Taste Me Deadly (Sensory Ops) (5 page)

“Do many projects here?”

“Yes.” He came to a stop beside a white, two-seater convertible that looked more like a chick car than something Liam would drive. “I was taught to do things myself around the house.”

“Clearly you can afford to pay people.”

“Everyone says that.”

She turned, mouth agape, and shook her head. How could he pretend surprise that people would think he had money?

“Okay, yes,” he conceded while turning off the car and pressing the button to lower the garage door. “I can afford to pay for any repair needed; I wouldn’t have bought the place if I couldn’t.”

“But?”

He leaned across her, holding her gaze for a moment when his nose was close enough to brush her. “But I’m able to afford them and this place because of the money I save doing the work myself.”

He opened her door and leaned back, unconcerned with whatever she might argue next. The man made no sense. “This is more than a few dollars saved on odd jobs.”

“There was also an inheritance that did well on some stocks. And it could be said I got a killer’s discount. A financial trifecta.” He nodded toward the house. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

“A killer’s discount?” Questions and uncertainty flailed in her mind. His jacket was high quality and his car had every gadget possible, but she’d never have guessed he lived in such a high-end place. He came across as so normal.

“The place was seized in a prostitution and murder investigation we worked. It made it a tough sell.” He led her through the laundry room, that was an actual room, and into the kitchen. She was struck again by the magnitude of contradictions that surrounded him. Her heart raced.

Massive, the room boasted a large refrigerator with double doors and a freezer drawer below, a gas cook top with six burners and a griddle, double ovens and an oversized microwave. The main cabinets were white with black marble counters and, for contrast, the island, giant in its own right, had ebony cabinets topped with white marble.

Like the garage, the walls were a pale gray with dark beams exposed. Color, bold blues and greens, popped to life from the trinkets and artwork, as well as from the centerpiece bowl filled with fruit, and the eight barstools surrounding the island.

Her inner cook, the woman too rarely released in the last five years, rejoiced at the kitchen’s splendor. Her inner chocolatier, another part of herself suppressed years earlier, longed to see smoothly melted chocolate being worked on the white marble. She rubbed her fingertips together, practically feeling the silk of chocolate between them.

The only thing that might be better than a cooking indulgence would be to settle onto a barstool with a glass of wine to watch Liam cook. Assuming he cooked.

She ran her fingers along the edge of the cool marble as she followed him into the living room. The gray walls and exposed beams continued. The same blues and greens from the kitchen greeted her from wall hangings, the pillows on the leather sofa capable of seating ten people, and the enormous rug that covered the beam-matching hardwood floors.

She didn’t need to see the rest of the house to know it would be equally awesome. And equally out of her league. “What does a single man need with all this space?”

“I have company quite often. And I’m not single.” He continued down a hall and into the main entrance, giving her a glimpse of the formal areas before turning up a massive staircase.

“Enough company that you need all this space?”

“I have a large family.”

An image of overbearing Scots filled her head. It was powerful enough to make her cringe. “I’ll be sure to be gone before they come back.”

“My team and their significant others also come over often.”

“How many of them are there?”

“There are six of us on the team, four of them are either engaged or married, well, five if you count me, one of the fiancés has a sister and then we have another friend who stops by when he’s in town.”

“So there are twelve of you in your little group.”

“Thirteen.”

She did the math again and shook her head. “Who’s number thirteen?”

“You.”

“What?” She stumbled. “No. I’m not joining your merry little band of whatever you all are.”

“Sweetheart.” He stopped at the first door in the upstairs foyer and pressed a kiss to her temple. “You’re already a member.”

“Liam, I hope you’re not expecting this
thing
between us to last.”

“I have just as much reason to think it will work out as you do to think it won’t.”

“I don’t even know how to respond to that.”

“Then don’t try.” He leaned around her and opened the door they stood beside. His arm brushed her breast and set tingles racing through her. She lifted a hand, set it on the back of his forearm.

His jacket felt creamy against her fingers. He angled his head, met her gaze.

So many things needed to be said, discussed. She owed him an explanation. He deserved to know why she’d left, to know it had nothing to do with him. The trouble was that she’d leave again when Ruby was safe, so anything she said would be little more than empty platitudes.

“Liam.”

“Grey.”

They spoke at the same moment and they both sounded out of breath. Screw explanations. If burning in Miami’s fiery pits of despair rested in her near future she may as well enjoy the trip.

Curling her fingers into the back of his arm she leaned into him. Slow and dreamlike, Liam eased forward. Grey pushed up to her toes and touched her lips to his. It was a tentative touch and she kept her eyes open, locked on his, not that the thoughts behind the brown shields to his soul were readable.

Retreating, she swept her tongue across her lips. Liam placed a hand on her stomach and pulled at her shirt. He made no move to untuck it, yet each tug pulled on the yearning to belong that breathed inside her. Then she grabbed his jacket and began to pluck at the fabric.

“This is wrong,” Grey whispered, more for her benefit than his, a way to remind herself how things would end. She didn’t belong in his world that was resplendent in perfection. She didn’t know how to be the kind of person he surrounded himself with, openly supportive and instantly loving. She was more comfortable in her one-bedroom apartment filled with mismatched furniture that could only be called shabby chic in a dream. Differences aside, she had no desire to be involved with someone tangled up in the law. Either side.

“Seems right to me.” He breathed a kiss across her lips again. Nothing more than a rush of warmth backed by the lightest caress of softness, the kiss sent her rationalizations scurrying for cover.

“Things are complicated.”

