When We Kiss (21 page)

He squeezed her fingers. “You're ready. Get your father's criticism out of your head.”

Aubrey nodded, knowing that was the best advice she could hear. “I will.”

“Don't feel like you have to hang around, dear,” Aunt Cyndi told her. “I'm sure you want to get ready for tomorrow, and it looks like Liam's anxious to help you.”

Uncle Dave's gaze snapped between them. “Liam Archer's here?”

Aunt Cyndi nodded. “I just met him. Charming young man, and so thoughtful to rush over to be with Aubrey.” She looked at Aubrey, her blue eyes inquisitive. “Are you sure he's not boyfriend material? He seems caring, and he's gorgeous—if I do say so myself. Sorry, honey.” She patted Uncle Dave's hand and grinned.

Clearly Uncle Dave had talked to her about Liam. Not that it was a secret.

“He doesn't even live here in Ribbon Ridge, so that should tell you about his boyfriend potential right there.” Aubrey leaned down and kissed her uncle's cheek. “Feel better, okay? Will one of you text me when you get home?”

“We will,” Aunt Cyndi said.

Aubrey gave her a quick hug and left. As she made her way back to the waiting room, her mind was already buzzing with thoughts of tomorrow. Damn, she wasn't mentally ready for this. She knew she
could
do it, but she hadn't planned on doing it. Which meant she had to get her head into the game fast.

She made her way back to Liam.

He stood. “Everything all right?”

“Yes, he's going home in a bit.”

He smiled. “That's great. You ready to blow out of here? I'll follow you back to your house.” He grabbed his coat and put it on.

What was it about that leather jacket that ramped his sex appeal from zero to sixty in nothing flat? No, that wasn't right. His sex appeal was
never
at zero.

“I don't remember inviting you.” Her feeble attempt at protest sounded lame even to her ears.

He picked up his sunglasses from the table. “You don't want my help? Come on, Aubrey, I want to help. Why won't you let me?”

“Because . . . reasons.”

“I promise to keep my hands to myself.” His eyes narrowed. “But you have to do the same.”

Point taken. She had no willpower where he was concerned. She really ought to tell him no, but she
did
need help. She needed to practice, and he was the best candidate to help her. “Okay.”

“That's my girl.” He slipped his shades on, and the sex appeal ratcheted even higher.

She scowled at him. “I am not your girl.”

He lifted his hands. “My bad.” He plucked up his helmet and escorted her from the waiting room. “I'll stop at the pub and pick up some dinner. You want a burger or something?”

“Cheeseburger, medium—no mayo.”

“Got it.” He walked her to her car, which was parked nearby since she'd brought Uncle Dave in. He edged his glasses down his nose and peered at her over the rims. “Any other special requests?”

She pressed the button on her key fob to unlock her car. “Just the one about the hands.”

His brow arched. “The more you bring it up, the more I fixate on it.”

She pressed her lips together and vowed to keep her mouth shut. “See you in a bit.” She climbed into the car, and he closed the door.

As she pulled out of the parking lot, she saw him start up his bike and pull out of his spot. He looked so hot, so dangerous, so unattainable.

And he was coming to her house, where they couldn't seem to
not
end up having sex. She was so screwed.

T
HEY MADE IT
through dinner and managed to keep their focus entirely on preparing for the hearing. That didn't mean that Liam wasn't appreciating the high ponytail she was wearing and the way it bared her sleek neck. Nor did it mean he wasn't eyeballing the jeans she'd changed into, which perfectly delineated her toned ass. And he was trying really hard not to look at the swell of her breasts beneath the striped, long-sleeved T-shirt. Horizontal stripes. Which only served to make her look even curvier than she already was.

After dinner, they took their wine to the formal dining room so she could practice. Liam sat at the end of the table closest to the front window and tried really hard not to picture her sprawled out naked over the other end while he stood between her thighs and brought them both to the peak of orgasm and beyond. As if he'd done that all on his own. No, she'd been every bit as instrumental in each one of their sexual encounters. She was, without question, the best lover he'd ever had.

“That was really fantastic,” he said when she was finished, adding applause, which sparked her to bow. “You're a great orator, but that shouldn't surprise me. You're one of the smartest, most well-spoken people I know.”

Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “You're sucking up. Knock it off.”

He laughed. “I am not. Am I not allowed to give you a compliment? Hey, it didn't even involve how beautiful you are or how great you kiss.”

“Aren't you breaking your own rules about being here?”

“I said hands to ourselves. I didn't say anything about words.”

She rolled her eyes. “As if that's any better. For your information, words are every bit as much of a turn-on for women as anything you might do with your
hands
.”

