by Jody Wallace
“I did.” He rubbed up her thigh, hitching her skirt. “But it was me, not her. She didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Did you think because she’s a therapist, she’d understand? It’s always you.” Sal shook her head and pushed his hand off her leg. “I’ll help you, you know that. Like that time I got stuck with the chick who got sloppy drunk after you broke it off. She still sends me Christmas cards.”
“I’m not proud of that one,” Liam said. “She was nice, but she wanted to get married.”
“Don’t get me sidetracked. We’re talking about this fake date. I want you to scrap the ‘Oh, Sal, you’re gorgeous’ nonsense. I’m not your type, and you’re not my type.” Her type, unfortunately, was Rick the Pennypinch, whose idea of going Dutch meant handing her a buy one-get one free coupon to cover his share of the bill.
A tic pulsed in Liam’s cheek, which meant he was restraining a rude comment. Had she struck a nerve?
“All right,” he said, finally. “Pretend you’re my girlfriend, and if you still feel this way tomorrow, I won’t ask you out again.”
It was for the best. Sal ignored her sinking stomach. Liam would never see her in a romantic light, and really, did she want him to? He wasn’t a jerk, a miser or a cheater, but his longest relationship had been less than six months. Not good odds.
She forced a smile and fluttered her eyelashes. “I believe I’m going to be a very expensive date unless you admit it’s because of Kristiana. Lobster, filet, caviar, maybe some Dom Pérignon. Oh, and a diamond pendant wouldn’t go amiss.”
“I’ll admit it’s because I want something from you.” His eyes glittered in the dim light of the cab as they eased under the canopy at the Matador. A white-suited valet opened the door. “What that something is, you’ll have to work a little harder to find out.”
Chapter Four
The rest of the evening, Liam behaved like this was an actual date. Like they’d never argued in the taxi. He opened doors, flirted outrageously and acted the way she’d always wished he would. Surprisingly, it wasn’t that different from normal, except for the sexual innuendos. And the lingering eye contact. And the fact he kept touching her.Sal smiled as he held her hand across the table and enjoyed the feeling of his big, hot palm against her small one. He drew suggestive circles on her skin as if he couldn’t help himself, as if he had to caress her. The flickering candlelight burnished his handsome face, and envious females inspected them, wondered what she, short, stubby Salvia Rose Winter, was doing with a tall drink of water like Liam Connell.
Still, no reason not to enjoy herself. One true thing Liam had said—the two of them did get along when they weren’t fighting about his computer or the mannish way he handled breakups. She ate too much and drank too much and generally had a grand time. It was easy to talk to Liam, easy to listen to him. It would be equally easy to slip from a silly crush into something substantial.
During dessert, chocolate truffle delight, which Liam kept feeding her even though she was stuffed as a turkey, she grabbed the fork out of his hand and thumped it onto the table.
“If I eat another bite, I’ll blow up.” The waistband of her skirt cut into her belly, and she leaned back in her chair to ease the pressure.
“We can’t have that. No blowing until later.”
“You’re foul!” She laughed, an accidentally loud bark that turned heads, not in a good way. In a lower voice, she added, “You were in a fraternity in college, weren’t you?”
“You could say that.” Liam leaned back in his own chair and sipped his cognac. “What shall we do next?”
“Actually, I’m tired. All this rich food.” She didn’t want the evening to end, but if she hadn’t had so many glasses of wine, she’d be tense as hell. She waved her hand across the expanse of white tablecloth. “I’m used to eating Gram’s pork chops and scalloped potatoes.”
“Me, too. But this was delicious, don’t you think?”
“Thanks, Liam. I appreciate the dinner.” Sal appreciated it even more that there’d been no sign of Kristiana, no drama. “I’ll consider it payment for computer services rendered.”
Liam watched her over the rim of his glass, his eyes hooded. “I owe you a lot more than steak and lobster.”
“Like an explanation,” she joked. If the Stork wasn’t the reason for Liam’s behavior, what was?
“None of that.” Liam raised his nearly empty glass to her. “To evening out the score.”
