by Lila Monroe
Liam nods. “I’m sure you are,” he says. “How did it go with Verity this morning?”
“Not bad, actually,” I admit, deciding to spare him the details of our racy brainstorming session. “I think we may actually be getting somewhere.”
“Well, that’s good to hear.” He gives a wry smile. “I’m impressed you’re getting anywhere, honestly.”
“Aw, she’s not that bad,” I say, shutting my computer and pulling my bare legs up underneath me. “A big part of this job is knowing how to deal with the talent, that’s all.”
“I’m sure this will come as a shock to you, but that part isn’t exactly my strong suit.” Liam takes a seat on the lounge chair beside me, and glances over, looking curious. “Did you ever think about being a writer yourself?”
I shake my head. “I tried, once upon a time, and the whole thing was an utter failure,” I say with a laugh. “I don’t know, my brain just doesn’t work that way. Some people can see an empty space and design a house from nothing… and other people are better at being interior designers: Rearranging the furniture to be the best layout.” I nod at him playfully. “And some people are best at making sure the whole renovation stays on budget.”
“Oh,” Liam says with a smirk, “is that me?”
“That’s you,” I confirm.
“Thanks a lot.”
“I’m just teasing,” I tell him. “I’m sure you have an imagination in there somewhere.”
“Oh, I have an imagination.”
His words are deep and husky, and make my stomach turn over—in the best possible way.
I freeze. Did he really just say that?
I sneak a look over, and find Liam looking just as surprised. Both of us are stunned into silence for a moment. I can see that he’s about to apologize, take it back, make some kind of excuse, but before he can say anything, Dot is calling out to us from up on the pool deck.
“Yoo-hoo!” she hollers, hands on her ample hips. “You two! Verity wants to see you.”
Liam finds his voice first. “Uh,” he calls back, clearing his throat. “We’ll be right there.”
We get up without looking at each other, and head up to Verity’s office, where the printer is whirring busily away. “Oh, good,” she says, “you’re here! I’ve written a new chapter—”
“Already?” I say, unable to keep the excitement out of my voice. Dot shoots me a discreet thumbs-up across the room. “That’s great news!”
“It is,” Verity says, looking more genuinely happy than I’ve seen her since I first arrived. “I have to say, our little exercise proved very fruitful. Now I just need to hear how the new pages sound out loud.”
“Of course,” I tell her, sitting down on the sofa and folding my hands in my lap attentively, motioning for Liam to do the same. “We’re happy to listen.”
“Oh, no,” Verity says, and her smile is all berries and cream. “I want you two to do the reading.”
I stare at her for a minute, the light slowly going on as I realize exactly what her little plan entails. “You want us to—”
“Well I didn’t call you all the way up here just so you could sit around and look pretty, peaches.” She plucks the pages off the printer, thrusts them into our hands. “Now, Eliza, this chapter is in Leona’s POV—that’s point of view, Liam, I know you’re not a book person—so you read for her, and Liam, you come in with Thad’s dialogue.” She sits back in her massive ergonomic chair, arranging the voluminous skirt of her caftan around her and looking supremely pleased with herself. “Now go.”
I glance at Liam, who doesn’t realize yet what’s happening. And why would he? I’m the one who told Verity to start with the sex—the steamier, the better. And boy, am I regretting that genius editorial advice now. At best, this is going to be a totally ridiculous exercise. At worst? I may never get over the humiliation.
But it doesn’t look like I have a choice. And if it means the book gets written even that much faster…
I take a deep breath.
“Leona found Thad in his office later that night,” I read, “once the last of the craftsmen had gone home for the day. He was bent studiously over his ledgers, his dark hair tousled, his fingers stained with ink. His muscles rippled under his bespoke dress shirt.”
The description goes on for another paragraph or two, during which time I can’t help but notice that Thad looks an awful lot like an infuriatingly handsome publishing heir I could name. He and Leona make perfunctory conversation about the future of the mining company—which, thankfully, is bereft of any scintillating geological nuggets. “Leona watched him for a moment, then turned to go. She was almost to the doorway when Thad called out her name.”
