A Not-So-Innocent Seduction

by Janice Maynard

  The salad course arrived, and Liam was forced to hold his tongue for long, frustrating moments while the waiter fussed about with fresh-ground pepper and grated Romano cheese. At last the man departed.

  Liam picked up his fork and set it down again. “What did she have to say?” It galled him that his brother had seen as much or more of Zoe today than Liam had. He suspected that she was avoiding him. Without making it obvious, he had looked for her on and off all afternoon. There were a lot of places in the hotel where she could be hiding. The salon, the spa, the workout room, the library. Not to mention the grounds. But he had neither seen her nor heard from her since lunch. Clearly she had made use of the loaner car and decided to go into town.

  Dylan chewed and swallowed a bite of his perfectly cooked prime rib, his expression beatific. “I’d forgotten how good this is,” he groaned, taking a swallow of his 1972 burgundy. “I love my place, but I’ll admit that a guy can get tired of burgers and chicken wings.”

  Maeve tapped his hand lightly. “I know you pride yourself on being a regular guy, but I happen to know that your bank account could handle a few luxuries. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt you to make a standing date with your mother. It’s not as if you have any romance in your life at the moment.”

  “Hey,” Dylan said, aggrieved. “That’s not fair. I can’t help if my girlfriend thought Hollywood was more exciting than a small town in the middle of nowhere.”

  Liam frowned. Sometimes he thought that Dylan worked too hard at being one of the guys. Being a Kavanagh set a man apart in this town. Dylan could fight it all he wanted, but he was a rich man, and people knew it. “Your love life or lack thereof doesn’t interest me, no offense. Tell me about your conversation with Zoe.”

  Dylan kept on eating, apparently intent on clearing his plate in time for dessert. In between bites, he paused to give his brother an assessing glance. “Why so interested? And since when did you get chummy enough with her to use first names?”

  Maeve looked from one to the other of her offspring, shaking her head. “I swear you two needle each other every chance you get. I thought you’d grow out of it, but I suppose that was wishful thinking.”

  Dylan lifted an eyebrow, his smile innocent. “I don’t know what you mean, Mom. But you might want to keep an eye on your eldest son. If he starts hitting on sexy hotel guests, we might have problems with jealous husbands.”

  “Zoe’s not married.” Liam ground his teeth together, incredulous that his brother’s taunts were getting to him. It was an old game they played. But Liam was on a short fuse tonight. “Tell me what you know about her. Please.”

  Dylan wiped his mouth with his napkin and shrugged. “Not much. But she caught me off guard this afternoon.”

  “How so?”

  “She asked if I would let her play and sing down at the bar.”

  The table fell silent. Even Maeve seemed perplexed. “Why?”

  Dylan shrugged. “Who knows? She claimed it was because she was going to be here for a while and she wasn’t used to twiddling her thumbs.”

  “Did she talk about payment?”

  “Offered to play for free.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I made an excuse. Said I had to look at the calendar. You know I wouldn’t do anything like that without running it by you. Don’t want to create a sticky situation. It occurred to me that she might be awful. And that could be damned awkward if she’s dropped several grand to stay at the Lodge.”

  Maeve pursed her lips. “I don’t see what it could hurt. She’s an unusual woman. Call it my Irish ancestral intuition, but I think she’s had a hard life.”

  Liam and Dylan stared at her in sync. Dylan pointed out the obvious. “She’s booked a multiweek stay here at the Lodge. It’s not like the woman has lived on the streets and played music so people would toss coins in a tin cup.”

  Maeve was a levelheaded female, but when she lost her temper, her sons blamed it on the auburn hair that now had touches of gray. “Dylan Matthew Kavanagh. Don’t you ever say such a thing again. I thought I’d brought you up better than that. Having money is no guarantee against hardship. The poor girl is all alone on a trip that should be shared by a loved one. We must give her the benefit of the doubt. As our guest, she deserves no less.”

  Liam winced. “Sorry, Mother. You’re right, of course. And as for you, Dylan...” He shot his brother a warning glance. “Let me know what you decide. I want to hear her play.”

