Changing Roles

by Melanie Moreland

  He chuckled. “I think there is more to it than that. But until you’re ready to admit it, we’ll leave it there.” Reaching across the table, he clasped my hand. “Now, how about we finish dinner and have a nice evening as friends.”

  “Friends?”

  “Yes. I like you, Shelby. You’re smart and funny, and frankly, I think you’re perfect for someone—I’m not the, ah, right Wright, though. But I would love to have you as my friend.”

  The right Wright? Did he think Liam was the right Wright? He couldn’t mean that. It was a crazy thought. Liam was my boss. We were friends. Close ones—yes. But still, only friends.

  I took a deep breath and relaxed. “I’d like that, Douglas. Very much.”

  “Excellent.”

  I picked up my glass of wine and took a welcome sip. He was a lovely man, but he was right. He wasn’t for me. Handsome, kind, intelligent, and artistic—he loved the visual aspect of the world around him. His enthusiasm for it reminded me of my friend Caroline’s same feelings and reactions on the vast subject.

  I smiled at him over my glass, the first genuine one of the evening.

  “Douglas, I have a friend who’s coming to visit. She’s a photographer. The two of you have so much in common.”

  He grinned as he winked at me. “Is she pretty?”

  “Gorgeous.”

  “Do tell.”

  I walked into the house, confused as to why lights were blazing all over the place. Even upstairs. I teased Liam all the time about his thrifty ways, and he hated lights left on in empty rooms. It was as if he had a sixth sense about them and constantly followed me around, flicking them off, grumbling about wasting money.

  Why on earth was there a light on in every room? Had there been an emergency of some sort?

  Everything looked fine and in place as I went from room to room, turning off lights. In the kitchen, I tried not to laugh. Liam had indeed looked everywhere for pickles except the most logical, it seemed. Cupboard doors were open, items scattered on the countertops, a half-eaten bag of crisps, as he called them, left discarded as if he’d become distracted by something else.

  Finally, I went to the den, expecting to find Liam dozing on the sofa.

  He was asleep—or more aptly, passed out—at his desk, his head resting on his chest, his snores filling the room. I stood at the door, watching him. He was cradling something in his arms, and I edged closer to see what it was. Spying the bottle of whiskey, I wondered how much he’d drunk and why he was holding the bottle that way. Bending over, I picked up the glass lying on the rug and set it on the desk. I stood beside him, stroking his hair, grinning as he roused slowly, bending his head into my touch. His voice was thick but so happy-sounding when he realized I was back home with him. I had no idea where else he’d thought I would go, but it was nice to know it pleased him.

  I was horrified to see how empty the bottle was. I had never known Liam to drink that much. It took all my strength to hoist him from the chair. I was barely able to keep him upright on the stairs; he kept mumbling about home and his heart, slouching into my side, burying his face in my neck and nuzzling me with his lips. Despite the fact that he was drunk and mostly out of it, I still felt the small shockwaves every time his mouth met my skin. Each time I admonished him, he would snigger and apologize, only to do it again a few seconds later. The sound of his inebriated giggle made me want to laugh, it was so…adorable.

  He landed like a felled tree on his bed, still mumbling and trying to act sober. I could tell he thought he was being sexy, but his leer looked more like he maybe had gas, rather than could be considered amorous when he teased me, his words slurred and rather broken. Much to my amusement, any filter he did have, which was never much, was gone, and he spoke all of his thoughts out loud.

  He struggled to get undressed, and I helped him pull off his pants, grateful he hadn’t gone commando again. I tried not to laugh watching him attempt to yank his shirt over his head and failing miserably, finally giving up.

  When he commanded that I come back so he could sniff me and show me he was the king of his jungle, I actually laughed out loud.

  He looked so crestfallen; I bent down, kissed his cheek, and told him he would regret all this in the morning. “Good thing I love you,” I teased him.

  “I love you, Shelby,” he mumbled, his eyes already closing.