Verity glances up over the rims of her rhinestone glasses. “Liam,” she says pleasantly, “I believe that’s your line.”
“Oh. Uh.” Liam clears his throat, glancing at me for a moment before looking back down at the manuscript. “I’ve wanted you for ages, Leona. No matter how hard I try to keep things professional between us, you’re all I can think about. Your mouth. Your hair. Your—” He breaks off abruptly, his cheeks bright red. “Verity,” he says, looking mortified. “Is this really necessary?”
Verity gazes at him placidly. “Of course not,” she says. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” She sighs, taking her glasses off and perching them in her hair. “But I must confess, I am a bit worried about my inspiration drying up again if I can’t hear how this sounds out loud.”
She bats her eyelashes at him, and I hide a smile behind my pages. I have to admit, she’s good. She’s got Liam right where she wants him. He’d probably rip his own shirt off and offer to be her cover model if he thought it would help get her book done on time.
Now, that would be a sight…
Liam swallows audibly. “Right,” he says, eyes darting at me, then back to the manuscript. “Okay.” He clears his throat one more time. “Your mouth. Your hair. Your incredible body.”
“I can’t stop thinking about you either,” I read. “Leona reached down and plucked an ice cube from the glass of scotch on the desk, running it down across her neck and the pale rise of her breasts before slipping it between Thad’s parted lips. ‘It’s warm in here, isn’t it?’ she asked, her voice husky and low.
“Her fingertips brushed the top button on her dress. Slowly, her eyes never leaving Thad’s, she slipped it through its corresponding hole, the repeated the process twice more, the dress slipping from her shoulders with a sound like a quiet sigh. She wore nothing underneath it. Her—” My breath catches as my body flushes warm. “Her small pink nipples hardened, his gaze on her body as physical as a touch.”
I’m about to continue but to my surprise Liam begins to read. “Thad crossed the expanse between them in two big steps and crushed his mouth to hers, the kiss searing. All at once his mouth was on her everywhere: her jaw, her throat, the pale rise of her breasts.
“ ‘You’re beautiful,’” Liam reads, his voice barely more than a murmur. “‘You’re exquisite’.”
I don’t know how to explain exactly what happens between us then. It’s like Verity and Dot simply fade away into the background, the transportive power of Verity’s words making it so it’s just Liam and me in the room. It should feel corny or embarrassing, saying these words out loud. But instead it’s sort of ridiculously hot.
By the time Thad brings Leona to her third rip-roaring orgasm on top of the desk in his office I can barely get the words out, my breath is coming so quick and ragged. I look up dazedly at the end of the chapter to find Liam staring back at me—his lips slightly parted, the manuscript wrinkled and forgotten in his lap.
“That’s it,” I say softly. “That’s, um. All there is.”
“For now,” Verity says, a satisfied smile on her face. “Well done, peaches.”
“Uh. Well.” Liam clears his throat, coming back to himself. His cheeks are bright red, his gaze is darting wildly around the room as he jumps out of hi
s seat like it’s on fire. “I think you’re really onto something here, Verity! Looking forward to reading the rest of the book. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some business that needs to be attended to.”
“I’ll bet he does,” Dot mutters under her breath once he’s gone, but I can’t even laugh—I could use a cold shower myself.
Or three.
“I should probably, ah—” I break off as I try to think of an excuse, but come up empty. My brain is buzzing uselessly. My whole body is humming and flushed. I want to chase Liam down and fling myself at him, to finish what Thad and Leona started on the page. “I should go.”
“You do that, sweet thing,” Verity says distractedly. She’s already turned back to her computer, is typing excitedly away. “I’ve got work to do.”
14
Eliza
The rest of the day is basically shot as far as productivity goes—and I barely sleep that night, tossing and turning and tangling my legs in the silky sheets in one of Verity’s many guest suites. How many cold showers is too many cold showers, exactly? No matter how long I stand under the icy spray, I can’t stop thinking about Liam.
