Until There Was You(80)

“Shilo likes you,” Cordelia said.

“I get the impression Shilo likes everyone,” he said.

“You’re right.”

He put his arm around the dog, who rewarded him by resting his head on Liam’s chest. He had to hand it to Cordelia…this was pretty nice indeed. The knots in his shoulders seemed to ease a little, and the sun was warm. He felt her fingers playing in his hair, and, shielding his eyes from the sun, he took a look. Sure enough, Cordelia’s cheeks were burning pink. Grinning, he closed his eyes again.

“So, this would be a big job for you,” he said, petting the dog’s solid side.

“Oh, yeah. It would be a real coup. Every salvage operation in New England wants the rights to this place, and Vivian is having a ball, stringing us all along.” There was a smile in her voice.

“So, salvage, that’s kind of an unusual job,” Liam said.

“I guess so,” she said.

“Why do you like it?”

She didn’t answer for a second. “Well,” she said quietly, “when you salvage something, it’s kind of bittersweet. On the one hand, you’re destroying something—a barn, a home, a business, and it’s sad, because there were so many stories that took place there, you know? When Mac and I take down a house, it’s almost…religious. All those artifacts, all those stories, all the feelings that happened there. But you can save the pieces, give them a new life. A new story.” She stopped abruptly. “Well. I sound like a dope. It’s a job. An interesting job.”

“You don’t sound like a dope.” In fact, her little speech had made his chest feel odd…not in the panic-attack way, but a warm pressure that made him feel a little wary…and a little drawn to her.

“Why do you do motorcycles?” she asked.

He looked at her again. “It’s the only thing I can do.”

“I doubt that,” she said.

“Well, aside from being a gigolo,” he said, sitting up and grinning at her. She didn’t smile back. “I was kidding,” he added.

“Mmm-hmm.” There was a small hole in the knee of her jeans, and she started pulling at the threads. Not amused, obviously. “You shouldn’t sell yourself short, Liam,” she said quietly.

Not what he expected her to say. He looked away after a second.

“I have a present for you,” she said and rummaged in her vast backpack. She pulled out a small object wrapped in cloth. “It’s old,” she added, handing it over. “I’ve had it for a while, and I saw it the other day, and…whatever.”

He unwrapped it slowly. It was a brass medal, imprinted with the picture of an old-fashioned motorcycle. Motorcycle Gypsy Tour, 1917. “Where’d you find this?”

“In an old garage up in Tilton.” She tore another thread from her jeans. “It’s from the first Laconia Bike Week. You know, the big motorcycle rally up near Winnipesaukee.”

“Yeah, I know what Laconia is.”

“Oh, of course you do. Right. I just…figured you might like it.”

“I do.” He looked at her steadily. “This is a very good present, Cordelia.”

Her cheeks brightened. “Glad you like it.” The hole in her jeans was growing.

“I do.” He set it aside and turned back to her. “Come here. Give us a kiss.”

“You or Shilo?”

He laughed. “You can kiss your dog later.”

“Well, then.” She looked at him another minute, surrendered the attack on the jeans and just like that leaned over and kissed him into the middle of next week, all soft lips and sweet taste, and when she slid her tongue against his, it was like a bolt of heat straight to his groin.

“Thank you,” he said against that mouth, pulling her onto his lap so they fit together more closely. His hand slid up to cup her breast—black bra, as he remembered, oh, yes—and relished the small softness against his palm, and kissed her again, that lush, sweet mouth. He could kiss her for a month and not get tired of it.

She pulled back a little. “I don’t suppose you’re living the bad-boy cliché and have something in your wallet?” she whispered. “Something that’s not money?”

Liam laughed. “I actually do. I was hoping I’d get lucky today.”

She smiled, and Liam felt that warm tug again, in his groin and his chest. “Lucky you shall get, in that case,” she said, and with that, Liam relieved her of her fleece, and her flannel, and the rest of her clothes, and made love to her on the blanket, the pine trees shushing in the breeze.

The dog, he was happy to note, had found something else to do.

THEY SPENT MOST OF the afternoon at the estate, then hit a diner, where Cordelia put away a shocking amount of food before ordering two cheeseburgers to go for her beast. She fiddled with the radio on the way home, stopping on an old song from the 1970s. She sang along under her breath, looking out the window.

“Really?” Liam said. “Neil Diamond again? I thought you had to be over sixty to like that guy. Next you’ll be telling me you’re an Engelbert Humperdinck fan.”

“Engelbert is very underappreciated, but Neil is an icon. Now shush, biker boy. This is a great song. ‘I am, I said,’” she sang, a little more loudly. “‘To no one there…’”