Know When to Hold Him (6 page)

Chapter Eight

The Turtle Creek high rise sat above the winding tree-lined street. The simple beauty of the environment paled in contrast to the wealth that surrounded it. Liam remembered his real estate agent trying to show him the building. He had declined, thinking “luxury high-rise condo” sounded too LA. He’d just escaped from La-la land.

And this was where Spencer lived. For the hundredth time, Liam asked himself what the hell he was doing here. The meeting in his office hadn’t gone well. This would be one helluva first date.

If Spencer answered the door.

He’d gone back and forth all afternoon. On the one hand, he’d made a commitment. On the other, they hadn’t left on good terms.
Let it go
, he’d told himself. She’s just another woman, one that was after the same thing they were all after.

Liam had played football for ten years without leaving a trail of junior Connellys behind him, something not many of his colleagues could claim. He’d spent years ducking and detecting over-eager women across the country, all out to get a piece of him and his bank account. Then he’d seen the same old story as an agent, time and again, and he wasn’t about to let this beautiful shark of a woman get what so many others had tried and failed to get–the best of Liam Connelly.

If he ever settled down, it was going to be because
he
wanted it, not because he was hijacked down the aisle. And he’d be damned if he let that happen to any other man.

Unfortunately, that didn’t stop him from wanting to take this beautiful shark out to dinner. So here he was.

He inhaled and approached the doorman, who was dressed in a black jacket piped with burgundy.

“Hello,” the doorman greeted as he reached for the door.

“Hi,” Liam said. “Could you help me out with directions to Spencer Hightower’s unit?”

The doorman shut the door, and the smile faded from his face. He stood tall and straight, his shoulders filling in his jacket, his eyes alert to lurking security risks, of which Liam was apparently one.

Liam pulled his shoulders back, meeting the doorman man-to-man. The doorman focused on the yellow bouquet in Liam’s hand.

“Are you delivering those?” He asked.

Liam considered the bouquet. “I guess that’s one way of putting it. I’m supposed to be picking Ms. Hightower up for a date.”

The older man squinted at him. “You’re different from the rest. Most of them don’t bring flowers.”

Oh
. He weighed the flowers in his hand, wondering if it was over the top. Maybe it looked stupid. Or overeager or something. But he needed something extra tonight, especially after that meeting in his conference room.

“Too much?” he asked the doorman.

“Depends on what you’ve done,” the doorman chuckled. Then he grew watchful again. “Do I know you?”

Liam shook his head cautiously.

The doorman snapped his fingers. “Football. You played football.”

“You a Seahawks fan?” Seemed weird to find one here in Texas, but they had to be somewhere.

“Oh, Lord, no. I bleed Cowboy blue.”
Oh.
The man snapped again. “Mizzou. You played for Mizzou.” Liam nodded and stated his class year.

“You’re not from there?” Liam asked.

“From Independence originally, then Springfield. You?”

Liam bit out the name of his hometown in Missouri. The old man nodded. “Got a cousin who used to live there. His oldest was shot in a meth deal.”

Liam nodded back. Meth, lost kids, and hopelessness. That pretty much summed up his hometown.

“So you got lucky. The golden ticket.” The doorman crossed his arms, peering at Liam.

“Excuse me?”

“Football’s a nice ride out of a dead end town.”

Red, hot static climbed up Liam’s spine. “Don’t get far on a golden ticket if you don’t know how to play it.” Yeah, it sounded defensive. But he didn’t like the implication that he had been “lucky”. Liam had worked his ass off for what he had.

The doorman held out two appeasing hands. “Never said you didn’t.”

Liam remembered why he was there and switched the subject, fast. “How did you get to Dallas?” Liam asked.

A mischievous smirk crept across the man’s face. “Thirty-five years ago, I followed a woman here. Never wanted to leave.”

“I just moved here,” Liam explained. “Dallas seems like a great place, though.”

The man waved his hand, dismissing that. “Not Dallas. The woman.” He winked. “Never wanted to leave the woman.” He put his hand out and Liam shook it, with a strong, respectful grip. “I’m Stuart. 22-B.”

“Excuse me?”

Stuart opened the door with a grace that belied his age. “Ms. Hightower’s unit. 22-B.”

