Liam's Anchor

by Donna Michaels

  A second later, the door shut behind him, leaving her alone with her grumpy ex. She told herself it was fine. After all, she’d come here specifically to see Liam so she could set him straight. It didn’t take a genius to interpret the scowl he’d worn while carrying her box into her cabin earlier.

  The arrogant jerk obviously thought she’d moved in next to him to…well, be next to him.

  Which she did not.

  He’d probably accuse her of setting the fire in her apartment complex that had resulted in her homelessness.

  Which she did not.

  With her temper returning, she turned back to face him, and air funneled into her chest at the sight of all his glorious muscles rippling and bulging as he gripped the island behind him to push to his feet.

  No man had the right to be so darn sexy. But he was, and her mouth dutifully watered.

  “I don’t know why you’re here, Stacy, but you need to leave,” he said, the scowl back on his face. “I’m not interested.”

  Why that arrogant, conceited…

  “Jerk.” She stepped toward him. “I didn’t come here to put the moves on you, Liam. You had your chance, remember?”

  His jaw twitched. “Then why are you here?”

  Typical arrogant move. He answered her question with another question.

  “To set you straight,” she replied in a forthright manner, unlike him. “I knew by your sour expression that you thought I was so besotted with your presence that I moved in next to you.” She inhaled to keep her rant going, and her despair over the morning’s blaze at bay. “For your information, I had—”

  “A fire at your apartment building,” he said quietly.

  “Y-yeah.” She exhaled as if punched. “How’d you know?”

  “Finn told me.”

  Ah. She nodded, her temper briefly on pause.

  He set a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  And now it was doused. And thanks to the sincerity in his tone, her throat was hot.

  Dammit.

  All day she’d been acting on autopilot, keeping a tight rein on her emotions, grateful no one had been hurt. Grateful she and her cat had gotten out unscathed. Grateful her apartment hadn’t been directly affected, other than the electrical system that was now fried throughout the building.

  Things could’ve been much worse.

  But she refused to think about that…at least, not yet. Not here in front of her way too observant ex.

  She swallowed, stepped out of his touch, and lifted her chin. “I just wanted you to know that I moved onto the ranch due to circumstances beyond my control. Brett was gracious enough to offer one of the cabins.”

  “Gracious? I doubt it.” His snort drew a smile to her lips.

  “I take it you’ve heard about his penchant for practical jokes.” It was certainly a well-known fact around the ranch.

  “Yeah, although this isn’t funny,” he said, wiping the smile from her face.

  She stiffened. “No, it’s not. Nor is this one of his jokes,” she added, feeling compelled to stick up for her generous boss. “There were several vacant cabins, but I didn’t want to tie up the bigger ones, and only two were one-room cabins. I was the one who chose number eleven.” It had been the one with heat, unlike his that relied solely on the fireplace. “Had I known you occupied number twelve, trust me, I would’ve chosen the other one.” Better to freeze than put up with his attitude. “Unfortunately, it’s not an option now. It’s already occupied.”

  Stacy knew this because she’d called the front desk the instant Liam had left her cabin. It’d been too late. Like her knowledge of his whereabouts.

  The day the guy had arrived at the ranch, she’d made it her business to stay out of his business. The less contact with him the better. All she’d known was that he was staying in a cabin. Which one hadn’t mattered to her.

  Now, she wished she’d known.

  He stared unblinkingly at her. “Still feels like a set-up to me.”

  She blew out a breath and lifted a shoulder. “I don’t see how, but if Brett had anything to do with this then I’m going to kill him.”

  A grin twitched his lips. “Then he’s in trouble.”

  So was she.

  The absence of mistrust made way for amusement and it lit Liam’s gaze from within, causing her pulse to hiccup and her body to soften. She literally felt it soften like it used to when they were a thing.

  Not good.

  Neither was Liam’s sudden pallor, pain tightening his jaw and thinning his lips. Or the exhaustion pulling at his shoulders, making his body sway.