“They're a turn-on for men, too—at least they are for me. But I'll be honest. One look from you carries the weight of a thousand words.”

She stood at the opposite end of the table, her arms crossed, her look decidedly guarded. “Stop that.” Her voice was low, vulnerable. “Stop saying things that make me want you. I don't
want
to want you. We aren't doing this.”

“Doing what?” he asked cautiously. He wanted to be very clear about what they were talking about.

“Hooking up. Having sex. Getting together.”

He sat back in the chair and rested his elbows on the arms. “You don't want those things. I get it. Tell me what you do want.”

Her eyes widened briefly with surprise. She stared at him for a moment, then pulled out the chair at the other end of the table—the end they'd used that night—and sat down. “You really want to know?”

He nodded. “I do.”

“I want what my aunt and uncle have. At the hospital, they were talking in Uncle Dave's room.” She looked at the table as she traced her finger over the wood. “They have this closeness that's just so real, so right. I want that. I want a partner, a lover—” she glanced at him but looked away before saying “—a husband. And I want that
here
in Ribbon Ridge.” When her gaze found his, her hazel eyes were full of conviction. “Growing up, I never felt that sense of belonging. My parents were cold, self-involved. Nothing I ever did was good enough for them. My dad in particular had crazy, ridiculous expectations. Straight As weren't enough, not when I could've taken an extra class or joined another club. I got a B once, in English, when I was a junior in high school. That summer he made me read forty books chosen by him and write a reflection on each of them.”

He wanted to put his arms around her. He also wanted to punch her dad in the gut. “Jesus, Aubrey.”

“When I decided to move here and work with Uncle Dave, my parents were severely disappointed. They wanted me to take a prestigious job—I had offers—and marry a wealthy name. None of that matters to me, and they don't care.”

He watched her talk, heard the disdain and the hurt in her tone, and finally understood her brand of crazy. “I had no idea your parents were such assholes.”

She laughed sharply. “Yep.”

“Do you see them at all?”

She laid one palm flat on the table and rested her chin on the palm of her other hand. “Rarely. They're super busy working on their golf game and picking up wine futures. They still live in Carmel, but they also have a place in Arizona. They come here for IPNC every year. Last year, I left town. This year, Uncle Dave, Aunt Cyndi, and I are going to the Shakespeare Festival.”

“And rafting? You got my recommendations, right?” He'd e-mailed them not long after she'd asked.

She nodded, adjusting her position to sit back in her chair. “I think Aunt Cyndi made reservations for the Upper Klamath. I'll have to double-check.”

He wished he could go with her. He'd love to see her face when she hit Satan's Gate and Hell's Corner. For the first time, he envisioned taking a woman along on one of his weekend jaunts. But then he'd already invited Aubrey flying—maybe he'd surprise her on Wednesday.

Wait, what was he doing? He'd heard what she'd just said: She wanted to settle down with a guy here in Ribbon Ridge. Probably start a family. But maybe not. Her family experience wasn't the best. Plus, she'd mentioned wanting what her aunt and uncle had, and they didn't have any children. “Do you want to have kids?”

She nodded immediately. “Definitely.”

“But your family life sucked.”

“Which is precisely why I want a do-over.”

Liam tried to understand that. Personally, he chose to stay away from things he didn't like or that made him uncomfortable. Such as distancing himself from home because of the guilt he'd felt and because he and Alex had both preferred it that way. Families, in his experience, were messy. He loved them, truly—at arm's length.

Or so he'd thought. He honestly didn't know anymore.

“Despite having douche-bag parents, you turned out okay.”

She rolled her eyes. “I guess. More wine? We should finish the bottle.” She picked up her empty glass and went to the kitchen.

He snagged his glass and followed her. Standing at the island in the center of the kitchen, she refilled them both, pouring out the rest of the pinot.

“Thanks for picking up dinner and coming over,” she said.

He tapped his glass against hers. “To wiping the floor with Sutherlin tomorrow.”

“I hope so.” She drank her wine and leaned her hip against the counter.

He heard the note of uncertainty in her voice. “Why am I more confident than you?”

“Because you're arrogant?” She flashed him a smile. “Kidding.”

He took a drink and set his wine down. “No, you're not. Sometimes I am. You should be, too. You're a kick-ass attorney.”

She looked down at her wine. “Thanks.”

He stepped around the island toward her and took the glass from her hands, setting it on the counter. “Stop doing that. Don't doubt yourself.”

He suspected her parents had everything to do with the expectations she put on herself as well as the flashes of self-doubt that he saw in her. Her parents were worse than assholes. And he hadn't helped matters when he'd come to talk to her about the brief. He could've handled that a lot better.