  “I know,” I whispered. “I love you too,” I added so softly, I knew he didn’t hear me.

  “No.” His voice drifted off. “I…really…love—”

  And he was out.

  I tucked the covers around him and grabbed a bottle of water out of the small refrigerator in his bathroom, placing it on his nightstand in case he woke and needed it. I added some painkillers as well. He was going to need them. I’d make him one of my hangover brews for the morning—or more likely, the afternoon, given the shape he was in.

  I stood looking at him, watching him sleep. He had already flung his arm over his face, stuck one bare leg out of the covers, and I knew he would start moving soon. Every morning when I made the bed, I was sure he’d fought dragons in his sleep from the state it was in.

  His words ran through my head. “I love you, Shelby. I…really…love—”

  I ran my fingers through his hair.

  He didn’t mean it.

  But a small part of me wished he did.

  Because I’d realized earlier that I very well might be falling in love with him.

  10

  Liam

  Bugger. Who turned on the floodlights?

  I slammed my eyes shut and buried my head into my pillow. Bloody hell, that hurt. When had Shelby changed my plump pillow for a concrete slab?

  Cautiously, I lifted my head, groaning as I looked around.

  I was in agony. Every part of me hurt.

  My gaze fell to my nightstand and I sighed in relief. Sitting there was a bottle of water, Tylenol, and a thermal mug of what I hoped contained Shelby’s special hangover remedy.

  Tasted like ass, but it worked.

  She rarely broke it out, as I hadn’t been drunk that often since she’d been with me, but I needed it now. I wasn’t sure I’d ever had a hangover this bad before today.

  Bravely, I drank the evil concoction, took the pills, and gulped down the water before stumbling into the shower. I let the hot water pour over me, working its magic on loosening my stiff muscles, easing the aches, and removing the stale liquor smell. I felt the painkillers and Shelby’s magic elixir doing their job, and when I stepped out of the shower, I felt marginally better.

  I decided to forego shaving, though.

  My hands weren’t exactly steady, and I didn’t want to bleed to death.

  I walked into the kitchen, expecting to find Shelby and hear all about what a wanker I had been last night, only to be greeted by an empty room.

  No music playing indicating her mood, no computer on, no Shelby.

  My already-upset stomach tightened further. I didn’t remember much, but I had a fairly clear recollection of what happened when she came home. It had drifted through my head on rewind my entire shower.

  I woke at my desk to tender fingers trailing along the back of my neck, the sweetest voice in the world whispering my name. “Liam?”

  I smiled at the sound of her voice. She was here.

  “Shelby. You came home. That’s good.”

  My voice sounded rather…slurry. I wasn’t sure why.

  “Of course I came home.”

  “Our home,” I mumbled. “Here. With me.”

  She hummed as she tugged on my arm. “Yes, Liam. Now, you need to move.”

  I moaned, trying to lift my head. Crap, it hurt. Finally, I got it off my chest, only to have it hit the back of my chair with a dull thud. “Bugger.” The bottle I’d been holding slipped from my grasp and fell to the floor.

  Shelby’s voice turned from soft to horrified. “Liam! How much have you had to drink?”

  I gingerly lifted an eyelid and met her franti
c glare. I let the eye shut quickly.

  It was safer that way. No eye contact.

  I attempted nonchalance as I tried to remember. I believed it might have been a lot. The pounding in my head wasn’t helping my ability to recollect anything.

  “Um. Sorry.” I cleared my throat. Bloody hell, my voice sounded gritty like sandpaper. I tried again. “What did you say?”

  “Why are you so drunk?”

  Drunk?

  I was hardly drunk. I was simply…tipsy.

  I heaved out of the chair, ready to defend my honor. Except the floor moved, and I stumbled forward, the only thing preventing me from being introduced face first to said floor, was the fact that Shelby’s arms shot out, stopping me and letting me lean into her.

  Right. Maybe I was drunk.