  He saved a man from a gully then refused help…

  Finn’s words resounded in Stacy’s head.

  Guilt tightened her chest. “Jesus, Liam. I’m sorry.” She was at his side in an instant, maneuvering under his good arm to slide her hand to his other hip. “Let me get you to bed.”

  He turned his head to the side to study her under a raised brow while she guided him across the room. “You’re joining me?”

  “No,” she rushed to say despite the heat invading all her good parts. “Just helping you get there.”

  Pressing against the warm flesh of his rock-hard body had her nipples peaking beneath her bra and memories of all their hot, naked times flooding her mind.

  Damn, he always was so potent.

  Too potent.

  “That’s good,” he said as they reached the side of his bed and she helped him sit down. “Because I’m about to pass out.”

  And before Stacy could respond, he fell backward diagonally onto the mattress.

  Passed out.

  “Liam?”

  She leaned over to place a hand on his chest to check for movement, finding a nice, steady rise and fall and strong thudding, which lowered the thudding in her ears.

  He was fine. Just sleeping.

  Concern subsiding, she straightened then frowned. He had one leg on the bed, but the other was bent at the knee with his foot dangling two inches from the floor.

  And his towel had started to unravel.

  Shoot.

  She couldn’t leave him that way. Somewhere in her muddled head, she knew the blood supply to either his foot or his leg could be comprised. She just wasn’t sure which, thanks to the fog of stupor penetrating her brain due to her proximity to his gorgeous, ripped, nearly naked body.

  With dried blood on it.

  Shoot.

  Did she have to take care of that too?

  Inhaling, she chewed on her lower lip.

  No. Just leave.

  She turned around and eyed the door.

  You don’t owe him anything.

  Trident got up from his bed by the hearth to trot over and nudge her backward toward Liam.

  She exhaled on a smile and ruffled the dog’s fur. “I hope he knows how lucky he is to have you.”

  The dog dipped his head as if in agreement then sat unmoving at her feet, like he was waiting for her to take care of his master.

  Still smiling, she shook her head. “All right. All right. I’ll do it.”

  Deciding to tackle the dried blood first, she grabbed a clean washcloth from his bathroom, soaking it under hot water before wringing it out and carrying it back to the bed.

  Ignoring the fact her pulse was racing, Stacy began to gently clean his skin, keeping her mind on task and not the sinewy feast splayed out before her. Nope. She wasn’t thinking about his lean body or how the ridges that defined his incredible muscles created the perfect path for her tongue. Of course not. No. She was concentrating on finishing up so she could escape to her own cabin and go back to unpacking.

  The feast beneath her fingers stirred.

  “Stace,” he mumbled his nickname for her, and the unexpected familiarity hiccupped her pulse.

  Then her brain cells kicked in. She should use the opportunity.

  “I’m right here, Liam,” she said, setting the washcloth aside. “We need to get you on the bed better.”

 
But he made no response and remained where he was, with one leg off the bed.

  Great.

  After a few more passes of the washcloth over his shoulder and arm—and another down his chest, just to be thorough—Stacy rinsed the cloth and hung it to dry on his shower curtain rod before returning to the sleeping SEAL.

  With no choice but to suffer through the torture of touching his magnificent body again, she set her shoulders and grabbed his towel-wrapped hips. It took her a few attempts, but she managed to shift him enough to get his leg all the way onto the mattress with just his heel hanging off the side.

  Good enough.

  She straightened, panting like an idiot, but pleased with her efforts. His foot was no longer in trouble—but she was—because his body wasn’t the only thing to shift. The knot in his towel unraveled, parting to reveal a gorgeous leg, naked from hip to toe, with the edge of the material resting on a most delicious part of his anatomy…

  Probably why she was still having trouble catching her breath.

  But it didn’t matter. She realized there were a few more things that needed to be done before she could, in good conscience, leave. So, she added another log to the fire, and having no idea how long Liam would be out or when he normally fed Trident, she put a little more food and water in the dog’s bowls.