She looked up at him. Her eyes were so beautiful, with all the greens and browns that he loved in nature. “You sound like my uncle.”

“Listen to your uncle—not the ghost of your dad.” He cracked a smile. “I realize he isn't dead, but you get me. I hope.”

She smiled back. “I do. You know, you don't suck at this friend thing.”

“Don't sound so surprised. On second thought,
I'm
surprised.” He backed away from her and picked up his wineglass before he did something that crossed over that friend line. “Speaking of surprises, I have one for you on Wednesday. To celebrate.”

Her eyes widened with alarm. “Stop talking about celebrating before anything's decided!”

“There's nothing wrong with thinking positive. That's how most of my real-estate deals get done.”

She finished her wine, and he finished his. With no more wine to drink and no more argument to practice, he figured it was time to go. But damn, he didn't want to.

“I should go.”

She nodded, and they walked—slowly—toward the front door. He picked up his helmet from the window seat while she grabbed his coat from the back of one of her dining-room chairs. She held his helmet while he shrugged into the jacket.

He leaned forward to take the helmet, and she took a step back.

“No more kissing, like at the hospital,” she said.

He opened his mouth to protest, then remembered that he
had
kissed her cheek. Huh, he hadn't even thought about it. In retrospect, it had just been a thing that he'd done, like breathing. Had he been about to do it again? Maybe. Probably.

He took the helmet. “It was a friendly kiss. Or can't we do that?”

She opened the door for him. “I'll see you tomorrow morning in Salem.”

They were meeting at the courthouse. He would be caravanning down with his family, but she'd already declined the offer to travel with them. “See you then.”

He turned and left. As he stepped off her porch, he realized she hadn't answered his question about not being able to exchange friendly kisses. But knowing what he knew—that their struggle to be friends instead of lovers was mutual—he already had his answer.

A
UBREY ARRIVED A
good forty-five minutes early for the hearing. She'd already had coffee at home and had stopped to get a latte on the way. Plus, she hadn't slept that great. Consequently, she was nervous and jittery and just ready for this damned thing to be over.

She'd already talked to Uncle Dave, who'd given her an amazing pep talk. She could do this. She was ready. And she had him to thank for that.

Well, him and Liam.

A lot of last night's sleeplessness was due to his visit. She could scarcely believe they'd had an hours-long interaction that hadn't involved flirting or kissing or sexual innuendo. Okay, it had, but she was certain it was unintentional on both of their parts. They were trying really hard to be friends.

Liam had gone above and beyond. He could be such a great boyfriend—or husband—if he wanted to. Unfortunately, their attempt at friendship was maybe going to leave her even more heartbroken than before. And she didn't know what to do about that.

Was there any chance he'd changed? That maybe he wanted to try something more with her? She was afraid to ask. Anyway, he was Liam. He went after what he wanted. If he wanted her, he'd tell her.

She heard heels clicking on the marble floor of the hallway and looked up. A curly headed blonde in a black fitted dress with a matching sleek jacket—it looked like Armani—strolled to where Aubrey was sitting. Instantly on the defensive, Aubrey stood and was glad to see she towered over the petite woman, despite her heels.

This had to be Whitney Parker. She took stock of Aubrey, raking her from head to toe. Aubrey wanted to ask if she'd passed the test but wasn't going to give in to high school competitiveness. Instead, she smiled serenely and offered her hand. “You must be Miss Parker.”

Whitney's nails were fake with a sparkly French manicure. Once again, Aubrey took pride in her real nails, even if they were just simply manicured with clear polish.

Whitney shook Aubrey's hand. “Yes, and you must be Miss Tallinger.” She pronounced it wrong.

Aubrey let go of her hand.

“I'm surprised the Archers went with you,” Whitney said. “You seem awfully young.”

“We're probably the same age, right? Or are you a little older?” Aubrey asked sweetly.

Whitney laughed. “Ha! I see what you did there. You're a clever girl, aren't you, but then you did go to Stanford, even if it wasn't for law school. Maybe you'll put up a good fight, after all.”

Aubrey shrugged through her irritation. “I guess we'll find out.” The longer she stood here talking to this viper, the more she wanted to pound them all into the dirt. Maybe this was a good thing.

Except she knew that Whitney used to be Liam's hook-up girl. Before Aubrey. The idea of Liam kissing Whitney, of him touching her . . . Aubrey brought her thoughts to a crashing halt before she considered pounding Liam into the dirt, instead of the opposing party.

“No Archers yet?” Whitney asked, looking around the mostly empty hallway. “I was hoping to grab a moment with Liam before the hearing.”

“And why's that?” Aubrey wanted to take the question back as soon as she said it. What did it matter?