The low, husky sound of his voice in Verity’s office. The way his eyes burned into mine like twin diamonds.
Girl, pull yourself together, I remind myself, shaking my head in the mirror. There’s a reason Verity’s the romance writer, not you.
The good news is, our little performance yesterday seems to have unlocked something in Verity—when I knock on the door of her office after breakfast the following morning, she shoos me away. “It’s happening!” she shrieks. “The muses must not be interrupted! I’m in the zone!”
I’m delighted to leave her to it, thinking I’ll get some work of my own done. But when I sit down with my laptop I realize I’m more or less caught up—which I suppose makes sense, since I spent the better part of the night trying to distract myself from my own pornographic thoughts about my boss. My inbox has never been so well organized. Instead, I decide to walk into town and explore. Clear my head a little bit.
And keep a safe distance from Liam.
Verity’s place is only a fifteen-minute stroll to the nearest town. It’s chic without being overly touristy, with cobblestone streets filled with high-end boutiques, and cute restaurants with spacious patios. Brightly colored flowers spill from big wooden planters outside a fancy general store. I make a mental note to ask Verity why she’s never set a book here, already gathering inspiration for the follow-up to Rock Hard.
Assuming, of course, that we ever get it finished.
I call Katie as I browse paperbacks at a local bookshop, catching up on what’s been happening back in the city and filling her in on my latest Liam-related misadventures. “In conclusion,” I tell her, running my finger along a row of brightly colored spines, “he’s as infuriatingly hot as ever, but completely off limits, right?” I wait for Katie to answer. When she’s silent for a minute, I persist: “I said, right?”
Katie laughs. “I don’t know!” she admits, the connection crackling a bit. “I mean, there’s obviously something happening between you guys. The chemistry is undeniable. And if there’s one thing I learned back when Wes and I were getting together, it’s that sometimes the guy who seems all wrong at first is actually—”
“Don’t say Mr. Right,” I interrupt.
“I was going to say ‘an extraordinary lay,” Katie corrects, and I burst out laughing so loudly that a grey-haired, lemon-faced woman perusing Feline Fancy over by the magazine rack shoots me a filthy look.
“Uh-oh,” I tell Katie, lowering my voice a bit, “I should go. I think I just made an
enemy.”
“An enemy who will soon turn into your lover, a la Verity’s books?” she asks hopefully.
I snort. “Definitely not.”
“Too bad,” Katie says. “Well, keep me updated, in any event. Who knows, I just might
use you as a case study in my next book.”
“Remind me to see to it that that chapter gets mysteriously left out of the final manuscript,” I fire back. “Talk to you later.”
The bookstore has a sweet little coffee counter with lattes and homemade baked goods, and I wander in that direction once I’ve slipped my phone back into my bag. I’m standing in front of the menu, debating between a lemon scone and a blueberry muffin, when all at once I hear a familiar voice order, “One drip coffee please. Black.”
It can’t be.
Seriously, how small is this town?
I turn and come face to face with—
“I knew it,” I manage, barely keeping my voice from rising into hysterical shrillness. Liam looks amazing in navy blue shorts and a perfectly fitted gray T-shirt. His sneakers are spotlessly white. “Even your coffee order is no-frills.”
I can tell he’s surprised to see me too, and I’m grateful I changed into a cute sundress before leaving Verity’s earlier. “The point is the caffeine, isn’t it?” he asks.
“The point is to enjoy yourself every once in a while,” I counter. “Not everything has to be as efficient as humanly possible.”
“Well.” Liam seems to consider that. “I suppose you have a point.” He clears his throat. “In that case,” he says, and I’m not sure if I’m imagining that he sounds just a tiny bit shy, “what about lunch?”
I blink. “What?”
He nods across the street at the general store. “Since we both seem to have some time this afternoon, what if we grab a picnic, make a day of it?”
I’m so shocked, he may as well have suggested a little light bondage. “You and me?”
