Love Handles (Oakland Hills #1)(49)

He looked up then. Their darkening eyes were reflected side by side in the glass.





Chapter 11

For a moment neither of them moved. Then, before Liam could claim it was a mistake and hide his desire with a joke or professional bravado, she sagged back against him and pressed her ass against his straining hard-on.

He inhaled sharply. She wants it too.

Her body was everything he had ever wanted, every feminine inch deliciously foreign and unlike himself. Soft, delicate, round, generous. Bundled contradictions. His fingers spread out over her hips to get a better grip. He caressed her in slow, curious circles.

He’d watched her that morning while she slept and hated himself for how close he’d come to touching her. Or pulling the covers down, just a few more inches, to gaze at her for as long as he wanted. He’d told himself that the uncomfortable couch was what had kept him awake long into the night, and his justifiable concern for her well-being—and hell, his own—but it was really this, this lust, that was driving him over the edge.

He dipped his head and drew her scent deep into his lungs, and his lips were so close to her temple he could feel her pulse. With an unsteady fingertip he brushed aside the curtain of hair covering her long, pale neck so he could get closer, and she was letting him, and inviting him, her head tilted to the side.

So close. He rubbed the strand of her hair between his fingers and ached to taste her, to feel her thrumming heartbeat with his kiss. But they were frozen, afraid, looking over the edge of their cliff and imagining how long they would fall before they would hit bottom and break.

From a distance, the chime of a bell. The front door of the store. Voices trailed back to them—Kimmie’s and other women.

“Christ,” Liam breathed, drawing back.

Bev twisted out of his grasp and pulled the pants up over her hips, looking at him in the mirror. She was high contrast, pale skin and dark hair and hot cheeks. He stared back, hands clenching into fists.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and she dropped her gaze.

He should never have spent the night. Hands shaking, he fumbled with the doorknob and stepped outside.

She cleared her throat. “I bet.”

He banged the door between them, walked out of the store, and strode down the sidewalk to his train before he screwed things up completely.



First thing Monday morning Liam called Darrin into his office. “We’re delaying the line meeting.”

As he expected, Darrin threw a fit, closing his eyes and flopping into a chair. “Then I want comp time for the weekend. I flew the redeye, on a Sunday, just to be here right now, here, for this meeting you’re canceling. Through Denver. Fucking Bermuda Triangle, Denver, got laid over six extra hours. Then I got stuck in a row with an obese infant with some sort of digestive disorder, so I’m expensing my dry cleaning too,” he said. “And for what? Why? Just yanking my chain again?”

“Bev isn’t ready. She needs another day.” Long enough to forgive and forget what happened in that store. A humiliating meeting—orchestrated by himself last week—would be just the push she would need to fire him. If she hadn’t decided to do it already.

“We’ll have it without her. She’s not important, is she?”

Liam’s mind seized up at the question. He choked out a humorless laugh. “Not important?”

“Ellen told me all about her.” He laughed and picked at his teeth. “Ugly Betty with big tits. Forget her.”

“Hey. Watch the language.”

“Why? Has she got the place bugged?” Darrin looked around. “Though I did see her headed this way just a minute ago, at least I assume it was her. Matched Ellen’s description well enough, even the shoes. Holy shit—clogs?”

“Wait a minute. When did you talk to Ellen?”

“Came by the showroom to say goodbye.”

“In New York? When?”

“Friday. Visiting her son all week, she said.”

Ellen had been in New York last week? But—

“You canceled the meeting!” Bev was at the door looking just like she’d rolled out of bed. Back in the old Fite pants again—clearly soiled with something edible—and swamped by an insanely large sweatshirt. She looked adorable.

He sprung to his feet. “Bev, this is Darrin. The designer for Men’s.”

“Oh!” The furious panic on her face froze, then transformed into a soft, motherly smile. “I am so sorry to interrupt. Nice to meet you, Darrin. I’m Bev Lewis.”

Darrin’s sneer melted into a syrupy simper. “What a pleasure.” He got to his feet and took her hand. “I hear you’re giving us another day to get our line together.”

Bev frowned at Liam. “I am?”

Liam gave her a level look. “You needed another day, Bev. To get ready.” To get dressed, at least. Did she think wearing Fite would win them over? And he wasn’t finished designing the boards for her to present.

His telepathy failed him. “No, I don’t,” she said, lifting her eyebrows at Darrin. “Am I the only reason for the delay?”

“So far as I know,” Darrin said.

“And everyone else is ready?” she asked.

“Of course. My team worked through the weekend.”

Liam wanted to smack him. And Bev was buying it, giving Darrin those big sympathetic eyes of hers.