I'm Not Charlotte Lucas(12)
“You all right?” he asked.
My gaze rested on his black bowtie, and I swallowed, nodding. His muscle definition was evident even through his coat sleeves. He’d stopped me from falling as though I weighed no more than a kitten. I wasn’t the type of girl to swoon over large, super-fit men, but something about Liam made my pulse hum. The man was tall, but he wasn’t huge. He was just really defined.
“Close one!” Dad called, laughing as he approached. He slapped Liam on the back, who subsequently released me.
I turned to the front door before anyone could beg another photo or make me blush harder. All Dad needed was a gentle prod, and he’d be shooting out the dad jokes like they were going out of style. He didn’t realize that they already had.
“Have fun,” Mom called. I could hear her following us to the door, and I wanted to sink into the front porch. Honestly, all we needed was a corsage and a limo and this would be my prom date do-over—only fair, I supposed, since I never really got to do it the first time around after catching a nasty bout of food poisoning. I still couldn’t eat at the taco truck outside Dad’s office, and it had happened eight years ago.
“Ready?” Liam asked, sidling up beside me as he dialed a number into his phone and lifted it to his ear. He cast me a side-glance. “Don’t judge the ride, okay? It was a freebie from work.”
I faced him, delivering a bright smile. “I’m not picky.”
“Hey, Fred,” he said, turning slightly as he spoke into the phone. “No, we’re at the next house over. The white one. Great, thanks.”
Liam hung up his phone, his gaze resting on me. I’m sure his close study would have made me blush if my attention hadn’t been snagged by the long, black limo pulling in front of my house right then.
I guess this was Prom 2.0 after all.
Chapter Six
Liam stepped toward the limo and opened the door for me. A gentleman? How chivalrous. I half-expected his hand to come out and guide me into the car, but this wasn’t a carriage, and I didn’t actually need help. I needed to remind myself that despite his tall, dark, and extreme handsomeness, Liam wasn’t Mr. Darcy.
Sliding onto the far side of the bench, I arranged my skirts around my legs, careful to cover every square inch of hairy shin. I felt like an Austen heroine, covering my ankles to retain propriety, and my mind drifted to the ball scene at Netherfield—the chaos, the dancers, the mother flinging her dessert on an unsuspecting man. I longed to experience deep romanticism, like Mr. Darcy asking Elizabeth to dance. But I had a feeling this charity ball was going to be nothing like Netherfield. For starters, synchronized group dances were a thing of the past. Unfortunately.
The door shut with a thud, the engine purring as we rolled forward, and I was instantly hyperaware of the near-stranger sitting on the narrow bench seat beside me. Maybe it was the length of the interior making the seat feel smaller than average, but this limo was not as roomy as I’d imagined it would be. But what did I know? I spent my day-to-day in an old, reliable Corolla.
“How is Spike doing?” I asked, turning to watch my house disappear through the back window. Mom stood on the porch, and I could practically feel her beaming. I settled forward on the seat, fingering a loose thread on my clutch.
“I took him into urgent care just to be sure he was fine,” Liam admitted.
“And?”
He smiled, flashing a set of bright-white teeth. “Turns out he was fine. His neck hasn’t bothered him since the accident.”
“I’m pretty sure his neck didn’t bother him then either.”
He turned sharply. “But you said—”
“It was just an example. I wanted to explain why I’d asked for your number.”
Liam stared at me, concern drawing his eyebrows together. I had the sense that this man felt an extreme degree of pressure—though where it came from was a mystery.
His gaze bore into me, causing shivers to wash over my skin. Was it just me, or did the limo seem to shrink? Liam’s shoulders relaxed against the seat, pressing into my arm and sending every nerve in my body on high alert. Had he scooted closer? He seemed oblivious, while I was ultra-aware of every minor shift he made.
“You care a lot about your brother.” Well, cool. My voice sounded strangled even to my own ears.
“Someone needs to,” he muttered.
That was a loaded sentence. Spike had glared at me each time I mentioned his mom in the salon. What was the deal with that, anyway? I tried to slide over on my seat to create a gap of space between dapper Darcy and myself. If we maintained this kind of contact, I was going to lose my ability to think straight—let alone breathe in a rhythm that didn’t call loads of attention to myself.
“Sorry, ignore me. I’m just high-strung right now.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and dropping his forehead onto fisted hands.
My shoulder felt like it could breathe normally again, but now his leg was pressing against my thigh. Heat ran down my leg, sparking where we touched and spreading like a California wildfire.
He turned his head, resting his temple against his hands and giving me a sardonic smile. “I’m usually much better company than this. Not that it’s any excuse, but there is a lot on my plate, and Spike just adds to it. Constantly.”
“Are your parents—”