  Dylan nodded, his face sober. “You can tell a lot about a musician through her songs. If Zoe Chamberlain has secrets, they’ll be hard to hide when she’s onstage.”

  * * *

  Liam excused himself shortly afterward. Dylan hadn’t been around in a while, so he and Maeve would enjoy catching up. Liam’s intent was to go to his office and sift through a pile of paperwork before he headed to bed, but his feet led him in another direction.

  The flagstone patio that fanned out from French side doors on the ground floor of the hotel was bathed in moonlight when Liam stepped into the night. Despite the warm day they had enjoyed, here at five thousand feet the temperatures dropped rapidly this time of year after dark.

  Almost without realizing it, he turned and began counting windows on the top floor of the hotel until he could locate Zoe’s. The drapes were closed. No light emanated from the cracks. Surely she wasn’t already in bed. It was not quite ten o’clock.

  What had she been up to in the hours since she’d visited Dylan’s bar? Lost in thought, Liam wandered the narrow pathways that wove through the gardens like silvery spider webs. His hands linked behind his back, he walked slowly, the pale gravel crunching beneath his shoes. The fragrance of unseen flowers made him think of Zoe.

  If he’d been a fanciful man, he would have said that she was very much like a flower—bright and graceful. He wanted to know more about her. In fact, the wanting was more like a gut-level need. It would be hard to sleep knowing that she was at the opposite end of the hallway. He had a suite on the top floor. Maeve went home each night to a modern condo in town.

  For the first time that day, he was honest with himself. He wanted to take Zoe Chamberlain to bed. The silent admission sent a rush of arousal coursing through his body. His breathing harshened, and his fists clenched at his sides. Even as he acknowledged his physical need, his brain screamed out a warning. He knew little or nothing about Zoe. It was one thing to be sixteen and infatuated with a woman who turned out to be his father’s secret mistress. It was another thing entirely for a mature man to abdicate his responsibilities and throw caution to the wind for the chance to bed a virtual stranger.

  What did she look like nude? Her skin would be pale and fine. That much he knew. But what about her breasts? Did the nipples pucker like pink rosebuds when she was excited?

  He dropped down onto an ornate concrete bench, his elbows resting on his knees, his head in his hands. Normally, the hotel occupied much of his time and attention. He didn’t have hobbies. Occasionally he sought out longtime female friends in other cities for a weekend that satisfied them both. When he did have free time, he loved to be outdoors. But a hotel like the Silver Beeches had to run with precision. Vacationers in this price range expected perfection, or close to it.

  Invariably, some crisis erupted once or twice a week. A drunken guest. A falling-out among the staff. A delayed shipment of food. Now that his mother was getting older, Liam tried to spare her the stress and distress of putting out fires. The Kavanagh brothers had lost their father far too soon. Liam wanted his mother to be around for a long, long time.

  So he bore most of the burden of being in charge.

  Occasionally he resented the yoke of command, but his turbulent feelings were directed at a man who was little more than a ghost in his past. If Reggie Kavanagh had lived, Liam’s life would be entirely different. He might be living on the other side of the country, in another part of the world...or possibly even have a family of his own.

  Speculation about
what might have been was futile. He’d chosen his path. No one had forced him. But sometimes, like tonight for instance, he wished he had the luxury of selfishness at least once in a while.

  If he had been a different kind of man, he would run away and join the circus. Sail the seven seas. Learn to speak Swahili. Find out who Liam Kavanagh really was.

  But such wild excess was not in his DNA. As a sober, conscientious first child, he was his mother’s right-hand man. The rock on which the Kavanagh family anchored its fortunes.

  Disgruntled with himself for his maudlin self-pity, he stood abruptly and nearly ran smack into the woman who appeared without warning around a bend in the path. Automatically, his hands came out to steady her. “Zoe. Is that you?”

  Five

  Zoe gasped, startled and even frightened until she recognized the man who held her lightly. Liam...his face shadowed in the semidarkness. Although the moon was almost full, they were standing amidst large crepe myrtles that cast patterns on the path.

