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I’m under a wee bit of stress, in case you haven’t noticed.She bit the sarcastic words back. “I’m sorry, Blair,” she said. “I just can’t stand being touched right now.”
Her mother’s eyes flicked down over Liv’s body, mouth tightening. “I can’t believe you are out in public dressed like that.”
Liv looked down at her baggy pants, the shrunken tank top. She’d rushed to the fire right after she got the call, not bothering to change out of her jammies. She hadn’t had a belly flat enough for that look when she was twenty, let alone thirty-two. No bra, either. Woo hah, she could throw ’em over her shoulder like a continental soldier. And as for her pants, well…best not to focus on her big butt at all.
But the scolding made her chin go up. “I’m decent,” she said. “The important bits are covered. Nobody’ll faint from seeing my jammies.”
Certainly not Blair, she refrained from adding. He’d been badgering her for years in a half-joking-but-not-really way about giving into the inevitable, and marrying him. Sometimes, when she was lonely, she was a tiny bit tempted. Blair was smart, nice, hardworking. Her parents would have frothing fits of joy. And it would be company.
But there was no heat between them. Absolutely none.
Of course, her criteria of “heat” was based almost exclusively on her memories of Sean McCloud. Maybe she’d just imagined all that wild intensity, that giddy excitement. She’d been not quite eighteen, after all.
She swallowed, her throat raspy from smoke and suppressed tears. Maybe a marriage without heat would be more stable. After all, all she had to do was look around to see the damage heat could do.
“You’re making a spectacle of yourself,” Amelia said. “I’ll see you at home, when you condescend to come.” She flounced back to her car.
“I’ll take you home,” Blair said. “You’re aware that you have to be accompanied everywhere now, right? You should pack your things.”
The look on his face abruptly reminded her of why she kept saying no to Blair’s proposals. Pompous bossiness was so unsexy.
“Pack?” she asked. “Why am I packing? Where am I going?”
“You can’t stay at your place, Liv,” he lectured. “It’s too remote, up on the hill, and you don’t even have an alarm. You’ll be staying at Endicott House, where we can keep an eye on you. Bart’s contacting a security firm to provide you with full-time bodyguards.”
“Bodyguards?” Her smoke-roughened voice broke on the word.
“Of course.” His chest puffed out. “I’m going to tell Bart and the police where we’re going. Stay where I can see you, for God’s sake.”
She stared bleakly after Blair. Bodyguards? Full time?
Now her parents could monitor her night and day. Make sure she was constantly living up to the Endicott standard. She might as well just embalm herself right now, and save everyone else the trouble.
“Hey, Liv,” a low male voice said from behind her.
Oh, God. She knew that voice. She couldn’t turn. Her muscles wouldn’t move. It was like that time she’d gone rock climbing. She had looked down in the middle of a steep bit and frozen solid, fingers numb. Her bones, all rubbery and flexible. Her insides, vast and empty.
He didn’t speak again. Maybe stress had driven her to auditory hallucinations. And there was only one way to find out, somove.
She commanded her muscles to obey, and turned.
Oh boy. It really was Sean. Her insides tightened. She felt faint.
Holy crap, just look at him. He occupied so much space. The air around him seemed charged. He was so tall. So incredibly…big.
Had he really been that big fifteen years ago?
Certainly she herself hadn’t been.The thought stung like a spider bite. To think that with her bookstore trashed, her dreams in ruins and T-Rex to stress about, she was still uptight about her oversized bum.
And her tank top did nothing to control the jiggle and sway of her boobs, which were likewise bigger now, if somewhat, well…lower. Plus, the poochy side pockets on her pants had been designed by the devil himself to make her hips look even wider than they really were.
She tried to speak, but her voice was rough and hoarse from all the smoke. She coughed, and tried again. “Hi,” she squeaked.
She didn’t want him to see her like this. Wounded, bereft. It was too much like the last time he’d seen her. Except that then, the smoking ruin had been her heart. And he was the arsonist who had torched it.
They stared at each other. She felt empty-headed, exposed.
She’d pictured running into him after she’d decided to come back to Endicott Falls. Many times. But in her fantasies, she’d been thinner. Boobs hoisted high in a power bra. Romantic, swishy white skirt and poet’s blouse, showing a faint, tasteful hint of sexy cleavage.Eat your heart out, you brain-dead chumpbeing the subtle non-verbal message.
