you.”
“It wasn’t my scene,” he said, his voice sounding sulky, and she felt her brow lower even more.
“Perhaps not, but you’re not a child! For heaven’s sake, the first graders I read to this afternoon would have more success in hiding their bad mood than you did.”
She sighed heavily.
“I’ll see you in the morning. Have a good evening,” she said, wanting him out of her car. He frowned.
“Whoa, what about my dinner?”
“Since we had lunch at MJ’s, you can have the lasagna I prepared for your lunch as dinner.”
“What about other things? What if I need help with . . . stuff?”
“I’m sure you’ll cope,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Stay out of the tub, but keep the cast dry if you decide to hop into the shower.”
“I won’t be able to get out of this shirt. Can you help me with these buttons at least?”
She worried her lower lip with her teeth, contemplating the buttons for a moment. She didn’t want to, she really didn’t want to, but when she raised her eyes to his, he looked so hopeful and kind of sad and pitiful at the same time. She knew he was playing her, she knew it, but there were a lot of buttons on that shirt.
“Look, I’m sorry I was a dick this afternoon. I was tired and in a bit of pain, and those kids were so energetic, just looking at them exhausted me.”
It was a terrible apology and so insincere she was a little insulted he thought she’d believe a word of it.
“I’ll help you with that shirt, but only because of our agreement. I don’t go back on my word.”
“Meaning I do?” He managed to look quite offended by her implication, but Lia wasn’t going to apologize.
“If the shoe fits.” She shrugged, unbuckling her seat belt and exiting the car before he could respond.
She was in the cabin and gulping down a glass of water in the kitchen by the time he finally made his way inside.
“For the record,” he said, coming out guns, eyes, and temper blazing, “I didn’t go back on my word. I made that promise at the old-age place . . .”
“Retirement home,” she corrected primly, ignoring his glower at the amendment. “And excuse me for expecting civility from you. I now know not to make that mistake again.”
Well, this was interesting; Sam hadn’t expected her to have a temper. He liked it. It definitely wasn’t boring. He liked the way her eyes sparked when she was annoyed, and he liked that dark, pissed-off little glower that merely reinforced the stern librarian look he found so fascinating. He liked not knowing what her next move or words would be.
She slammed the gl
ass down on the counter and stalked—that was the only word he could think of to describe that angry movement—toward him. Before he could say a word, her hands were on him and he had a brief moment of “hell yes!” before he realized that she was attacking his shirt buttons. And not in a passionate “I want to rip your shirt off and jump your bones” kind of way, but in a focused, “no button will be popped today” boring kind of way.
Still, he couldn’t resist the urge to make some kind of comment.
“Why, princess, you seem a little desperate to get me naked. I must say, the feeling’s entirely mutual.”
“Shut up,” she gritted from between clenched teeth and then looked instantly appalled with herself for her bad manners. Her hands dropped from his shirt, leaving it half-unbuttoned. “Look, stop saying things like that, okay? It’s . . . what about your girlfriend? How would she feel if she knew you were making these comments?”
“My girlfriend?” Shit. He couldn’t believe she actually believed all that crap in the press about him and Lally. He sighed and recognized that he would get a lot further with her if she knew that he didn’t have some woman waiting in the wings for him back home. But part of him knew, too, that the only reason she’d felt comfortable enough to take this job in the first place was because she thought he was involved with someone. He was also enough of an ass to immediately grasp the positives of having some fictional woman back home. It would give him an easy out once he was ready to move on from Lia. No messy aftermath, just a “hey, you knew there was someone else.” Yet, at the same time, he understood that he wouldn’t get anywhere close to bedding Lia McGregor if she thought it meant hurting a third party.
He had to consider this carefully.
“Lally and I are . . . We’re not together.”
“Did you break up?” she asked with a sympathetic wince, and Sam—feeling like a dick—swallowed as he considered his response.
“She has someone else in my place now . . .” Technically that was true. She had Chambers as her new CPO.
“I’m sorry,” Lia said, her eyes alive with sympathy, making him feel like even more of a douchebag.
“But maybe someday we could reestablish our relationship.”
“Do you love her?”
“I cared for her,” he said honestly. Another technical truth—it was his job to care for her.
“It gets easier,” she placated, and her words reminded him that she’d once been engaged and he now wondered about that broken engagement.
“Does it? Did it for you?” Her eyes flickered, and for a fleeting moment an expression of such abject sadness crossed her face that Sam felt his gut clench in reaction to it. He didn’t like knowing that pretty, sweet Lia had once felt such pain, and he quite uncharacteristically wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her close until she felt better.
“It did, yes,” she said softly, as her hands went back to his shirt to resume unbuttoning. This time her movements were slower and less angry.
“Why did your engagement end?”
“Various reasons.”
“What was the main reason?”
“He said awful things to Daisy. Touched her in inappropriate ways, made her feel unattractive and victimized at the same time.”
Sam tensed, pissed off at the thought of some fucker doing something like that to his friend’s lovely wife. And then even more pissed off at the thought of how truly awful Lia must have felt when she learned the truth about the man she was going to marry.
“I hope Mason fucked him up,” he stated vehemently, and Lia smiled, the expression too grim for her pretty face.
“Mason gut punched him and, if rumors are to be believed, promised Clayton that he’d be defecating his own teeth for a week if he kept messing with Daisy.”