  “You scared me to death,” she said, feeling her heart thundering away in her chest. “I thought you were a ghost or a rapist or an ax murderer.”

  “We have so many of those in Silver Glen.”

  “You’re mocking me.”

  “Maybe. A little.” He released her and backed up a step. “Do you mind if I join you?”

  She inhaled sharply. Sexual desire. So common and yet so powerful. She shook her head. “Of course not. I only wanted to get some fresh air. I suppose you should lead the way since I don’t know where I’m going.”

  He looked down at her feet. “How are your shoes? Can they handle a bit of rough ground?”

  Zoe was wearing the same clothes she’d had on during her excursion into town. The only difference now was that she had omitted the ball cap, and her hair swung free. “I’m good.”

  “Excellent.”

  For several minutes they walked side by side, close, but not touching. Eventually, the carefully manicured gardens gave way to forested terrain. Here—the moonlight held at bay by the foliage of large maples—the shadows grew deeper. At one spot where roots humped up in the middle of the trail, Liam took her elbow as they climbed up and over.

  He was wearing dress clothes. And presumably his shoes were not meant for such circumstances, but he strode along in the dark easily, his gait comfortable. In this setting, she recognized his athleticism, his grace and power. Alone, she would never have dared go this far in unfamiliar territory. But she knew Liam would not allow her to come to any harm.

  Gradually she began hearing the muted roar of water. “Where are we going?” she asked, intrigued and curious.

  Even in the dark she saw his grin flash. “To the waterfall.”

  After that, talking became impractical, because the closer they got to the source, the louder the crash of the torrent.

  Finally, Liam took her arm and leaned toward her, his lips brushing her ear. “We won’t go any farther. The ledge drops off abruptly.”

  The silvery moonlight caught the spume and turned it into magic. Shoulder to shoulder, they observed the power of nature. When the wind changed direction, the spray floated toward them, misting their exposed skin and sending a chill down Zoe’s bare arms. Liam took off his jacket. Without asking, he tucked it around her shoulders.

  The fabric was warm from his body and carried the faint tang of his aftershave. She pulled the lapels closer, wrapped in the majesty of the tumbling water and the simple pleasure of sharing the mystical experience with a man whose company she enjoyed.

  At last, when the damp became uncomfortable, Liam took her elbow once again and guided her back into the forest. She tried to return his coat, but he resisted. “Keep it,” he said. “Don’t want you catching a cold.”

  When they returned to the more refined landscape of the garden proper, Liam paused, touching her hand briefly. “Would you like to come up to my suite for a drink?”

  “And to see your etchings?” she teased.

  “Did that line ever work with women, even decades ago? And besides, I would never attempt to seduce a guest with such a corny come-on.”

  “And if she were willing to be seduced?” The question tumbled out uncensored. Perhaps she’d meant it to be voiced only in her head. But her subconscious was more direct.

  They were standing so close, she felt him go rigid. “That’s not funny, Zoe.”

  She leaned into him. “I’m not laughing.”

  He moved, or maybe she did. Their mouths met clumsily, the shadows making it hard to gauge what was where. Liam’s lips were a wonder...firm and warm and confident. Zoe melted, letting him take her weight, straining on her tiptoes to accommodate the insanity.

  At last she pulled away. “Coffee would be nice,” she said, her breathing ragged. “I’m not much of a drinker.”

  He stared down at her, the blue of his eyes invisible. But she fancied she could see the turbulence in his azure irises. “Is that a yes?”

  “I believe that it is.” She tucked her arm in the crook of his elbow. “Will we raise eyebrows sneaking in at this hour?”

  “It’s hardly late,” he said with a chuckle. “And no...we’ll take the service elevator.” Opening an unmarked side door, he led her down a dimly lit hallway.

  She removed his jacket and handed it back to him. “I like the sound of that. Very crime-drama-ish.”

  Liam punched the up button and leaned against the wall as they waited for the doors to open. “What is this obsession you have with death and dismemberment?”