  Her gaze fell to Mr. Practically Naked again, sleeping on top of the covers.

  At the moment, it was toasty in the cabin, but the fire wasn’t going to last until morning, and there was no way she was staying to keep vigil. She owed the man nothing. Hell, she shouldn’t even be in his cabin.

  Bad on her.

  Still…

  Falling back on her bad habit again, she drew her lower lip between her teeth and glanced around for a blanket but found none.

  Well, wrestling with the solid guy to try to get him under the covers was an absolute no-way-in-hell.

  Luckily, Stacy knew exactly which box her blankets were in and it took her less than two minutes to fetch one. And another minute to sufficiently cover Liam. She blew out a breath. Now she could leave.

  Apparently, Trident agreed, because he returned to his bed.

  Taking that as her “all clear,” she glanced one last time at the practically naked man sleeping under a My Little Pony blanket and departed with a clear conscience.

  And a big grin.

  She owned several plaid blankets but covering all that testosterone under the girlie one she kept for when her four year old niece visited put a bright spot into Stacy’s otherwise rotten day.

  It was the little things that brought her pleasure, although there was nothing little about her ex and the man had pleasured her significantly many, many times in the past.

  Dammit.

  Grumbling, she let herself into her cabin and shut the door hard enough to send Slater scrambling under the bed.

  “Sorry, buddy,” she told her cat, who was already freaked out by the move.

  What was wrong with her?

  The fire that morning must’ve rattled her more than she’d realized for her to even think about Liam and their past. It’d taken Stacy years to get over the hurt and move on. Revisiting memories of the guy, even if they were pleasant ones, was stupid.

  And dangerous. Like the man.

  That thought had her wondering…

  Had Liam’s remark about her being dangerous held the same meaning?

  Doubtful.

  She shook her head as some semblance of sense returned. The man had left without a backward glance. No way did she cross his mind.

  And no way would she cross his path. Today was it. Now that she knew he occupied the cabin next door, Stacy was confident she could continue to keep her distance.

  Hopefully, her memories would follow suit.

  ***

  The next morning, even though it was her day off, Stacy walked into the main guest ranch, wishing she’d brought coffee in her travel mug. She’d already sucked down two cups at the cabin. She’d needed them, big time. Between nightmares about the fire and her concern for the naked jerk possibly freezing his good parts off next door, she hadn’t managed more than three hours of broken sleep.

  Pretty pathetic.

  She was crossing the lobby on her way to her office to catch up on work she’d missed yesterday when she ran into her uncle.

  “Stacy, there you are,” he said, rushing near to pull her into a hug. “Why didn’t you tell me about the fire?”

  Uncle Clayton was her father’s older brother and had been a godsend after her mother’s desertion and her father’s subsequent death. He was a true sweetheart and one of the bright spots in her life.

  Clayton Bugsby was also a world-renowned, sought-after chef who’d given up his own restaurant in Dallas a few years ago to cook at Royal Pines because, according to him, he wanted to retire from the craziness and be closer to her.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, hugging him back. “I got so caught up with packing and moving when the Brennans showed up, that I didn’t think to call you.” She was a horrible niece. “I should have. I’m so sorry.”

  He squeezed her before drawing back. “It’s okay. I understand you were busy. I just wish I’d have known because I would’ve helped. And you could’ve stayed with me. I have that extra room.”

  “I know.” She smiled. “But bringing Slater into Cilantro’s domain isn’t a good idea.”

  The rescued chihuahua already thought he owned her uncle’s Craftsman-style home in town. And since her cat was twice the size of the sassy dog, Stacy didn’t want the two to get into a territorial dispute and possibly damage the house she’d helped her uncle restore or injure each other.

