Love Handles (Oakland Hills #1)(77)

Bev watched Liam pick up the dog and stride away, feeling the unsatisfied anger swirling in her gut. Without an apology to the table, she got up and strode after him.

He was in the walled in porch off the back of the kitchen, surrounded by the little animals, bending over and petting palm-sized beige heads. Her heart clenched, seeing his everyday gentleness, but her temper was still flying high from the scene behind her.

“I could get used to this hero complex of yours,” she said, “but it’s probably too late. I’ve already spoiled the meal and I’ll have to find a way to make it up to your mother somehow.”

Before she could brace herself, he turned around and grabbed her. “I wasn’t being a hero.”

His mouth came down on hers, hungry and demanding, surprising her out of her anger. Heat flared in her body, already worked up from the tension at the table, and she met his kiss with fierce, urgent need of her own. He leaned back against the wall and her body stretched up against his, shoulder to belly to thigh, each inch where they touched coming alive.

“I’m the best thing, huh?” His voice was low and rough in her ear. His hand came up her back and around her waist to cup her breast. “Is that your professional opinion?” he asked, teasing her nipple into a hard point, “or just your hormones talking?”

She licked her way down his throat to his collarbone, worked his shirt apart with her teeth, kissing lower. “Purely professional, of course.”

He groaned. “Oh, God. Keep doing that.”

She took a strand of chest hair in her teeth and nibbled, shocked by how she enjoyed the sound of his indrawn breath, how badly she wanted to get rough, jump him right there on the floor next to the dogs.

She pulled away. “I think I’m too angry to do this right now. I’m not myself.”

He growled and bent lower. “Take out your anger on me. I like it.” He slipped his hand down the front of her shirt and pushed it down, exposing her bra and the erect nipple beneath pressing through the nylon. “Bitchy women turn me on.”

She clutched his shoulders, dug her fingernails in to hear him growl again, gasping when he sucked hard on the aching tip of her breast. He made no effort to hurry or take it easy; he was methodical and precise, undeterred by her small acts of violence.

“I always wanted to be a bitch.” She threw her head back and forgot her mother. Now it was just him, his touch, what she wanted.

He licked his way up to her earlobe. “You have the funniest ideas about yourself. This nice girl thing. Funny.”

“I’m—a preschool teacher.” She gasped. “That’s—about as nice—as you can get.”

He breathed on the ticklish hollow under her ear. “Not a preschool teacher anymore.”

Another thrill washed over her. “No.”

He sighed and pulled her head to his chest, under his chin. “I snuck into your office and saw the Target line Jennifer has started to make for you.” He slipped his hand under her shirt and caressed her back. “Rachel had the sample sewers make up an extra pair of the shorts, just for her to keep, because she doesn’t want to wait for production.” He kissed her hair. “Even the new private label tags look pretty good.”

“Thanks.” She was melting.

“You think it’ll do the trick, don’t you?”

She lifted her head and kissed the corner of his mouth, the half that was smiling. “I do, actually.”

He looked into her eyes. “So do I.” His hand cupped his cheek. “You’re a natural, apparently. A fashion savant.”

She grinned, suffused with happiness. He leaned down, rested his forehead on hers, and caressed her lower lip with his thumb. “Now we just have to get you training for your first marathon, and you’ve won the prize.”

“What prize?”

His teeth flashed white in the dim porch. “That would be me, of course.”

“I inherited you, too? I didn’t see you listed in the will.”

He smiled, but fell silent. She felt his muscles tense.

“We’ve been gone too long from the table.” He gently pulled her shirt back up over her bra. “I shouldn’t have given your mother any bad ideas, but I couldn’t resist. You were sweet to defend me, but don’t do it again or people will get suspicious.”

“I said something. What was it?”

“Nothing. Sorry. We should get back.”

“The will. It’s because I mentioned the will.” All the details she’d picked up over the past weeks flooded her mind—Liam knowing where Ed’s water heater was, the extra set of keys, his unrivaled stature at the company, his mother lighting the memorial candle, his rude comments when they’d met. “You were supposed to be in the will.”

He stroked her hair, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. “We should get back.”

“My grandfather should have left you something. What did he promise you? I never knew—” She swore under her breath. “If only he hadn’t put everything into Fite, or passed some of it along to my mother, I might be able to fulfill his promise. How much—not that it matters, since I’m still broke—”

“I don’t want any money.” He took a step back and his face closed up, cold and tight. “That’s never what I wanted.”