“It’s not going to be easy to break it off after a month of total immersion, Liam. If it’s this intense now, and we haven’t even—”
“It won’t be a problem.”
“You sound pretty sure.”
He examines my face for a moment, then abruptly turns away to stare out the window. He drags a hand through his hair and adjusts his tie. His voice lowers.
“Falling in love is a luxury I don’t allow myself.”
I gaze at his profile, so handsome and hard. His expression is unreadable.
I wonder if I’ll ever get to the center of this man. If he’ll ever allow me to see past the black velvet curtain. That he’s equally capable of violence and passion I already know, but beyond those extremes lies the dark heart of him, the mystery of who he really is.
Somewhere deep inside Liam Black is the key to all the secrets he keeps locked away, but I doubt it’s a key I’ll be allowed to find.
The thought makes me unspeakably sad.
I whisper, “Who said I was talking about you?”
Eyes flashing, he turns to look at me. Our locked gazes are an invisible circuit conducting electricity through the air, cycling back and forth between us on a loop. My heartbeat goes haywire.
He says gruffly, “I told you it was selfish.”
“You did. You also told me I should slap you and throw you out, but you’re trying very hard to convince me to do just the opposite. I’m not sure which version of you I should listen to: cupid or Dr. Doom.”
Liam crosses to me slowly, his gaze never leaving mine. When he reaches me, he takes my wrists and winds my arms around his shoulders. Pulling me close, he lowers his head and murmurs into my ear.
“Listen to your heart. I won’t try to convince you beyond this: I want you like I’ve never wanted anyone or anything. Give me twenty-eight days, and in return I’ll give you everything on earth I have to give.
“I can’t promise you forever, but I can promise you a month you’ll remember for the rest of your life.”
Then he fists a hand in my hair and kisses me.
It’s hard and desperate, shockingly passionate, and rocks me with the depth of its need.
He’s giving me a preview. A taste of what he’s been holding back. A small window into the bottomless ocean of feeling he keeps so tightly locked inside.
What frightens me is just how addictive this one little taste is.
I cling to him and kiss him back, knowing that this is a terrible idea…and also that I’m in real danger of agreeing to it.
Liam breaks away, breathing raggedly. His voice hoarse, he says, “I leave tomorrow at six in the morning. You have my number. If I don’t hear from you by six, I’ll consider it a no.”
He releases me and strides off, his long legs taking him away with shocking speed.
The front door to my apartment opens and closes.
Then I’m alone with my thundering heart and a million unanswered questions, wondering how on earth I’m going to make this decision. And, if I say yes to Liam, what exactly I’d be getting myself into.
I glance at my laptop lying on the nightstand next to my bed.
“Okay, Mr. Black,” I mutter, headed toward it. “Let’s see what we can find out about you.”
14
Tru
After three hours and two-thirds of a bottle of chardonnay, the answer is: nothing.
Google helpfully provided 174,000,000 results for a search on his name. From there, I drilled down to images, social networks, and his cell phone number. I tried cross-referencing his name with the Boston PD. I tried his name plus the word “enforcement.” I tried variations on the spelling of his name, I searched Irish genealogy sites and US government databases, I even paid thirty bucks for one of those background reports claiming to guarantee results.
Basically, I twisted my brain into a pretzel to find any crumb of information, but nothing worked.
Liam Black is either a ghost or a pseudonym.
I hear a knock on my closed bedroom door. Ellie calls, “Yo. You decent?”
“I try to be. Come on in.”
She sticks her head in the door and looks at me, propped up on my bed with the laptop, simmering with frustration.
“You okay?”
“Define okay.”
She thinks for a moment. “Having slept well, eaten well, and had an orgasm within the last eight hours.”
“I aspire to your goals, my friend.”
She smiles. “It’s the simple things. Speaking of eating, me and Ty are gonna head over to South Creek Pizza for some pie. You in?”
“I’m kind of working.”
She looks at the mostly empty bottle of wine on my nightstand, then looks back at me. “Did you eat anything today?”
“Does grape juice count?”
She makes a face, opening the door wider to stand inside my bedroom with a hand propped on her hip. Dressed in a tight black miniskirt, a short red leather jacket, and white lace baby doll socks with high heels, she looks like she’s starring in an 80’s music video.
“No, wino. Grape juice doesn’t count. I’ll bring you back some pizza.”
“Don’t bother. We have about six month’s worth of food in the apartment. Anyone who looks in our kitchen will think we’re doomsday preppers.”
She struts over and plops down on the edge of my bed. Gently squeezing my ankle, she says, “Girlfriend.”
Keeping my gaze on the laptop screen, I say, “Yep.”
“You’ve got that constipated look you get when something’s wrong.”
When I glance up at her, she purses her lips. “You dumped the Irish hottie, didn’t you?”
Sighing, I close the laptop and rub a fist into my eye. “I wish it were that simple.”
“What’s up?
She turns to me eagerly, eyes alight. There’s nothing Ellie loves more than gossip. Well, maybe The Bachelor, but other than reality TV, it’s gossip.
I chew on my lip for a moment, debating what to tell her, but go with my default, “Nothing. Everything’s fine.”
She folds her arms over her boobs and glares at me.
I roll my eyes, pull my knees up to my chest, and wrap my arms around them. “Okay, everything isn’t fine. It’s just…so…complicated. Forget it.”
When I don’t add anything else, she says, “You totally suck at the girl thing, you know that?”
“What girl thing?”
“Talking. Opening up. Sharing your feelings.” She makes air quotes around the word “feelings.”
Because this is a failing I’ve been accused of before by various other people, I’m automatically defensive.
“I can’t help it! I grew up on a farm! Unless you were bleeding from a major artery or one of your limbs was hanging on by a thread, no one cared about your problems!”
“You’re not on a farm anymore,” she says flatly. “There are no tractors, roosters, or cow teats in sight. Tell me what’s going on with Liam.”
I collapse back against the pillows and stare at the ceiling. I know she’ll badger me until I submit, so I sum up the situation in a sentence. “He wants me to move in with him for a month then never see each other again.”