Liam patted him on the back with his free, non-flowery hand, and headed up.

Chapter Nine

Spencer settled on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and glass of cabernet sauvignon. Her mother would be horrified at her choice of dinner, not because of the lack of nutrition, but because the bottle of wine cost less than ten dollars. Clicking the remote, she reviewed the saved movies and shows in her DVR and debated her options for the evening. A romantic comedy? Um, no. She needed to relax.

There was a movie with Channing Tatum saving the world. The plus—Channing Tatum. The bad—his resemblance to a certain recent import from Los Angeles with a lickable body. Plus, the movie had a lot of violence in it. A reality show about fashion models sounded good. Brainless, yet positive, and better yet, no men. Or injustice. Or guns. Maybe she’d be able to end this day with some mental sanity intact.

Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock at the door. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and Stuart accepted all deliveries past five.

She opened the door. For the second time that day, he’d surprised her.

Liam Connelly in a fresh white shirt.

Cleanly shaven.

With a devil’s smile and-damn him-flowers.

Excitement shot through Spencer’s body, setting the fine hairs on her arms upright.

Why couldn’t she have ice in her veins?

“What are you doing here?” She scowled.

Liam glanced at his watch. “We had a date. Seven, right?”

Spencer’s jaw went slack. “You thought we were still having dinner? After today?”

Liam furrowed a brow. “Yeah?”

“After today?” Spencer repeated herself. “When you wouldn’t take my calls and you called me an extortionist?”

“I didn’t know they were your calls.”

Spencer pressed her lips together. She’d considered that earlier, after she’d driven home in a rage.

Technically, they weren’t her calls. Rainey phoned Troy Duncan’s agency, not her. And Liam hadn’t met Rainey, and he didn’t know what Spencer did for a living or who worked for her. And Spencer hadn’t known where Liam worked, or who his clients were. The mix-up was understandable. Still.

She couldn’t let it go. “You called Rainey an extortionist.”

Liam opened his mouth to say something but paused. Instead, he did a very smart thing—he held out the bouquet of flowers. “They didn’t have lilies. Something about Easter using up all the good ones.”

Spencer couldn’t help the tiny little feminine part of her heart from sighing at the sight of a man extending flowers. “Lilies?” she asked, accepting the bouquet graciously.

“Yeah, like your perfume. It smells like lilies.”

Spencer searched Liam’s face for any sign of deceit. Was she being played? Were these lines that women across the country had fallen for? Liam’s baby blues seemed sincere to her, warm and affectionate.

She took a deep breath and tried reminding herself of all the very good reasons she had to not date Liam. He was an unknown variable, and hadn’t that proven to be dangerous today? He was a slick, too-pretty ladies’ man with a dubious past and clients that were sure to be public relations nightmares. Even the virgin clients were apparently a handful.

And he represented the opposition.
Exactly
. He was the opposition, she reminded herself. If she wanted to win this Dalynn situation, being on good terms with this incredibly hot and strangely thoughtful man couldn’t hurt. But it could not, would not be a date.

“I’ll go to dinner,” Spencer relented. “But as business associates. Nothing more.”

Liam appeared unfazed. “Okay.”

She frowned a little. It wouldn’t hurt for him to try to convince her otherwise, but he didn’t. What did she want him to do? Beg? Absolutely not. This would be a business meeting. Business meetings didn’t involve feelings, or vanity or kisses…

“I’ll need to change.”

“You look great.” Liam’s compliment was quick and smooth, earning himself yet more points. Most men wouldn’t mind her tank top and boxer shorts, but Spencer Hightower did not go out in a tank top and boxer shorts.

Ever.

…

Liam stepped into Spencer’s apartment like he had conquered a Roman army with just a switchblade and a snarl. Of course, coming here had been a gamble. And it worked. He was in-for now.

Liam hadn’t missed the wariness in Spencer’s eyes. She wasn’t sure about him. But that was fine. He wasn’t sure about her, either.

Spencer efficiently dropped the flowers into a vase, placed them on the kitchen table, and took off down a hall to change. Liam was seized with a violent curiosity. How many bouquets had gone into that vase? The question filled him with a ridiculous amount of anxiety.

