Until There Was You(34)

He caught up to her easily. “Hey, Cordelia.”

“Oh. It’s you. Hi, you.”

Liam smiled. “Tipsy?”

“Hmm? No, not really. Just figured I’d walk home.”

“Can I walk with you?”

“You bet, God’s Gift.”

Wow. She was wasted.

“Do you have a car, Liam Murphy?”

“Yep. At home. You want a ride? I live down by the bridge.”

“I’m walking home,” she said, a little slurry. “But thanks.”

Liam couldn’t help a smile. Kinda fun to see little Miss Osterhagen drunk. “Where do you live?” he asked, steering her away from the fire hydrant she was about to crash into. Her arm was cold, so Liam took off his jacket and offered it to her, but she’d already wobbled over to a shop window.

“That’s pretty. Don’t you think?” she said, gesturing vaguely within.

He draped the jacket over her shoulders. “Very pretty. Where do you live, Cordelia?”

“I live on South Church Road. In the old church? That’s why it’s called South Church Road.” She put her hand over her mouth and grimaced. “I think I may have overindulged, Liam Murphy.”

“Gotta puke?”

“Not just yet.” She took a deep breath, then looked at him. “So, how is it, biker boy? Being back, I mean. I bet a lot of people are happy to see you and a lot of people aren’t.”

Huh. Drunk or not, she seemed a little psychic. “That’s about right. Which one are you?”

“The former. Or the latter. I always confuse those.” She wove a little dangerously, and he took her arm again.

“How far is your house from here?”

“Eleven miles.”

Liam blinked. “I’m driving you home, Cordelia.”

“That might be a good idea. Thanks, God’s Gift.” Another big wobble.

“You are really drunk. How many did you have?” She couldn’t weigh much.

“Two whiskey sours,” she said. “But I didn’t eat much. Thassa problem. The food was so small, you know? I don’t like small food.”

There was his building, the lights warm and welcoming. Drat. His car keys were on the kitchen counter. Liam steered her into the foyer, which was empty. “I have to run upstairs for the keys, okay? Want to wait here?” Then again, what if she wandered out? “Actually, come on up.”

“Cool. I can see the Batcave.”

Liam laughed. “Here we go. Into the elevator.” Even if he’d rather take the stairs, he couldn’t make her go up five flights of stairs when walking was already a challenge.

“This is a wicked nice elevator,” she said. “I think I’ll just lie down for a sec.” Her legs folded underneath her.

“No, no. Up you go. Come on,” he said, hauling her up by her arms. She was like limp spaghetti. “Cordelia. Come on.”

“I don’t feel so good,” she muttered.

“Do not throw up on me,” he warned, slipping an arm around her.

“Why, pretty boy? You too good for that?”

“Two drinks, huh? I’ll have to remember that.” The bell dinged for the fifth floor, and as she didn’t seem capable of getting out of the elevator under her own power, he half dragged her into the hall, then sort of propped her up against the wall. She started to slide down, so he leaned into her, pinning her there as he pulled out his keys. With luck, Mrs. Antonelli was engrossed in her TV show…at least she wasn’t peering through the door, offering suggestions. Liam managed to get the key in, then turned it and pushed the door open.

He glanced at her face—her eyes were still closed. Long eyelashes, kind of wispy. She smelled nice, like oranges. She also may have been asleep. The thought of driving her home and leaving her alone…maybe it wasn’t such a good idea.

“Cordelia?”

“Mmm-hmm?” she said, not opening her eyes.

“Want to stay here tonight? I have a guest room.”

She opened one eye. “I don’t think your kid should see me sleeping over,” she whispered. “But it would be great if you could get me home.”

It was kind of thoughtful of her, he had to admit, worrying about Nicole. “My daughter’s at a friend’s house.”

“Oh. Okay, then.” She took a wobbly step, bumped into the door frame. Screw it. He picked her up—he was right, she didn’t weigh much—and carried her inside.

“Nice place,” she murmured, though her eyes were still closed. Liam grinned, tried not to hit her head on the wall and carried her down the hall to the guest room door. The bed looked like an ad in a magazine, all those dopey little pillows that served no purpose he could see. Nicole had made it up during one of her domestic moments, wanting to make the room look less lonely, she’d said. Emma had always been unable to let a bed go unmade, too, even at hotels. Funny, the things you inherited.

Liam deposited Cordelia on the bed. “Comfy,” she mumbled, lying back. One of the little pillows fell over her face, and, without opening her eyes, she grabbed it and flung it off.

“Glad you like it.” He unlaced Cordelia’s boots and pulled them off. Ugly brutes, those. Emma would’ve killed herself before wearing man-style work boots. Or wool socks, which Liam also removed.