  But pressed against her felt nice. Really nice. I rested my face in the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply. She smelled good. She always did. I couldn’t control myself as I nuzzled her fragrant skin a little.

  God, it was so smooth.

  “Liam,” she admonished as she pushed me to stand.

  I looked at her sheepishly. “My bad.”

  Shelby shook her head. “Let’s get you to bed.”

  I grinned sloppily at her. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

  She groaned. “Always the comedian.”

  I frowned.

  I wasn’t kidding.

  It was a long walk up the stairs, leaning heavily on Shelby. I kept finding her skin with my mouth, and she kept chiding me for doing so.

  It wasn’t my fault, really. My lips had their own agenda. I had to follow where they went.

  Shelby, it seemed, didn’t agree.

  I exhaled as my head hit the pillow, it’s coolness a welcome sensation. Still, I was unsure as to why the room was moving so much.

  “Because you’re drunk, Liam.”

  I wasn’t aware I had said that out loud.

  “You did.”

  Or that.

  I felt my sneakers being pulled off, followed by my socks. My legs were suddenly cold as my pants disappeared.

  “Tsk, tsk, tiger. In such a hurry for me?” I waggled my eyebrows at her, giving her one of my sexiest leers. At least I thought I did. I wasn’t sure how much control I had right now over the muscles in my face. Or my body, to be honest.

  Shelby shook her head. “You are going to regret all this tomorrow, Liam.”

  The only thing I was going to regret was her leaving my room. I wanted to sniff her again. Then I’d show her who the king of the jungle was. My jungle.

  Why was she giggling?

  The blankets were pulled up, and I felt Shelby’s warm lips on my cheek. “Good thing I love you, Liam. Good night.”

  My hand clasped the back of her head. “I love you, Shelby. I really do.”

  “I know.”

  I fought the darkness descending around me, reaching out for her. “No, Shelby…I…really…love…”

  Then the darkness won.

  I blinked with the memories.

  God, had I upset her so much she left?

  No—Shelby wouldn’t do that.

  Would she?

  Another thought had me pulling on my hair.

  Had she had such a great time with Douglas that she was out with him again? My stomach lurched at the thought.

  I bent over at the knees, taking in deep gulps of air as one clear memory hit me.

  I loved her.

  She was mine.

  I didn’t want her out with Douglas. I wanted her here with me. I wanted her to love me back.

  As I struggled to take in more air, my gaze landed on a folded piece of paper of the counter beside the coffeemaker. I made my way over and picked up the note.

  Gone to run some errands. Fresh coffee in pot. Your breakfast is on the table.

  Should fix you right up. Your favorite, I think. ~S

  I let out a deep gust of air. It was okay. She was out running errands, but she’d be back.

  I poured a coffee and went over to the table, eyeing the covered plate suspiciously. Sometimes on Sundays, Shelby made me a fry-up. I loved those, and she only let me have them occasionally. Otherwise, it was the bird-food bagel or some other healthier version of breakfast—like those fruit smoothie thingies. I wasn’t sure I could face a cold plate of bacon and eggs right now. I sat, hesitated, then lifted the lid. For a moment, I stared at the plate, and then, much to my aching head’s protests, began to chuckle.

  Pickles. Nothing but a large pile of pickles was on the plate.

  I picked one up and started munching, the tartness surprisingly tasty this morning.

  Only Shelby.

  My brilliant girl.

  I frowned. She was mine. But I needed to do something to ensure that. I finished the pickle, drank my coffee, and grabbed my car keys.

  To say Douglas was surprised to see me at his door would be an understatement. “Liam.”

  “Hey. Got a minute?”

  He waved me in. “Sure. I was just having coffee and a bagel. Interested?”

  “Sure.”

  A short while later, we were sitting, silently eating. Inside I had to admit, although I would never tell her, Shelby’s bird-food bagels were far tastier than Douglas’s plain ones. She was also much more generous with the cream cheese.

  Breaking the silence, Douglas spoke up, his voice slightly amused. “Are you going to tell me why you’re here, Liam? I highly doubt it’s for my breakfast-making skills.”