Dude, calm down. You’ve been on a million dates. Why should this be any different?
But, for some reason, it was. He didn’t get anxious about getting into a woman’s bedroom. It either happened (usually) or it didn’t (no big deal). But this bedroom…was so close.

To distract himself, Liam redirected his curiosity to the rest of Spencer’s condo. Single women tended to indulge their femininity when they lived alone. Not her. In contrast, the apartment was straight-forward. Dark wood floors, antique rugs, and crammed bookshelves made the living room warm and cozy without resorting to bed and breakfast overstuffed cushiness. The furniture was sleek and modern, built for comfort and ease. A flat screen attached to surround sound. Not too shabby.

It was a good view from the twenty-second floor. An even better one when he turned around and saw Spencer. She’d let her hair down so it hung to her shoulders, golden and soft.

He wasn’t sure how a dress could show off a body more, with twice as much fabric, but hers did. A deep blue that resembled her eyes, the dress was the kind that wrapped around her waist with a tie. Liam’s fingers itched to get into that knot and slip it loose. It was all he could do not to whistle. Although, he had a hunch Spencer didn’t get whistled at. Men were too busy trying to breathe around her to muster the oxygen needed.

“You…” Liam found his own oxygen in short supply. “…just…”

“Thank you,” she replied, saving him from the embarrassment of further incoherency.

He held the door for her, pushed the elevator button, and led her to his truck. Hustling to the passenger side, he opened the door for her, watching her backside and long legs as she navigated the high step of the pick-up.

“Nice truck,” Spencer said. “It smells new.”

Liam turned the ignition, and the engine roared to life.

All the while, Spencer rubbed the leather of the seat in a slow, sensual slide. Dammit, even that distracted him. A beautiful woman and supple leather. A dangerous combination.

“It is,” Liam forced himself to reply. “I couldn’t have one in LA, so as soon as I found out I was moving to Texas, I started calling dealers.”

“Why?”

Liam shrugged. “I’m from Missouri. I played football. I’m a truck kind of guy.”

“No, why couldn’t you have a truck in LA?”

“Oh.” Liam was embarrassed for a second, for admitting his humble background. He shrugged that off. It was who he was, for better or worse. “Parking. Traffic. Gas. Pick one. Didn’t seem practical.”

“Where in Missouri?” Spencer’s voice was soft and her perfume was fresh and all woman.

“A suburb of St. Louis. One no one wants to talk about.” He tried to make a joke of it, but the memory of his hometown made his right fist clench.

“And then you went to Missou…”

Liam glanced over at Spencer. “Someone’s done her research.” A slight blush rose on her cheeks.

“Well, a girl’s gotta know what she’s dealing with.”

Liam knew it had as much to do with Troy Duncan as it did their dinner. That was okay; he would probably tell his sister to do the same.

The traffic light turned green. Pressing the gas pedal, he made a right turn toward the restaurant.

“That’s smart,” he said. “So you’ve read about my football career then.” Liam wasn’t bragging. It was just the first thing that came up in any Internet search containing his name.

“Four years at Missou. You had a losing season your senior year, but that didn’t keep you from going pro.”

Liam grimaced. He didn’t like being reminded that his senior year had been a disaster.

“Then another four years with the Seattle Seahawks,” Spencer continued. “Again, respectable but not great.”

Why did she have to quote his record? Like he needed a reminder.

Liam frowned at the traffic ahead of him. “I think I did okay,” he finally answered. “For being injured my last season.”

“Then Google loses you for a few years. I’m assuming because you were too busy studying at the law library in Austin with JT.” Liam nodded, suddenly glad that Google didn’t document everything in everyone’s life.

There were a lot of things he didn’t want Spencer to find out about. Things that made a losing season resemble a highlight reel.

“And now you’re here. Sports agent. Representing Troy Duncan.”

Liam pulled into the parking lot and glanced at Spencer. He waited for her response. After all, the restaurant was in a gas station.

“Oh, good.” She pointed up at the neon sign. “I love this place.”

Liam helped her from the truck, awaiting the onslaught of sarcasm surely to follow.

When he’d asked around for suggestions at the Buchanans’ ranch, the “gas station place” had come highly recommended. A four-star dining establishment in a gas station had seemed kind of perfect.

