Edge of Midnight (McClouds & Friends #4)(30)

She looked down, face hot, heart tripping, as he paced to the back of the auditorium. He found her aisle and began slithering towards her between rows of seats. She was hiding in the back behind her hair, the hall was nearly empty, and he was coming to sit with her. She’d entered a parallel universe. The sky had fallen. Time ran backwards. Pigs flew.

“Is this chair free?” His voice had been so low and soft.

This one, plus ninety others exactly like it is what she should have said, to spare herself a decade and a half of obsession and regret. But she hadn’t.

She’d jerked her head yes. Sealed her own fate.

His body lowered itself with sinuous, catlike grace into the chair. His shoulders were so broad, he exceeded the space alotted to him.

His bare arm touched her own. Oh. He was so…so hot.

His arm was thick with sinewy muscles, glinting with sun-bleached hair. She was frantically conscious of that scorching contact between his arm and hers. It was connected to every nerve in her body.

He smelled like herbal shampoo. His hands, resting on jeans-clad thighs, were long and battered, covered with scratches, ink stains.

Things like this never happened to her. She let her hair fall across her face and vibrated with emotion, studying whatever she could without turning her head. The holes in his jeans, the split tops of his boots, mended with silver duct tape. The class ended. People rustled and murmured. It made no sense that such a gorgeous guy should single her out. There had to be a punch line. She braced herself for it.

Then he brushed her hair to one side and looked behind it.

She made a squeaking sound that only a dog could hear. Every strand of her hair transformed into an exquisitely receptive sensory organ. Hot-cool ripples of excitement chased themselves over her skin.

He looked into her face, his eyes full of intense curiosity. She was immobile, open-mouthed. Vibrating. Seconds passed.

“Wow,” he whispered.

And that was all it took. She was his. Heart and soul. Lost.

Liv dashed the tears out of her eyes and heaved herself up off the bed. She tossed her smoky, nasty clothes into a pile and plucked her cream silk robe out of her suitcase with the tips of her fingers, hoping not to smudge it. Which reminded her of the greasy handprint on Sean’s T-shirt.

Of course. True to form. Everything referred right back to Sean, in an endless, obsessive feedback loop. Seeing him had brought back so vividly the way he’d made her feel that summer. Strong and connected, so aware of the grace around her. Certain that all her dreams could come true, because Sean’s very existence was proof of that.

How unbelievably innocent she’d been. How stupid.

The closest she’d come to that feeling, post-Sean, was when she finally decided to open her bookstore. Well, hell. So much for that. Maybe it was just a mirage. An ephemeral cocktail of endorphins.

She stared at her pale, pinched face, the hell-hag snarl of hair. She must have looked like such horrific crap when he’d seen her today.

And it did…not…matter. Goddamnit. Let it go. Forever. Let a hot shower wash it away.

Done, purified, she wrapped a towel around herself, opened the door—and would have screamed, if her lungs had been capable of sucking in air.

Sean McCloud was sitting on her bed.





Chapter 7



S ean winced as the bathroom door slammed shut in his face. Ouch. On the plus side, it had been a fabulous stroke of luck to catch her in the shower, giving him the perfect opportunity to dust her stuff with beacons. Tonight he was a firm adherent to the classic McCloud school of thought; plant bugs first, apologize later.

He’d been trying to figure out how to spare her the adrenaline rush when she came out of the bathroom, to say nothing of the embarrassment should she prove to be buck naked. Unfortunately, he hadn’t come up with any bright ideas in time. His brains were fried.

The door burst open, and Liv marched out, no longer wrapped in a towel. Her skimpy silk robe was swathed around her so tight, it showed every detail of her taut nipples. Christ, she was pretty. He loved that uppity, chin-in-the-air posture.

“You practically gave me a heart attack.” Her voice was chilly with royal hauteur. “Are you nuts? What are you doing? Did you sneak in?”

He snorted. “Can you see your mother inviting me in?”

“Don’t answer a question with a question. It’s snotty and annoying. What are your intentions, Sean? Should I scream for help?”

“Please don’t.” His smile faltered. “I didn’t know your number. Your parents would have me wrapped in chains and sunk into a lake if they saw me, so sneaking was my only option. Sorry I scared you.”

“How did you get in?” She flounced past him, dug through her suitcase for her comb. “I thought there were policemen outside. I thought they had alarms all over the place. For all the good it’s done me, I might as well be in my own place.”

He shrugged. “The cops didn’t see me. I slithered alongside the hedge, climbed the maple, crawled onto the oak that grows up next to the roof. Then I came in through the attic gable window, which was not alarmed, for your information. Through the crawl space, down through the trapdoor into the laundry room…and here I am. Piece of cake.”

“What enterprise.” She wrenched the comb through her hair.

“I wanted to see how safe you were in the bosom of your family.”