  I cleared my throat and looked at him. He gazed back with his usual calm demeanor as he sipped his coffee. “I–I don’t want you seeing Shelby anymore.”

  He tilted his head as he set down his mug. His face showed no surprise at my words, but his voice was firm. “I think that decision is up to her.”

  I drew in a deep breath. “I’m asking you, Douglas, brother to brother. Leave her alone.”

  He smirked. “Throwing out the brother connection? We’re only cousins, you know.”

  I growled at him. “You know what I mean. And if that’s what it takes to get you to back off, yes.”

  He sat back. “Why?”

  “She’s special.”

  He nodded. “She is. She is lovely, funny, and I enjoy her company. Why would I deny myself that?”

  “Because I’m asking.”

  “Not good enough. You said she was your houseke—ah, friend—why should it matter to you who she dates?”

  “No. She’s more,” I insisted.

  “I need more than that to agree to your, ah, request.”

  I tightened my hands into fists on my leg. “Because. She–she means something to me.”

  He took another sip of coffee, regarding me calmly. “What exactly does she mean to you, Liam?”

  It burst out of me before I could stop myself. “I love her, Douglas! That’s what she means to me!”

  His eyebrows shot up, and he pursed his lips. “So definitely more than merely your housekeeper. Can I ask what brought this on?”

  I glared at him. “She made me a sandwich.”

  “Wow. That must’ve been some sandwich. Maybe I should ask her to make me one.”

  “No! She only makes them for me,” I spat at him.

  Raising one eyebrow in typical Douglas fashion, he waited for me to keep speaking.

  “She was mad at me, and still, she made me my favorite sandwich. She takes care of me. She cares for me. And I care for her. It just took me a while to figure it out. I know you think she is great, but I need you to back off.”

  “Hmm, not sure. I like sandwiches. And Shelby.”

  I was getting angry, which wasn’t helping my headache. I clenched my hands on my legs, resisting the urge to punch him in his handsome face. I had a feeling that wouldn’t end well for me. “Piss off. You can’t date her again.”

  “Well, like I said, the lady may have something to say about that.”

  I shook my head, glaring at him. “No, she won’t. She’s mine. She j
ust doesn’t know it yet.”

  Surprisingly, he chuckled, reclining in his chair. “Relax, Liam. I was joking.”

  “I don’t feel like joking right now, you arse.”

  His expression became serious. “Talk to me.”

  I stood, pacing, and spilled it. All of it. I told him the whole story of how she came into my life, how close we were, and my sudden epiphany last night. He listened without interruptions, waiting until I sat back across from him.

  “How do you think Shelby feels?”

  I shrugged. “She cares for me. I know that for certain. She’s skittish about relationships, though, and especially wary of my lifestyle.” I snorted. “And the vast difference in our ages.”

  “Yeah. Five years. Huge, that. It’s only a number. Does she know your mum is four years older than your dad?”

  I leaned forward. “No. I don’t think I ever told her that. It never seemed important to them.”

  “You should tell her. It might help.” He sighed. “There are a lot of successful relationships, even in Hollywood, where the woman is older. It depends on your perspective. They don’t allow it to be a big deal.”

  “You’re right. And I want the chance to explore it with her, if she’s willing. I’m asking you to step back. Please.”

  “No need to ask. I wasn’t going to see her again, privately.”

  “What? I thought you liked her! You just said—”

  He held up his hand, silencing me. “I do like her. And she likes me. I think we’re going to be great friends, Liam. At least, I hope we are.” He paused as he got up and poured us both more coffee. “It was obvious last night. Shelby may have been out with me in body, but her mind was elsewhere.” He gave me a pointed stare. “It was with you. I’ve never known a housekeeper to be so worried about their employer being alone before.” He snickered. “Not that it is what we are really talking about here.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Tell me, did you see her before she left last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “She looked lovely. Did you tell her that?”