Still, he’d been nervous-about whether she’d be shocked, or disgusted, or whether she’d turn around and demand to be taken to a real place.

All of Liam’s fears melted away at the warm sparkle in Spencer’s eyes as they walked under the neon glow of the lights. On an impulse, he reached out and took her hand and slipped it through his arm. “Only the best for you,” he declared, knowing she could take a joke.

They were seated at a table for two, in the small space that operated as a restaurant next to the convenience store. Although in a gas station, the restaurant was exclusive, with just ten tables. The only way he’d been able to get a reservation was because it was a Monday.

Spencer ordered a margarita on the rocks, and Liam asked for a bottle of beer. After the waitress took their orders, Liam leaned back and took a long pull of the cold Mexican brew. There was a buzzing sound coming from her little purse, the kind without a strap, which she had placed on the table. Trying to be unobtrusive, Spencer slid a phone out to glance at the screen. With reflexes that had served him well in his athletic career, Liam shot his hand out and popped the phone from her hand. It bounced up a few inches, she squealed, and Liam caught it, bringing it back against his chest, his fist closed around it.

Spencer wasn’t amused. “Give it back.”

“Isn’t this mine?” Liam teased.

“It was a gift, and I need to answer that.”

“Why can’t it wait?” Liam truly wanted to know. If it was an emergency, he’d understand.

“Because you need to give it back.”

Liam chuckled. “Not a good reason. Give me a good reason. Is it an emergency?” He tapped the phone against his chin.

“No,” she admitted. “It’s not an emergency.”

“Is it family?”

“My family gets their staff to place calls. They don’t text.”

“Is it work?”

“Yes. Give it back.” She held out a hand, palm up, waiting for him to obey her command—pronto.

He was treading a thin line. He handed the phone back. As she reviewed the text, he said, “JT did say you love your phone.” Spencer’s fingers paused in her typing, but she didn’t look up.

“He did?” She murmured.

“No, what he said was, your longest relationship was with your Blackberry. And now I’m jealous of a piece of vibrating plastic.”

“Many men are.” Spencer batted her thick lashes in his direction. The effect was shockingly sensual. Had she meant it like that?

Spencer curved the corners of her mouth into a wry smile as she refocused on the phone. Oh, she’d meant it. And while she wasn’t paying attention, he nonchalantly adjusted his pants. Because.

She finished her business and the phone went back into the purse. Until the next time. Liam took a slow sip of his drink and swallowed. What would it take for Spencer Hightower to ignore work? Or the whole world, for that matter, and just focus on…
him
. His mind flashed back to their kiss at the ranch. She hadn’t had a phone. It had been just them and the night sky, and she’d rocked his world.

So Liam decided his next major goal in life wouldn’t be running a marathon, climbing a mountain, or making another million. He had something more challenging in mind. Getting the Blackberry away from Spencer Hightower. A Blackberry he had given her.
Dumbass
.

“So now that you know all the highlights of my life, what about you?”

“Me?” Spencer almost sputtered.

“What? I’m supposed to Google you before we go out? I told you I don’t do that.”

“Yeah, but…” A little line appeared between Spencer’s eyebrows. “I mean, after today when we…” There was an uncomfortable pause. “Found out we’re opponents,” she finished.

Liam couldn’t help himself. “We’re opponents?”

“In a sense, yes.”

“Just because we have clients whose interests don’t coincide right now?”

“That’s the definition of opponents. We’re opposing each other.”

Liam shook his head. “I disagree. That’s business. That’s not who we are. That’s Troy and Dalynn and OPM. This is Liam and Spencer. Opponents makes it sound like it’s all personal.”

“Everything is personal,” Spencer declared. “There’s no way to not make something personal. Especially business.”

Liam scoffed. “Of course there is. On the football field, you can go out, bash a guy’s head in on the field, and then go out together that night. It’s not personal, it’s business.”

Spencer crossed her arms. “But that’s football.”

“That’s life.”

Speculation made her eyes sparkle as she regarded him across the table. “So let’s play this out. Let’s say we get the test.”

“Not going to happen.” He forced himself to look cool even as the adrenaline started to rush through his blood. Once a competitor, always a competitor, even when a beautiful woman was on the other side.