  He laughed. “True. I don’t see them becoming BFFs or caring about all the work you put into the place.” He cocked his head. “Hey, that house down the street from me is still for sale. Things sometimes happen for a reason. Perhaps you’re meant to take advantage of your unexpected situation and put in an offer. You know that Victorian has your name written all over it, Stacy. After all, it is your favorite kind of house.”

  There was something about the charm of an older home. Her uncle knew it was her secret goal to one day own a Victorian. He was right. They were her favorite.

  A wishful smile tugged her lips. “Yeah. I’ve had my eye on it for some time.”

  Every day on her way to work she’d pass the neglected beauty, daydreaming about restoring her to her former glory. The wrap-around-porch, double towers, and turrets made the Victorian an extra special gem.

  “It even has a carriage house,” her uncle said, killing Stacy because it was at the top of her budget and that left nothing for restoration.

  It was simply out of her reach.

  “Remember you wanted one to keep a sleigh and two horses so you could ride through the streets like on that Christmas card you used to keep?” he asked.

  Her chest tightened at the memory. She remembered, all right. The card was in her lockbox, along with all her important documents. Because it was important. It reminded her of happier times with her father and the sleigh rides he’d take her and her sister on every year.

  Until her mother walked out and he walked in front of—

  “There was a Victorian house on that card, too,” Liam said, his sudden appearance and deep tone snapping her out of her dismal memories.

  Chapter Four

  Stacy didn’t know what was more shocking…his unexpected presence or the fact he’d remembered the card she used to keep on the refrigerator in her old apartment in California. He’d only been there a handful of times, and most of those were spent in the bedroom.

  “Hi, Liam,” her uncle said, surprise evident in his raised tone and brows. “You’re right. The card did have a Victorian on it, too. I won’t ask how you know that, nor will I inquire as to why you’re holding my great niece’s blanket. That…uh…business is between you and Stacy.” Uncle Clayton smiled. “Alas, I must leave. I’m needed in the kitchen. One of the line cooks went home sic
k so I came in to cover for him.”

  That explained what he was doing here on a Sunday. It was usually his day off, too.

  “Okay. I’ll talk to you later,” Stacy said, and as she watched her uncle disappear down the hall, she wondered just how much of that conversation Liam had heard.

  Not that it mattered.

  “Stacy,” he said, and something in his tone compelled her to meet his gaze.

  She did, telling herself she planned to anyway. “What?”

  And how in the world did the guy manage to look so darn sexy and at ease holding a neatly folded My Little Pony blanket in his muscled arms?

  “I wanted to give this back to you,” he said, holding out the blanket.

  She took it and nodded. “Thanks. You didn’t have to bring it all the way here.”

  “Yes, I did,” he said. “I couldn’t leave it outside and I didn’t think you’d appreciate me leaving it in your cabin.”

  “My cabin’s locked.” She’d made sure to test it before she got in her car and drove the short distance to the main guest building.

  Mother Nature had seemed to suddenly realize it was November and decided she was overdue with her frigid temperatures. Not Stacy’s ideal walking weather.

  A ghost of a smile curved his lips. “Exactly.”

  It took her a second to catch his meaning. “You’re right. I wouldn’t like you breaking in.”

  “That’s what I thought,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you got the blanket and to thank you for last night.”

  “What?” Trisha Jennings was Liam’s sister, and her eyes rounded like saucers as she stopped in front of them with an arm around Brett Brennan, Stacy’s other boss, and Trisha’s smiling fiancé.

  The couple, along with Finn and his wife, Cammie, had been amazing yesterday. They’d shown up while Stacy had been standing in her apartment parking lot, clutching her cat, watching the firemen put out the fire. Stacy hadn’t called anyone. She was used to dealing with life’s blows on her own. But somehow her friends had found out and appeared out of nowhere.

  Thank God, since the building had ended up being uninhabitable and she’d had to collect her belongings. By late afternoon, they had her place packed up, all her furniture and everything she wanted to store moved into the storage space she’d rented in town, and her Jeep loaded with everything she was keeping with her, including Slater.