To Have It All(69)

“Helen,” he groaned.

“What? The woman you love deserves to see your photos.”

My brows rose with her words. Love? Did he love me? How did I feel about that? Flicking my gaze to his, I noticed his cheeks were slightly tinted with red. She’d embarrassed him. As scary as those words had been, I couldn’t help smiling as Helen drug me through the kitchen into the dining room. Pulling a chair out for me, she plunked me down in it before sitting beside me.

“Liam, can you clean Pim up please?” Helen called.

“I got her,” he muttered, clearly not excited about her showing me the photos, “but make it quick, Helen; Waverly and I have plans.” Twisting my neck, I looked over my shoulder and found him in the doorway staring at me. My core clenched as heat washed over me. Max was a handsome man, but it wasn’t how he looked that stirred things in me. This was different. I felt him; I could feel his want in his stare. And there it was. I realized I was staring at Max, but it wasn’t Max staring back at me.

It was Liam.

I believed him.





After an hour and a half, I had to rescue Waverly. My sister had shown her every photo she possessed of me and proceeded to tell her eight thousand stories about me, all of which made me sound like a doofus. I’m not a modest man; I knew I wasn’t that good looking, or that interesting for that matter, so there was no doubt in my mind Waverly had probably had enough and was ready to flee the apartment from sheer boredom.

Thirty minutes later, Waverly emerged from the bedroom, dressed in a tank top and a pair of jeans, her hair sleek and billowing over her shoulders. She’d done her makeup, her eyes lined dark like a pin-up girl, and her perfect lips were glossed. Taking note of her attire, I fought the growl of frustration I wanted to let out. How did she look that sexy in something as simple as jeans and a tank? Every asshole we passed would probably be gawking at her. It was going to be a long afternoon.

“What the hell is that?” Waverly asked as she pointed, jerking me from my thoughts as I stared at her, stupefied.

It took me a moment to make my tongue work again. “Your helmet,” I informed her as I held it out to her.

She stared at it blankly. “That’s for me?”

“Well, as nice as hot pink would look on Max, I don’t think it’s really his color,” I snarked. I was pretty proud of myself. I’d managed to get her a helmet that matched the one I’d gotten for Pimberly.

Glancing at Helen, Waverly bit her lip, her expression uncertain.

“He’s a great rider,” Helen assured her as she followed Pim around on her Power Wheels trike. Pim had gotten the hang of it and was now driving her tiny bike like a pro. If the thing went over .5 miles per hour, I had no doubt she’d be trying to pop wheelies.

“Our father taught him,” Helen continued.

Her lip was still caught between her teeth before she inhaled and released a hesitant breath. “Promise you’ll go slow.”

Holding my right hand up like I was swearing in for testimony I said, “We’re in New York,” I pointed out. “There’s not a lot of wide open road to speed down. But yes, I promise. Now come on.” Reaching my hand out, I waited for her to take it. She glanced at it reluctantly before flicking her eyes to me. Settling her hand in mine, she revealed a breathtaking smile that nearly knocked the wind out of me.

“You two have fun,” Helen chuckled.

Once we were outside, I tugged my helmet on and tightened the strap while Waverly stared at me, uncertainty riddled in her eyes. With a gentle smile, I pried her helmet from her grip and put it on her head.

“I probably look ridiculous,” she griped, her lip curled up in distaste.

I chuckled as I adjusted her strap. “You look fine,” I assured her. “Now, here for your riding pleasure,” I twisted around, facing the bike, lifting my hands in presentation of the tremendous machine before us, “is the Panhead.”

“Is it safe?”

I cast her a look that asked, Are you serious? “Do you think I’d put you on it if it weren’t safe?”

She ignored my question, nodding a few times. “It looks . . . pretty.” She gave a small shrug.

“Pretty?” I gasped as I looked at her as if she were mad. “Pretty?”

“Yes, Liam,” she muttered as she adjusted her helmet. “It’s pretty. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Ethereal.”

Shaking my head, I stepped off the sidewalk and rounded the bike, feigning disappointment in her basic description. “This isn’t just pretty,” I scolded. “Here before you, beautiful woman, you see a rare moving piece of history.”

“I know,” she groaned, clearly not impressed.

“You know?” I laughed like she was ridiculous. “Woman, you know nothing.”

Quirking a brow, she stepped off the sidewalk and ran her fingers delicately over the handlebars of the bike. “This is a 1948 Panhead,” she announced, her voice sultry. “Harley only made this bike between 1948 and 1965, modifying it to the Knucklehead, then the Shovelhead. Though the three have few differences, their motors were redesigned and built with each version; their model names describing the shape of the engines themselves. This Panhead,” she continued as she ran one teasing finger over the seat and then the back fender, cutting me a sassy glance, “happens to be uber unique because in 1949, Harley changed the front end to a hydro-glide.”