She didn’t understand his toast but nodded anyway. “Sure. Let’s even out the score.” She pretended to raise a glass, and the efficient waiter set a cognac in front of her, as if that’s what she’d motioned for.
She hadn’t, but what the hey?
The back of Liam’s neck itched madly. Either he hadn’t moisturized enough or he was being watched by one of his race. Casually, he stretched his arms in the air and linked his hands behind his neck.
“Good food, good wine, good company,” he proclaimed and stuck his thumbs inside his collar. No peels. He lowered his arms.
So they were being watched. As there were no leprechauns in the area, his best guess was Robair did have countrymen in his employ and they’d kept the reservations. It was almost a surety they’d recognize Sal from the database that provided basic information about Finder family trees. Leprechauns with any claim to good sense would keep an eye on—and avoid—Miss Winter, considering her heritage. No way would they suspect Sal’s date was as fey as a pot of gold.
“Too much good wine,” Sal said. “Whew! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get me drunk.” She rested her chin on her hand and her vibrant hair coiled around her cheeks in natural ringlets.
Her pretty pink cheeks. She smiled with her kissable red lips.
Liam grinned back and ignored his neck. “Who’s to say I’m not?”
“Now, Liam, what would Gram say?”
“Take two aspirin and drink a liter of water before you go to bed.” Liam’s neck prickled and he adjusted his shirt collar so it abraded the itchy spot.
“I haven’t had enough to be hungover. You’ve had less than me.” Sal appeared at ease tonight and even lovelier than usual, though he’d seen her green blouse nearly every time she dressed up. She’d relaxed after their argument in the taxi—and after he’d plied her with drinks. She laughed readily, and the scent of her, spiked with desire, floated around him like pleasant incense.
“Do you want more? I can order more.” Actually, now that his neck had alerted him to potential danger, he wanted to leave as soon as possible. They wouldn’t dare find him in a room full of humans, but they might try to trail him, catch him in an isolated location.
“Better yet,” he continued, “we could have the cabbie stop by Copps for a bottle.” Where were their observers? They had to be leprechauns. A human’s surveillance wouldn’t affect him the same way. However, there was no guarantee he could identify a fey unless it was Robair and his immediate cronies. Spirit knows Pete had emailed him enough photos of the gaidache gang to pinpoint them at two hundred paces.
“I’ve had enough.” Sal dropped her cloth napkin on the table and stood. She lurched, caught herself and gestured widely. “See what I mean?”
He half-rose as well, but she waved him down. “Ladies’ room.”
He watched her slip into her cardigan, shoulder her purse and wobble away, the high, thin heels of the expensive sandals adding a feminine sway to her hips. He didn’t think she knew how much Blahniks actually cost. It had amused him to gift Sal, who wore off-brand tennies, with pricey, impractical footwear. He was thrilled she’d finally taken the damn things out of the box.
After she rounded the corner, he inspected his fellow diners. Nobody inspected him back, and he didn’t see anyone peeling, scratching their necks, poking their contacts, sporting wigs or obvious hair dye. He didn’t see any small people except for a child or two, and he didn’t see anyone who seemed threatening.
He could do two things—remain safe
ly in a public place or run. The waiter deposited the credit card slip in that apologetic way of high-class servers. He scribbled his illegible signature on the line and plotted his next move. Call a taxi, meander along a few back roads to see if they were being followed, mess around in the backseat…
“Liam Connell, fancy meeting you here!”
The low-pitched female voice jolted Liam off his thought-train. He relaxed when he recognized Kristiana.
Or maybe he shouldn’t relax. She had yet to accept their breakup.
“Hello, Kristiana.” He rose and deftly avoided her outstretched arms by clasping one of her hands and shaking it like a business associate. “Good to see you again.”
“On a date with your new girlfriend?”
He didn’t like the set of her jaw or the flush on her cheeks. The last thing he needed was Kristiana pointing out to their fellow diners he wasn’t Sal’s long-term love interest. “I’m with Sal,” he answered ambiguously. “We were just finishing up. You?”
