Tasting Fear

by Shannon McKenna

  “How did your parents take it?” she asked, fascinated.

  He shrugged. “They worried. My stepfather wanted me to be a cop, like him. He was a good man. He taught me music. Carpentry, too. It was what he did for fun.” He studied the curve of her cheekbone as Eoin’s pipes began to sob out yet another haunting tune.

  “Did you ever think of going to college?” she asked.

  “Seemed like a waste of money,” he said. “Anything you want to learn, you can just go to the library and study up on it for free.”

  She slid her slender arm around his waist. “I never thought of it that way, but I guess you’re right. What’s the story on your real dad?”

  His body stiffened. “I haven’t seen him in twenty-six years.”

  Her eyes were full of interest. “You don’t know where he is?”

  “Maybe there was an address with the flowers he sent to Mom’s funeral,” he said curtly. “I didn’t bother to look.”

  Nancy sat up slowly. “I’m sorry. I guess I hit a nerve.”

  “It’s okay,” he said tightly.

  She caressed his shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “I’ve put it behind me,” he snarled, and then felt like shit for using that tone with her, but his gut was clenched. Every word she said pulled them closer to that wall. They needed an emergency detour. He grabbed her arm, yanking her down. She cried out, and he froze abruptly. “Did I hurt you?” he asked.

  “No, but—”

  He muffled the rest of her words with a kiss, using all his skill and instinct to drag her back into the burning present moment. No future, no past. Just the melody that throbbed outside the window, the moonlight, and Nancy’s slender body moving beneath his. So generous, and soft, and strong.

  He didn’t want to think about the wall they would hit. The look on his father’s face as he walked away forever. Lucia’s freshly dug grave. Masked attackers in the stairwell, the violence that lurked around every blind corner, the gun on the bedside table. The uncertainty, the danger. And this delicate thing they had. So precious, so fragile. Beset on every side.

  She gripped him, crying out as her first climax jolted through her.

  Yes. His. The satisfaction that burned in him felt almost like anger. He buried his face against her hair and hung on as his own dark explosion blasted him, mind and body, into blessed oblivion.

  He would cheat fate for as long as he could. Fuck them all.

  Chapter

  9

  The sky was pink outside Liam’s window when Nancy woke up. The bed beside her was empty, and a shower was running behind the door. She flopped back onto the pillow and studied the room. A photo of a younger Liam sat under the lamp. He had longer hair and a big carefree grin, his arm around the shoulder of a handsome older woman with the same eyes and smile.

  She found the bathroom. Took a shower. Muscles she didn’t know she had were pleasurably sore. When she came downstairs, bacon sizzled on a skillet, a teakettle was whistling, and Liam was spooning pancake batter onto a griddle. It smelled incredibly delicious.

  He looked over his shoulder and smiled. “What kind of tea would you like?” he asked. “I’ve got Darjeeling and this great Nepali stuff.”

  “No coffee?” She stared at him in dismay.

  “Not in this house.”

  She plugged her cell phone into a countertop outlet to recharge. “There’s got to be an espresso bar somewhere in Latham.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” he said, unsympathetically. “Do you like your bacon crisp or chewy?”

  “Chewy, please. Could I use your telephone? I want to give my sisters your home number.”

  “Be my guest,” he said.

  Nancy forked some wet food into a bowl for Moxie as Vivi’s cell rang and rang. She picked up, though her voice was sleepy. “Yeah?”

  “Get a pen, Viv. I have to give you a telephone number.”

  “Omigod. Omigod. Is it the telephone number of that big, tall green-eyed drink of water? Hey, Nell! Wake up! Nancy got laid!”

  “Get the pen, Viv,” Nancy repeated, with gritted-jaw fortitude.

  Vivi hummed ebulliently as she copied down the number that Nancy dictated. “Okay, it’s on the fridge. So? Details, honey, details! Is he, well, as vigorous as he looks when you two, well, you know?”

  “I absolutely will not discuss that,” Nancy said primly.

  “I should think not, since he must be right there in the room with you, am I right?”

  “Bingo,” she whispered.

  “So go upstairs, or outside, or whatever, and I’ll call your cell,” her sister ordered. “You’ve just got to tell me everything!”

  “I don’t have my cell on,” she admitted. “The battery’s dead.”

  There was a dramatic silence from the other end of the line. “The battery is dead? You forgot to recharge your cell phone? Wait. Who is this, and what have you done with my sister?”

  “Oh, stop it,” Nancy snapped.