Whitney smiled at her, her heavily made up eyes slanting slightly. “We go way back. I was hoping there was a way for us to maybe settle this disagreement.”

Wait, was there still a chance for a settlement? Or did she mean she was going to try to blackmail Liam again? Aubrey perversely wanted to hear what this woman had to say. “If there's any chance we can settle this before going in front of LUBA, we should do that.”

The Archer contingent chose that convenient moment to arrive. They rounded the corner of the hallway en masse. If they'd been moving in slow motion, they would've looked like some superhero squadron coming to save the day. Rob Archer was flanked by his wife, who wore the frostiest bitch face Aubrey had ever seen, and Liam, who'd never looked more devastatingly attractive in a navy pin-striped suit. All of the others—and it was pretty much everybody—appeared equally intimidating. They stalked toward Aubrey and Whitney like a well-rehearsed unit.

“Look who's here already,” Kyle said, his lip curling as he glanced at Whitney.

Emily touched her son's arm, and he leaned down so she could whisper something to him. He nodded, then turned away with Maggie.

Whitney went right up to Liam. “Can I have a moment?”

Liam, to his credit, glared down at her. “Why?”

Aubrey stepped forward and halfway insinuated herself between them. “If this is about settlement, your attorney should be present.”

Whitney tossed her a look of supreme annoyance that only served to make Aubrey stand taller. “Fine.”

The three of them walked to a corner. Aubrey checked her watch. They still had about twenty minutes until the hearing started. She knew Sutherlin would show up with just a few minutes to spare. He and Parker were likely already in the building, just waiting to arrive with some sort of grand flourish. Their absence also told her that they were likely not privy to whatever Whitney was going to propose. Or maybe they were, and Aubrey didn't remotely understand the game they were playing.

Whitney angled herself in an apparent effort to exclude Aubrey or at least make it seem like the conversation between her and Liam was supposed to be intimate. Aubrey rolled her eyes.

“It's not too late,” she said to him, her fake eyelashes batting provocatively. “Say the word, and I'll tell my dad to knock it off.”

Yep, blackmail again. Aubrey sidled closer to Liam and narrowed her eyes at Whitney. “You've got to be kidding.”

Whitney turned her head and gave her a condescending stare. “Liam and I have discussed an arrangement. If he agrees, my father will drop the appeal.”

When he'd mentioned Whitney's involvement at that Sunday dinner, he'd made it sound like she'd hinted at something. But now it sounded like she'd made him an offer of some kind. Why hadn't he said anything?

Aubrey turned her full attention on Liam. “What arrangement?”

Liam flicked an irritated glance at Whitney before pivoting toward Aubrey so that now Whitney seemed like the intruder. “It's not important. I'm not agreeing to anything.”

Whitney sucked in a breath. “I get it now.
This
is why you've been turning me down? So you could hook up with Ginger here? Priceless. Except you know I don't care if you screw other women.” She inspected Aubrey again with her coffee-colored eyes, but this time there was a spark of something other than dislike. And it wasn't something Aubrey remotely appreciated. Whitney looked back to Liam. “In fact, if you want to do a three-way, I'm game.”

Aubrey hadn't misread her look then. She tried to shake the distasteful suggestion from her mind. “Let me get this straight. You and your father are prepared to make this entire months-long nightmare go away if Liam sleeps with you?”

Whitney lifted her shoulder. “It has to be ongoing—not just a one-time thing. Like we used to do.” She gave him a meaningful look followed by a wink.

Aubrey stared at Liam who, for maybe the first time in her experience, appeared speechless. “I keep waiting for you to say something, but I can see how you don't want to justify this with an answer.”

He visibly relaxed and grazed his fingers against hers. The touch ignited heat in her belly—both on a sexual and professional level. “No, I don't. And thank you for understanding.”

Whitney narrowed her eyes at both of them. “Fine. Sutherlin's going to cream Ginger here. Hope she's worth it.”

“She's worth so much more.”

Aubrey suddenly felt light. And powerful. And armed with the wrath of the righteous. She turned to Whitney with a satisfied smirk and looped her arm through Liam's. “Please excuse us. I hope you won't feel too sad after you lose. On second thought, feel sad, angry, just go to town with all the pity-party emotions you can find.”

Head high, she walked toward where the rest of the Archers were watching them in open curiosity, and Liam strode beside her.

“You were magnificent,” he whispered next to her ear. “If we weren't due in court in fifteen minutes, I would whisk you to the nearest closet.”

“You can't talk to me like that. Not when I'm about to go into court.” She threw him a desperate glance. “Not ever.”

He exhaled. “It would be a lot easier if you weren't so damned attractive. In every way.”