  “The curse of an overactive imagination,” she muttered. Now, in the light, she felt a fillip of embarrassment that he was dressed like a man of sophistication, while she was definitely disheveled. She wished she had changed into something sexy and alluring before walking in the garden. Her dark slacks and lightweight blouse were respectable, but hardly the clothing to inspire mad passion.

  With a quiet ding their clandestine transportation arrived.

  The trip was short. But the tension filling the small enclosure multiplied with every second. Unfortunately, this boxy space was not the kind of fancy mirrored affair where a woman could check her reflection.

  When they reached Zoe’s floor, and what was also apparently his, Liam guided her away from the direction of her room toward his own quarters. Instead of a magnetized card, he had an actual key. Inserting it in the lock, he opened the door and stood back for her to enter.

  If she had grown up in less elite surroundings, she would have been awed by the tasteful display of wealth and comfort. Modern, masculine furnishings were softened by warm textiles and the deep pile of moss-green carpeting underfoot. Her toes curled with the urge to kick off her shoes, but she resisted.

  Liam loosened his tie and tossed his keys on a narrow table in the foyer. “Have a seat. Make yourself at home. I’ll put the coffee on.”

  “Decaf?”

  “If you insist. I’m a night owl, so it doesn’t bother me.”

  She followed him into the kitchen, intrigued.

  When he saw her on his heels, he shook his head. “You don’t take direction very well, do you?”

  “I told you I’m always curious.”

  While he busied himself with the coffeepot, she examined the amenities. Granite countertops in amber and chocolate tones graced every surface. Over the central island, copper-bottomed pots and pans hung artfully. The stove and refrigerator were a homemaker’s dream.

  Zoe hopped up on one of the stools that flanked the island and rested her chin on her hands. Liam had rolled up his shirtsleeves, and when he bent over to search the fridge for creamer, his expensive pants molded to a very nice bum.

  “This is a fabulous kitchen,” she said, seeing herself here, bustling around, making a meal. “Do you like to cook?”

  He glanced over his shoulder, grimacing, with his hand on the door of the open fridge. “Actually, I do. But to be honest, it’s quicker and easier to eat downstairs. A bad habit, I know.”

  “I co
uld cook for you one night,” she said impulsively. “If you want.”

  He set the creamer on the island and leaned against the opposite counter, his hands in his pockets. An expensive gold watch gleamed on his left wrist. His hands were big, the fingers long and masculine. Looking at him gave her a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  “That would be nice,” he said, the inflection neutral.

  She flushed, realizing that she was making assumptions. A man like Liam Kavanagh could have any one of a number of women. Standing like that, with a sensual gleam in his eye and the shadow of late-day stubble on his chin, he could have stepped right out of a magazine ad for fast cars or diamonds or gambling in Monte Carlo.

  He was beautiful. A beautiful, masculine, physically mouthwatering man.

  “Never mind,” she said. “You have a five-star chef. I couldn’t compete with that.”

  He lifted one wicked eyebrow. “Oh, I think you could.”

  Now there was no mistaking his meaning. Liam wanted her.

  She swallowed, her voice trapped in her throat. “Is it ready?” she asked, the words squeaky.

  “Ready?” He looked blank.

  “The coffee.”

  “Oh...yes.”

  As he fumbled with mugs and accoutrements, she gathered her composure. “No wonder you never take time off if you live here in the hotel. That’s a terrible arrangement.”

  He shrugged, bringing a tray to the island and setting it in front of her. Pulling a stool to the adjoining side, he sat to her right. “The staff is fairly considerate. They try not to disturb me.”

  “Try being the operative word. Don’t you ever get the urge to cut loose and be irresponsible?” She stirred a dollop of real cream into her coffee, added a tiny bit of sugar and took a sip. This was no discount-store java. Someone must have ground the beans fresh. It was a luxury she shouldn’t get too used to. Her usual M.O. was the drive-through window at McDonald’s.

  He drained his cup in short order and went back for seconds. “It is my hotel,” he pointed out as he sat back down. “The buck stops here.”