  “Well, tell us all about it when you get back,” Vivi burbled. “And I mean all. When are you getting back, by the way? Let’s do dinner.”

  Nancy hemmed and hawed for a moment. “Um, well…I don’t exactly know when I’ll be coming back. You see, he’s asked me to—”

  “Omigod! Nell!” Vivi bawled out. “Get this! Nancy’s shacked up!”

  “Stop it, Vivi,” Nancy begged. “Please. Don’t jinx it for me.”

  “Okay, you big scaredy-cat. Call me when you get the chance, between the bouts of hot bed-play. And say hello from the two of us!”

  Vivi hung up, and Nancy clutched the receiver with a hand that shook. A high-frequency buzz, as if every cell in her body was electrified.

  Liam’s hand touched her shoulder. He took the phone, hung up.

  “My sisters say hello,” she offered.

  “Great. Why do you look so worried about it?”

  “Because now they’re having this big, happy freak-out about me being up here with you, and it’s making me nervous,” she snapped.

  Liam’s mouth hardened. “Nervous? You mean you think they’ll be crushed to find out that it’s no big deal, then? Just a casual fling?”

  Nancy’s throat started to burn. She winked back tears. “You’re the one who said we were going to hit the wall,” she said.

  “So I did,” he said heavily.

  She laid her hand upon his chest, feeling the steady throb of his heart. “It isn’t casual. It’s a very big deal.”

  He covered her hand with his own. “How big?”

  “Huge,” she admitted, surprising herself with her own honesty.

  They came together into a tight hug. She buried her face in his chest. They clung to each other, silently agreeing to let the dangerous moment pass. An ominous scent some time later made them look up.

  “Oh, God. The pancakes,” Liam said, lunging for the griddle.

  They feasted on pancakes and bacon. Nancy ate twice as much as usual. They washed up and looked at each other, embarrassed.

  “So, ah, what now?” she asked.

  His lips twitched. “You tell me, Nancy.”

  The gleam in his eye was hard to resist, but reality beckoned sternly. “I really need to get some work done,” she said.

  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.

  Her fantasy was to integrate the two realities, make him a real part of her life. Part of her was cynically sure that it was too much to hope. But oh, she liked the person who she was with him.

  She would make adjustments. Be flexible. He was so worth it.

  He was showing her how to make soda bread in his kitchen one evening, a pot of fragrant stew bubbling on the stove, when she broke the ice and told him she needed to drive back down to New York.

  A chill settled over his face, though his expression did not change.

  “What for?” His voice had a stran
gely distant tone.

  “I have to leave Moxie with Freedy’s wife, Andrea, when I go to the FolkWorld Conference next week,” she explained.

  He scowled, suspiciously. “A conference?”

  “It’s important,” she said. “For me and for all my artists. Freedy and Peter and Enid and Mandrake are all performing. Eoin, too. I won’t be alone for a second. I’ll be surrounded by everyone I know, in fact.”

  He let out a skeptical grunt. “Is Freedy another one of your exes?”

  “Yes, but it’s amicable,” she assured him. “Freedy has a showcase Friday night at FolkWorld, but Andrea has to work, so she’s staying in the city. She promised to look after Moxie for me.”

  “Why not just leave her here with me?”

  She gazed at his unreadable profile and gathered her nerve.

  “Thank you. But that, uh, brings me to something I wanted to ask.”

  “Ask away.” He did something efficient looking with milk, mixing the batter with a few competent swipes of a wooden spoon.

  She took a deep breath and blurted it out. “Want to come?”

  He froze, his hands buried in dough. “To the conference?”

  She hastened on. “It’s in Boston, at the Amory Lodge. I’ll get you a listener’s pass. You’d stay in my room, of course. Seeing as how it’s a weekend, and you have a job scheduled for next week, I figured, maybe you could drive up Saturday.”

  “Hmph.” He looked unconvinced.

  “This is the thing,” she went on. “I’ve been experiencing your life since I’ve been here, staying in your house, eating your food—”

  “Sleeping in my bed.”

  “Yes, sleeping in your bed, and it’s wonderful. But I have my own life. I want you to get to know it the way I’ve gotten to know yours. The conference will be crazy, and I’ll be networking with agents and presenters, and probably we won’t sleep. But you’ll hear great music and meet great people. And Eoin would be ecstatic. Mandrake’s showcase will be his first performance. It kicks off their spring tour.”

  He gathered the dough into a loose ball, his face thoughtful. “What night is Eoin’s thing?”