They'd reached the Archers. She murmured a last comment just for him: “How about I dye my hair blonde and get a perm?”

He burst out laughing, and Aubrey embraced the lightness that filled her. She was going to rock this hearing.

“What was that about?” Rob asked, his gaze darting suspiciously toward Whitney, who stood fuming in the corner.

“A failed attempt at negotiation,” Liam said. “Trust me when I say you don't want to hear what she offered.”

“I can only imagine.” Kyle rolled his eyes. “Looks like Aubrey stuck it to her though.”

Liam's gaze was appreciative and landed on her for far too long. “She absolutely did.”

She needed to get her head in the game. “All right, Archers. The moment we've been waiting for is finally here. Let's do this.”

L
IAM WATCHED
A
UBREY
park her car outside the hangar and appreciated the view of her stepping from the driver's seat. She wore sunglasses, and the breeze whipped her long red hair around her face. She came toward him, and he resisted the urge to greet her with a kiss. She'd said no kissing. Not even friendly kissing. Which he wasn't even sure he was capable of.

He'd tried. He'd really tried. But watching her in action yesterday had been a hell of a turn-on. They didn't have a result yet, but he'd bet his real-estate company they'd won. Aubrey had been flawless in her presentation—clear, sharp, persuasive. Sutherlin had been a good adversary, but yesterday Aubrey had quite simply out-lawyered him. Combine all of that with her air of confidence and her brutal takedown of Whitney Parker, and he was smitten. Never mind how unbelievably gorgeous she'd looked in a charcoal gray suit, pale blue blouse, and black patent-leather heels he wanted her to wear with absolutely nothing else.

“Hi,” she said, coming to stand in front of him. But not too close. “Is it too late for me to change my mind about this?”

After the hearing yesterday, he'd invited her to meet him this morning for the airplane ride he'd promised her. “Yes.”

Her brow pleated with worry—at least he guessed that's what it was, since he couldn't see her eyes.

He reached for her hand, then thought better of it, given their friend rules. “Come on. It'll be fun. If you really want to change your mind, you can.”

“I don't. Let's go.”

He led her into the hangar and over to the plane he was going to take her up in. “This is a Piper Archer.”

She pushed her sunglasses up onto her head and looked at him. “Are you serious? You have a plane named after you? Or are you just being a smart-ass?”

He laughed. God, he loved her sense of humor. “Not guilty. To the last two questions. I'm quite serious. It's an awesome training plane—very easy to fly. And comfy.”

She walked up to the plane and looked into the open door at the instrument panel. “Where are we going?”

“Just over wine country around here. I wasn't sure how long you wanted to be gone—I know you're taking part of the day off to do this.”

She slid him a sidelong glance with a half-smile. “You're not going to try to sweep me off to New York or something?”

He laughed. “No. I couldn't even if I wanted to. The Archer only has a range of six hundred miles.”

“You can't even fly this to Denver and back,” she said.

“Nope.” When he thought about planes he might buy, the Archer wasn't in the equation. Truthfully, he could've bought one of these a couple of years ago, but he'd been saving up for something bigger that
could
make the trip between Denver and Ribbon Ridge. “You ready?”

She took a deep breath and nodded.

He moved past her. “Pardon me for going first, but I'm going to fly the plane, so I have to sit over there.” He gestured to the left side of the cockpit.

She stepped aside as he climbed in. After a moment of hesitation, she pulled herself into the passenger seat. She stared at the panel in front of her and gestured toward the control wheel, which was the part of a cockpit that made one think of driving, except it didn't really work like a steering wheel. She sent him a look of pure terror. “I'm not supposed to help you, am I?”

“No. You just sit back and enjoy the ride.” He put on his headset. “Can you pull the door closed?”

She did as he asked, and he heard it latch. “That's it? I'm somehow certified to close an airplane?”

He loved her combination of nervousness and humor. “It's not a pressurized plane, so it's just like closing a car door really.”

“Except if I fall out, I go hurtling ten thousand miles to the ground instead of tumbling headfirst into asphalt.”

“You aren't going to hurtle out of anything, but put your seat belt on just in case.”

He didn't have to tell her twice. She buckled up, then jumped as he started the engine. The cockpit space was tight enough that he could feel her movements beside him—and her heat. “Put that headset on so we can talk while we're in the air. It cuts out the airplane noise so we can hear each other.”

She took her sunglasses from her head and set them in her lap. Then she slipped on the headset and adjusted it to fit. She jumped again as his voice came into her ears, asking if she was ready.

She turned her surprisingly excited gaze toward him. “Yes, I'm ready. You can stop asking me that.”