Overture (North Security, #1)(19)

A low growl fills the room. “You followed a man to a back room without even telling Laney where you went. I ought to lock you in your damn room and throw away the key.”

“Hey, what happened to, ‘it’s your decision what you do with your body?’”

“I take it back.”

“You don’t get to take it back. I’m almost eighteen. You won’t have custody of me anymore.”

“You aren’t eighteen yet. Almost doesn’t count.”

Something occurs to me. “You can’t be mad at Cody for this. Don’t fire him or make him do a thousand push-ups or anything. I made him go. Laney, too.”

“So all of you are fucking Spartacus?”

“Huh?”

“All of you are trying to take the blame.”

“Oh.”

He closes the door behind him. And locks it. “You might understand more references if you actually watched a movie once in a while. Or TV.”

My pulse races. We’re alone right now. Very alone. “I prefer music.”

A glance at the carved vinyl records. They don’t hold his attention very long. His gaze locks on mine. “Since when did I get cast as the Roman general in this little drama?”

I glance at his fists. “Did you hurt a bouncer on your way inside?”

“In my defense, they were standing in my way. I don’t take very kindly to people who get between me and my family. Besides, they don’t have to be hospitalized. Pretty sure.”

My throat feels tight. “Your family.”

“That’s you, Samantha.”

I look away, hiding how much pleasure the word gives me. “Does that mean you’ll keep in touch with me when I go on tour? Will you come see me play?”

His expression darkens. “We’re not going to be pen pals, if that’s what you’re asking.”

It’s a physical blow to my stomach, the dismissal in his words. My instinct is to deny it. He couldn’t have meant it. He couldn’t have meant it to hurt this much. Then the moment passes and I’m left feeling sick, about to vomit all over the office. “Pen pals?”

Something in his eyes softens. He doesn’t look warm exactly, but he doesn’t look quite so pissed anymore. “I didn’t realize you would want to keep in touch after you left.”

The memory of our last talk heats the air between us—about condoms and sex. And the way he walked in on me when I moaned his name. God. I’m not sure I can stand another talk like that. “I’m not naive, Liam. I know you took me in because I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “That wasn’t exactly the reason. And even though I didn’t know you before I took custody, I’ve grown to care about you over the years. If I didn’t state it clearly enough, then the fault lies with me. I wasn’t raised to show… affection.”

I stare at him, incredulous. Affection? It’s a cold comfort to a girl who’s always wanted the surety of forever. And the word might as well be alien to a man like him. “I’m going to tour the country. The world. I’m leaving, Liam.”

He looks away. “Christ.”

Unease moves through me. “Did you really think I wouldn’t come back?”

“I don’t know why you would want to.”

“Because I care about you.” Liam is six feet of pure muscle and hard will. There’s no way someone like me could go up against him and win. Except that when I take a step closer, he tenses. Another step and he goes still as stone. It gives me a sense of power, enough that I take the final step. “I care about you even though you’re controlling.”

There’s only an inch between the ruffle of my blouse and the flat of his abs.

“You think I’m going to apologize for keeping you safe?” he mutters. “You think I give a damn that you’re mad at me as long as you’re in one piece? That’s the only thing that matters.”

“Because you think of me like a daughter?”

He shakes his head slowly, not breaking eye contact. “No.”

“No?” I whisper.

“When I walked in on you…” His voice is hoarse. “I didn’t think of you like a daughter.”

I should probably be horrified that he would think about me in any way other than family, except I’m the one who started it. I take a step closer, and there’s nowhere for him to go. He’s already backed up against the wall. This big, strong man who could probably make a whole army quake—or at least a battalion. And he’s cornered by me.

This close I can see the green of his eyes, so dark they’re almost emerald, flecked with gold. A scar bisects one dark eyebrow, probably a scar from something terrifying and deadly.

“How did you think of me?” I’m afraid to know the answer, but I’m even more terrified of never knowing. Of being a nameless, faceless body in that writhing crowd, hooking up with a stranger when the man I really want is standing right in front of me, inches away, his breath a feather-touch on my forehead.

A small shake of his head. “It’s not right.”

I’m not sure what right and wrong mean when it comes to us, but I know what it means for music. Someone can play a piece with perfect timing and notation. They can hit every single note, but it still won’t have passion. That part comes from inside. “Then be wrong with me. Don’t make me do it alone.”