“Out on the town. Out with the girls. Something I can do now that I’m single.” If they’d been pinwheels, Kristiana’s dark eyes would have been whirling a mile a minute.
Liam held his breath. Would she crack? He’d had some experience gauging whether or not females would explode, and he thought he could circumvent it. He spoke in a soothing voice. “It’s good to visit with friends.”
Long, maroon fingernails that matched her pantsuit flashed as she gestured toward the back of the restaurant. Her voice lowered to an intimate level. “I couldn’t spend much time with them when I was always with you.”
It hadn’t been an “always” relationship. Or even close. Liam smiled, nodded and slid his gaze to the nearby diners, who seem uninterested in their conversation.
“I neglected my friends shamefully. Deana swears she doesn’t even know me anymore.”
“That’s good, that’s good.” At a table near the window, a party of suits stared across the room in a way that didn’t seem to be anticipating their waiter. They could have been admiring Kristiana, and they could have been taking Liam’s measure.
Time to end the conversation and get out of here. “It’s been nice seeing you again. Take care.”
“I simply must say hello to Sal.” Kristiana tossed her hair in a sable rustle of silk and then did it again. “How’s she doing after that horrible Rick dumped her?”
“She dumped him,” Liam said.
“Poor little Sal.” Kristiana fluttered her eyelashes as if holding back tears.
With a wicked expression, the individual in question crept up beside the much taller female. “Poor big Kristiana.”
“There you are.” Kristiana’s voice took on an unpleasant edge.
Kristiana was tall, nearly as tall as Liam. Sal barely reached their shoulders. She tilted her head towards the brunette and raised an inquiring eyebrow at Liam.
Liam sighed and nodded. Sal moved to his side with a sickeningly sweet smile and wrapped her arm around him. Out of Kristiana’s sight, she pinched his bottom.
Hard.
He gritted his teeth. He’d hoped to get rid of Kristiana before Sal returned. This would fuel her theory he wanted to fake a liaison with her when in actuality he was considering a real one. He hadn’t been joking when he’d told her he would always regret it if he never asked her out. If he got lucky—and he was often lucky—he could kill two birds with one stone, enhance his disguise and taste all the delights his Sal had to offer.
“Bunnycakes, sorry to interrupt your chat, but the cab’s waiting for us,” Sal said.
“Bunnycakes?” Kristiana raised her eyebrows. “You and Sal? But you said she was—”
“It’s her little joke,” Liam interrupted. “She uses a different horrible endearment each time to see if one sticks. So far, so bad.”
“Right on, muffintush.” Sal patted and then caressed his bottom. Even in the middle of a restaurant with Robair Faolain’s potential spies, even while confronted by his jealous ex-girlfriend, Sal’s hand on his butt gave him a hard-on.
Kristiana opened her mouth to speak. Again, Liam found himself holding his breath. Fortunately, her therapist training overcame her personal reactions. “Call me, Liam. I still have your coffee mug.”
Liam inclined his head, and he and Sal wound their way through the myriad white-clothed tables. The Server wasn’t as crowded as usual, but there was still a full complement of customers, including the suits near the window. Liam risked another glance. They were still watching.
Sal cupped his ass below the hem of his sport coat as they walked away, in full view of Kristiana.
“Stop it,” he hissed.
“I like your muffintush.” Sal giggled and leaned against him. Her cushy breast pressed against his ribs.
“My turn to use the john.” He quick-stepped to the men’s room, locked the door and splashed cold water on his face. It was dangerous to be alone, but he needed his head clear, and that meant no distractions from down below.
The immediacy of his physical response to Sal surprised him. He’d kept her at arm’s length for two years, eight months and…give or take, but he hadn’t harbored extreme lust. He’d just found her attractive. Enjoyed her company. Sought her out frequently. It was like a banked fire, waiting for the right tinder.
The tinder, apparently, was realizing he only had two weeks left.
How far should he push things? If he bedded her, would that get her out of his system? Or was it kinder to maintain a platonic friendship so when he left, it didn’t break her heart?
