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“Nah, you should wait a bit. Give the regulars a chance to make sure the coast is clear. Then I’ll walk you to your car myself.”
“I have a flat tire… the guy might have done it.” I shake my head as my words tumble out. I’m still rattled.
“You’re all right now,” he says, putting a hand on my lower back and stepping closer.
The heat from his body is so welcome it’s like collapsing in front of a fireplace on the night of a blizzard.
I’ve seen him around the neighborhood often. He’s so gorgeous, but he never looks approachable. Too handsome. Too serious. Often engaged in what seem to be important business conversations.
Once though, there was a mom dealing with an issue with her newborn’s stroller, so she didn’t realize her toddler was heading right toward the street. This man had been on the phone when he spotted the little girl. He’d dropped his phone and darted forward to catch the toddler as she fell headfirst off the curb. He’d kept her from what I’m sure would’ve been a nasty cut since the remains of a broken bottle were in the gutter. The man’s trousers were sliced open from his landing, but the little girl never touched the ground. She was startled but completely unhurt.
Anytime I saw him on the street afterward, I wished he would come into the cafe, so I’d have a chance to meet him. This, though, is not the way I’d envisioned things going. I feel likeIseem like a toddler falling down a curb, when I want him to see me as a woman.
“Come and have a drink with me,” he says, his serious expression unwavering. “We’ll get everything sorted out after.”
I lick my dry lips. “I should probably call for road service now. They can take hours sometimes. Except—” I glance down at my hands. One of my palms has an angry red knot from where I landed on my keys. “I jumped out of my car without my purse or my phone.”
“What’s your name?” He asks, leaning closer. The scents of smoke and masculine soap hit me all at once. He smellssogood.
“Olivia.” I lick my lips nervously. “Liv.”
“Liam.”
The hand on my back guides me deeper into the bar. “There’s no need to call road service or anyone else, Olivia. I’ve got you.”
* * *
LIAM
Youngis my first thought.Maybe too young. I’m twenty-nine, and the girl is, well… maybe a teenager. Until I establish whether she’s legal, my hungry eyes need to stay off her pretty little tits and their pointed nipples.
With a jerk of my head, I signal for my brother to clear out of the booth. Aiden is a semi truck rounding a corner as he emerges, the sight of his size alone clears a path. He pauses a few feet from the booth to give the girl’s back a look before giving me a longer, more pointed one. It was only an hour ago that I gave him a caution about getting too chummy with the very young sister of a dangerous man we know. And now here I am, interested in someone innocent and barely out of high school. At least I hope she is.
The difference is, this girl doesn’t have a cold-blooded killer with a marksman’s aim as her older brother. If she did, she wouldn’t be crawling across a pub floor begging strangers for help.
My suit coat is hanging from a hook. I grab it and hold it out to her. It’s summer, but the bar’s kept cool since it’s always full of people who’ve had glasses of fire poured down their throats in the form of whisky or whatever poison they’ve chosen for the night.
Liv’s pretty brows crinkle at the jacket, and she draws back. “It looks expensive. The beer will ruin it.”
My hand bobs insistently. “Come on. My clothes have seen worse than a little Guinness. And if it can’t stand up to that, well then, I’m due for new threads.”
A smile that’s like sunrise appears. “I love your accent.” She slips her arms into the sleeves which hang past her fingers. “Are you from Ireland?”
“In a way. My parents are. I was born here but spent a lot of time over there.” I don’t add the reason I was shipped over on more than one occasion was because I got in too much trouble locally, and the family thought it best that I go and knock about with relatives a good deal tougher than my aging father had become. The uncles in Ireland were quick to knock our heads together when my brother Aiden and I stepped out of line. Of course, their idea of stepping out of line was fairly limited, which I’m not sure my mother realized.
“Where were you headed tonight?” I ask.
Long strands of white blond hair fall over her shoulder. “Home to my apartment. I have a night class at BCC.”
“Night school?”
“No,” she says with a little chuckle. “College. My other two summer classes are Tuesdays and Thursdays during the day, but I have one six-to-nine on Wednesdays. That was the only time it was offered in summer.”
“So you’re going to school year-round?”
“Yes. Trying to get as many of the prerequisites out of the way at Belton Community College before I transfer to a university. It’ll save me a lot of money in the long run.”
“Hmm. And what year are you in?”