“Easy is boring.” He kissed her again.

Her knees trembled. Her other hand drifted up and grabbed the front of his jacket. “Boring is safe.”

“Safety and excitement can dance on occasion.” His next caress was a nibble kiss at her jaw, just in front of her ear.

She licked her lips and tightened her hold on his jacket. He unraveled her restraints. “What kind of dance?”

“The oldest kind.” Demonstrating, he gathered her close and began to move. They stood in a large foyer at the top of the stairs with no music playing and he was luring her into a dance.

Then she heard it. Music, deep and throbbing like a heavy heartbeat. The stunning strains of sweeping notes played in each touch. His palm at her hip. A finger at her throat’s pulse.

Her blood hummed. Desire swelled.

Applying almost no pressure, he moved her hips forward and back, wrapping her in warmth and comfort and arousal. Grey rested her temple against his jaw and craved the strength to allow herself to be carried away.

Complications underscored Liam’s efforts to simplify the moment. Grey just didn’t know how to accept the simplicity.

“I can’t.” Lifting her head she forced clarity into her mind. The fog of fantasy lingered, though.

Liam surprised her when instead of arguing or ignoring her, like he did every time she insisted his help wasn’t needed, he set her down. She wasn’t sure when he’d picked her up but the instant his hands released her she missed them.

“Do you promise not to run away in the middle of the night?”

“Are you really that worried about my safety?” The idea of him caring enough to worry was novel, which was nothing more than a dream she couldn’t entertain.

“Yes, but let’s not pretend you haven’t mastered your disappearance act.”

Guilt, an emotion she’d once thought she squashed, showed its traitorous head, which it seemed to be doing a lot lately. It had been bad with Ruby, yet standing in Liam’s home it mixed with regret and overflowed.

“My promise probably means nothing to you, but I will not leave in the middle of the night.”

“Good.” He leaned in and kissed her again. This time it was almost chaste, as if he was simply saying “good night, sleep tight”, but as she breathed easy he tugged her bottom lip between his teeth, swiped his tongue over the puffy spot she’d made bleed earlier with chewing nerves, and then pulled back.

He pointed to the end of the hall. “I’m just around the corner if you need me.”

Her knees shook as she watched him walk away. She’d been so certain he would seduce her into his bed. The weekend in Vegas had been the first and last time in five years she’d slept dream free and the prospect of repeating the pleasure was stark.

He was rounding the corner when she called out. “Liam.”

He turned but said nothing.

Grey was tempted to shake her head and go into the room. Retreat would be cowardice. Cowardice would mean sleeping in the nude, which she refused to do. At least in Liam’s house with him down the hall. “My stuff is in my car. I have nothing to wear.”

He looked her up and down. Hunger rolled over her and had her wondering if he pictured her naked. Her mouth watered.

“Your bag is in your room.”

“How?”

“Tyler moved it while you were in your appointment.”

Her hand went to the pocket where the single key was. Had been. Skin hot and tight, she said, “You picked my pocket.”

Liam’s only move was the slightest shrug with one shoulder.

Her skin heated more. “You planned on bringing me here from the beginning.”

“You’re my wife. You belong here, even if you prefer not to share a room with me.” Offering no other explanations he pivoted on the ball of his left foot and walked away.

Heart heavy, Grey went into
her
room. Her doubts followed.

Unlike the downstairs that started with pale palettes, the bedroom was brilliantly bright. The walls were teal green, but one had been painted with fat lines in a slightly darker teal. Baseboards and crown molding as glossy and smooth looking as white chocolate added elegance the space didn’t really need.

The bed frame, tables and dresser were the same color as the molding, but the bedding, seating area chairs and decorations pulled in shades of teal with touches of pink. On the floor at the end of the bed sat her brown bag with its slight tear at one corner.

Standing in a bedroom that could fit her entire apartment, Grey was surrounded by perfection and wealth. Liam was going out of his way to welcome her. He’d offered protection, privacy, comfort and no pressure in regards to sleeping together. She should be grateful, and she was, but every gesture was shadowed by reality.

Fed or not, married or not, Liam did not need to take on her problems.

She’d promised not to leave in the middle of the night, and she’d meant it. She’d thought she would stay, but looking at the clock, seeing that it was nearing midnight, she knew differently. Hands cold and shaking, she wrapped her fingers around the handle of her bag.

She was out the door and down the stairs before his earlier words smacked her back a step.
Let’s not pretend you haven’t mastered your disappearance act.

Grey spun, expecting to see him descending the stairs. He wasn’t there. Shaking off the idea of being watched, she turned for the front door. She turned the first deadbolt. Her fingers were on the second.

“Unless you’re leaving Ruby again, too, I’ll track you down in a few hours.”

She’d never been easily startled or prone to screams, not even when she was moments from being discovered by Karl Jessup, but she felt one rising. Closing her eyes, Grey froze, unable to face Liam. “I can’t be here.”

His fingers encased hers on the bag. She flinched. Where had he come from and how did he move so soundlessly given his size?

She wouldn’t ask any more than he’d answer if she did. “Why, Grey? Why can’t you be here? Why do you keep running?”

He took her bag and without its weight in her hand she lost the resolve she’d barely been gripping.

“Your world is too different from mine.” She hated the squeak in her voice, but she went on. “My apartment can fit in that bedroom.”

He relocked the door and then, taking her hand in his, led her back to the stairs. They were at the top landing before he finally spoke. “You’re judging the book cover. This is just a house chosen because it’s big enough to accommodate my family without us tripping over each other when they visit.”