It was satisfying to know that the bastard had received some form of comeuppance, but a large part of Sam wanted to find the prick and beat him to a pulp—not for what he’d done to Daisy, but for what he’d done to Lia. For the sadness still evident in her eyes when she thought about the guy.
“But even before I heard about what he’d been doing to Daisy, I had doubts. I felt . . . He was so controlling. And he never really seemed interested in me. I was just an object, a trophy he got to show off to his friends. He blatantly showered other women with compliments when we were out together and then told me how I should dress more like them or act like them. He even—” She caught herself before completing the thought and blushed furiously. This particular blush fascinated the hell out of him—he wanted to know what had caused it and was frustrated when she stopped so abruptly.
“He even what?” he prompted, and she swallowed audibly before shaking her head.
“It was nothing. Lift your arm.” The detached instruction startled him and he looked down, surprised to see that she had unbuttoned the shirt completely. He obediently lifted his arm and refocused his gaze on her face. She carefully tugged the shirt over his cast until it was hanging from just his left shoulder. Sam carelessly shrugged the rest of the way out of the thing, trying to figure out how to keep her talking. But he could tell that she wasn’t going to divulge any further information, and he knew pushing her on the subject would probably have the opposite intended effect.
“I have to go. The lasagna just needs to be heated. Three minutes in the microwave should do it. I’ve also prepared a salad to go with it. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“You don’t want to join me for dinner?”
“No, thank you, I have plans.”
“Anything exciting?”
“Nothing that would interest you.”
“More of your do-gooding? What is it this time? Cupcakes for Christians? Doughnuts for the deaf? Hugs for hookers?”
“Nothing so commendable,” she said in a wobbly voice, clearly fighting back a laugh. “I have a date.”
Sam’s knee-jerk reaction to that was a resounding “hell no!” He wanted her focus on him and him alone. He vaguely recalled her mentioning a guy the other night. Something about it getting serious recently. He did not like the thought of some other guy kissing her and touching her. Sam was too territorial to share.
“Who’s the lucky guy?” The words felt like sand in his mouth, and he spat them out in much the same way he would actual sand.
“Just a guy.”
“Your Mr. Right?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure yet. We’ve only been on a few dates.” She cleared her throat and nervously twirled her car keys on her index finger. She seemed evasive, and he wondered what she was hiding. Sam tilted his head and watched her speculatively. He’d find out eventually—he just needed to figure out the best way to extract that information from her.
“Thanks for today,” he said, and she nodded. “Sorry about being an arsehole at the library.”
“You were in pain; I suppose it’s understandable.”
Could it really be that easy to secure her forgiveness on something that she’d been fuming about less than half an hour ago?
“Anyway . . .” Another nervous throat clearing. “Have a good evening.”
She left before he could say anything further.
Of course she didn’t have a date, especially not with Gregory again. Lia had just needed an excuse to get out of there as quickly as possible. She’d been so angry with him for his behavior at the library, but his confidences about his relationship with Laura Prentiss had taken the wind clear out of her sails. Add his naked chest into the equation, and she’d found herself revealing unnecessary things—almost admitting to the humiliating fact that Clayton had been so controlling that he’d even chosen her wedding dress—and then telling blatant lies just to get out of there.
It hadn’t been her most shining moment.
When she got home, she found her mother in the kitchen.
“Hello, dear, would you like the spoon?” her mother asked, offering her a chocolate batter–covered wooden spoon, and Lia groaned.
“You know I do,” she said, grabbing the
spoon with both hands. This was one of the perks of being the only one still living at home—she didn’t have to share the bowl, the spoon, or the mixing blades with her sisters. All this chocolatey goodness was hers alone. It was almost enough to make her reconsider her decision to move out.
“Yum,” she crooned after a few happy licks of the unexpected treat. “What’s the occasion?”
“I’m not baking this one for us. It’s for Mason’s friend Sam. Daisy asked me to check how he’s doing, and I thought I’d bake him a cake, poor boy.”
Now was probably the time to admit that she’d been helping him out. She grimaced—she really didn’t want to. Her mother had this uncanny ability to sniff out secrets and half-truths. Still, if her mother was going around there tomorrow, Brand would probably mention it, and then the older woman would wonder why Lia hadn’t said something.
“I’ve been helping him out a bit around the house and stuff,” she said supercasually. The spoon had been licked bare and she pounced on the bowl, grabbing a smaller spoon with which to scoop up the gooey, delicious leftover batter.
“Have you? That’s nice of you. I didn’t think you knew him that well.”
“I don’t, but he was my partner at the wedding, so I kind of know him. And he needs help. It’s the right thing to do. I’m just helping him out with some meals and stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“Sorry?” Her mother’s question flustered her, and Lia’s eyes widened over the top of her spoon.
“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned helping him with ‘stuff,’ I just wondered what kind of stuff you meant.”
“You know cleaning, cooking, and . . . stuff.” Her mother’s brow lowered in puzzlement, and Lia focused on scooping up another spoonful of chocolate, deliberately evading her mother’s curious gaze.
“What aren’t you saying?” Millicent McGregor asked bluntly, and Lia grimaced. Maybe partial honesty would help.
“It’s embarrassing,” she said uncomfortably. Her words received no response, just a look. An expectant, mom look, complete with raised brows, pursed lips, folded arms, and a tapping foot. “I help him d-dress sometimes.”
The Wrong Man Page 11