Liam’s face darkens. “Unless—you don’t want to?”
“No, I’d love to,” I say, which is the truth. “I’m just surprised.”
“Well,” he says, the barest hint of a smile playing across his mouth, “I think you’ll find I’m full of surprises, if you get to know me.”
“I… think you might be right.” I’m barely able to keep from grinning back at him. “Let’s go.”
* * *
We pick up hot buttered lobster rolls at the general store, plus chips and fruit salad and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. “Where to?” I ask, once we’re loaded down with provisions and my stomach is rumbling loud enough to stop traffic.
But Liam is mysterious. “You’ll see,” is all he says, so I get in the car beside him, and hope it’s not a five-mile hike he has in mind. But soon we arrive at a marina not far from town, the midday sun glinting on the water and the salty breeze ruffling my hair. “Wait a minute,” I say, following him over to the jetty. “You just happen to have a boat docked here?”
Liam shakes his head. “Not exactly,” he says, “although that would have been neat, wouldn’t it?” He winks—Liam Sterling! Winking! What has gotten into this guy? “Wait here.”
I clutch our bag full of treats, squinting through my sunglasses as he heads over to chat with the harbormaster. And I’ll say this for the guy: he knows how to turn on the charm when it really counts. Five minutes later, he’s waving me over to a gorgeous sailboat. “Money talks, huh?” I ask, shaking my head in disbelief as I climb aboard.
Liam laughs, bashful. “Something like that.”
The deck of the boat is beautiful, all glossy wood and bright white cushions for lounging. But let’s face it, we could be on a broken-down dinghy, and I wouldn’t care. I tie my hair back with a scarf and get myself settled as Liam hoists the sails, nimble fingers moving over the knots in a quick, practiced way that makes me wonder just what else he can do with those hands.
I clear my throat. “Are guys like you just born knowing how to do that?” I ask, only half-kidding.
“Guys like me?” Liam asks, straightening up as we glide out into open water.
I grin. “Rich guys.”
He laughs. “I didn’t grow up rich,” he reminds me. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Harry made sure we had everything we needed, but my mom is a crystal-loving hippie from Berkeley
. It was more organic tofu and morning meditation than polo at the country club.”
That stops me. “Really?” I can’t picture it, and it must show on my face, because Liam grins.
“Yeah, yeah. My mom has no idea where I came from, either.” He ducks his head, bashful. “Anyway, it was a good childhood. But it wasn’t like…” he trails off.
“Like Betsy and Bryce?” I supply.
“Exactly.” Liam nods. “Anyway, I learned to sail in college for fun. Turns out it’s a good way to impress girls.”
“Oh yeah?” I raise my eyebrows. “Do I look impressed?”
“You look beautiful,” he says, no hesitation at all. I blush, but by the time I manage to look up again, he’s focused on the sails again, his back turned.
Still, I can’t keep the smile off my face.
It’s a perfect day to be out on the ocean, sunny and not too hot, and I tilt my face up to catch some rays as Liam steers us through the calm, clear water. There’s a part of me that can’t entirely relax, that’s dying to know what’s going on here—but, I remind myself again, this isn’t a book I’m editing. Maybe I don’t need to make sure that the plot progresses tidily, in a linear fashion. Maybe, just for this afternoon, I can let the story unfold however it will.
“Thirsty?” Liam asks, holding up the six-pack of cheap beer he grabbed to go with the lobster rolls. It’s not what I would have expected him to choose, but when I say as much he only shrugs. “I told you,” he says with a smile, popping the top and handing me a chilly can. “I didn’t grow up rich.”
“But you still appreciate a nice sailboat on occasion?” I tease.
“I mean, I’m not an animal.” He grins, but it falters a little bit. “Anyone can appreciate a nice sailboat, right? I don’t know.”
I look at him carefully, taking a thoughtful sip of my beer. “Sometimes it seems like you’re not totally comfortable in their world,” I venture. “Bryce and Betsy’s, I mean. Is that fair to say?”
