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“Exactly.” He shifted off her and rose, not disguising the hunger he had for her. “I know you mentioned sleeping in the same bed, but I can’t do it. I want to. But having you next to me. Being able to feel and smell you. Only inches away. It would drive me mad for sure.”
Wasn’t she trying to calm her racing heart? “I totally get it. And Liam… Thanks for staying. I liked this. Tonight.”
His smile was breathtaking in its fullness. “Get used to it. Even my Summercrest friends knew I wasn’t coming back.”
Her mouth parted.
“This is the rest of your life, Taylor McGowan. I’ll just go clean up dinner.”
“Thanks,” she called weakly as he walked toward the kitchen. “I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”
“I’ll take you to see the Kindness Sheep,” he answered.
God, they were making daily plans. Next, they’d be discussing who would buy the milk. “It will have to be pretty early because my first interview is at eight.”
When she didn’t hear him reply, she imagined he needed a moment to gather himself. She understood. If there was a huge trough of ice cream, she’d immerse herself in it. But this feeling was more than heat. Sure, her heart was pressing against her ribs again, but all she wanted to do was smile.
She remembered her earlier words. And the final pronouncement he’d uttered before he’d excused himself—it would drive me mad.
It was more than true.
Theyweremad for each other.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Watching Bets’ son be interviewed by the police was up there with munching on roadkill for lunch. It didn’t help that the dark Irish sky was pouring buckets outside, the rain a thunderous overture in the tense room.
Bets had a death grip on Linc’s hand under the table, and Donal, sitting on his other side, had a massive frown that was probably a lot like the one Linc felt on his own face.
Even though their lawyers had written up Liam’s short four-sentence statement that he’d given Veritas approval to paint the mural, John Hart had insisted that he and another officer needed to question the young man on this fine Thursday morning. The cops and lawyers flanked Liam, who rode the guest of honor spot at the head.
Linc couldn’t blame Bets for her worry—he wouldn’t want Ellie involved in anything like this either—but it seemed the only way to circumvent the trouble Malcolm wanted to dish out. They could have pled guilty and paid the fine for not receiving planning permission, sure, but that would have meant they’d have to paint over the mural. No one wanted that. Plus, who knew what Malcolm might do if they pled guilty? He was still being quoted in the Irish papers about the public insult and its incitement to insurrection against him and his businesses.
Insurrection?Who did this guy think he was?
Linc spotted Taylor watching them from the other side of the glass wall separating them from the media room. She sat next to Ghislaine, who was punching information into her phone. The younger woman was pale. Her feelings for Liam were all over her face, but Linc was glad Liam had suggested she not be at the table at his side. Talking Bets into being absent had been impossible. Still, even surrounded by tension and worry, the young man’s stillness was remarkable.
“So I was the one who granted permission to conduct the mural,” Liam finished, his voice strong and true. “That about covers it.”
John Hart rubbed the age lines around his temples, looking a few years older than he had before the trouble began. Like everyone else, he was feeling the lash from Malcolm’s proverbial whip. He riffled through his handwritten notes while the more junior Garda officer kept his head down, clearly uncomfortable. “Thank you, Liam. That was brief and to the point. I have a few questions, of course. Routine.”
Donal crossed his arms over his massive chest while Bets nearly cracked Linc’s fingers as she tightened her grip. He gave her an encouraging look before glancing over at their three lawyers. He liked the lead counsel, Patrick O’Shaughnessy, the best, but he’d feel a whole lot better when they hired their own full-time person. The other two had their legal pads out, continuing to jot down their notes.
“The altercation with Malcolm Coveney happened on Saturday,” John reiterated. “At what time did Veritas contact you for permission?”
Even though Liam had already gone over all the responses with the lawyers, Linc’s stomach still turned sour. No one wanted more questions here.
“Like I said in my statement, Veritas asked for my help on Sunday afternoon, which I granted.”
“Do you have any proof of this?” John asked, making Bets straighten in her chair. “An email, a call log—”
“Officer Hart,” Patrick broke in. “I don’t see how this is relevant. Liam is a respected employee of the arts center and this community. If he says this is how it happened—”
“I’m only asking since this is our first experience with Veritas,” John broke in, giving the lawyer a measured look. “We’re trying to understand how it is that Veritas arrived so quickly after the incident and knew how to reach out to Mr. O’Hanlon.”
“Please call me Liam,” the young man said. “I’d assume Veritas did the research needed. I was in the video of Saturday’s incident, after all, and I’m listed on the center’s website as construction director. But again, I can’t comment on that.”
“Surely you have some impressions about Veritas,” John pressed. “His general height and weight—”