Perhaps that would be wise as well as kind. Sal had heard Gram’s story about finding the leprechaun enough to put two and two together if the number four slipped into her bed, peeling, shamrock-eyed, exuding strange sensations at crucial junctures.
Gram hadn’t slept with her leprechaun. She’d just known him for what he was in that mysterious way of Finders and wished she could bear children. Some leprechauns might have tried to queer the deal so the human’s wish wouldn’t drain all their power, but Gram’s leprechaun hadn’t, and she’d had many children. Finders who had many children themselves. Finders he was happy to call friends.
The question was, should he call Sal more than a friend?
His arousal under control, he returned to his more-than-friend, and she preceded him out the door of the restaurant. The valet called them a cab. What would Sal wish for, if she knew she could? Health? Beauty? She had both, like a sweet-scented rose whose petals curled at the ends. Her pink cheeks shone as she laughed at something the valet said. Her waist curved in, and her hips and bottom curved right back out again. Her silky green blouse was unbuttoned at the top, and the curve of a creamy bosom peeked out at him.
Peeked out at the valet too. Did Sal notice how the kid was leering at her?
With a scowl for the valet, Liam slid an arm around Sal’s waist. He tipped a finger into the waistband of her tight skirt, marking her as his woman. His. With a fixed smile, the valet stepped off the curb and opened the back door of the cab.
His woman. His woman’s breasts. He couldn’t wait to bury his face between those magnificent mounds. To clutch her generous behind as he…
That decided it. His arousal was back and not to be ignored. Sal wanted him, he wanted her, and he’d make it worth the aftereffects—for both of them. He had only two weeks, after all, before he shook the dust of this world off his feet forever.
Chapter Five
Liam cuddled her during the cab ride, and Sal loved it.At the same time, it freaked her out. The drinks at dinner had planted wayward thoughts in her mind, not that groping Liam’s butt—and Liam in general—hadn’t already revved her fantasy motor.
Why was he doing this? Kristiana had no way of knowing what happened in their cab, unless she was friends with the lady driver, but that was too conspiracy theory. Liam directed the woman to take the long way home—the really long way. His arm slid behind Sal. His fingers played with the small hairs at her nape, sending electrici
ty down her spine. He chatted about inconsequential work stuff, as if unaware his touch was affecting her.
When Liam’s other hand dropped from her forearm to her thigh, ever so lightly, her nipples pebbled. There was a certain point where she’d have to stop him, but her imagination flashed images of Liam naked, Liam sprawled beneath her in his huge bed, Liam planting wet, luscious kisses lower and lower on her torso until…
His fingers slipped inside her cardigan and blouse at the top. Smoothed across her collarbone. Traced the line of her brassiere strap.
Sal held her breath and a throb awakened between her legs. When he didn’t inch further down, she realized she was getting dizzy and exhaled as quietly as possible so he wouldn’t know how uptight she was. She wanted to be cool and collected. Impassive, like she was groped by her platonic, totally hot friends on a regular basis.
Liam, apparently, was unaffected as well. He discussed his new urban-inspired footwear line, whatever that meant, and his incipient trip to some plant in Asia while his hand crept up her thigh.
And he swiveled his head constantly to check the surrounding traffic.
Sal stared at the hand on her leg, pale against the black fabric of her skirt. He had to notice how tense she was. Her thigh muscles were tightened like legs of steel, and Sal was no hard body. His contorted position—one arm around her, one hand on her leg—was the taxicab version of Twister. Right hand on right thigh. Left foot, left calf. Right hand, left shoulder. Oooh, that’s a stretch!
And no explanation? No murmured words of seduction? She was borderline insulted. He was copping a feel and she didn’t even have his full attention. What was this, foreplay on autopilot? Hell, they’d never even kissed, much less been married for thirty years.
Sal drew a deep breath and grabbed his hand. What a shame. She’d love to feel it buried between her legs.
To punish herself for her wicked thoughts, she started strong, in a tone of voice guaranteed to shrivel any man’s penis. “Liam, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”